London Dawn

by Murray Pura

  In the air, the Heinkel 111, a twin-engine aircraft, had its first flight in February, while an improved version of the Dornier 17, with two engines and two tails, took to the air for the first time in May. The single-engine plane Kipp swore was a fighter, the Messerschmitt, also had its maiden flight in May. As the Germans tested and retested their aircraft, the British tried to catch up with a fighter designed by Hawker Aircraft Ltd. taking off in early November, and a fighter put together by R.J. Mitchell of Supermarine Aviation Works that would not find its way into the air for another four months. Kipp, champing at the bit, would have opportunities to help test both aircraft in 1936.

  Meanwhile the family gathered in London at Easter; saw Edward off to Portsmouth and HMS Rodney while Terry enjoyed a fortnight’s leave at Ashton Park; received a copy of Albrecht’s latest book, Mein Vaterland, which was being smuggled into Berlin, Munich, Tubingen, and other German cities; received good reports from Ben and Victoria and the Methodist mission in Kenya; and was relieved when letters from Shannon and Robbie arrived declaring all was well and that Jerusalem, though restless as always, remained at peace.

  The Hood did not leave English waters through the spring and summer, and Libby was ecstatic. She and Terry and Jane had never had so much time together as a family—hiking, sailing Pluck off Dover, going on long drives in the country, and enjoying family meals at Ashton Park and Dover Sky. Twice they had Peter and James over to HMS Picadilly, as Jane insisted they call their house near Plymouth, and once in July they enjoyed the company of Edward, Charlotte, Colm, and Owen, who visited and dined with them.

  “I feel so full of summer,” declared Libby in August. “Attending King George’s Silver Jubilee Fleet Review and getting Jane ready for Oxford have quite put me over the top in the most wonderful way.”

  “The house will be very quiet without our girl,” said Terry.

  “I shall keep you here to make up for it. I’ve written the king, the First Sea Lord, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Something’s bound to break my way.”

  “There is a strong possibility of war between Italy and Abyssinia, the Ethiopian Empire.”

  “Oh, Father’s been going on about that all year.”

  “I know you’ve been expecting us to stay in English waters until after Christmas as we usually do. But the threat of conflict in northern Africa may change all that. We’ve spent years training in the Mediterranean. It’s only natural for them to put us in there early if they have to.”

  They were sitting in the garden behind HMS Picadilly, and Libby had her head back and her eyes closed.

  “Really, I’m listening to bees hum and flowers open. I’m very lazy today. I don’t want to hear about wars and rumors of wars. Tell me I’m pretty and that you’ll love me forever and that the admiral has assigned you to shore command.”

  “You are pretty and I will love you forever, but the admiral told me today we could ship out as soon as next Wednesday.”

  Libby opened an eye. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  “A fine time you picked to tell me.”

  “I don’t think there is a fine time. I’m as disappointed as you are. I was sure I’d have Christmas here. And I wanted to see Jane settled in at Lady Margaret Hall.”

  “Oh, hang the navy.” Libby sat up. “What business is it of ours what happens between Mussolini and Ethiopia?”

  “Britain wants Italy on our side in case we come to blows with Herr Hitler. Ethiopia certainly can’t help us politically. So we’re letting Il Duce have a free hand in Abyssinia. The Mediterranean Fleet is already helping move supplies for him and the Italian Army.”

  Libby poured herself ice water from a pitcher. “That’s absurd. We’re not going to fight for Mussolini as well as carry cargo for him, are we?”

  “No. Just run errands with the Union Jack proudly flying.”

  “I see. What does Edward think?”

  “Well, the old Edward who marched with the fascists is long gone. The new Edward, like most people who turn away from something they fervently embraced, takes every opportunity to rant and rave against what he left behind. Our government’s support of Mussolini is nothing short of treason in his mind. He believes the Italians will certainly side with Germany against us should war come. He’s been reprimanded quite a few times for speaking out. He fancies he’s still in Parliament with the freedom to debate in whatever manner he sees fit. But he’s on a ship of war flying the Royal Ensign, and there’s a difference.”

