Читать книгу Reluctant Hero - John Hickman - Страница 15

There weren’t any prostitutes as there were far too many enthusiastic amateurs. The popularity of aircrew, who for the most part were from overseas, meant women’s wartime morals became easy-here-gone-tomorrow. This created a minor crisis among Air Ministry officials.

‘Legislate away,’ Richard said. ‘As with leases, writs and statutes, all are written to be read but each by those with their own light of self-interest, which might cause any plans outside of training to be tentative.’

‘Aye, but what does that mean in English?’

Richard wrung his hands. ‘Should there be the slightest chance of getting laid, no matter how important the plan, all bets are off. Carpe diem.’

‘What’s carpe diem mean?’ asked Bill.

‘It’s Latin, Bill. It means seize the day.’

‘Aye, in Latin, that’d be right. So what does seize the night translate into?’ laughed Olly.

‘Carpe noctem.’

Th is led to daunting experiences for Bill. ‘There’s crumpet everywhere.’

‘Aye, there is, Bill. Makes for a pleasant change us blokes outnumbered by women. Back home only place I know summat like this, is Nottingham.’

To most young men, the social side would be a pursuit of sex until exhausted, then one more session as they pretty well reached their finest hour. But Bill had a problem. Inexperienced sexually, he was shy around women. Being brought up to respect ladies, he treated them as he would his mum. They ended up on a pedestal, which didn’t help him mentally.

‘Aye, you’re about as confused as a dog with a choice of two bones to gnaw,’ laughed Olly.

Bill’s competitive nature had him coming to grips with learning to fly.

He understood the need to apply himself to aerobatics, cross-country and suchlike, but this?

Richard smiled. ‘Perfectly understandable, old chap, don’t worry about it. It’ll take care of itself in due course, won’t it Olly?’

Olly laughed in agreement but wasn’t himself at all sure of the correct protocol.

‘Aye, you might be better attracted to the more elusive butter won’t melt in the mouth variety of woman, Bill.’

‘All women can be wonderful,’ interjected Richard. ‘They should be soft and molten in your bed. You shouldn’t be so discriminating, Bill. You will limit your potential.’

Bill felt uneasy but this was wartime. Anything goes. He took a deep breath and promised himself whatever came along he would handle it.

‘What is your favourite food, Bill,’ asked Richard.

‘I don’t know that I have a particular favourite. I like a variety of foods,’ answered Bill.

Richard laughed. ‘Think of women as food, but they come in different flavours.’

Canada might have been designated a safer zone, but local men had signed up to go overseas and fight in their droves in support of the Commonwealth. A lot of lonesome girls remained, many who were determined to do their bit to support the war effort. They admired these young patriots who when they became pilots would doggedly put their lives on the line to help protect their homelands.

Whenever cadets waved and smiled at local women they seemed eager to return the compliment.

‘Aye, if they resent us being here, they hide their feelings well, by gum.’

‘A sure sign of their interest in a uniform and a desire to be sociable with whoever is in it,’ laughed Richard. Bill began to realise women were often anxious to be seen in the company of a cadet airman going for his wings. His confidence grew.

The shouting, marching and physical training over, Bill’s first introduction to flying was both exhilarating and scary.

When he entered the RAF he’d had a secret fear; vertigo. Standing on a chair to change a light bulb engulfed him with giddiness and panic.

‘Don’t worry, Son,’ Fred had said, ‘It’s not the fall that hurts you it’s the sudden stop at the end. Not likely you’ll get killed falling off a chair.’

What would he feel, he wondered, when he left the ground and flew?

It started with parachute training, which unsettled Bill. He went weak at the knees but he learned to pack his own parachute and how to put it on.

The Chief Ground Instructor was a rude man. They agreed he was nothing like Richard’s obedient servant. What he said went.

‘If you ever have to jump, Cadet, count three slowly after leaving the aircraft, then pull the large ring hard.’

Bill vowed after his first practice jump never ever to use it and never ever to jump out of an aircraft.

Richard took him aside. ‘You might want to reconsider your strategy, Bill. One day it might be important to jump.’

‘All right. If flames are licking around my arse, I’ll jump.’

Richard shook his head sadly at Bill’s negativity.

Tiger Moths were used because they were easy to fly and extremely safe.

Issued with basic flying kit, helmet and goggles, overalls and a one-piece padded outfit known as a Sidcot suit, they were almost ready to start. The Sidcot suit was named after the First World War pilot, Sidney Cotton, who developed it.

Bill was assigned to flying instructor, Flight Officer (FO) Barnaby. A kind man of middle years, he treated the cadets as though they were his own sons. He spoke to Bill from day one, as if he was a young man of limited intelligence.

‘First tip, Cadet, is never eating a large meal before take-off. Second is losing those sunglasses. Sensitivity to bright light or not, the relationship will be short-term,’ said FOB.

