Spitfire Ringers

by Ian Lindsey

  The plan succeeded spectacularly. Not one English ship was sunk or captured, but only eleven enemy ships escaped. Nelson’s genius plan, and the execution of the British sailors, won the day handily. Slightly more than sixteen hundred British sailors were killed or wounded, including Nelson who died on HMS Victory, but that paled in comparison to the more than 13,000 Spanish and French sailors killed, captured or wounded.

  The decisive battle denied Napoleon any chance at invading the Island. HMS Victory survived the Battle of Trafalgar and still sat in Portsmouth harbor as a museum. As the converted cruise liner steamed past the retired wind driven ship, Hitler’s and Napoleon’s dominance of continental Europe drifted over the minds of the twins. King George now hoped his military could deny Hitler the same attempt in the first real threat of invasion since Napoleon. Britain stood at the precipice of trying to stop another tyrant controlling the Old World, but the King knew that this time he’d need the help of the New World. The Uboat episode proved that the Royal Navy no longer ruled the high seas and that Britain could no longer stand alone. The Battle of the Atlantic indeed.

  By the time the ship docked and the gangway was lowered in to place the twins had taken care of their final duties and packed. They returned their uniforms to Mr. Collins and thanked him profusely for his hospitality on the ship. The steward admired the sincerity and effort the boys brought to the tasks he assigned and with a twinge of sadness bid them goodbye. He knew they meant to help fight Hitler, so the twinge of sadness was tempered by hope that their fight would help bring more like them. These two risked as much as all the British soldiers already fighting.

  Custom called for the Captain to wait by the gangway and give permission for the King and the Royal Family to disembark first. With the Royal Family not yet ready, Dylan and Payton loitered on the top deck waiting for their turn to amble down the gangplank. As with most of the trip, the mid May sun competed only against the blue in the sky. As they stood near the stern of the boat, the boys managed to conceal their surprise when the King wandered toward them. Neither had said goodbye to the King or his family, figuring that such familiarity might not suit their place. However, the King walked directly for the twins with a smile on his saturnine face.

  “I’m glad to find you both.” he said by way of greeting.

  “We’re pleased to see you as well, sir. I thought you’d be busy finishing up any duties before disembarking.” Dylan answered.

  “Fortunately for me, my wife is quite adept and rounding up the details as well as being a Queen. She does everything she can to help me, and I adore her for it.” The King said. “Even for a King, a loving wife and family bring me more joy than anything else. You are young now, but you’ll find that in time I’m right on this one.” He finished with a slight nod of the head indicating knowledge hard earned over time.

  “Our father always told us that the right woman makes all the difference, so I guess he must have been right, too.” Payton jokingly replied.

  “Smart man, your father, teaching you so well” The King smiled back. “I do wish to discuss something with you for a moment. I appreciate your advice on the mood in America as well. The throwing lesson was just an added adventure inside what I believe you call The National Pastime. I understand your great sacrifice and risk coming here to help, so for that I’d like to do everything I can to help you. My people tell me your real names are Dylan and Payton Anders, but I hope you don’t mind me inquiring about that.”

  “I believe in your discretion sir, so no, it isn’t something for us to worry about. And, just so you know, I’m Payton and he’s Dylan” Payton answered gesturing at his brother with only a hint of surprise and a touch of pride that the King had bothered to find out who they really were.

  “Excellent, then I have two things to hopefully help you on your way. I understand you are to meet a Mr. Hobbes here.” The King inquired.

  “Your information is very good, sir. That is correct.” Dylan replied.

  “The Monarchy has its benefits. His only job was to put you on a bus to London and instruct you to find your way to Le Havre. His services are not needed, as I’ve arranged for you to take one of my cars here and have you delivered to The Savoy. You may stay there as long as you like, but with your intents you’ll probably be gone within the week.” His Majesty continued.

  “Thank you sir, that is more than generous of you. That’s the second lift you’ve offered us which is more than we deserve.” Dylan offered graciously in return.

  “I wish I could offer you a third, but I’m afraid I can’t arrange passage to France for you. Imposing on the Royal Navy would be quite bad form at the moment.” The King concluded. “I can, however, offer you these.” He said reaching in to his breast pocket and extracting to letter sized envelopes with the royal seal engraved on them. “These are letters of recommendation I’ve written for you both. They indicate that you have my full support in your endeavors, and that whomever you present these to should offer you whatever assistance you require. If you are in a hard place, you can use these as a last resort.”

  “Your Majesty, thank you, your kindness is an honor. We can only hope to live up to the responsibilities such honor requires.” Payton said failing to conceal his stunned feelings.

  “Your modesty is a virtue. You helped save me and my family from that Uboat, and you offer your services to my country and mankind without asking anything for yourselves. My actions are from gratitude.” His Majesty said with all sincerity. “Please, if you are in and around London throughout your efforts call ahead to Buckingham Palace to see if I am there to meet you. I’ll very much like to hear reports of your efforts.”

  “Of course, thank you again, sir. Nothing would delight us more than to see you again.”

