“Captain Holmes, sir?”
Captain Paine shook his head.
“Late, Mr Stark. Should have been in twenty minutes before you.”
“Half an hour’s fuel still in his tank, sir.”
“Not in this weather, Mr Stark. How did you get in?”
Charlie intervened, shaking his head and sucking at his rum-filled tea.
“Walked, sir, damned near! I’ll swear I was looking up at the tops of the hedgerows, sir!”
Tommy shook his head.
“Wind swirled less close to the ground, sir, and I could see clearly enough to have a horizon so that I could keep in level flight, sir. And we never once dropped below twenty feet, sir, and much of the time we kept to fifty!”
“I believe, Mr Stark, that there is a regulation governing the height that Corps aeroplanes may fly at.”
“Oh dear, sir! I must have missed that one in my studies of military law.”
“Go away and warm yourself in the mess, Mr Stark!”
“What do you think, Tommy?”
“If he had any sense at all, which is doubtful, then he will have got down, forced landing, somewhere.”
“He won’t have known to get low enough to be able to see the ground so as to keep in level flight. He’ll have relied on his sense of balance.”
“It don’t work, Charlie. You lose any sense of direction at night or in bad visibility. Mr Sopwith fitted a spirit level in one of his machines, to give a point of reference. I flew once when it suddenly came on to rain and used the bubble; it was hard, Charlie! I knew I was almost on my side but the bubble was saying level flight. I lived, so the bubble must have been right. Alexander will be very lucky if he comes home today.”
There was no word during the afternoon and they filed into dinner to a table laid with six settings.
“No empty places at dinner, gentlemen!”
The Mess Sergeant made his announcement and then left the room, leaving them speechless.
They drank more than usual that night, assisting two of the more junior men back to their beds.
“Poor young chaps, Tommy. Not used to the idea of death yet.”
Both were older than Tommy, though he thought it wiser not to mention the fact. Charlie laughed at the expression on his face.
“You was never as young as them, Tommy. You were born old, dear boy, even if you ain’t nineteen yet!”
“How did you know that, Charlie?”
“The adjutant can read, dear boy, and he told me. The Daily Mail had a story on your father’s death – you know the sort of stuff – ‘Plucky British adventurer Mr Joseph Stark…’. It mentioned that Mr Stark was widowed but left an eighteen-year-old son, also a noted aviator despite his youth. None of my business, so I ain’t opened my mouth. I can’t imagine that many of the others here read anything more difficult than Comic Cuts, so they ain’t likely to know.”
“Probably not, they have never shown sign of it. Of course I’m old, Charlie. I started flying when I was fourteen and I stood at a friend’s graveside less than two months later. He was a couple of years older than me and a decent sort of fellow, but he really did believe he was lucky.”
“You’re lucky, Tommy.”
“Not me, Charlie. We didn’t come home by luck this afternoon.”
“Point taken, dear boy. That’s why you seem unmoved by your father’s death – you’re used to it. I thought at first that it was a case of no love lost – but it ain’t that at all, is it?”
“I was close to my father, Charlie, but I knew he might die any day. Or me. Every time I go up, Charlie, I say to myself, ‘you’ve just died, Tommy’; then I set about proving myself wrong.”
“Jesus!”
“You know, Charlie, on that topic, I was once stopped in the street in Farnborough by an old lady who warned me very seriously that I should beware of crashing into the Pearly Gates and that the Lord would take a very dim of view of my actions. She was most upset when I nearly cried with laughter.”
“Difficult, Tommy. I have a grandmother who is a firm believer and has rebuked me most severely for trespassing in the realms of the Lord. Very peculiar, these people!”
“Very – mind you, there have been times when I’ve wondered. Poor old Gerry Moorcutt took off in a Shorthorn last year, just for a spin; he could only get down at weekends – worked in the City at something. I saw him take off and make his turn and watched as he flew south and into a small cloud as he climbed. Never saw him again! Nor did anyone else. He flew into the cloud and never came out again. Bloody strange!”
“Honestly?”
“Inquest said ‘Missing, believed dead’. Personally, I think the cloud might have been bigger than it looked, a thunderhead in the building, and they can have wicked winds inside them. Ripped to shreds by the winds and then dropped out into a flooded quarry – plenty of them about. That’s the most likely explanation. Queer, though!”
News arrived in the morning of a machine found in the Savernake Forest, crashed in the trees. A search found two bodies in the undergrowth.
All six flew again next day, a gap in the clouds making it possible for an hour.
“Back in the saddle, Tommy. Always the best thing after a fall.”