Then he showed Bill over the aircraft, the joystick and what equipment it moved.

‘You’ll see how when you push forward the nose of the aircraft lowers and you dive. When you pull back the reverse happens, you climb.’

The purpose of the rudder bar and the effect of lift by airflow over the wings made sense to Bill.

‘In the event of engine failure it’s an aircraft renowned for its gliding characteristics,’ said FOB.

On his introductory flights Bill was a non-fare paying passenger and sat like a dummy in the rear seat where FOB could observe him in his mirror. Trussed up like a hen about to be roasted this was the first time Bill had ever flown.

Ground crew swung the propeller and the engine started. It was incredibly noisy.

They began to move at a snail’s pace. Rattled and vibrated their way across the bumpy grass then gathered speed. FOB monitored Bill’s progress in his mirror.

It was awe-inspiring. Bill had never ridden a fast motorbike, but as they gathered speed he likened this new sensation, to being on one. The wind in his face was unrelenting.

Suddenly the bumping ceased. Bill felt the tail lift before they surged upwards, then in a second they were airborne. Time stood still. He felt as if they were hovering but when he looked down they were flying. The ground continued to fall away and Bill realised he was looking down on roofs and other planes beneath them only seconds before had been beside him on the ground. Bill felt the take-off had been a breathtaking experience.

Bill had no fear of heights. He could focus downwards through thousands of feet of space from the open cockpit without any trepidation, which led to him becoming over excited.

‘It’s exhilarating, Sir,’ shouted Bill down the speaking tube.

‘Yes, Bill, it can be. Now you see why you put your goggles on tight. It’s important. Everything has to be tight, then tighter than tight,’ shouted back FOB.

The experienced pilot put the plane through its paces to demonstrate the cool handling features. It was then Bill realised he had a problem. Airsickness! His experience on the ship should have been a prelude as to what to expect. Bill was as poorly as a sick dog.

FOB was not in the slipstream but next time up involved changes.

‘Spitting into your goggles to prevent them from fogging up is important. Preferably in one smooth action prior to starting the engine, rather than as an afterthought with the big front fan at full revs. Oh, and remember not to eat a big meal and drink this mixture twenty minutes before flying.’

Bill was handed a bottle of thick white chalky liquid.

Generally the instructors were helpful and right, thought Bill.

‘Only when the manual is as big as the kit do we have a real problem.’

‘But what do the asterisks mean?’ asked Bill.

FOB looked serious as he took the manual from Bill’s hand and thumbed through it. ‘There are always asterisks, Bill. Always! Remember that. Put another way, it’s the small print that holds the secrets.’

The entire experience was surreal and inspired awe beyond Bill’s wildest dreams.

‘Unlike in the movies with Betty Grable and Spencer Tracey, this is happening. People out there will be seriously planning to kill you.’

Bill instantly felt alone and horribly scared.

Sensation of speed when flying low exhilarated Bill. Higher up it seemed as though he hardly moved. Sense of speed vanished. If only he could turn that bastard big fan away from his face.

G—force as he dived, knocked the breath from his body. It felt as if his innards were squeezed out through the back of his neck. Bill found it hard to suck in air and learned the value of oxygen.

As the plane turned upside down he experienced a helpless feeling of hanging around in harness. Oh, fuck! Thank Christ for the harness!

He tried in vain to tuck his knees up under his chin while his testicles reminded him who the boss in this partnership was. As his disorientation became worse, the harness-thing definitely was a first up task even prior to spitting into the goggles.

Next day they continued with rolls and through to upright again. He learned to cope with the additional handy skill of staying focused through blurred vision and resultant nausea.

‘Handy holiday hint number one,’ shouted FOB. ‘Remember to vomit to the left or right. Opposite side from the airstream.’

Bill only had it wrong the first few times. Aerobatics was constrained to effective flight control and how to evade or attack enemy aircraft, practice interceptions and complete cross-country exercises. None of the cadets knew where they might be assigned. Some would become fighter pilots. Others might fly heavier aircraft like bombers. A few sadly, were destined to the rear of the kitchens.

The job was to learn, grasp and retain knowledge, while leaving others in his wake, but not to become an idiotic thrill seeker. Bill’s constant goal was to avoid failing. At all costs not to be reassigned to peeling those wretched potatoes. Bill saw each step forward as a step closer to his coveted nineteen shillings and sixpence a day.

A new way of life began for Bill. He was taught how to climb steeply without stalling and what the hell to do, when he did. His first stall terrified him.

‘Throttle back, get the nose up, easy on the stick,’ shouted FOB.

Bill noticed the speed drop off rapidly, the noise quietened and the controls grew sloppy. They shuddered and rolled almost upside down. Oh, fuck! Then with ease they resumed straight and level flight. Phew!