  “Why can’t the League of Nations sort this out? What are they good for?”

  “The short answer to that is, not much. They haven’t done anything for China even though Japan’s still invading their country and attacking Shanghai. They won’t lift a finger to help Ethiopia either. Well, how can they? Britain’s already made its loyalties clear, France is looking the other way too, and the United States won’t even join the League.” He watched a robin drop from branch to branch of a nearby tree. “I can’t help thinking we’ll all regret the actions we’re taking now.”

  “No gloom. The possibility of your weighing anchor next week is enough of a raincloud for now.”

  “Or sooner, love. It could be sooner.”

  “I don’t want to hear that either, Terrence Fordyce. Can we talk about something that has absolutely nothing to do with the navy or Mussolini or your traveling thousands of miles away from me?”

  “Right. Golf. Fancy a game of golf? Loser buys fish and chips at Cuttlefish Mary’s.”

  Libby perked up. “Golf? Fish and chips? With malt vinegar?”

  “Of course malt vinegar. D’you think I would ruin your chips with ketchup like the Yanks do?”

  She was on her feet. “There’s nothing better. Golf and chips. You’re a tonic. I’ll get my clubs and may the best man win.”

  “That’s the spirit, my girl.”

  The navy rang Terry up at four the next morning. Less than forty-eight hours later the Hood was on its way to the Mediterranean and Gibraltar.

  A little over a month after it sailed, the Italian Army invaded Ethiopia on October third. The fighting raged on through the fall.

  Kenya was on the southern border of Ethiopia. By the end of November all mail from Ben and Victoria had ceased.

  3

  March, 1936

  RAF Martlesham Heath, Suffolk

  “Right. You have a go, Danforth.”

  “What did you think of it, Captain Harrington?”

  “I don’t know what I think of it. You take her up and tell me what I should think of it after you’ve landed.”

  Kipp grinned. “Very good, sir.” He jumped up onto the wing and slid into the cockpit of the aircraft. “What does Sammy say?”

  “ ‘The aircraft is simple and easy to fly and has no apparent vices.’ He claims it responds very well. So now we’ll let the old man give her the once over.”

  “Not that old, sir. Still in my thirties, and my eyes are like a hawk’s.”

  “I’ve read your medical report, laddie. I still think you’d love to be climbing into a Sopwith Camel rather than this Hurricane.”

  “Is that what they call it?”

  “That’s what Hawker Aviation calls it. The Air Ministry hasn’t approved the name or the plane yet.” He patted the fabric-covered wing with his hand. “Tell us what you think.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “What’re your thoughts on the new king?”

  “The Prince of Wales?” asked Kipp.

  “Edward the Eighth now, laddie,” replied Harrington.

  “He’s capable enough, isn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t act much like a king, if you ask me. No respect for the way things have been done for centuries. But our dear King George has passed on, and there’s nothing for it but Edward the Eighth now.”

  “He flies a plane, sir, that’s something.”

  “Yes, he flies a plane. But a king needs to do more than sit in a cockpit.” Harrington put his hands in
the pants pockets of his RAF uniform. “Did you hear the news this morning? The Germans have reoccupied the Rhineland.”

  “What? But that violates the Treaty of Versailles, doesn’t it?”

  “Herr Hitler doesn’t give a fig for the Treaty of Versailles or the Treaty of Locarno. The old war is long in the past. Time for a new Germany and a new Europe. Oh, he claims it’s a move against being trapped by the French and the Soviet Union. They made a pact together last year, you see.”

  “What does the prime minister have to say, sir?”

  “Not much, Danforth, not much. But what with the new planes and the new ships coming out of the Third Reich, it’s easy enough to see the writing on the wall now that we have German soldiers on the French border again.” Harrington ran his hand over the wing of the Hurricane. “Whatever happened to that brother-in-law of yours, the chap who won the Victoria Cross? Went into missionary work, didn’t he? Africa?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How’s he getting on? Marvelous that he got himself up flying again after that crash that took both his legs.”

