‘Where are they all going?’ thought George.
As it was the only train that week, everyone who needed to travel had only the one choice and they were unquestionably going to be on that train. They had their tickets and travel documents for wherever they were going. It could have been any one of the stations the train was due to pass as it wended its way around the southern countryside of England on its journey to Portsmouth.
George clambered into the last but one carriage, struggling with his two suitcases in the process, and moved down the corridor past the second-class, and into a third-class compartment with six empty seats. It was probable, he realised, that others would come in after him, so he didn’t bother closing the sliding door to the corridor running the full length of the carriage. As he struggled to lift his suitcases one at a time onto the overhead luggage racks, he found his booked seat which was by the window.
When he had booked it, he had stipulated to the rather belligerent woman in the ticket booth that he wanted to sit by the window facing the way of travel so if he saw anything interesting he could turn to watch it passing.
Before he had settled, a tall, well-proportioned man stepped into the compartment. George glanced at him before turning quickly to look out of the window. He didn’t want to make eye contact as he often felt embarrassed if he thought he would be caught looking. The reflection in the window revealed the newcomer to be with a small child who had followed quickly behind him into the compartment. George got the impression straight away that he seemed to be irritated by the presence of the child accompanying him. Taking another sly peek at the man, George saw he was only in his very early twenties wearing a nice three-piece suit and matching tie. He was carrying a small attaché case in one hand with a coat over the same arm and a suitcase similar to George’s in his other hand. He had neat, short, smart black hair and a very slightly tanned skin. His eyes were blue and George thought that he saw them twinkle and everything he observed about him exuded confidence.
“How do you do?” the man said, “I am sorry about Jean, she will be quiet so you don’t have to worry.”
“Oh” said George, starting to turn a very slight shade of crimson, embarrassed now that he had been spoken to. “Alright thank you, yourself?”
“Truthfully, I could be better if I didn’t have to act as escort for her” as he nodded in Jean’s direction. “I have important work in Portsmouth and did not want to be saddled with her.”
“Oh” said George again.
If he had actually been truthful, he may have said that he was going to stay with a woman he was having a casual affair with when he went to Portsmouth on regular business for the war office. He had only got the job after managing to avoid the draft by claiming and feigning some unknown illness. His wife had insisted that he took their only child to stay with a relative of hers outside Fishbourne where she thought Jean would be safest. Living in such close proximity to the aerodrome at Hendon was getting too dangerous as it was becoming a regular target for the Luftwaffe. On several occasions they had missed with their bombs and hit homes in the area. They had to drop their bombs from a greater height than they wanted due to the barrage balloons that enveloped London.
“The name’s Archie” and he put out his hand.
“George” and he took it and gave it a couple of flaccid shakes before releasing it as though he may have caught something.
For some reason, George also now seemed to ignore the child which, had he thought about it, was very unusual for a teacher of infants. Jean who was probably only about 4 or 5 was very quiet and sat opposite George looking out of the window at the steam rolling around the platform. George felt obliged to tell Archie he was going to teach Mathematics at Littlehampton Boys’ School.
“Say no more George, remember the poster, Walls have ears” and then Archie tapped his nose with his left index finger a couple of times.
George started to return to his crimson shade of embarrassment. He began to stutter and said, “Oh I don’t think it’s a secret or anything” but realised immediately that Archie probably did not care and did not want to know.
In fact, Archie pulled a newspaper out of his maltreated looking attaché case before swinging it onto the luggage rack after his suitcase and coat. George observed as Archie unfolded the paper, that it had not yet been opened or read and the creases were as though ironed in with starch they were so sharp. Accepting that the formalities had been complied with, George realised that Archie was now no longer to be engaged in conversation.
4
Friday 4th April 1941
As the station clock struck a muted seven the train’s whistle sounded as the guard, now installed in the last carriage, waved his green flag vigorously out of an open window. The sleek black locomotive puffed a few extra times as it took up the slack of the four carriages. Then it strained a little more as it started slowly to pull them behind it as it moved off and away from the shelter of the station. Jean saw the steam which had at times obscured the platform suddenly become free and climb into the open sky as the train gathered speed. She didn’t understand why she was on the train nor did she care because it was a new experience for her.
One thing though had confused her earlier when she was ready and waiting to leave home was why her Mother had hugged her and hung onto her for such a long time crying convulsively. It was something that she wasn’t used to. If she was lucky, she would normally have got a quick peck on the cheek as her Mother always seemed to have very little time for such frivolities. Her Father who appeared desperate to leave and was gradually getting more and more aggravated by the delay, finally prized them apart.
Pushing a small brown artificial leather bag into Jeans hands saying, “Don’t lose it” he ushered her out of the front door.
Jean knew better than to do something her Father told her not to do. She may have been very young, but it hadn’t stopped him using his belt on her in the past.
