by Murray Pura
“Yes, my lord. We’ve been having quite a go these past few days. Our boys are hard pressed. Who would have thought Hitler and the Nazis had so many planes?”
“Is that what it is? Is that what’s going on? Waves of bombers coming against London?”
“Yes, sir. And our other cities as well. Please stay in your bed. I must fetch the doctor. And clean up this broken glass.”
“You must fetch me a Bible first.”
“A Bible?”
“Yes, yes, a Bible, do you not have one of those lying about?”
“Why, of course. But I must get the doctor.”
He wagged his finger at her. “By all means get Doctor Fiddlesticks, but the Bible first, if you please.”
She left and returned in a moment with an old, black, dog-eared Bible.
“It’s seen better times,” she said.
“We’ve all seen better times, my dear. It’s the Bible that brings those times to us if we take its wisdom to heart, hm?”
“Yes, sir. I shall just get the doctor now. And a broom.”
“Very good. I shall be awaiting the arrival of both.”
Lord Preston thumbed through the well-worn Bible as more explosions sounded outside his window.
“Ah,” he said and stopped.
He looked about for his reading glasses. Finally he had to settle for holding the Bible a yard from his face.
“Lord, hear my prayer,” he said.
The lights blinked on and off, and his room seemed to move. A far off grumbling grew louder and louder as he began reading out loud.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust…
Over the skies of West Sussex and the English Channel, Ben and Ramsay drove their aircraft at the thick formations of bombers, Matt twisting and turning with them, any fear or anxiety at flying and fighting gone from the young men’s minds and spirits. Ramsay and Matt stayed as close to the yellow props and to the League of Nations as they dared, their windscreens filling with tracers and streams of smoke, and did their best to get under and over and behind aircraft streaking past at nearly four hundred miles per hour.
…Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday…
The Hurricanes and Spitfires at Pickering Green rose from the long green fields of Kent and roared into the bombers and their fighter escorts. Sean flew as if he had been flying from birth—James admired his cousin’s natural touch and the way he could make his airplane flow like water in between the Heinkels and Dorniers and Me 109s.
“Just the bulldog me,” he muttered under his breath. “That will have to jolly well be good enough. What say, Peter?”
He imagined his brother’s Spitfire doing a half roll and diving after an Me 109 that was trailing orange and purple sparks. James thrust his stick forward.
“Right, I’m with you, mate,” he said.
…A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked. Because thou hast made the LORD, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling…
Charlotte could hear the bombs and the antiaircraft fire as she sat in an Anderson shelter with eleven-year-old Colm. Edward had made sure one was buried in the backyard on his last leave. It was four feet underground with curved sides of corrugated iron and a wooden door. She had banked two feet of soil on top, transplanted rose bushes, and made a flowerbed.
“Where’s everyone else in our family?” asked Colm.
“I honestly don’t know, dear.” Charlotte had her arm around him in the dark. “We never really got a chance to discuss it at a family gathering, did we? No one thought the Germans were going to attack London like this.”
“How long will we have to sit here?”
“We’ll hear the all clear. It won’t be too long.”
“This morning it was two hours. I thought I was going to suffocate.”
“Well, you didn’t, did you?”
“When is the Royal Navy going to do something?”
“It’s not the navy’s job to deal with the German Air Force, Colm. Your uncles and cousins in the RAF must tend to that.”
“All those chalk marks in the heavens?”
Charlotte smiled in the dark. “Yes, all those.”
“I hope everyone else has a shelter as good as ours.”
“I’m not sure what everyone has. Some people like to use their cellars. Grandmother and Grandfather have a cellar. So do Uncle Terry and Aunt Libby.”
“Didn’t Aunt Caroline and Aunt Victoria have cellars or shelters?”
“I don’t know. I thought one of them had a shelter in the back just like us.”
“Then why didn’t they use it? Why are they in hospital? And why didn’t Grandpa and Grandmother use theirs?”
“Shh. The attack came very fast. Most people were still in their houses. We happened to be playing tag in the backyard.”
The shelter shook, and there was a muffled blast.
Colm’s eyes widened. “It could cave in on us.”
Her arm around his shoulders drew him in closer. “There’s not enough to bury you and me. You’re well over five feet tall, and there’s only four feet of dirt.”
“What if we can’t breathe?”
“Your father put in a special pipe so we would have plenty of fresh air. It sticks out far above ground.”
“What if they use poison gas?”
“Shh. Now you’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
He was silent a moment. “I wish we could have one big shelter,” he finally said. “And all my cousins in it with me. And plenty of sausages and cake. And Owen here too with all sorts of navy stories.”
She smiled. “Perhaps there will be a shelter like that one day if the war goes on long enough.”
