‘If only I would stop having guilty thoughts about Marjorie!’ he castigated himself, as yet another erotic memory made him stiffen up.
The model was finished on Tuesday night. The following morning Willy’s mother transported it to school in the back of the Range Rover. Willy sat with it and held it to protect it from bumps. The model was so big it protruded out of the back window. This meant that turbulence from the car’s slipstream was a real problem. The wind sucked at it and buffeted it so much that Willy could see the balsa framework bending and could hear the painted tissue paper ‘fabric’ crinkling under stress. He had to call on his mother to drive more slowly.
At school Willy left the model in the car and went to find a friend to help carry it. The first person he met, whom he knew and trusted, was Stephen. He was with Roger Dunning. Willy was very self-conscious about his craftsmanship but he knew that Stephen was a builder of model aeroplanes so he went over and asked him.
“Steve, can you please help me with my model zeppelin?” Willy asked.
“Sure,” Stephen replied. He and Roger walked out to the Range Rover. There Willy was gratified by their gasps of admiration. They began to ask questions.
Willy shook his head. “Later. My Mum has to get to work. Help me to carry it up to the science laboratory.” Willy thanked his mother and the boys grouped around the end of it. The monster model was eased out of the vehicle. Willy’s mother wished him well and drove off.
It was still early so there were only a few students around. Even so Willy was concerned they would crowd in and accidentally crush part of the delicate balsa wood structure. The huge model was very light and Willy could have carried it easily on his own but he decided that the frame needed securing against the breeze so he asked Stephen to hold the front and Roger to keep people away.
As they carried the model zeppelin into the front entrance of the school and up the stairs Willy kept looking around, hoping that Barbara might be watching but he saw no sign of her. They carried the model along the veranda to the door of the science lab. This was locked so Roger was asked to go to the staffroom to get Mr Feldt.
Mr Feldt arrived after a few minutes and was suitably impressed. He unlocked the door and the Zeppelin was manoeuvred inside and carefully locked in the storeroom out of harm’s way. The teacher then examined it minutely and was very complimentary. Willy was pleased and flattered. He was also very excited.
As the boys left the lab, having arranged a time with Mr Feldt, Stephen asked: “Can we come and watch?”
Willy’s initial reaction was to say no but he relented and nodded his head. “If you want to. I will need some help,” Willy replied. But his mind had fled. In the distance he had caught a glimpse of red hair:- Barbara! ‘Ah! Yes, today. I will ask her today!’ he thought. He resolved to make the attempt, no matter what.
CHAPTER 6
THE ZEPPELIN
Lunchtime.
Willy bit his lip and muttered to himself: “Go on you coward. Do it!” He gazed across under the school to where Barbara sat with a group of her friends. Willy’s heart seemed to ache and it palpitated alarmingly. It felt as though his rib cage was being slowly levered apart. He licked his lips and swore.
If only she wasn’t always with her friends! He glanced at his watch and knew he had to make a move because Mr Feldt was expecting him in the laboratory in a few minutes.
“Perhaps I can put it of until after the model has been flown?” he muttered. He considered the timing of his move for the fiftieth time, and once again scourged himself for being a coward. Heart in mouth from anxiety he stared at Barbara and shook his head in wonder. How lovely she was! Those lips, those earlobes. ‘If only she was alone. It would be so much easier!’
Willy’s stomach turned to water as he looked at the other girls. Karen was next to her and Gillian on the other side of her. He shook his head and told himself he wasn’t scared. Then he wiped sweaty palms on his shorts and glanced at his watch again. A feeling of quiet desperation gripped him and he knew he had to do it now or give up the attempt for that day. ‘And that means Thursday, which isn’t much time if I ask her to go out on Saturday,’ he told himself.
Willy found he was walking towards her. He seemed to move as though in a dream, oblivious to the pushing, shoving, yelling and running of dozens of other students.
When he was about twenty paces away Barbara looked around and met his gaze. She turned to nudge Karen and said something. Karen turned to look. Willy felt his resolution falter. ‘I can still change course and pretend I was going somewhere else,’ he thought. His mind raced through the options and let-outs.
