by Thomas Wood
It spurred me on further. I got on wonderfully with a plane with an engine, without an engine however, I was slightly unsure.
I loved every minute of it in fact. I was one of the first to complete my education on the training gliders and soon after, along with my co-pilot, was shipped off to an aerodrome to begin operational training.
The first time I saw a Horsa was like the first time I kissed a girl. I ogled and marvelled at it for hours before getting inside it. It was all wooden, a massive structure with the biggest flaps possible, to the point that they didn’t look like they should have been attached to the craft.
I was infatuated with the thing. The one thing I almost couldn’t bear was the fact that it would never be mine. It would belong to me momentarily as we softly descended through the sky but, after landing, it would be taken away never to be used again. In that respect, it was not like a plane at all.
Despite that, with every craft that I clambered into, boots thumping humorously on the flimsy wooden floor, I felt an instant, and loving connection with.
We flew countless training flights, predominantly with concrete blocks strapped to the seats that should have been occupied by soldiers. Maybe they didn’t trust us just yet.
Before long, we began to take real, living, breathing passengers. We began to get to know people, our tug crews introduced themselves to us and we frequently went out for a drink together.
Our boys in the back became more positive and confident with every landing, something that we were still learning.
We were issued with strange, tinted goggles that we began to wear on our training landings. They turned the brilliant night of day into a strange dullness meant to be night.
None of us dared take them off, if we were going to have to land at night, we’d need to train as close to the real thing as possible.
Before long, we had the concrete blocks for passengers again as we came down time after time in total darkness.
The training for us pilots was more rigorous than the boys in the back I thought. We trained on our kites, in navigation, in communications and also as a light infantry soldier. We had a tough time, but we were the celebrities on base.
The controls became second nature to us, the Horsas our best friends, our passengers became accustomed.
We were ready.
5.
A small pin prick of brilliant white light poked its way through the darkness that shrouded the cockpit. The torch was masked with tape, allowing the most minute bit of light out, the rest trying desperately to force its way out, making the tape glow menacingly.
The moonlight was good, but not quite good enough for my co-pilot, but not many things were up to his standard apparently, including me.
I tried not to get too attached to my co-pilot, as we had been instructed, but spending that much time with one person tends to have the opposite effect to what our superiors wanted.
I knew why they wanted us to remain distant, in case one of us was killed, or worse, binned of the course. However, over time I had got to know my co-pilot, we began seeking each other out in the mess before plonking our behinds down next to each other and tucking into another string-filled casserole.
He had an almighty appetite, often eating everything on his plate as well as anything left over on anyone else’s. He was a frequent visitor to the NAAFI, even offering to go for other people in return for a small cut of the goods that he picked up for them. It was a business venture that never fully took off, but he was often seen around the base tucking in to some exotic food he had traded with the Yanks.
I often teased him that we would have to be careful on operations as we would need to account for his weight, and I was glad when the notice for this operation came through when it did, as news had just reached us that the NAAFI had taken a consignment of American chocolate bars.
His pockets were stuffed almost immediately and I was quite sure that if he turned out his pockets now, more than one bar would be residing in them, probably all half eaten.
John Chambers was a Cockney, a proper rough, East End lad, and he was proud of it. He was a good friend to have, never taking rubbish from anyone and although he loved American delicacies, he wasn’t too keen on the Americans themselves, being known on more than one occasion to throw a solid fist towards the nose of one of our cousins.
He wasn’t scared of anyone, or it seemed anything, always acting in the calmest way possible, which was strange for a nineteen-year-old boy.
He hadn’t liked the nickname of ‘baby face’ though, but his objections to it made it stick all the more and so that is how he was affectionately known.
I looked at his face in the silvery light of the moon and the orange glow of torchlight and marvelled at how smooth his skin really was. It was like a desert, no real features of major importance but still something that seemed remarkable.
Not a single hair ever protruded from his chin, either a sign of incredible personal hygiene and discipline or a true indicator of how young these boys really were.
I wasn’t much older than John but I was still coined ‘Grandad’ as I was the oldest glider pilot on base. I didn’t mind too much, I felt quite honoured to even be considered worthy of a nickname.
His eyes were trained intently on the focus of the torchlight, never blinking, his vision reserved solely for his stopwatch.
I watched as the second hand ticked round silently, John making a mental note of how long we had been released for. I knew to not interrupt him when we were on this stage, if I made him get it wrong, I didn’t just kill myself, but I would also kill the thirty odd elite soldiers in the back.
All that training, would be for nothing.
I loosened my grip on the wooden controls before gripping them tightly again, making sure the blood supply to my hands was still good, and they didn’t cramp up at the most crucial moment.
My hands were cold, as was my whole body, but a film of sweat had settled over every inch of my being.
