Nonetheless Rose was very sorry to lose him.
They’d got on well, and had worked quite efficiently together. In their free time during training, it had been quite fascinating to hear some of the philosophies that had existed in that interesting man’s head.
James was still happily chattering away, “Where was I? Of course! I shall have to get someone for you for a couple of trips to get you settled in before we get you ready for your first op…” he stopped again, brow furrowing.
“Sod it! I’m still doing it. I only wanted to welcome you to the squadron. You’ll fit in well, I can see that you will. Look, I’ll leave you in the Adj’s capable hands, he’ll sort you out, won’t you, Adj?”
Kelly nodded solemnly, “I’ll do my best, sir. Come on, Flash.” He opened the door.
A bemused Rose shook hands with the beaming James and then let Kelly quickly lead him back out.
The adjutant stopped outside and smirked at Rose in the ante room.
“Well, old chap, you came back out alive, though a mite deaf, I suspect.”
He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, “First things first. We need to sort out an operator for you; I need to have a little think. I think I have a likely candidate. Nip over to the Mess, would you, Rose old chap, whilst I try to sort something out. I’ll meet you there.”
“Gotcha, Adj.” Rose reached for his cap and coat. “Um, could you just point me in the right direction?”
The Officer’s Mess was empty when Rose arrived, but for a base primarily concerned with night-flying, this was quite normal. It was still a bit early for those who weren’t flying tonight.
He picked up a book that had been left on an armchair; it was a dog-eared and rather tatty-looking copy of Tolkien’s, ‘The Hobbit.’
But he wasn’t in the mood to read, and he put it to one side and sat down. At least it was warm and snug in here.
The poor old ground crews out there were working in the freezing cold, in draughty hangars if they were lucky, most without mittens. Endless hours spent tinkering with cold metal, with little if any appreciation and no medals.
They were the real heroes, keeping the kites flying whatever the conditions.
He closed his eyes, pleased to be back at an operational RAF station once more. Even in the silence, and despite the cloying smell of tobacco, beer, spirits and engine oil, he felt he had come home.
And the best thing, of course, the very best thing of all, was that Molly was here with him too.
If she were with him, wherever he was in the world, he could never be unhappy, because she was the joyful song in his heart, his warm sunshine, no matter how dark the day.
In the end, wherever Molly was would be the only place where he could be happy, and no matter where he was, with her beside him, it would be home.
Rose must have dozed in the cosy quietness, because he was suddenly aware of someone shaking his shoulder gently.
He opened his eyes to see Kelly leaning down on his stick and one hand out, presumably to shake him again.
“Gosh! I must have nodded off, sorry, Adj.” he smothered a yawn in embarrassment.
“Not to worry, Flash. We thought of someone as your operator, and I had to look for him. He came to us a few weeks ago, but his pilot was killed the day after they arrived, and the poor fellow’s been at a bit of a loose end. Would you like to see him?”
Rose smiled. “Poor chap, bad luck! Well, I wouldn’t mind a word, seeing as we’re both in the same boat.”
“Splendid! Well, come on then, old man, follow me.” The adjutant limped back to the hallway outside.
Waiting outside was a young man standing stiffly at attention, clad in a filthy oil-stained boiler suit and dirty boots.
Rose looked at him dubiously. How come I always end up with the grimy ones? Even Granny was smarter (just about!) than this wee lad.
The thought of his dear old friend languishing far from the lights and delights of his beloved London as the CO of a Spitfire squadron in Wick did nothing to cheer him.
“Flying Officer Rose, this is Thomas White, Air Intercept operator. I thought I might be an idea if you both took a trip together?”
Rose saw the filthy and frozen-looking fingers and decided not to shake hands with White.
“Nice to meet you, White, stand at ease. I was wondering if you would like to conduct an air test, see if we could work together.”
White kept his gaze on the floor, and he looked worn and dejected. “That would be great, sir, but has Mr Kelly explained that nobody else will fly with me?” He was well spoken, his voice educated and agreeable, but his manner cowed.