  “Splendid, then we shall meet again. I’m sure my wife is looking for me now, so I’m off. Good hunting to you both.” The King finished as he left with the stride of a man determined to accomplish the task ahead.

  “Well, I guess we have something to write home about. Dad will never believe how this trip started. The King of England believes in us, so we’ll have to make sure not to disappoint him.” Dylan offered wryly when His Majesty was out of earshot.

  “Hopefully we don’t have to use them, but these letters should help.” Payton said to his brother. “It can’t hurt, at least. I’m glad that he remembered the car, though. I’m sure if it is one of his it's a nice one. If I recall from the paper he’s a bit of a car buff and has helped design several of his personal limousines.”

  “We’ll see soon enough. It appears that the Royal Party is headed down to shore if you look over to the gangway. Let’s start heading that way, at least. The ship’s been fun, but the sooner we’re off it the better.” Dylan indicated.

  “I’m with you. Let’s get the rest of this show on the road.” Payton answered his brother as they both walked unhurriedly but with a hint of a purpose to the gangway amidships.

  The Captain lingered by the gangway after the Royal party departed, so the twins offered him their thanks and goodbyes before heading down the steep plank to plant their first steps on European soil. Neither took much note of their first steps because they kept walking down the docks enjoying dry land for the first time in more than a week. As they edged off the dock and walked over the seawall the twins smiled at the beautiful automobile that pulled up to greet them. The King’s automobile’s reputation preceded itself nicely as a midnight black limousine with the long hood gracefully stretching across the horsepower inside slowly stopped a few feet from the twins. A smartly dressed chauffer stepped out the driver’s side on the left and introduced himself to the twins.

  “I’m Mr. Smith, your chauffer. May I assume that you are the Misters Anders that the King has asked me to take in to London?” The chauffer asked succinctly.

  “That’s correct. This is a beautiful car.” Payton said.

  “Thank you. This is one of the Kings two limousines from the Lanchester Motor Company, owned
by Daimler. The limousine is all aluminum, so it is lightweight, and the coachwork was done by Hooper, Royal Warrant Holders. The King himself contributed to the design.” The chauffer answered; obviously proud of the car he drove.

  The car deserved the praise. On the tip of the car stared out the hood ornament that appeared to be a saint of some sort. Below that four headlights showed the way, but with the bigger standard lights nearly the size of a beach ball sitting between the fenders and the hood. Below the larger lights sat a horn on each side, and then the smaller lights attached to the front bumper. The vertical slats in the front grill sat below the long black hood covering the straight eight engine. The rakish fenders flowed back like waves on either side of the car. The front almost looked like two big eyes with the grill as a nose and the smaller lights as nostrils just above the smile extending from the bumper through the front fenders. The running boards tapered from the front to the rear of the roomy box shaped coach, and the spare tire nestled behind the front fender. The car exuded the height of elegance and certainly befit the King.

  Mr. Smith took the boys bags and strapped them down in the trunk as the boys climbed in to the back seat.

  “How far is it to London?” Dylan asked.

  “It’s a little over sixty miles. We should make it in a little over an hour, perhaps an hour and a half.” Mr. Smith responded. “The countryside is beginning to bloom this time of year, and the weather should be good, so please enjoy the ride. If you have any questions feel free to ask me. I grew up in London, but my mother is from here, so I’ve been this way many times.”

  The car swept out past the dry docks where workers furiously fussed over repairs of ships needed for the war effort. Navy ships stood naked above the water where even the smallest ships showed their massive girth. The twins settled in to the back seat and watched the port turn in to the port town and eventually the countryside. Neither twin said much as each quietly contemplated the next steps in their journey. The stop in London sounded fun, but the ultimate goal lay in France. They needed to find a way to get to Le Havre so they could help.

  Chapter 9

  May 22nd, 1940

  Three days later the twins grew more anxious the longer they stayed at the Savoy, but the hotel held no fault. The twins knew that famous folks such as Charlie Chaplin, Judy Garland, and Babe Ruth had all signed the guest book as well as literary giants such as HG Welles and Oscar Wilde. The boys also enjoyed the music of George Gershwin, and knew that the 1925 British debut of “Rhapsody in Blue” came in the elegant River Restaurant of the Savoy with the BBC broadcasting it across the country. The musical connection fit nicely because originally the hotel was built next to the Savoy theater and financed by funds from Gilbert and Sullivan operas. Over the years many, many brilliant musical acts had entertained the guests at the Savoy.

  Located northeast of Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square in the heart of London; England’s first and most famous luxury hotel loomed across the north bank of the River Thames. The south facing rooms overlooking the river had splendid views of the waterway below. Claude Monet enjoyed the view so much he even painted views from his room of the Thames. The hotel styled itself after old world opulence with deep mahogany colored wood paneling on the walls of the foyer with white columns and gold trimmed seating as well as a well-appointed main courtyard off the Strand leading in to the building. However, the hotel as always had dashes of art deco modernism splashed throughout such as the back lit Savoy sign above the courtyard entry.