  “He’s…well, he’s…” Kipp stopped putting his leather flying helmet over his head. “We’ve not heard from him or his family in four months, sir. Not since the start of the war in Ethiopia.”

  “What? British officials in the region don’t know anything?”

  “The family’s far back in the bush. Officials claim they can’t get any clear information on their whereabouts.”

  “Your father must have some leverage as an MP. He’s always backed Stanley Baldwin, hasn’t he? Now that Baldwin’s in as prime minister, surely there’s a way through the jungle?”

  “Dad’s certainly on top of it, Captain. A bit exasperated, but he’ll give Westminster no rest until he has some answers.”

  “Good show. Let me know, will you? I have no doubt but we’ll be needing men with his fighting spirit a few years from now.”

  Kipp buckled his leather helmet. “Will they let him in without legs?”

  “If he can still fly rings around the moon and he’s fit from the knees up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “My plan,” Harrington almost whispered, “is to get him in here testing planes alongside you and the other blokes. Supermarine Aviation Works will have a fighter for us in a few months and I’d like him in on that. If he proves himself capable as test pilot, the RAF will clear him for combat flights with the stroke of a pen.”

  “Combat flights? Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?”

  “Ahead of ourselves? Do you honestly think so, lad?” He slapped the fuselage of the plane twice. “Away you go.”

  The engine roared, and the Hurricane made its way down the runway and lifted smoothly into the gray sky. Kipp immediately put it into a steep climb and was happy with its response to the stick. He barrel rolled it a few times, brought it out straight and level, and pushed its speed as far as he dared. Next he flung it into a dive, buzzing the huts and hangars and tower, and promptly put it into another climb, another dive, and three spins. He opened up the throttle once more and screamed over the airfield and village. He stayed up half an hour.

  “You think my hair’s not regulation length, is that it, Danforth?” snapped Harrington once Kipp had brought the Hurricane down and slid back the canopy. “You felt the need to trim it back with the prop when you did your little flypast?”

  “Speaking of the prop, sir, this is a brilliant plane—I’ll take it over the Sopwith Camel any day—but we must do something about the prop and blades.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  Kipp jumped to the ground and went to the front of the plane, putting his hand on the wooden propeller. “Watts, isn’t that what I read? Fixed-pitch.”

  “What of it?”

  “It’s fine in the air, superb at attack speeds, but it doesn’t do the job at takeoff. Takes too long to get the plane airborne. You saw that yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Put it in your report,” grumbled Harrington.

  “She’s really a beauty, sir, stable as a good biplane and fast as a comet. But I’m sure we could get better dive speeds in a dogfight if we got rid of the fabric-covered wings and used all-metal wings instead.”

  “Is that what you think? Well, no one else has mentioned it.”

  “The added strength would make all the difference. Especially if we have to go up against something like the Messerschmitt.”

  “The Messerschmitt! Now who’s getting ahead of himself?”

  “They’re not building them to fly mail, sir. They’re rearming.”

  “I know they’re rearming, Danforth!” snapped Harrington. “The whole world knows they’re rearming! That’s why you and I are standing out here in the middle of this runway in March weather!”

  “Will we do anything about it, sir, besides try to play catch-up with our own fighter planes?”

  “Of course we’ll do something about it, Danforth. We’ll all go to the Olympics in Berlin this August and cheer like mad for the British runners and swimmers.”

  “There is something else, sir.”

  “You were only up the once. I don’t want an encyclopedia.”

  They began to walk toward the huts. “No, sir, and I’ll want to take it up several more times, but it doesn’t recover from a spin well. I’m really not sure why. The rudder’s gone, you see. It’s just not there when you call on it. I did three spins, and it was difficult to pull out of all three of them.”

  “Hmm. Type it up. I’ll ask Sammy what he thinks the next time he takes her up.” Harrington abruptly stopped walking. “Who the devil is that?”