“Really? I’m not surprised, to be frank, White. You really ought to dress appropriately. I can’t remember the last time I saw aircrew dressed so poorly,” as soon as he said the words, the image of a very dear Squadron-Leader and his grubby uniform popped into Rose’s mind, and he unwillingly suppressed a smile (well, actually I do remember, but I’m not telling you about Granny), “I’m surprised you haven’t been put on a charge!”
He hated how prissy his words sounded even in his own ears and he made a face. Oh my God, I sound like a proper martinet!
White saw Rose’s grimace and his eyes fell, flushing with embarrassment.
Kelly coughed. “He’s on ground duties, Flash. Because he doesn’t have a regular pilot, he’s usually roped in to do things like sweeping the hangars, cleaning oil trays, latrine duties, temporary service policeman, that sort of thing.”
Good grief…! Rose was appalled.
“What?” he stared at the slight figure before him, “An aircrew sergeant doing that kind of ground duties? Dear God! I don’t believe it! In the RAF? Seriously? What did you do wrong, White?”
Oh Lord, listen to yourself! What would Molly say if she heard you flapping on like that?
White looked up hesitantly, blue eyes large in a pale and pinched face. Kind eyes, Molly would call them.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I’m not a sergeant, I’m an aircraftsman.”
Rose stared at him, flabbergasted. “Not a sergeant? But you’re an AI operator, man. You’ve been highly trained! Why are you an aircraftsman? How did you lose your stripes?”
Oh Lord, what were they giving him? He felt a prickling of anger needle through him. I may be the new boy here, but I’ll be damned if I’m expected to adopt the squadron’s rejects!
He looked at Kelly, “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t want to fly with this man if he has some disciplinary problems. I can’t and won’t fly with a troublemaker. I need someone reliable in my kite.” He tried to ignore White’s hurt, but couldn’t, and felt rotten.
Harry Rose, angry with himself for hurting White so.
Kelly was obviously discomfited, “He isn’t a troublemaker, Flash, not at all, and in actual fact, the Flight Sergeant says he’s actually quite a good worker. He has never been a sergeant. He was posted here as an aircraftsman.”
Rose was perplexed. “After all his specialist AI training he’s only an aircraftsman? What the hell is this? I don’t understand; why isn’t he an NCO at the very least? I had an officer as my operator in training. We did have some aircraftsmen, but they all got their stripes at the end of the course.”
Kelly held up his hands soothingly to pacify him. “It’s quite normal, Flash. Our operators all arrive here as aircraftsman, and get their stripes after a few trips. White hasn’t done any trips here, yet. And because they are all general duties airmen, they get roped in to do whatever needs doing around the airfield. It’s quite normal practice.” He repeated uncomfortably.
He coughed again, “The CO thought they ought to prove their prowess before they were allowed to sew on any stripes.”
Those dirty hands were being used to clean the loo or wipe up oil stains, which were essential duties certainly, but those hands with the chipped and grimy fingernails should be being used to operate an AI set! They were the hands of a highly trained specialist, damn it!
“
My goodness. I’ve heard it all, now. This is wrong, sir. Right-ho, let’s see what he can do, shall we? I want to take White up as soon as we can go. Could you please tell the Flight Sergeant? I’d like it if White was taken off ground duties immediately, and, of course, would you look into getting him some stripes?” Rose tried not to scowl, “He should be NCO aircrew, should be wearing stripes as a sergeant or corporal. Even an acting rank?”
He could hear something that sounded rather a lot like hysteria in his words, and he lowered his voice with an effort. It sounded as if he were giving orders to a senior officer, goodness only knows what White would think. He tried to soften his tone, “It’s not right. Please, sir?”
Kelly nodded sheepishly, slightly shamefaced, “Of course, Flash. I should have done this myself before. I was NCO aircrew myself, once. Ought to know better.”
White shifted uneasily, eyes on Rose, and held up a hand like a schoolboy asking for permission to speak.
Rose’s voice softened further, “What is it, White?”