My stomach churned violently and gurgled as the seconds began to tick by slower on John’s stopwatch. He still hadn’t blinked.
I scratched at my ear, trying to flick out any dirt that may be laying there, so that I could hear everything that was going on. I tilted my head slightly so that I didn’t miss the shout from my co-pilot.
I knew I wouldn’t miss it, John had one of the loudest, clearest and most recognisable voices in the entire regiment.
Normally he wouldn’t shut up, right now though, he wasn’t saying a word.
I waited for his signal.
6.
I was the oldest in our group of pilots, not by much, eighteen months at the most, but I was still the least confident and went into myself at most opportunities.
Our first night of leave after completing our training was spent near to base as we’d all agreed to go out to a dance together before our next phase of training began.
I ended up sitting with John, nursing a half pint and rolling the glass around the table. John didn’t much like going to these dances, he already had a girlfriend back home and didn’t like the idea of even looking at another girl, so spent much of his night looking down the bottom of his glass.
The others had spotted their prey almost immediately as we walked through the door, and had moved in shortly afterwards, leaving the girls with little choice but to pair off with them for the night.
I did not care for such barbarity when it came to searching for a mate. I very often ended up leaving the dance with John, heading back to base with nothing more than a headache after listening to the incessant music at the table.
John nudged me and nodded his head in the direction of the door and we headed outside together to gain a brief respite from the music.
He whipped out his cigarette holder and twizzled one in between his fingers before sticking it in his mouth. He then turned the open box to me, the mirrored gold reflecting the moonlight onto my face.
He knew I didn’t smoke, but he always off
ered me one, whether it was some kind of joke to him I didn’t know but he just couldn’t seem to help himself.
We stood in silence as the smoke spiralled its way into the night sky, intertwining with other streams of smoke from around us.
“Your old man was in the first one, wasn’t he?”
The village hall was quite a nice one here, untouched by German bombs, the hall opened out onto the village green, where a small pond had been added to commemorate the loss of life in the first war.
The water was stagnant and had a thick layer of mould on it, the fish, who I was told used to live in there, had died years ago.
“Yeah, lied about his age too”.
He flicked his cigarette across the green, almost reaching the pond and we both took that as the signal to take a slow walk back into the hall.
As we shuffled in reluctantly, I took a look around, catching the gaze of a girl.
We looked at each other briefly, a sweet smile flicked across her face which I returned, but I quickly found my face burning up and turning a bright shade of red. I held her gaze a moment longer before trotting to catch up with John.
She was quite small, probably only coming up to my chest if we stood side by side, but had something about her where I knew her presence regardless of her size. She had wildly green eyes, which I seemed to lose myself in completely in that brief moment that I shared with her.
In those eyes, I could see everything I’d ever dreamed of, an entire future of two people who would never meet again.
Her skin was soft and smooth, her cheeks a brighter shade of pink to the rest of her, making her smile seem warmer and more inviting somehow.
She wore a pale pink, floral dress that flapped around her shins as she stood in the gentle breeze of the English countryside, a pair of faded green gloves and small handbag completing her outfit.
I’d never before taken this much notice of what a girl was wearing.
I’d only looked at her for a short time, maybe two seconds, but she was ingrained in my mind, I couldn’t shake her. She was like a fly in my brain that night, buzzing around in my head, refusing to leave.
I saw the back of her as she left the dance early, I’d missed my chance.
Soon after, I made my excuse to John and, obligingly, he came back with me to the base.
“You’re quiet tonight mate” he said in between anecdotal stories of childhood stealing and bust ups.
I had nothing to say, I felt miserable that the only girl I’d ever felt a connection with had left, I’d never see her again. I’d never get that future with her and all we’d got was a momentary look at each other.
7.
Like a mischievous teenager sneaking in stinking of booze, the Captain snuck up on us silently. The first we knew of his presence was when he spoke.
His accent was rounded and he spoke well, enunciating every letter. His voice was normally soft and calm, raising his voice only when he needed to, but tonight it was strained, tense.
"How much longer gents?"
He knew exactly how much longer it was, he'd been on all the training missions that we'd done a hundred times before.
His breath was still clean, he hadn't thrown up so far tonight. But there was still time for him to let his nerves get the better of him.
He had no reason for asking, he was just a terrible passenger, he needed to be in control at all times.
"Sit down!" I barked, not thinking of the possible consequences.
I could sense John smirking as I did it, he felt exactly the same as me. It felt good, two lowly staff sergeants being in charge of an officer, being able to shout orders to a Captain, especially one who was about twenty years our senior.
Being a young man and being able to tell an older man off, gives such an overwhelming sense of power and jurisdiction that made me feel invincible. I decided there and then that I would go for a commission when I made it home, I could get quite used to bossing people around and telling them what to do.
The extra money and better food was also a bonus too. Maybe John should consider it, he could buy more chocolate.