Stubbornly he kept walking. He felt like a zombie. Dimly he was aware of girl’s faces swivelling to stare at him, like defensive radar scanners locking-on to a hostile incoming missile. His legs felt like rubber and seemed to be beyond his control. People drew aside so that he had the impression of walking along an aisle of smirking faces.
Three paces from Barbara he jerked to a stop.
“Er.. ummm.. er. Excuse me B. B. Barbara,” he stammered. He felt as though he was out of breath. To his annoyance he had trouble uttering the sacred name.
Barbara looked up, her face neutral.
“Yes?”
Willy wiped his hands again and licked dry lips. He was aware that all the other girls had stopped talking and had turned to look. He knew he was blushing. For certain his normally ruddy complexion would be bright red. ‘What a fool I am!’ he thought, sensing defeat. But he was committed now.
‘If only I didn’t have freckles!’ In his anxiety he wrung his hands together. They were too big! He felt gawky. He stood there and broke into a sweat, tongue-tied.
“Yes?” Barbara asked again, her voice flat.
There was a titter of sniggers. And more smirks dimly seen in Willy’s now blurred vision. All he could focus on were Barbara’s blue-green eyes. He swallowed, aware that he was now making a fool of himself.
“Er.. Ummm. Could I talk to you for a minute?”
“I suppose so.”
Flat tone. No encouragement there.
Willy felt blood pounding in his ears. His vision cleared. He glanced at Karen Hart, whose black eyes seemed to glint hostility. He swallowed again and blurted out: “I wanted to ask you for a date; to go to the movies on Saturday night.”
There was a moment of pained silence. Then Barbara said: “So ask me then.”
Willy blinked, flustered and confused. There was a ripple of laughter. His face burned. But he gamely stood his ground and said, “Er.. Will you.. umm. will you go out with me?”
Barbara shook her head, sending his hopes crashing. “Not this Saturday night. I’m already going out then,” she replied.
“Oh! Er.. Well. What about some other time?” Willy asked, clutching at the straw that her answer had not contained an outright rejection.
Suddenly Willy was grabbed from behind. Someone had his collar in one hand and the bottom of his shorts in the other. Whoever it was he was bigger than Willy, and much stronger, as he felt himself being lifted and pushed. His feet scrabbled to touch the ground. His shorts were pulled so far up they were tight up in his crutch in a humiliating ‘wedgie’. Despite the shock he struggled and tried to turn but found himself being propelled along past a line of laughing faces. He writhed from the indignity and the humiliation as much as from his attempts to break free.
At the corner of the building he was pushed hard. He sprawled on the concrete path, skinning both knees and an elbow. Instantly he sprang up, tears of pain, shame and anger misting his vision. In a fury of embarrassment he put up his fists and lashed out.
It was Scranton, one of the Year 11 bullies.
Scranton knocked Willy’s blow aside, grabbed his shirt front with his other hand and then struck him hard in the face. Then he snarled, “Barbara doesn’t want to go out with you, Shithead! She’s going out with me. Now piss off before I make that ugly face of yours even uglier!”
Willy struggled
to free himself. Using all his strength he tried to break the older boy’s grip but was punched again. He saw the blow coming but couldn’t duck. The blow jerked his head back, to thud into a concrete post.
His senses swam but he lashed out. Outrage fed on humiliation. But it was no good. Scranton was a head taller and his arms longer and Willy could not land a single punch.
He was hit again, then abruptly pushed. Caught off-balance he stumbled, fell heavily on his bum and landed flat on his back. Scranton tried to kick him but he managed to roll aside and scrambled to his feet.
Scranton shook his fist in his face. “Piss off Williams, or I’ll knock your block off,” he snarled. “And keep away from Barbara or I’ll mash your nuts to pulp.”
Willy sprang clear of another blow. “I’ll talk to who I like, you bloody bully!” he shouted. He charged forward, fists flailing. At least one of his blows landed so he tried again.
Thump! Whack!
