“Hilda has no more than three brain cells, sir, and only two of them are awake at any given moment. He is incapable of acting as a wingman – he gets lost. In a week of training with gun cameras he made not one hit. He was flying Red Four. Red Three hit his target each time, a clean kill; Hilda showed pictures of clear blue sky. Tits on a bull, sir – he is neither useful nor ornamental!”
“Why didn’t they put him into the Brigade of Guards, I wonder? He sounds ideal for them. Will you take him back, Henry?”
“No, sir. I have no space and I don’t want him. He is useless and might kill one of my good pilots. He will die within the first week of actual fighting, of a certainty. Stick him in Gladiators in a squadron in the Middle East. He can spend his days shooting up Arabs in Mesopotamia or wherever it is now. Best place for him – he’ll miss the Arabs, so he won’t do any harm at all and if he crashes he’ll be out of sight.”
“Can’t be done, Henry – his Daddy wants him in England. He’ll have to be put into Defiants, I think – they count as a monoplane fighter. He’s useless but so are they, so they’ll fit perfectly. There will be more foreigners for you soon, Henry – more and more trickling in over the last couple of weeks.”
“Good. They can fly and most have useful experience. Get rid of all of the Cranwell wonders and we’ll be much better off.”
Chapter Seven
The Gathering Clouds
Two Czechs, an American and an Italian Jew were posted in during the winter months and replaced the Cranwell officers, all except Christopher Byght, who begged a formal interview with Henry Falmersham.
“I wish to remain in the squadron, sir. I am becoming a useful pilot and will be as good as any – well, most – here inside six months. I am learning how to fight and I won’t do that in any other squadron, because nobody there has fought in a fast monoplane. I would request, sir, when the reorganisation takes place, I should be put into Red Flight. I think Thomas will give me the training and tolerance I need until I am up to scratch.”
The two other Flight Lieutenants were to go, Nosey on promotion to acting-squadron leader, Michael to a newly formed Spitfire squadron, to his delight.
“Everyone wants to be on Spits, Thomas! I shall be happy there. I’ll wave to you as we fly past, Thomas.”
“Enjoy yourself, Michael.”
Joe took Michael’s Blue Flight while Mack was given Green.
Henry left the decision to Thomas.
“Thomas, we have one vacancy left which must be filled from Cranwell. Chris wants to stay as a permanence and transfer to you.”
“He’ll be Red Four, behind Tad.”
“I’ll tell him those are the terms, Thomas. New order commences on Monday. I want all of you off the field from Thursday – you’ve been pushing them hard this last six weeks.”
“I agree, Henry. Can I use the ‘phone?”
“Only official calls permitted, old boy.”
“I shall be talking to the Air Ministry.”
It took ten minutes to get through to Noah and be made welcome at the Lodge from Thursday.
“Can I pinch the Annie for the weekend, Henry?”
“You’re the only man in the squadron with official permission to fly it, Thomas. Do, by all means. If you can bring some of the others up on it, please do.”
In theory the Anson required a crew of two men in addition to the pilot. Practically speaking, it was safe enough to fly with just a pilot.
Thomas filed a flight plan that took him east of London and set off in bright sunshine at ten in the morning and landed at the strip at Holt an hour and a half later after a simple flight. He had been in sight of the coast all of the way which had left him free of navigational problems.
The strip was rather short for a twin, he thought, dropping in as close to the perimeter fence as he could manage. He stopped with eighty yards to spare. Take off should not be too difficult, he hoped.
He taxied to the barn and swung round to its front, leaving space for the Moth to move as required.
Lucy came out to greet him, commenting that it was a rather large plane for their small strip.
“It is. Too much so for Grace to lift off in it. I can do it, with my experience. She would find it difficult. What’s on the other side of the far fence?”
“Paddocks. Rail fenced for the riding stock. Another two hundred yards of flat turf. The rails could be removed and there is no ditch…”
“If Grace is to fly the Anson then we need the extra, Lucy.”
“I would never hear the last of it if she could not. I’ll have a word with the grooms.”
‘Grooms’, in the plural said there was definitely a lot of money in the Arkwright household, Thomas reflected. Staff did not come cheap these days.
“Will you drive the Austin into Holt, to the school to pick Grace up at four o’clock, Thomas?”
“In civilian clothing, I presume.”
“Of course not! Uniform – the RAF are every schoolgirls’ hero nowadays. The envy of all the other girls in the school – and some of the teachers – so she will be. It’ll make up for having to stay there for another three months yet. Besides that, it will make her very happy to see you waiting for her. She has wondered, very quietly, nothing said, whether you actually meant anything by the attention you paid her at Christmas – she knows she is young to attract a flying ace. The other girls have all noticed that she has changed, have been accusing her of having a secret beau, and she has said nothing to them – the word of an RAF officer waiting for her will be around the whole school inside the day. She is already a leading figure, of course, for flying, like her father. This will make her top dog. Then, of course, she will leave, swan off into the blue, literally. They will not forget her!”
“Nor they should. I shall park in full view by the main gate, Lucy – I can do no less.”