  A car had pulled up in front of one of the huts, and a woman driver had emerged.

  “Why, that’s—” Kipp began.

  “She’s stunning, absolutely stunning.” Harrington smoothed down both sides of his moustache. “Do you think she’s here to see me?”

  Kipp smiled. “I’m sure she is, sir. Most likely to get a full report on your test pilot’s activities. She’s my wife, Caroline.”

  “Your wife! Why didn’t you say so, man? I thought she was up in London!”

  “She is. Or rather, she was. I honestly have no idea what she’s doing here, sir. But I can’t say I’m sorry.”

  Harrington barked out a harsh laugh. “I don’t imagine you can. Neither can I.”

  “Caroline!” Kipp put his arms around her. “Why’d you drive all the way down here? I’ll be up in London this weekend.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I couldn’t wait, could I?”

  “And they let you through the gate?”

  “I did collect an RAF pass in London.”

  “This is Captain Harrington,” he said, taking her by the hand.

  “How do you do, Captain? Kipp tells me how much he enjoys working with you.”

  “Does he? Does he indeed? I’m glad to hear it.” Harrington clapped Kipp on the shoulder. “Crack of dawn tomorrow. All the best.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Kipp saluted and smiled at his wife. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m in love with you and I’m a messenger boy.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Hop in and I’ll explain.”

  Kipp climbed into the passenger seat of the small car, and Caroline drove back through the front gate with a wave at the sentries and continued along the road to the village.

  “Do you know where that track off to the left goes?” she asked.

  “Bushes and pastureland eventually.”

  She turned onto the track and drove until they couldn’t be seen from the road and parked behind a tall hedge of gray winter leaves. Then she took Kipp in her arms and gave him a long kiss.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

  “I feel the same way, love. But it would only have been another day or two.”

  “Well, I’m down for the weekend. Our brood is with their cousins, so I have you all to myself in beautiful Suffolk. I hope you have room
in your flat for me.”

  “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “No, you won’t. If you’re on the floor, I’m on the floor with you.”

  He laughed and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “You look younger and more beautiful every day. How do you do that?”

  “Charmer. Good genes, I suppose.”

  “So are we supposed to be like a couple who’ve snuck off to the bushes so they can be alone?”

  “Yes. Why not? But first.” She produced an envelope from her coat.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s from your father.”

  “Must I read it now?”

  “I’d rather we get it out of the way, yes.”

  “My mind’s on other things now.” Kipp began to kiss her on the cheek and neck.

  She closed her eyes. “Is it?”

  “It was on aviation an hour ago, but now I can’t even recall what I was flying. Do you?”

  “A plane of some sort, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure.” He ran his hand through her thick blond hair and pulled her closer. “There. I had the name for a moment but it’s gone.”

  “Oh, Kipp.” She tried to squirm loose. “We must talk first.”

  “You started it.”

  “I started it?”

  “You showed up looking so inviting.”

  “In this ratty old coat? With my hair all windblown?”

  He kissed her ear and her hair. “You look perfect.”

  “I do not look perfect. I was in such a rush to get here. There was barely time to pack a few things.”

  “What was the rush? Was I the rush?”

  “Oh, yes, you were the rush.” She pushed him back with both hands. “They’ve found Ben and Victoria.”

  “What?” Kipp pulled back. “When? Are they all right?”

  “Physically they’re fine. Ben was forced down by an Italian fighter before Christmas. He was ferrying some medical supplies near the border with Ethiopia and took a burst of machine-gun fire. Crashed in the jungle. He had a hard time with no legs making it to a town where he could contact Vic. Some bigwigs from Westminster got involved and told him not to say anything. That Britain’s official policy is not to offend Rome. Oh, it’s all a big mess. They just started letting their mail go through a few weeks ago. Your father is furious. But no one in the family is allowed to go public about what happened to Ben. All hush-hush. So the mission is without a plane and there Ben sits with Victoria and the boys at his side.”