by Nevil Shute
He stood there silent, and I guessed that he was trying to think up a few more objections. It was time to cut him short. ‘Well, that’s all fixed, then,’ I said positively. ‘I think you’ve made the right decision. Look, I’m going out to the aerodrome now to look over the machine. I’ll be back in the police station at half-past eight, to hear what Hobart has to say. You’d better meet us there then. There’s not much time to lose, because this clear weather isn’t going to last. Have all your stuff down at the police station at half past eight, and we’ll make a quick getaway while the sun shines. That’s in fifty minutes’ time.’ I moved towards the door, and the sergeant followed me. ‘See you then.’
In the car on our way out to the aerodrome, I asked the sergeant, ‘He does do surgery?’
‘Well, yes,’ he replied. ‘He hasn’t done much since he’s been here, because there’s not been much to do. All the motor accidents, they go to Devonport. We haven’t got a hospital here, you see. Derek Hepworth, he fell off a roof about six months ago and broke his leg, and the doctor set that all right. He’s a Bachelor of Surgery.’
‘Has he done any operations since he came here? An appendicitis, or anything like that?’
He shook his head. ‘Not that I know about. Anything like that would go to Devonport.’
I was worried. ‘Look, Sergeant,’ I said. He turned to me. ‘Look, stop the car a minute. Just park here.’ And when he had done so, I said, ‘What do you really think about all this, yourself?’
‘I don’t like it,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t think he wants to do a fractured skull – at the Lewis River or anywhere else.’
‘I don’t think he does,’ I said. ‘This is his first practice, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
I bit my lip. ‘He must have done a fractured skull or two, in hospital.’
‘Aye,’ said the sergeant. ‘But that’s different to doing it upon the kitchen table at the Lewis River.’
‘Is there any other doctor we could get? Anyone more experienced?’
‘We’d have to try in Devonport,’ he said. ‘Dr Simpson – he might be the most likely. He’s a good surgeon, and he’s not so old. He still goes ski-ing. But whether he could drop everything and come away at five minutes’ notice – that I wouldn’t know. He does a lot of surgery. He might have two or three lined up to be operated on this morning – maybe some as urgent as Captain Pascoe. It’s just a chance if you could get a man like that to come.’
‘By the time we got him here, Dr Parkinson could have flown up from Hobart. He’s all set to go. But either way we lose about three hours.’
‘That’s so.’
He evidently wasn’t going to help me much; he had nothing constructive to suggest. If a decision had to be made quickly, and apparently it had, the onus rested squarely upon me. I was rushing into this, bullying an unwilling and inexperienced young doctor into doing an operation which he clearly felt to be beyond his capacity. I was doing this purely on the score of time, because Johnnie Pascoe had a fractured skull and there was no time to get a better surgeon. But what if I was wrong? What if the weather forecasters were wrong, as they so often were? What if it should be a brilliant, sunny day, all day, with a light, gentle breeze that would permit a proper landing on that strip?
I looked up, and the sky was blue to the west right down to the horizon, with every promise of a brilliantly fine day.
I made up my mind. ‘I’ll fly Dr Turnbull in,’ I said. ‘I’ll land him if I can, and get back here as quick as I can. While I’m away, we’ll try and get a better surgeon here, and if it keeps fine, then I’ll make a second trip and fly him in as well. That’s what we’ll do.’
‘Aye,’ said the sergeant, ‘that’s a good idea.’ We went on to the aerodrome.
The aerodrome at Buxton is a square grass field only about a mile from the town, about six hundred yards long in any direction. No scheduled air service flies to it because there isn’t the demand; sheep graze on it from time to time and have to be herded off before a landing. There is one corrugated iron hangar with a tattered windsock on the gable, capable of housing four or five small aeroplanes. This hangar had a board on it, PASCOE FLYING SERVICES PTY. LTD., rather in need of a new coat of paint.