How to determine a safe height from which to dive and withstand the G—forces without blacking out. How to peel away fast to one side and dive. Or to roll in an emergency to make him a difficult target but twirls and victory rolls were out, as was any reckless low flying or showing off.

‘Keep your feet on that bloody rudder bar!’ shouted FOB.

But nothing was pretty or clean. Planes were streaked along their cowlings, blackened from leaded petrol. Everything was covered with grease, oil and what looked like dried vomit. Scuffmarks from pilot’s boots had worn away paint on most upper surfaces of the wings with telltale damage in the more traffi cable areas. Bill screwed his nose up. ‘The constant smell of leaking aviation fuel is enough to turn a vulture off carrion.’

‘Aye, nauseating enough for you but I care naught for their no eating before flying rule, by gum. I get hungry before I fly.’

Bill learned the flying process was not difficult. Soon he was at the controls but the instructor was always in his ear.

‘Pull that bloody stick back! Okay. Let’s do another circuit. You’ll land this time, then take off again—what did I just tell you about that bloody stick?’

Bill was getting the feel of a Tiger Moth.

After seven hours he went solo and FOB was delighted.

‘If you hadn’t gone solo by ten hours, Bill, you’d have got another instructor in case of a clash of our personalities. By sixteen hours Chief takes a look at you and your progress. After that it’s usually goodbye.’

Circuit after circuit Bill flew monitored by FOB from the ground.

FOB was pleased. ‘You’ve done very well, Bill. Keep this up and you’ll be my star pupil.’

They had Sundays off and in between learning to fly there were social outings, for the most part dances held in local church halls. Courtesy of various groups intended to make young cadet pilots feel more at home in this strange but friendly land.

In a corner of one such hall sat the latest efforts of the local knitting circle, which included colourful tea cosies. Bill was reminded of Lily and without warning he became down in the dumps and homesick. Being godly, liquor was not involved but cadets hid their stashes well.

The official program included lots of hot sweet tea, coffee and soft drinks but with the added attraction of crumpet galore. Richard was in the know and had big news to share with Olly and Bill.

‘Word is, chaps, there will be a few nurses from the local hospital at our next dance.’

Bill was confused. He didn’t understand why the fuss.

‘Surely, you don’t think we’ll need the attention of a nurse? We’re not likely to injure ourselves at a dance, are we?’

Richard roared with laughter. Olly cracked up until his sides ached.

‘Nurses have a reputation, Bill. They are so disgustingly clinical and no peccadillo is too extreme,’ explained Richard, as he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.

Bill’s expression gave nothing away.

‘Aye, they’re naught but bikes, Bill. Like to be ridden.’

Even now no answering sparks from Bill.

‘Sex, we mean, Bill, for Christ’s sake, sex,’ offered an exasperated Richard.

‘Oh,’ said Bill.

‘Nurses have to work alongside naked men twenty-four hours a day. They’re used to bodily functions, penises, blokes’ erections, masturbation, those sorts of things,’ explained Richard.

Olly took his illicit hip flask from his pocket and gave it a sideways shake.

‘Aye, this might help summat too. Naught but limber them up a bit.’

‘Use booze to break the ice you mean. Splendid idea, Olly. At the risk of complicating what has always been a basic activity, some women at these socials might have greater expectations than we do, but we might as well enjoy ourselves,’ laughed Richard.

Added to diets of adventure was an eager anticipation of danger that pervaded everyone’s daily lives. Newspapers reported thousands of tons of ships being lost in the Atlantic; non-combatants were being targeted in bombing raids in England, and troops everywhere were being slaughtered. Countries were falling like ninepins and the yellow peril was everyone’s secret dread. Always there was something important to worry about. Talk by and large was of death and misadventure somewhere, and most people combated this by living for the moment.

‘Aye, Bill, if you have money, better to spend and enjoy. There might naught be a tomorrow.’

No one wanted to admit to being scared.

Richard looked serious. ‘You realise it’s improbable the three of us will survive this awful war. Chances are one, or none of us will make it through. Fate decrees it.’

‘Aye, thanks. You know how to dampen the mood and spoil a party.’

That less than half might survive was a sober thought. As with Canadian men who fought overseas, few would return home.

‘Fate is no more a bound servant of the deserving man than it is of the undeserving,’ continued Richard. ‘Besides destiny of people is for the most part decided by a few men in a room. That is how the world is changed, by the stroke of a pen.’

None the less the menaces of war meant risks were being taken by non-combatant civilians everywhere and that included pretty women who would as a rule exercise caution around men. They often threw care to the wind as few put off until tomorrow, what they could do today. To have their way with women, men promised the earth.

The word ‘love’ was bandied about a lot. Pledges were made and promise to write letters ad nauseam. Guarantees to return for loved ones as soon as hostilities were over helped some to lower their expectations and several women were none too discerning about allowing themselves to be used sexually.

‘Aye, some will be in and out like a fiddler’s elbow,’ laughed Olly.