If you want an easy-to-read, pulpy, happy schlopp of an historical novel, then this is one for you. Emphasis on schlopp and less emphasis on 'historical'.
It has every trope you could ask for within a World War II romance novel: a stout no-nonsense young woman who feels an instant connection to the romance-interest serviceman upon first meeting... literally on the first page. A best-friend with a traumatic backstory who disapproves of the romance, because, well, you can read between the lines there. A parental figure who similarly disapproves because of "Oh, the community's opinion! Oh, the past history! You two are forbidden to so much as sniff one another's heavily rationed perfume and or cologne!". Naturally, all these warnings are ignored by the couple, dramatic things happen, everything looks awful, suddenly oh no! But oh look! Everything is alright and now it's a good ending with a bit of sad but mostly good ending, yay! Everything is well again, let's start a baby-boom!
It starts a touch interesting, tries to stay interesting, then gets slow, then slower and boring, then even slower and even more boring, then fast and boring, then slow and boring again for a moment, and then it ends.
None of the characters had much depth or real personality at all, and what 'personality' there was only existed to fill the space the character needed to inhabit for the plot's sake. I cared for none of them and often had to remind myself who, exactly, someone was if they disappeared for more than a few pages -- and I read this novel within two afternoons, so it wasn't putting the text down for too long that was making things unmemorable. All the characters behaved within the boundaries set by the author of being nice all the time, not having human failings, and not expressing anything too controversial about anything unless they were The Worst Person that is present in this book. Because there is only one bad person in this book, by the way, and surprisingly, it's not Hitler, because the author appears to pick and choose when the historical setting is relevant to the goings-on of the novel.
The plot was average and formulaic, and relied too much on tension that never really existed in the plot to feel as though any thing of value was at risk. I appreciated the research that went into how RAF bases operated during war-time, though it was told to the reader in little paragraphs written like a school project rather than shown through the characters experiences. Oh, and all the food was always lovely because it was rationed, I noticed that too, yawn. It's clear the drive of the novel is the romance more than the history. And both are a waste of time.
The writing itself is so-so, definitely poorer in some places than others, as formulaic as the plot, and often becoming disjointed when the third-person limited prose wants to jump-ship to another character's point-of-view. The author was very adverse to just writing the characters simply 'said' something within in a scene, instead they had either: smile, laugh, grin, chortle, look at someone else, glance somewhere else, or nod. Naïve is one way of describing the writing and it isn't because Fleur herself is naïve: I think using that sort of vehicle of expression would have been much too complex an idea for the author to handle with their skillset.
The names of the characters were also something that felt out of place within the novel: Fleur's name being chief among them. It was certainly chosen because Fleur is a pretty name, but this is meant to be the name of a young woman from the South of England born in in the teens of the early Twentieth century, whose parents were farmers for crying out loud! Fleur wasn't even in the top 200 most popular names of girls in England in 1910. I almost felt cheated when she didn't turn out to be a spy, that would have made a better story!
Also, the fact the name of the romance interest was legitimately Robbie Rodwell, which had me cackling repeatedly because... seriously? I could almost taste the intention of what Dickinson was going for: Robbie Rodwell, a charming, handsome fellow who radios away and stays handsome whilst doing it! Except... it didn't fly. At all. It didn't even get off the ground. We only know that Robert's meant to be handsome because Fleur just... tells us so, repeatedly, and he's a mindless drone that is always understanding and always loving and... not realistic at all.
'Fleur and Robbie' sounds like something cheeky you get up to in a hidden corridor somewhere, which if I'm honest, sounds a grander time than reading 437 pages of this. Back to the charity shop, this book goes.