White’s face might have been carved out of stone. “Sir, the thing is, the aircrews think I‘m a bit of a jinx, ever since my pilot was killed. That’s why nobody else has agreed to fly with me. It’s only fair you know that before you decide. I’ll understand if you change your mind.” His eyes flickered to Kelly for a moment, “It’s only fair that you know.”
So the poor lad was being treated as a jinx as well as a general duties skivvy! It was grossly unfair, White was not responsible for his pilot’s death.
Or was he? A thrill of disquiet passed through him.
Rose, like most aircrew, was highly superstitious, but how could he deny the boy a chance to do what he’d been trained for? It would be inhuman of him to deny the lad the chance.
Heroic Harry Rose, frightened of a boy in grimy overalls.
Damn and blast. Cursing inwardly, he cleared his throat. “Jinx? Why? Because your pilot died? What did you do? Are you responsible in any way?”
Rose raised his eyebrows theatrically, and leaned back on the balls of his feet, “Did you stab or shoot him? Poison him, perhaps?”
White looked shocked and shook his head, “Oh no, sir! He was run over by a bus in Piccadilly in the blackout. He was a very nice man, a good man, really keen to have a go at the Luftwaffe.”
He squared his jaw stoically, “I miss flying with him.” His eyes fell again beneath Rose’s gaze.
There was something about the boy Rose liked, and he dismissed any superstitious fears from his mind. Besides, how could he exile the boy back into torment?
Oh well. In for a penny…
“Then let’s not mention jinxes again, Hm? If you’re any good, I think you should try me out, too, White. We’ll see what you can do,” Oh Lord, I sound like Granny did when we first met! “If you’re any good, I intend to team up with you, so forget about everything else that’s happened. We’ll start afresh together, understood?”
Let’s hope you don’t live to regret the decision…
“Are you sure, sir?” White was astonished, and looked up again at Rose, and this time he kept his gaze raised.
“Yes, White. I’m absolutely sure.” Rose smiled gently at the grimy young man in front of him, trying to ignore his inner doubts, “God willing, you’ll get to know me quite well, soon, but let me tell you a little about myself. I flew Hurricanes last summer, and I got caught up in quite a few scrapes, I can tell you, had to force land twice, and then I actually managed to get shot down as well. I’ve lost some good friends, too. In the end my Hurricane blew up, but somehow I got thrown clear, my parachute opened, and now I’m here.”
He lightly placed a hand on his hip, and tentatively felt for the little bump made by the little pink bear tucked carefully into his pocket.
“So either I’m pretty lucky,” Oh God, don’t tempt fate! “Which I would imagine should balance out any bad luck, or I’ve already used up all my good luck, in which case we’ll find out together. Fly with me, White, and we’ll find out. What do you say?”
White blinked, and his chin trembled, but his voice was firm. “Yes, please, sir. Thank you!”
Rose winced inwardly at the gratitude in White’s eyes. I hope we’re both making the right decision, sonny.
Kelly clapped his hands together, making them both jump.
“Excellent, that’s all sorted out, then! Come on, White, old chap, come with me to my office. I’ve a few phone calls to make, and then I want you to go and put on your uniform and smarten up a bit.”
He beamed wide like the Cheshire Cat of Wonderland, “We’ll see the CO about getting some stripes up, eh? Things’ll be a bit different, now,”
As White left, a determined set to his face, new hope burning brightly in his eyes, and his step lighter, Kelly squeezed Rose’s shoulder gently, and winked gratefully, a relieved expression etched broadly across his features.
“Thank you, Flash. You’re a good man. I can see why she thinks so very much of you. And again, welcome to Dimple Heath.” The Adjutant nodded, “I must say that I’m very glad you’re here.”
Chapter 4
White arrived at the B-Flight dispersal hut in full flying kit, looking very much more like an RAF AI operator than he had at their meeting earlier. Even the dirt beneath his fingernails had disappeared; whilst a most welcome addition adorned his uniform sleeves.
On each arm he now wore hastily sewn on Sergeant’s stripes.