Billy Monkhouse had got the Auster out and was running it up outside the hangar in the strong, gusty wind; he had two boys to help him, hanging on to the wing struts to prevent it blowing away. The conditions were not good for flying a light aeroplane, and I hoped that my hand hadn’t lost its cunning. I had a short talk with the sergeant and sent him back to the police station to ring up Dr Simpson in Devonport and see if there was any chance that he could come to help us; the ground engineer would run me back into the town.
I moved over and stood by the wing tip of the Auster in the cold, bleak wind. Presently the ground engineer throttled down; I looked at him in enquiry and he raised one thumb. I moved to the door as he got out. ‘I’ll do about three landings and bring her in,’ I said. ‘Get the boys to stay on the wing struts while I taxi out downwind.’
I sat in the machine for several minutes, trying to accustom myself to the size again after years of flying airliners. There my seat when the machine was on the ground was nearly twenty feet up; a landing at that height was a good landing. Here it was about three feet from the ground. I sat there savouring it all. The horizon came just so upon the windscreen; that was how it must be when landing. The grass looked so. With a glance down I could actually see one wheel upon the ground; I did not think that that would be a help, but it was possible. There was the throttle and the mixture control, there the flaps. I was glad to note that the machine had navigation lights and a blind-flying panel of instruments; that was a benefit that I had hardly dared to hope for.
Presently I waved the chocks away and nodded to the engineer, and we began to taxi out down-wind at walking pace.
I turned her in the strong, unpleasant wind, waved the boys away, and took her off at once. She was just like all the Austers that I had flown before, lightly loaded and so wallowing a bit in the wind turbulence, but light on the controls and easy to fly. I did one circuit, for the time was short, and came in for a landing. I pulled down the lever for a little flap but she was coming down so vertically that I eased it slowly back again. In that strong wind I brought her in at fifty, and we came down a flight path that must have been close on forty-five degrees to the ground, moving forward very slowly. I rounded off too high, gave her a little throttle and floated on till the far hedge looked about right on the windscreen, and then cut it as she rolled on to the grass.
I did another circuit and another landing. The third time I brought her down on to the grass tail up at a very slow speed over the ground, and touched the wheels. I shot a quick glance down; they were well and truly on the ground and only moving forward a few miles an hour. I throttled very carefully a little more, and we were motionless, flying at about a quarter throttle, tail well up. I held her on the ground like that for a few seconds; then a gust came and I jammed everything forward, and took off again.
I brought her round, landed just outside the hangar where the boys were waiting to catch the wing struts, and taxied her in. It was a quarter past eight. I stopped the motor and got out of the cabin on to the ground, and helped to push her into the hangar. It was too rough a day to leave her standing unattended on the tarmac.
The break in the clouds now was practically overhead; to the west there was blue sky with a little light cirrus. The sun, of course, was in the north-east and low down, so that it was still overcast and cold, and the wind was no less strong. I was very conscious that I had had no breakfast, but there was no time for that. I got into the old Ford with Billy Monkhouse and he started it, and drove out on the road towards the town.
‘With any luck we’ll get the doctor in to them this morning,’ I said. ‘If this weather holds till dinner time, we’ll be right.’
2
When we got to the police station it was a
few minutes after half past eight, and Hobart was already speaking to Mrs Hoskins at the Lewis River. Dr Turnbull was there, dressed and looking very sour. I listened with one side of my mind to what was coming out of the loudspeaker, but crossed directly to him. I said in a low tone, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning, Doctor. Would you like it if we could get in somebody to help you at the Lewis River? There’s just the chance, of course, that this clear weather may last longer than we think. It’s possible that I could put you down there, and then make a second trip, fly somebody else in. There might be time enough for that, you see.’
The loudspeaker was saying, ‘Well, it’s a lovely day here now, Hobart. The sun’s shining and everything. The wind’s still strong, though. It looks rough out at sea, and it’s breaking very hard at the mouth of the river. I wouldn’t want to see Don try it in the boat.’
The doctor said, ‘It’s a job that needs some help, somebody who knows what to do. The district nurse wouldn’t be able to land like that … There just isn’t anyone round here.’