…For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet…
Matt watched Ramsay’s plane slice across the sky in front of him like a knife, the sunlight sparking along the edges of its wings. For an instant he saw the guns flash, and a Dornier rolled over on its back—it was like a photographic image and it hung suspended before his eyes two or three seconds. Then his Spitfire shuddered and slewed to the left. An Me 109 roared over him. Flames spurted along his engine cowling. He went into a downward spiral.
“Take to the silk, Matt!” Ramsay shouted over the R/T.
Matt loosened the straps on his seat. There were no thoughts in his mind as he yanked open the canopy. The Spitfire spun upside down, and he fell out of the cockpit. The air was like raw ice on his face. Planes with black crosses and blue, white, and red roundels blurred as he dropped past them. He pulled on the cord and the chute opened with a whump, giving his shoulders and chest a hard jerk. Suddenly he could see the barrage balloons bobbing over London, dark flak puffs, white vapor trails, swirling patterns of aircraft that looked like rolling balls of gnats and midges, bright winks of flame as planes exploded and burned, a line of gulls swinging to the west like a scythe, the green under him so green, the blue around him and over him so blue. He floated onto the roof of a barn, just missing the large haystacks he was hoping he’d land on. The parachute dragged him across the rough shingles and tangled in his arms and legs. For a moment he simply lay there on his side looking down at three or fo
ur cows and a black and white dog that began to bark furiously.
“You one of us, mate?” a tall man called up to him.
“I hope so!” Matt called back.
The man and his companions laughed. “That’s a good Lancashire accent, that is,” said one. “Jerry’d have a hard time getting his tongue around that.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m not sure. But he’s our lad, all right.” The tall man cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hang on! We’ll get a ladder up to you!”
“Thanks. I’m not in any great rush.”
“What did he say?” The men looked at one another.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” asked the tall man. “He’s British as mushy peas. Where’d the big ladder wind up? Where’d we stow it?”
“I think it’s by the hayrick there.”
“Right. Timmy, Tad, go fetch it will you?” The tall man called to Matt again. “We’ll have you down quick as you can say Bob’s your uncle. Then we’ll brew you up a nice tea.”
“Bless you,” Matt responded. “Tea would make all the difference in the world to me right now.”
“What’s that he says?”
“Never mind. Just ask Nancy to brew up a pot, all right? A big one. The lad’s had quite the day, hasn’t he?”
…Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation.
“Dad.”
“Hm?”
“Dad. It’s Robbie.”
Lord Preston opened his eyes, the Bible still open in his lap. “My boy.” He smiled. “How wonderful to see you.”
Robbie bent over and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s more wonderful to see you. You gave us all quite a fright.”
“The doctor gave me a look over. No evidence of a stroke. He said I was top-notch.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that.”
“I confess I don’t recall much except being thrown across the room by a bomb.”
“You and Mum were both hurt. But she’s fine. She’s napping now, and so are Caroline and Victoria. Otherwise I’d have them with me. ”
“Caroline and Victoria? What?”
“They were hurt in the same bombing raid. But they’re doing well. They shall all walk out of here tomorrow.”
“I must see them.”
Robbie gently put a hand to his father’s chest. “Steady on, Dad. Let them have their rest. We can get together later tonight.”
“You’re sure they’re all right?”
“The docs wouldn’t be discharging them if they weren’t.”
“What time is it?” asked Lord Preston.
“About nine thirty,” his son replied.
“Then I’ve missed the BBC news. I wanted to hear about the fighting today. I was praying about it quite a bit.”
Robbie sat on the edge of the bed. “It was a good day, Dad, possibly the very best. Almost two hundred German aircraft shot down, they say, with only a fraction of ours lost.”
“Two hundred! My word!”
“That was what the announcer told us. One hundred and eighty-five or eighty-seven or something like that. But you know how it is. Two or three pilots claim the same bomber, and in the end we wind up with half that number shot down. I expect we’ll have destroyed fifty or sixty, not two hundred.”
“Nevertheless. That will set the Luftwaffe back on their heels a bit.”
Robbie nodded. “I expect it will. But the show’s not over yet. If they have any luck at all with the weather they’ll be back again in full force.”
“Less two hundred airplanes.”
“Right. Less fifty or sixty or two hundred airplanes.”
Lord Preston half laughed. “My word, that is extraordinary. Praise God.”
“Yes, Dad, we ought to do that. But listen, I must tell you something else.”
“What is it? More good news, I hope?”
“It isn’t really.” Robbie took his father’s hand. “Dad, bombs hit Camden and West London again today. A mine exploded on top of Kensington Gate. It’s gone. Nothing left but rubble.”
“Gone completely?”
“Yes. But that’s not the worst of it. Some of the servants chose to hide in the cellar rather than make their way to the shelter at the end of the street.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Longstaff. Darrington. Norah Cole.”
“Are they here in hospital?” Lord Preston started to get up. “I must look in on them.”