Her hands clutched the bag’s handles which she held on her lap not daring to let go of for a second. The train gathered its momentum and the sound of the carriage’s wheels on the rails settled into a pleasant rhythm. Jean was glued to the window watching the conurbation surrendering to the countryside. Blue sky above with white billowing clouds that grew thicker the further South the train travelled cast large galloping shadows across the landscape. Occasionally, hefty plumes of steam would hurtle past the window in ghostly forms.
Other passengers with tickets for the same compartment seeking peace and quiet had approached, but on seeing the young child and fearing a disruptive journey, had moved on past seeking solace and an empty seat in an all adult compartment. Archie slid the door to, and settled down to read the Daily Sketch which he had purchased from the old man seated in the dilapidated and depleted bookstall on the platform.
George started to panic fearing he may have lost some of his important papers from within his securely buttoned up inside jacket pocket. He knew in his heart that he hadn’t, but he felt compelled to look. Quickly unbuttoning the pocket, he removed his Identity card, travel permit and the item he treasured most; the letter confirming his position as a teacher at the Littlehampton Boys’ School with full responsibility for the mathematics department. He didn’t know he had been the only qualified Mathematics teacher available who had applied for the post and was therefore guaranteed a successful outcome. Archie let his eyes drift slightly from his newspaper and saw all the documents held in George’s bony hands as he studiously checked each of them before returning them to their sanctuary inside his jacket pocket. Of course, he could not resist the urge to re-read the letter for the umpteenth time prior to replacing it in his pocket.
George was happier today than he had been since that fateful day the previous year.
The train plodded slowly around the countryside from one station to the next sporadically disgorging passengers who all appeared to have someone waiting for them. A few people got on, but still avoided the compartment believing the you
ng child was going to be a disruptive element should they want a peaceful journey. Archie had soon read the paper, or as much as he was going to, and returned it to his small bag. He knew his papers were in his pocket and did not need to check or confirm the fact. From the same small attaché case, he took a little square lacquered wooden box which he opened to reveal a chess board and pieces. George could not help but admire its simplicity and beauty.
“Do you play?” said the confident baritone voice of Archie as he set the pieces on their correct squares.
“Yes, but I am not too good,” lied George.
“Well nor am I but it will help pass the time if you fancy a game?”
George loved chess and was a keen amateur only ever playing his parents or their acquaintances, and reading books on the subject. Something gave him an inkling that Archie was also a respectable player. Neither was going to admit how good they were in case of defeat. Whoever lost would be able to use the excuse that they weren’t very good and pride would be deflected in the fact they neither would be likely to meet again. Chess was George’s one strong point and was the only thing that gave him real confidence. He moved along a seat to sit opposite Archie and battle commenced after the ritual of who was to be white.
5
Friday 4th April 1941
That morning at about the same time as George was leaving his parents modest council house for the last time, Kurt was leaving his billet in the northern town of France that he had found himself posted to some months earlier and had come to calling home. It was comfy though, an ancient chateau owned by a noble aristocratic family and occupied by them for six generations. Preceding Kurt’s and his colleagues’ arrival, and unknown to them, the old lady who had been the sole incumbent for the previous five years had been told to leave as the building was required for the German army. She did not need to be told twice, and left within three hours the same day and moved in with an accommodating friend. Kurt was a pilot in the Luftwaffe and he and his comrades, seven at the end of their last sortie, were the new occupants. All believed in their cause, although not necessarily in the Nazi ideal.
They were in good spirits having had a better breakfast than probably any indigenous Frenchman, and were joking together in the back of the antiquated lorry that had collected them. Fumes from its exhaust, which were probably as lethal as any bombs they dropped, polluted the atmosphere along the regular route. Stuttering and backfiring occasionally the lorry just about managed the one and a half kilometres to the briefing room at the local air field that was now for their sole use. Kurt was a reasonable pilot as were his comrades, but not considered good enough to be fighter pilots though some believed they were. In the briefing room already seated were seven other crew members who were the navigators/bomb aimers. All billeted in a different building as their status was below that of the pilot even though they formed part of a close integral team. Each pilot took a seat next to their navigator.
As they were addressed by their commander, their mood darkened as he appraised them of the day’s activity: an attack on an airfield on the South Coast of England. An old Fleet Air Arm Airbase called Ford. They had all been there before and were not too worried about it because the defences were poor. What did worry them was that it was very close to Tangmere, a base for British fighters, and mainly Hurricanes at that. The briefing officer knew it would dishearten his men, but he had one piece of news that he believed would help no end, which he saved for the briefings conclusion. He paused before announcing that a large attack was to be launched by other members of the Luftwaffe from bases close to Calais and inside Germany itself on the port of London. All those in the room realised immediately that the British fighters would be sent from the Southern airfields to protect the capital. Spirits were lifted as the crews were sure they would get a relatively good trip. One thing the briefing officer did not tell them because he didn’t know himself, was that the attack on the Port of London was to be a night time take off with the first wave of bombers due to strike at about 7.30am.