While we were in the air, we were in charge of everyone, including the Captain. As soon as we'd landed on the ground though, we were soldiers, the Captain would resume control of us and probably make us suffer for my outburst.
As I thought about what lay ahead once we hit the ground, I took a tighter grip on the wooden control with my left hand, and pushed my right hand down the side of my seat.
I felt comforted as I felt the cold steel of my Sten gun, loaded and ready to fire the second we touched down. I only hoped we'd make it long enough to use it.
The fortified silence was interrupted by boots thumping their way back down the plane as the Captain skulked back to his seat remorsefully.
I didn't feel sorry for him, he didn't have to wait long after being released to do his job, all he needed to do was let us do ours.
The pin prick of light that illuminated the cockpit in a dull orange suddenly flicked off, subjecting us to the darkness of the night once more.
The stopwatch was packed away hastily and rather noisily before the compass was slotted in gracefully into John's breast pocket.
He looked across at me, his impossibly soft face almost reflecting the moonlight of it and shining onto mine like a mirror.
His eyes seemed to glow as he excitedly shifted in his chair, he was really fired up. The quivering in his hand was all but gone and a new bravery had poured over him.
"Go"
I took the controls and sent the plane into a steep dive as John fumbled around strapping on his helmet.
"You have control"
"I have control" came his acknowledgment.
I plonked my helmet on my head. It was a standard paratrooper’s helmet, the same as all the men in the back. When we landed, we looked identical to them, we fought the same as them, we just had a little extra responsibility beforehand.
It was a dark khaki, pretty uncomfortable to wear, and had a mesh netting pulled over the surface of it.
If I felt like it, I could pull some foliage out of my surroundings and attach it to the mesh, making me blend in a little more and avoid being sniped at.
That was the theory anyway, but when the foliage growing around the target was moss and mould, I thought I'd pass.
How a little bit of green would camouflage me against the backdrop of a huge steel bridge was beyond me.
I pulled the strap on tight, to the point where it had begun pinching the skin. It wasn't comfortable, in fact it couldn't have been more uncomfortable, but at least I knew it would stay on when my head inevitably crashed into the wooden structure around me.
"Brace for impact!"
The sound of boots thudding as they slotted comfortably on the benches in front of them, forming a rather amusing looking tunnel throughout the back of the aircraft thumped its way to my ears.
Our invasion was about to begin.
8.
Our wedding day was amazing. It had been a quick decision really, but I knew it was the right one. We’d been on a few dates after the dance; cinema, walks, that sort of thing and from there everything blossomed.
That first kiss was everything, it was all I could think about for weeks afterwards, I just wanted to see her again so we could recreate that moment. We’d walked for an hour or two around the fields and hills surrounding the base and sat down on the top of the hill that overlooked the town.
It was a perfectly blue day, not a single cloud in the sky, a perfect day for flying. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and we sat, hands behind us, propping ourselves up and marvelled at it.
The sky was mesmerising as we observed bird after bird, flap by, swooping down into the village. The weather was clear, but still chilly. The February air was biting, biting in particular at Christine’s arms, her light hairs pricking up and catching the breeze.
I threw my jacket around her shoulders as we walked back down the hill, my arms clamp
ing the jacket down as it flapped in the wind.
She stopped and turned to face me, and as we kissed my grip loosened on my jacket and it began to slide off.
“Too cold to not have this on”, she chuckled as she bolted down the hill yanking me along by the hand.
I proposed at the bottom of that hill.
I don’t know what made me do it, I felt compelled to. I had no ring, no romantic speech like an American movie, I had nothing but raw emotion. The strange thing was, I hadn’t regretted my decision in the slightest.
I’d fallen in love in that brief momentary glance at the dance, the smile that she gave me was one that made me dream of a future and now, that future seemed one step close to reality.
The wedding was small, in her church in the town. My family made it as well as hers and after introducing themselves to each other, the vows were exchanged.
My mother sacrificed her wedding ring so Christine was able to have one for the day, we would replace it in a few months’ time, hopefully when the war would be nearing an end.
I wore my uniform, it was easier that way, and cheaper. The other boys from the regiment provided a guard of honour for us as we ecstatically walked out the church.
Christine wore a plain white dress, with a small rose attached to her chest, she looked the most beautiful that I had ever seen her.
She wore a simple veil, one that she preferred to keep swept back, leaving her face uncovered. That veil now sat proudly on the window ledge of our home, making sure that all the passers-by know that we were newlyweds.
We had a week-long honeymoon in Bournemouth, a luxury provided by Christine’s father, and we spent the week cooped up in a small chalet on the coast, enjoying the British September rainfall. We didn’t mind though.
We spent every day outside as if it was unbearably hot, as long as we had each other’s company, it didn’t matter what the rest of the world, including the weather, was doing.