The school was surrounded by a high wall, not unlike a prison, but the gates were wide and fully open as the day girls went home, visibility for at least a hundred of young ladies either walking away or going off to sport for an hour before the evening meal.
Grace appeared, demure in the school uniform, high to neck and low to ankle in a dull green; she glanced around, saw the familiar car and then spotted the driver and ran. Thomas opened his door and walked round to the passenger side, smiling.
“Thomas, was that you who flew over at midday? In the Anson?”
“It was. Here till Sunday afternoon. Best you should sit in, little lady. There are a few hundred eyes staring.”
“Good!”
She debated embracing him, decided she would be up before the headmistress next morning if she did. He took her bag and put it behind the front seats and held her arm as she seated herself, all very much in the grand style. He noticed a number of straining ears, just within range, spoke loudly enough to be heard.
“I had the chance to come up and see you again for the weekend. I could not stay away longer, Grace.”
She blushed and stared wide-eyed at him, to the approval of her adolescent audience.
“I hoped you would be able to come back soon – there is so much we did not say to each other!”
She had a good measure of her audience as well, was very willing to give them a little romantic drama.
“We shall have many years to talk to each other, I much hope, my little one!”
He stepped into the driving seat and engaged gear and slowly pulled away, fighting the laughter back.
“Will that do for the girls, Grace?”
“True Elinor Glyn, Thomas. Her books are read by all the girls, by torchlight at night in the dorms. They will all see me as the school’s It-Girl now!”
“Not one I know, Grace. I don’t think we have them in Queensland.”
“’It’, Thomas, is something the young female either does, or does not, have. The quality of being… attractive, I suppose, to the man.”
She tried to be blasé, succeeded only in being very young.
“A
h! You mean sexy!”
She turned scarlet again and denied ever saying such a thing.
“Well, you are, very much so in my eyes. I am here to visit your parents, of course, Grace, but I would not have come if you were not here. I am too old and you are too young to be my young lady – as you know. A few months and you will be seventeen and I shall make it very clear that it is you that attracts me to Holt, if you wish.”
She did wish, very much. Had they not been driving through a busy and narrow main street she would have made her wishes most clear, she said.
He laughed and concentrated on driving.
It was necessary for him to find a turning place and return, past the school and along the road occupied by many of the homeward bound girls. The stares were almost disconcerting.
“Will you be in trouble with the teachers, Grace?”
“Some may enquire, Thomas. I shall tell them you are the son of Tommy Stark, VC, my father’s closest friend. They all know the names and the stories – they are very good about not making a fuss about my father’s eminence when Armistice Day comes round. It will seem entirely natural for a Stark to be giving a lift to an Arkwright, and they will accept that foolish girls will behave in a silly fashion. And I shall not say a word out of place, Thomas.”
“Nor shall I. My thoughts, however, are not so easily controlled, little lady!”
“I like that, Thomas. I must think of a name for you. ‘Thomas’ is so very formal, and Tommy is already taken. My brother is Tom and we don’t need two of them in the house.”
“I have nothing to say there, my dear.”
She came to her brother’s support, from family loyalty rather than any personal belief in his virtue.
“He will fight, when the war comes. I am sure he will, Thomas.”
Thomas shook his head, tried to express himself precisely and not seem unkind.
“I almost hope he will not, Grace. He is obviously intelligent and could use his brain to great advantage in the back offices. There will be a need for Intelligence Officers and for Controllers and suchlike people, sat on the ground and thinking their way through the battles above them. Carrying a rifle or running in front of a platoon waving a revolver and shouting the men on – that can be done by those who don’t have a brain to offer. Even as a staff officer, the ability to think will be useful. I shall fly a plane, because it’s what I am good at. He can do more than that.”
She was puzzled that he seemed to respect her brother when she knew well he had no liking for him.
“We shall never be friends, he and I. We have nothing in common. Was it not for you, I would never see him again and not be at all displeased. But that does not mean I cannot see the qualities he has. He may well contribute far more than me to the war that must come; I suspect he will. I hope so.”
“What about me, Thomas? What will I contribute to this war?”
“A lot. There was a deal of work for women in the last war. I suspect there will be more in this. Ferry pilot is the first thing that comes to mind. I doubt the stuffed shirts will permit women to actually go to war. They should, in my opinion. You would make a fighter pilot, little lady.”
They reached the Lodge and she ran to change out of the little girl’s school uniform, to Lucy’s unspoken entertainment.
“Makes me feel old, Thomas, to see my youngest growing up. Noah is stuck in London till tomorrow afternoon and Lucinda and Tom are busy at University, quite rightly. Lucinda has exams coming up. If she scores highly – she has no doubt of passing, the sole question is whether she is in the top five per cent – then she will go as an intern in one of the most prestigious London hospitals and take up a career in surgery. She is working every hour for these last months. Tom, of course, is second-year and has no worries of any sort. What have you in mind for tomorrow?”
“Very little, if that is well with you, Lucy. Can I borrow a horse for a couple of hours to get a look at the local country?”
“Of course. The car for half past three. Not in uniform this time. Did you put up a performance for the school?”