Willy reeled back from two hard blows, one to the left side and one to the head. He gasped in pain but raised his fists to attack again.
A boy stepped in the way, his back to Willy. “That’ll do Scranton. Pick on someone your own size,” he said. Willy recognized Peter Bronsky, one of Stephen’s mates in Year 10.
Scranton hesitated. “Mind your own business. He was annoying my girl.”
My girl! Hearing that hurt far more than the blows. Willy’s heart sank, but his temper flared. “She can go out with who she likes. If she doesn’t want to go out with me she can tell me herself.”
“Keep away from her, you little turd. If I hear you’ve been bothering her you’ll be sorry,” Scranton threatened, adding, “Besides, she prefers real men!”
With that cutting jibe Scranton turned and walked back under the building. Willy seethed, almost overwhelmed with mortification and anger. Real men! What did he mean by that? Surely Barbara wouldn’t! Ugly thoughts squirmed in Willy’s jealous brain.
Peter turned to face him. “You OK Willy?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m alright,” Willy sniffled. His head seemed to spin and throb and his knees stung. But it was inside that he really hurt and he wouldn’t admit that. For a moment he looked in under the building at where Scranton was talking to Barbara. That hurt even more. In his anger he considered going in there to confront Barbara, to hear his fate from her own lips.
Peter said: “You’d better wash those scratches.”
At that moment a voice behind him called: “Hey Willy! Come on!”
Willy looked around. It was Stick. He was waving from up on the veranda of the main building in front of the science lab.
“Cripes! I’m late,” Willy muttered.
“Late for what?” Peter asked.
“Mr Feldt. I told him I’d be in the science lab at one O’clock,” Willy replied. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
“What are you kept in for this time? Not more paper planes?” Peter asked, alluding to a series of incidents the previous year.
“Not kept in. I’ve.. umm..” Willy hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he still made models, was often teased about it in fact. Then he remembered that Peter was a mate of Stephen and Roger; and they had a huge model railway. “I’ve made a model of a World War One German zeppelin. Mr Feldt is going to help me fill it with hydrogen,” he explained.
Peter’s eyes lit up with interest. “Oh yes! Stephen mentioned it. Does it really fly?”
“I hope so,” Willy replied. He began walking towards the main building, dabbing at the torn skin on his hand as he did. “If it does my dad will help me make a real airship so I can fly it,” he added.
“You’re kidding!”
“No I’m not.”
“Do you mind if I come and watch?” Peter asked.
“You can if you want to. Stephen’s probably there already,” Willy replied.
They hurried up the stairs and along the veranda to the doorway where Stick waited. As they went into the room Willy was gratified by the gasp of admiration from Peter. He glanced around to see who else was there: Mr Feldt, Stephen, Roger, Noddy Parker and Marjorie with her friend Shona.
Blast Marjorie!
“Sorry I’m late sir,” Willy said to the teacher. He forced himself to calm down.
Mr Feldt peered at him. “You alright son? You look like you’ve been in the wars.”
“It’s nothing sir. I- er- just tripped on the path,” Willy replied. He coloured and felt a surge of shame and anger. A glance at Marjorie’s concerned face sent his blood pressure up another notch.
“Have a quick wash. We don’t want any blood on this excellent model,” Mr Feldt advised.
Willy went to a sink to do this. As he turned on the tap he found that his hand was trembling. Angrily he splashed water on his face and hoped that no-one had noticed.
Roger went over to where Peter and Stephen were examining the model. “What happened to Willy?”
“Fight. That mongrel Scranton in 11C was knocking him about a bit,” Peter replied.
“What for?” Stephen asked.
“Something about annoying his girlfriend.”
“Oh yeah. Who’s she?” Stephen enquired.
“That red-head in Year 9, Barbara Brassington.”
Roger nodded. “She is in my class.”
Stephen glanced across at Marjorie, who was watching Willy with concern all over her face. “Hmm,” he said, tugging at his chin. “Show me which one she is.”
Roger walked to the door, followed by Stephen. Peter bent to study the model. Roger looked across the grass quadrangle towards ‘C’ Block. “She’s under there. Next to the sheila with the black hair, Karen Hart.”