Without the oil and dirt, the smooth cheeked young man before him now looked around twelve years of age.
Rose nodded approvingly, “Much better. Now you look a lot more like what you actually are.” Lord help us, the boy doesn’t look as if he even needs to shave yet!
White smiled hesitantly at him, “Sir, if I may, I’d like to say –“
Rose held up one hand, “You don’t need to say a thing. Our turn to have a crack at Jerry, eh?” he said gruffly, “I want you to show me what you can do today. Everything before today is the past; it all starts now, just you and me, so do me proud. Don’t let me down, chum.”
“I’ll do my absolute best for you, sir,” The youngster replied earnestly.
“Good man.” Rose encouraged him, “Come on, then, let’s go and have a look at the kite we’ve been allocated. I have to say, I’m rather looking forward to this.”
White coloured shyly, and nodded.
“But, I can’t keep calling you White. What do they call you?”
White smiled again, “I’ve been called many things while I’ve been here, but I prefer ‘Chalky’, sir.”
Rose laughed with delight. “I should have known! OK then, Chalky it is!”
In the armed forces it was common for those with the surname of White to be nicknamed ‘Chalky’, just as all those named Rhodes were often labelled ‘Dusty’ by their service contemporaries.
Rose glanced at White for a long moment, “You can tell me about that black eye some other time over a cuppa.”
Startled, White reached up to touch his face, but said nothing. At least one score was now settled.
They had been given D-Dog, a veteran Mk IF Bristol Beaufighter in soot-black war-paint. Her designation letter, squadron letters and serial number all printed in medium sea grey.
She (of course, their aeroplane would always be a ‘she’) had belonged to another crew who had just completed their tour. They stood before it for a moment, admiring the aircraft under the anxious eye of the crew chief.
Rose sniffed in appreciation, savouring the heady and fragrant blend of metal, plastics, dope, canvas, machine oil and high octane fuel. Ah, the aroma of RAF fighters!
D-Dog was ten tons of solid fighting machine, and whilst not beautiful in the way his Hurricane had been, she had her own distinctive brand of loveliness.
A long-range heavy fighter, she squatted impassively on the hard standing, the snub nose and cockpit of the sturdy fuselage set equidistant between the two massive and powerful Bristol Hercules air-cooled radial engines with their hug
e three-bladed propellers.
D-Dog had a vicious, deadly bite, with four 20mm cannon in the underside of the forward part of her fuselage, and six 0.303 machine-guns in her wings (in a peculiar arrangement wherein four machine guns were situated in the starboard wing and only two in the port one, the landing light occupying the remaining place in the leading edge of the port wing).
She also incorporated arrow-shaped transmitting aerials in her nose, and complementary receiving aerials in the leading edges of her wings.
These had already helped her to account for at least four enemy raiders, and their scalps were painted in a proud line on her nose, beneath Rose’s cockpit canopy.
They clambered into their fighter through their own respective entrance hatches in the underside of the fuselage, via the incorporated ladders, excitement buzzing in equal measure through them both.
Settling himself carefully onto the bucket seat and arranging his parachute pack like a cushion to be a little more comfortable beneath his backside, Rose looked around the cockpit eagerly.
Unlike the Blenheim, a veteran bomber in which Rose had completed his twin conversion, the Beaufighter cockpit was laid out carefully. It was designed so that everything seemed to be positioned in just the right place for the pilot, clearly visible and within easy reach.
The Blenheim, on the other hand, seemed to him to have everything in the wrong place, randomly arranged as if without thought, with things poking out all over the place, often catching against him as he moved around in the cockpit.
All of which now reminded Rose of the cautionary tale he’d been told by the stores clerk, a girl called Maisie, of how a dinghy had inflated in an airborne aircraft and caused the pilot of the Beaufighter to lose control and crash, killing both himself and his unfortunate operator.
For just such an eventuality, he’d been issued by the Stores with a wickedly sharp blade, and now he carefully checked that that it was still safely tucked away inside his flying boot.
Beaufighter Blitz Page 6