“Dad.” Robbie’s hand was still on his shoulder. “They’re not here. They’re dead. All three were killed in the blast.”
Lord Preston sank back. “All? Where was Tavy?”
“In the shelter with young Cecilia.”
“What about Albrecht and Catherine? What about Angelika?”
“They’re safe. They were out of the house.”
Lord Preston closed his eyes. “I feel you have more to tell me.”
“Libby’s house came down from the bombs. She was in the cellar with Skitt and Monty and the toddler. Eva helped dig them out. They’re more than fine.”
“Don’t spare me.”
“Honestly, they are. I saw them myself. Shaken up but making out all right.”
Lord Preston puffed his cheek and let out a stream of air. “Well.”
Robbie was silent.
Lord Preston stared at him. “What else? What is it?”
“James is missing.”
“James!”
“His Spitfire went into the Channel. No one saw a chute.”
Lord Preston put a hand over his eyes. “There is a possibility he may have made it out of the cockpit. Been picked up by us or the Germans.”
“Of course.”
“Have Emma and Jeremy been informed?”
“Yes, but someone will need to tell Jane,” Robbie said. “If she can be reached. It seems she’s always on duty in that bunker, tracking the enemy.”
“Such a mix of news, Robbie. Such a mix of dark and light. So many blows have rained upon us.”
The windowpane flickered red, and they both heard a muffled roar. Then another. And another.
“I shall tell Jane,” Lord Preston suddenly said. “The duty should fall to me. It must fall to me.”
“Dad, you’re not well.”
“I’m well enough. I don’t need to be in this bed a minute longer. Not with Hitler doing his best to break our will. Not with that monster doing his best to break our family.”
Robbie didn’t reply.
His father reached out a hand. “Perhaps you will pray with me, Robert.”
Robbie gripped his father’s hand. “Of course.”
“And everyone else?” Lord Preston asked, his face the color of ashes. “Patricia? Charlotte and Colm? The other pilots in the family?”
“Everyone else is all right so far as we know.”
Wednesday, September 18, 1940
RAF King’s Cross, West Sussex
Ben put down the phone and walked from his office, hands in his pockets. His pilots were sitting about by the runway in various chairs. Matt had the nicest, a large overstuffed armchair the farmers had brought in the truck when they returned him to the base. Ben positioned himself in front of them, head still down.
“What’s happened?” asked Ramsay.
Matt sat up in his armchair. “What news, sir?”
“That was from your cousin Sean at Pickering Green. James’s body washed ashore last night. Some fishermen found him.”
No one spoke.
“Sean is squadron leader now,” Ben went on. “Evidently Lord Tanner made some sort of mocking broadcast about Wolfgang von Zeltner shooting down the twins of Lord Preston’s family.”
“What?” Ramsay bristled. “You don’t believe that rubbish.”
“Von Zeltner
is claiming both as his kills.”
“Wasn’t this Zeltner a stunt flier at the Olympics?” asked Matt.
“Yes, him and Udet,” replied Ben.
“And now he’s some sort of grand German ace?”
“Right.”
“You’re not going to go along with the idea that he shot Peter down in August and that now he’s tagged James too, are you, sir? That’s just Lord Tanner trying to get under the skin of the Danforth family, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t put it past Tanner to lie about the whole thing. But I wouldn’t put it past von Zeltner to have done the shooting either. Especially if he thinks it’ll get Kipp or myself up in the air for solo combat.”
“Solo combat, sir?” Ramsay’s face and body tightened. “Isn’t that a bit old? Something you’d have done in the Great War?”
“I am a bit old, Ram. And a bit odd. So is Kipp. So is von Zeltner. I expect if I don’t do it, Kipp will the moment his arms have mended. He will be livid, absolutely livid.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s rotten luck for Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Emma. But I’d rather you didn’t do the Albert Ball and von Richthofen thing from nineteen seventeen. Albert Ball lost that matchup, didn’t he?”
Ben glanced at his son. “Sometimes, the way things roll out in your life, you’re not left with any choice.”
A phone rang. Everyone in the squadron was looking at Ben when a corporal shouted, “Scramble!”
For the longest moment no one moved.
“Right,” Ben finally said. “Let’s get back at it and throw Jerry out the back door for good.”
Jane Fordyce’s flat, London
“Grandfather!”
Jane threw her arms around Lord Preston after she opened the door to his knock.
“Hullo, my dear.” Lord Preston hugged her. “I feared you might not be in. I tried calling.”
“Oh, I’ve only just come back from the bunker. It seems I’m hardly ever here. I’m sorry. I must look a sight.”
“You look splendid.”
She laughed. “That’s just what James would say. He must get it from you.” She patted him on the back. “I have a twenty-four hour leave. I was actually going to pop over and see you in the morning. It’s too difficult to get around at night during the raids. I’m so glad you’re out of the hospital and doing well.”