‘How would it be if I asked Hobart to fly Dr Parkinson up here? I’d have to fly you in first, while the weather holds good. But by the time I got back he might be here, and then if it’s still clear I could fly him in to help you.’
His face lightened. I knew what he was thinking as well as if he had told me, that in that case Parkinson would do the operation. It would take him an hour or two to get the patient ready, or he could spin it out so long, and then there was a very good chance he wouldn’t have to do it at all. He would be the junior surgeon, and would stand by to assist Parkinson.
‘That’s quite a good idea,’ he said. ‘I know Parkinson. He’s got a great deal more experience than I have, with head injuries.’
‘Has he?’ I enquired. ‘I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s a surgeon and he’s volunteered to go upon this job.’
‘He does a lot of this flying work,’ he told me. ‘I don’t say he’s the best in Hobart, by a long chalk. But he’s got a great deal of experience of injuries.’
The loudspeaker was saying, ‘Well, Hobart, it’s still cloudy over the mountains. It often is like that, you know. Sunny here, and then cloudy up against the hills.’
‘How are the patients, Mrs Hoskins? Over.’
‘Betty’s easier, Hobart. There’s no doubt of that. I think she’s sleeping now. Captain Pascoe, he seems much about the same. He seemed to be cold, so I filled the hot water bags about half an hour ago.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hoskins. I’m going to call Buxton now, but I want you to stay listening in case I want to speak to you again. 7 PC, this is 7 HT calling. If you are listening, 7 PC, will you please come in. Over.’
The sergeant touched the switch. ‘This is 7 PC answering 7 HT. Over to you.’
‘Thank you, Buxton. If Captain Clarke is there, will you ask him to speak? Over.’
I took the microphone. ‘This is Clarke speaking. Over.’
‘What’s the weather like with you?’
‘It’s clearing,’ I said. ‘Quite clear over to the west, cloud still to the east. Wind about thirty knots. What’s it like with you? Over.’
‘We’ve got low cloud here still, ceiling about eight hundred feet, mountains well covered. Wind 250 degrees, twenty knots.’
‘Not much hope of getting through from your end?’
‘Not from here. How is it with you?’
‘I can make it,’ I said. ‘Dr Turnbull here, he’s going to try and jump out as I fly slowly across the strip. He’ll make it if anybody can. There is one thing, though. Dr Turnbull would like help if he can get it, with the operation. Could you fly Dr Parkinson up here while I’m away? Then if the weather holds I’d fly him down and land him the same way, making a second trip. Over.’
‘Hold on, Buxton.’ There was a long pause while they consulted at their end. I stood holding the microphone and looking out of the window. There was a hard brightness in the weather that didn’t look too good; it was sunny now, but there was no warmth in it. Hobart came on again. ‘This is 7 HT. That’s okay, Captain Clarke. We’re going to fly Dr Parkinson up to you in the Proctor, leaving in about half an hour. It should be about two hours’ flight, so that you can expect him at eleven o’clock, or soon after. Over to you.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I should be back by then, or not much later. Have you got the latest Met report?’
‘Not very satisfactory,’ he said. ‘There’s another depression coming up. They think it may clamp down again about midday on the west coast.’
‘We’ll have to do the best we can,’ I said. ‘I can fly round the coast from here at sea level. It’s just a question then of being able to get up to the strip.’
I asked to speak to Mrs Hoskins and they put her on. I told her that we were coming and that I hoped to have the doctor with her in about an hour and a half. I told her that we would fly over and drop the doctor’s suitcase first, and I asked her to pick a soft spot of turf or heather close beside the airstrip and pin a sheet down on it with stones, so that we could see where to drop.
Then I handed the microphone back to the sergeant, and we were ready to go. The doctor had a medium-sized fibre suitcase with him, heavily laden. ‘I packed a lot of towels round the bottles,’ he said. ‘I think they should be all right.’ He was wearing a woollen overcoat but underneath that he was quite sensibly dressed, in ski-ing trousers and ski boots, with a roll-necked sweater.