At 9.55am, Kurt and his colleagues started to take off and were all in the air and in formation within ten minutes and en route towards England. The cloud base was at about four thousand feet over the coast and quite thick. All the pilots noted this mentally in case they had to make a run for it or try and hide within it. Kurt loved flying, and had learnt when he was in his teens as his Father was quite well off and could afford to have him taught. Now in his early 20s he had lasted longer in the war than most of the other pilots of his generation because he was careful and didn’t take chances. He knew that being in a fighter/bomber, he stood very little chance in a dogfight with a proper fighter; something that other pilots did not always grasp and suffered various fates accordingly. Kurt was a survivor, and his navigator was very happy with that. Beneath the clouds, the visibility was good and this helped Jochen get his bearings once the coast was sighted. They tried to keep just below the clouds as it protected them from prying eyes of anyone above.
Kurt stated the obvious to Jochen, “Coast visible ahead.”
His navigation, (and leader’s plane) had got him to where he wanted to be, and he could see the spire of the cathedral in the centre of Chichester to his Port side and the spire of St John’s Church in Bognor to his right. There was a small inlet with little pleasure boats moored at Chichester, but it wasn’t attacked as the spire was a perfect landmark for anyone flying in from France. He searched the countryside to the starboard and identified the castle turrets of Arundel way in the distance. From their lofty perch they could see clearly the pockmarked airfield of Tangmere and the relatively unscathed airfield of Ford. Kurt and Jochen had caused some of the devastation at and around the airfield at Tangmere and both looked down on their handiwork with some pride. Not necessarily that they had caused it but had got away unscathed. There was some anti-aircraft fire now exploding below them as the gunners on the ground tried to get the right altitude and gauge the speed of the planes. It was something that did not really worry Kurt as in all his time flying over England he was only aware of a couple of planes brought down by it.
From his leader came the garbled crackled message that the bombs they were carrying should be dropped on the runway itself, and to go straight in to attack in order that they would be as much of a surprise to the defenders as possible under the circumstances of their noisy arrival. Then to turn and strafe the buildings and any grounded aircraft before going home.
‘Simple plans are always the best’ thought Kurt as he lined up as the third plane to go into the attack. The first plane put a couple of large craters in the middle of the concrete runway and the second left two more craters about a third of the way down. Kurt lined up to drop his two bombs between them.
Jochen called his directions to Kurt and then, “Bombs gone,” and Kurt pulled on his joystick lifting the plane back into the sky at an angle to avoid any fire from the ground.
They both strained to see where their bombs had landed, and could only see one crater just on the edge of the runway.
Kurt had known straight away because of the way the controls of the plane reacted, and Jochen checked his instruments and saw that they were still carrying one bomb which had not released. Both knew that they had a serious problem: it was relatively easy to take off with bombs on board, but to land with one that had been armed and ready to drop could be extremely dangerous. Over the radio the leader informed them that they had not dropped both bombs, and Kurt repressed the strong urge to say quite bluntly that they knew. Plane after plane attacked and left the runway unusable to anyone who wanted to land on it, although probably everyone in the attacking planes knew in their hearts that the runway would be patched up and back in use in a few days’ time.
Jochen was trying desperately to release the obstinate bomb as the leader turned and started his first strafing run followed by his comrades before starting his dash back to the French airbase they called home. Kurt knew it was no good harassing Jochen who was doing his best to dum
p the offending bomb and climbed higher to get out of harm’s way. Worst was to come for the six planes circling above Ford, who in their attack had failed to notice the returning squadron of Hurricanes making their way back to Tangmere from their early morning scramble to protect the capital. There should have been twelve in the squadron, but they had lost a friend that morning and they were in sombre mood when their attention was directed over Ford. All the Hurricanes were short on fuel, but there was no hesitation by any of them: the six German fighter/bombers had no chance to avoid the onslaught. Only one managed to escape into the clouds and hide from his pursuers before running for home. Kurt saw the Hurricanes diving on his comrades, but his shouted warning was far too late for five of them.
He climbed into the clouds weaving in case someone saw them and then heard Jochen say, “I think it’s nearly free.”
6
Friday 4th April 1941
Kurt said, “Just get rid of it, and let’s go home.” He had seen the Hurricanes and did not want to get involved with them.
“Climb and then dive and I’ll drop it” to which Kurt pulled hard on the joystick forcing the plane skywards into the clouds. “Now dive,” called Jochen and Kurt pushed forward and the plane lurched as it began to plummet towards earth now no longer fighting gravity but embracing its forces.
They burst through the cloud and Kurt saw a slow moving train pulling four carriages.
“Wait” he called and started to line up on the locomotive itself.
Jochen saw what he was doing, and looking through his sights, started to call the course corrections to Kurt. If the bomb released when it now should, it may not be wasted after all.
An Urgent Murder Page 2