“Grace assured me the dialogue was best Elinor Glyn. Not that I know anything of the lady.”
Lucy laughed.
“Scandal of the Edwardian years. She was a novelist, and not so bad a writer, but was also mistress to any number of the great figures of the day, including Curzon after he came back from India.”
“Ah! I’ve heard of him. I think.”
“The greatest Prime Minister this country never had. A magnificent fellow, in his own estimation!”
“I gather you did not like him, Lucy?”
“My father knew him, of course, and disliked him intensely. That may have coloured my opinions of the man. I met him a few times as a young girl and when I first came out. A sneering, intellectually gifted, arrogant beast. A most able man, and didn’t he know it!”
“Not a problem I face.”
She laughed and asked about his squadron.
“Noah tells me that you have offended an MP by pointing out to him that his son is an incompetent idiot?”
“Hildebrand Burke – I shall make no crude jokes about his surname, appropriate though it may be in English slang.”
She had heard the expression and knew its origin; she shook her head reprovingly.
“Was he so very bad?”
“Useless. He had spent a life of privilege and could not comprehend the concept of ‘work’. ‘Only peasants work at things, you know, old chap’! He could not learn, he could only do. Flying came easily to him and he could control an aircraft, but no more than that – he was unable to discover how to do anything with it. As a fighter pilot, he is useless. I much suspect there are many more of his sort hanging about Fighter Command. He, and they, will die quickly, which will at least give the Hun something to do while the remainder of us go hunting their bombers.”
She was aware of the problem, had been since first she had talked with Noah in the Great War.
“They still select for class rather than for ability, you say?”
“Nothing changes. They can accept foreigners – we know no better. They will not take the English lower middle classes for fear of contamination - and as for the working class? They should know better than raise their eyes to the sky where they obviously do not belong. Do you remember Poacher Denham? My father said he was a farm worker’s son from the edges of the New Forest. I met him in Brisbane two years ago. He was a major when he left in ’19, went out to America and started in testing for one of their companies, ended up with Consolidated. He’s one of their senior men in the development of their new bombers. Very big man. If he had stayed in England he’d be lucky to be driving a lorry. There must be thousands of men like him in this country, people who would love to fly – but it’s more important to keep the peasants in their place than to defend the country. Burke is just part of that attitude. If I had been English, I would have promoted him. I ain’t – so the useless little tit has been posted to Defiants, initially. Bet you any money you like he’ll be in a Spitfire before the week’s ended!”
Lucy would not take the wager – it was a near-certainty.
“And then, Thomas, he will die quickly and waste a good plane and his proud parents will commission a stained glass window in their nearest cathedral and mourn their sacrifice. Nothing changes, Thomas.”
Grace came downstairs, turned their gloom to another direction.
Her mother noticed that she was wearing one of her newly purchased and marginally necessary brassieres; she very kindly made no comment.
“Can I fly the Anson on Saturday, Thomas?”
“If it is not raining, yes. The grooms are extending the strip through the paddocks so a take off will be more practical for a beginner. I could do it on the existing strip, just. You are not trying until you have twin-engine experience. First take off, you will watch me do it. I will give you the controls later in the day. No argument!”
She was much inclined to dispute that, ag
reed only reluctantly.
“I have petrol for an hour in safety. What I intend is to take her down to Martlesham Heath first thing tomorrow morning and refuel there, having discussed the spin modifications for the Hurricane the meanwhile. That will bring me back with three hours in the tanks. I’ll drop back in on Sunday afternoon on the way to Little Foxton, fill up again. The mechanics will know me so they won’t argue. A little bit of fuel one way or the other will be lost in the system. We fly twice as many hours as any other squadron in the Group, and the extra expenditure is averaged out in the books. It’s never noticed in peacetime when there’s plenty of fuel about even if the money’s short. If it’s like last time, and the submarines get busy, then we’ll be short of petrol very quickly – but it don’t matter too much now.”
Neither woman argued – Grace through ignorance, Lucy for knowing too much about how things worked.
“Tell me about a twin-engine, Thomas. What will I notice first?”
The conversation continued through dinner and well into the evening, Lucy bored but tolerant because she did not wish her daughter to die in the air.
Grace reluctantly went to school in the morning, cheering up as she was watched out of the car and through the gates by at least a score of classmates. She made a performance of waving to Thomas as she reached the doors of the old redbrick Victorian mansion that had, like so many others, become a school. There was a mistress on duty who had heard the many rumours on the previous evening and who scowled at the waste of a most promising brain, a ‘gel’ who could have graced a University.
“You seem very happy this morning, Grace?”
“Yes, Miss Hastings. I shall be flying a twin tomorrow. My first hours in a multi-engine machine. I have my licence in a single engine, ma’am, but commercial flying really does demand twins at least. I am lucky that the son of my father’s good friend, Tommy Stark, is in England, ma’am. He is a pilot in the RAF, on Hurricanes.”
The teacher was in her forties, remembered the Great War only too well, was still single because of a fiancé who had died on the Western Front. She knew the names.
The Gathering Clouds (Innocent No More Series, Book 1) Page 11