We left the police station and drove out to the aerodrome again with the ground engineer. The sun was bright and the sky blue so that everything looked cheerful, though the wind was still very strong for a light aircraft. We drove up to the hangar and got out. Before we pushed the aircraft out I crossed to the ground engineer’s desk and laid out the course upon my map, marking it with a thick pencil line; in that weather I could fly it direct. It was about a hundred and fifteen miles, course 178 degrees magnetic, practically due south. It was going to take us all of an hour and a half to get there in that wind, and the machine had fuel for less than four hours. We shouldn’t have much time in hand for messing about. I studied the map again. There were mountains up to four thousand feet along my route; I could dodge them by flying down the Arthur River to the coast but that would add another twenty-five miles to the distance. In that clear weather it would be better to go over them.
I folded the map with the airstrip data sheet and put them both in the diagonal map pocket of my old flying coat. Then I took the doctor to the aircraft and sat him in it with the suitcase on his knee, strapping him in with the safety belt. I showed him what he had to do. ‘We’ll drop the suitcase first,’ I said. ‘When I give you the word, just open the door a little, like this, and hold it balanced on the edge, like this. Then when I tell you, just push it through and let go.’ I paused. ‘I shall go up and we’ll make another circuit then. While we’re doing that, undo your belt and get out of your coat – I’ll drop that to you afterwards. I’ll come right down on to the strip and hold her there while you get out. You’ll have to make it snappy, because I shan’t be able to hold her there for long. But you’ll have time enough, I should think. Anyway, we’ll see. We might do a dummy run first, and see how it goes, and then make another circuit before you get out.’
He licked his lips, and nodded. I was sorry for him, because he’d obviously never had to do anything like that before. ‘You’ll find it quite easy to get out,’ I said.
He pushed the door open, lifted and turned his body, put his foot down on the metal step that hung below, and got out. ‘That’s easy enough,’ he said bravely. ‘It’ll be easier without this coat.’
I nodded. ‘You won’t have any difficulty.’
He got back into the machine and I gave him the suitcase to hold upon his knee, and then we pushed the machine out into the wind. On the tarmac I got in beside the doctor, closed the door, and nodded to the ground engineer. While the two boys held the wing struts he swung the little propeller for m
e and the engine caught; I let her run for a minute and then ran her up, trying the magnetos. Everything was in order. I nodded to him and they pulled the chocks away. With the boys upon the struts I taxied out a little way across wind, turned into wind, waved them away, and took the machine off.
In the air it was very bumpy, of course. The doctor sat gripping his suitcase, tense and obviously anxious. I turned on course and held the machine on the climb because not far away were mountains that we had to cross. They lay across our path, snow-covered in the sunlight. To the east the cloud hung down upon them still, to the west all was clear with sunlight and blue sky. I pulled out my map and set to work to identify the peaks, and the course that I must make good over the land. We had about fifteen degrees of drift.
My business finished, I turned to the doctor. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ I said.
He lifted his head and looked around, relaxing a little. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘Awfully pretty.’ And then he said, ‘You know, this is the first time I’ve ever been up.’
I was startled. I suppose I should have thought of that. On the airline, of course, it is common to go down the cabin and find passengers who have never flown before. I generally pause and chat to them, ask them where they are going, let them talk a little, offer them a cup of coffee and tell the hostess to bring it. It had simply never entered my head that this doctor, young and active as he was, was totally unused to flying. With my mind set on other things, upon the need to get a doctor to the Lewis River, I had treated him pretty rough.
I dared not weaken him with any sympathy, however. ‘You’ve missed a lot,’ I said. The thing to do now was to get him interested. ‘Do you sail a boat?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I do that a good bit. We’ve got a sailing dinghy at home.’ I remembered that his home was on the Huon River, a deep inlet of the sea to the south of Hobart.
‘This is just like sailing a boat,’ I said. There was no dual control in the machine, for the ground engineer had taken it out. I took his hand and put it on the stick beneath my own, and flew the machine like that for a time in the rough weather, so that he could get the feel, explaining the motions to him as I had so often done before upon the first flight of a pupil. In a quarter of an hour he was doing it on his own, and seemed to have relaxed.