  Dylan and Payton counted themselves lucky because the King arranged for them a magnificent river view suite. On this day, the slightly overcast sky lent shimmering patches amidst the grey slate river where the sun poked through. The near magical scene did not sway the twins from their restless state. They made no progress as all trying to obtain passage to Le Havre since their arrival. Their visits to the docks proved fruitless as no one dared even discuss taking civilian passengers near the war zone.

  Unable to make progress and unable to sit still, the boys grabbed their baseball gloves and walked out the luxury hotels front door, gaining a few odd looks from the upper crust walking by. The baseball gloves slung under the twin’s arms as they walked out slightly raised the eyebrows of the usual patrons. They walked around the hotel across the Strand and took up their positions on the embankment parallel to the Thames. Starting slowly and closer to each other, they softly tossed the ball back and forth. Eventually they worked up to full speed and stood roughly a hundred feet apart. As far as they knew, they were the first ever people to play catch with a baseball next to the Thames, but that surely was not true. It was still, however, a rarity. The throwing helped to sate their frustration at their inactivity and two fruitless days searching for a boat to France as well as their slight annoyance that Colonel Sweeney had not quite delivered them the entire journey as promised.

  As the sweat began to glisten on their foreheads most people walking along ignored them or steered well clear fearing a run in with the ball. The twins stayed in their own cocoon throwing back and forth together, the same as always. They might as well have been back home on the farm procrastinating on their homework or their chores. Without notice from the twins, one man stood a short ways off and stared at them whistling the ball to each other with a rapt look on his face. The man stood no more than 5 ½ feet in shoes, so he had no reason to worry about the ball as the much taller twins threw well above his head as he approached them. In any case, the tweed flat cap he wore offered little protection except to keep the sunlight off the shock of red hair that drifted out beneath the brim. He dressed modestly in brown trousers, a matching well worn leather jacket and a white open collared shirt. The twins continued to take no notice of him until he reached within ten feet of Dylan. Catching his brother’s last throw one handed Dylan turned slightly to the man as he approached. The man looked older than the twins, but not by much.

  “Hello there, boy-o. Couldn’t help but be impressed with you slinging that thing back and forth.” The man said in a thick Irish accent. “You throw that thing like a gun throws a bullet.”

  “Uh, Thank you, I think.” Dylan hesitated as his brother walked toward the stranger.

  “You must be American, then.” The stranger continued. “And look here, there are two of you. I couldn’t tell that without your second walking over here too.” He said as Payton arrived next to his brother.

  “Yes, sir. We are American and we are twins. You must be Irish.” Payton answered politely but without offering any further information.

  “That, my young friend, is my blessing.” The stranger laughed. “My name is Timothy O’Ryan and I hale from the Emerald Isle. I’ve only seen a ball travel with that pace during some of our hurling matches.”

  “I’m Payton and this is my brother Dylan” Payton said warming to the increasingly jolly new acquaintance but guarding their true last names at least a little bit.

  “I’ve heard of hurling. It sounds like a rough and tumble sport. It’s like baseball in that you hit a ball, but only to pass it. Otherwise you carry it and I think there is a goal for scoring on either side like in soccer. It seems like the dastardly little brother of cricket.” Dylan mused excitedly.

  “You are well informed, but you left out that you can also score by hitting the ball over the bar of the net. A goal is worth three points, and over the bar is worth one.” Timothy explained as the three began to bond over sport. “I must admit, I know nary a thing about your baseball. At least I assume that’s what you yanks are tossing back and forth.”

  “That’s right. This is a standard Rawlings baseball. All you have to do to score is touch all three bases and return home. Couldn't be any simpler.” Payton joked. “The hardest part is getting to first base.”

  “Why’s that?” Timothy asked.

  “Because to get there you have to hit a round ball with a round bat, and the ball is usually traveling more than ninety miles an hour. It’s the hardest thing to do in sports. A great pla
yer fails seven out of ten times.” Dylan explained.

  “Hurling requires you to hit that ball while you’re moving and someone is trying to tackle you, but at least you get a flat paddle and you toss it to yourself usually.” Timothy said. “It looks like your baseball is roughly the same size as the sliotar, the hurling ball, so the target is the same size at least. What are you two doing playing catch out here in this part of town?”

  “We’re staying at the Savoy, actually. A very kind friend has lent us a room there for a few days.” Payton said.

  “A very kind friend indeed, to put you up in such a swanky place. I should make such friends.” Timothy teased.

  “We planned on lunch in the Grill Room, if you want to join us. You can tell us about Ireland and hurling.” Dylan offered.

  “Well, it appears I have made such friends. I’d never pass up a meal in such a fine restaurant.” Timothy answered, pleased with the prospect.

  The three new acquaintances walked back across the street with the twins standing a full head taller on either side of the shorter Irishman. They went through the riverside entrance and continued on to the Grill Room on the opposite side of the hotel. Although not as elegant as the River Restaurant, the Savoy Grill had gained a reputation as the place to have lunch amongst the powerful in London. On any given day you might see the new Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill and his cabinet, or several Generals of the British army amongst other well to do upper crust aristocracy. They came for the excellent food ranging from steaks to sandwiches, for the beautiful art deco style, and to be seen by other powerful elite.