“The red-head? Yeah. I know the one. Boy, he’s game. She’s a real spitfire that one, so I’ve heard.” Stephen commented.
Roger suddenly leaned over the port-rack and yelled out: “Hey Graham! Come up here.”
Graham Kirk looked up. “Why? What is it?”
“Come and see what that mad bastard Willy has made this time,” Roger called.
Graham didn’t need to be told which Willy. ‘Willy Willy’ Williams was famous around the school for his inventions, especially his model aircraft. He called back: “What is it this time, another guided missile?”
They all laughed at this, remembering another of Willy’s disastrous experiments.
“Come and look. Pete’s up here too,” Roger replied.
Graham had nothing else to do so he made his way up the stairs to where Roger waited. Led by Stephen they went into the laboratory. As soon as he stepped into the room Graham stopped and gasped. A keen modeller himself (of ships) he was instantly impressed by the huge model. He recognized it at once as a dirigible, the black Maltese crosses painted on the fuselage marking it obviously as a German zeppelin. He joined the others at the bench and watched with intense interest.
The filling of the balloons with hydrogen had begun under the teacher’s supervision. Willy held the valve of a balloon while Stick controlled a tap on top of a circular gauge. Gas hissed gently from a steel cylinder along a plastic tube and into the balloon which was encased in the framework.
Peter looked around as Graham pushed in beside him. “G’day Graham. Come to see the show?”
Graham nodded. “Hi Pete. Hello sir. What are you doing Pete? Showing these air-heads from the Air Cadets how it should be done?”
Willy looked up and snapped: “You’ll keep, you bone-headed army cadet. If you can’t be civil then leave!” He fixed Graham with a fierce glare.
“OK Willy, keep your shirt on,” Graham replied, surprised at Willy’s strong reaction. Only then did he remember that Willy had recently been involved in a family tragedy. He blushed and bent to study the model. “This is bloody good work Willy. I reckon it is even better than your Fokker Triplane.”
Willy sniffed but was mollified. “I’m just not in the mood to be teased by army cadets today,” he explained.
“I’m an army cadet too,” Step
hen reminded.
“So am I,” Peter added.
Willy looked up. “Reminds me of something...” He faltered. It had been something Uncle Ted had said. The memory was a piercing stab. “Of something my Uncle Ted said. When he was young he said he had half a mind to join the army, and my dad replied: ‘That’s all you need for the army- half a mind’.”
Graham snorted. “Bite your bum!” he cried. Then he burst out laughing.
Mr Feldt looked up. “Never mind your prattle. Keep your mind on the job. We don’t want an accident.”
“Not like Willy’s rocket to the moon!” Noddy commented.
The whole group burst out laughing except Willy and Marjorie. Willy unconsciously fingered the tiny scares on his temple. His long face transformed itself into a scowl. The previous year he had built a rocket which had an aluminium casing which stood as tall as a man. He had mixed a special solid fuel propellant and had been confident that the rocket would streak up several kilometres.
On the great day he had lit the fuze, watched at a discreet distance by a large group of sceptical onlookers, including all the boys present. The fuze had been carefully measured to allow him time to move away. But before it burned down an old man had come walking along and heard it. The old man had moved to peer at the rocket and Willy had run out and pushed him to safety- just in time. Even as he did the sparks had fizzed up inside the base of the rocket. Willy scowled again as he remembered how he had stood there and gaped in surprise. Instead of a ‘Whoosh!’ there had been a shattering bang. Willy had been hospitalized for a week with burns and to have chunks of aluminium removed from various parts of his anatomy.
Irritated by the memory Willy bent down to clip the valve shut on the balloon and signalled to Stick to close the tap. Carefully he removed the attachment from the first balloon and connected it to the next.
Peter moved closer. “What gas is it sir?” he asked.
“Hydrogen,” Mr Feldt replied.
“Isn’t that dangerous sir? Isn’t that the gas that burns, that caused some of those early airships to explode in flames and crash?” Peter asked.
Airship Over Atherton Page 7