When Empires Collide
Chapter Four
There had to be an inquiry, particularly when Alexander was disclosed to be Lord Alexander Dartingford, third son to the Duke of Carmarthen. The Duke was much impoverished and was reputed to spend his days drifting from one country-house party to the next, so that he would not be put to the expense of buying his own food and drink, the latter especially; he was, however, one of the nation’s great men and the death of any one of his offspring must be treated as a cause for concern.
A Commission of Enquiry was constituted and came to Upavon to discover evidence. A Major-General and two Colonels, one a Guardee and the other a Hussar, none of whom had ever flown, appeared in a Rolls-Royce and rapidly discovered the Central Flying School to be cold and comfortless. They retired to Aldershot where they were given proper accommodation and a large committee room with a roaring coal fire. They called for all witnesses to be brought before them.
It was explained, carefully, that there were no eye-witnesses to the unfortunate event, inasmuch that the machine had crashed in a snowstorm in the Savernake Forest. The location was pointed out on a map, and it was demonstrated that there was not so much as a cottage within two miles of the fatal spot. They were taken by road as close as could be to the location. They were told as they drew up on the cart track that they would have to tramp for half a mile through the mud and thawing snow to reach the scene. Major Trenchard, unfortunately, had been deputed to accompany them to the site and to answer their questions.
Trenchard told them that there was very little to be seen, as the bodies and the machine had been recovered within a day of the crash; they failed to entirely understand him and insisted that duty demanded they must visit the actual site.
“Very well… gentlemen. Have… you boots… to… wear for the walk?”
They had not, but each had a captain and a lieutenant in the train of lesser vehicles who could be entrusted with the task of actually walking while their seniors remained in the Rolls.
It took an hour and the freezing and muddy officers returned to report that there was nothing to be seen except a few broken branches and evidence of a petrol fire a distance away.
“The fuel… tank broke… away in… the crash… gentlemen.”
They returned to Aldershot, the day wasted; this was rather annoying as they had all wished to be in Town for Friday and the Devonshire’s Ball. They demanded the presence of the Commandant and of any other pilot who had been flying at or about the same time.
Captain Paine thought it might have been seen as undignified, conduct unbecoming in fact, if he was to discuss Tommy’s evidence with him in advance of the Enquiry; he spoke at length to Charlie instead.
“Problem is, Tommy, they might ask yo
u whether Alexander should have been flying on that afternoon.”
“None of us should have been flying with a gale building out of the west and snow clouds visible. It was bloody stupid, Charlie.”
“Yes… but you did not crash. In fact, I felt quite safe with you, rather enjoyed nipping along among the treetops.”
“You absolute twat, Charlie! That was as near as I have come to death in the last twelvemonth! You, too, I do not doubt!”
“But, you didn’t seem fearful!”
“No point – besides I was too busy trying to save our necks to have time to scream and wail!”
“Are you going to say that to the Commission of Enquiry, Tommy?”
“Better not – no sense in blaming Trenchard, which is what I would be doing. I shall say something like ‘it was an unfortunate accident, possibly caused by an inexperienced pilot being unable to cope with snow and losing control of his machine. It is obviously the case that we must be trained to fly in bad weather; we cannot, in time of war, tell the Army that we are unable to go on necessary reconnaissance missions because we do not wish to get cold and wet in our open cockpits.’”
“Very good, Tommy! Just the ticket, in fact.”
The three senior officers knew nothing of flying and consequently asked none of the right questions. Captain Paine answered them gravely and at length, and being a sailor, they had to treat him with respect or face a feud with the Admiralty. Tommy showed himself bright-eyed and young-faced, the epitome of the hopeful subaltern.
“You were flying at the same time as Lord Alexander, Mr Stark?”
“I was, sir, but not quite at the same place. I believe I may have experienced lighter snow, sir.”
“You flew the whole of the task you had been given and brought your aeroplane into a safe landing, one understands.”
“I did, sir.”
“Can you suggest why you were unharmed while Lord Alexander died, Mr Stark?”
“Quite probably there was a mechanical failure in Lord Alexander’s machine, sir. A possibility is that snow entered into the engine, melted and allowed water to drip into the carburettor, thus causing the engine to suddenly cut out. An alternative, sir, is of a sudden, furious, whirling gust of wind, such as we have all experienced in snow, sir. Taken by surprise, any pilot can lose control for a second or two, and that is all that it takes to crash at low level. I was forced to fly at little more than tree top height, sir, and we must assume that he did the same.”
The major-general knew that Trenchard had given the orders and did not like him from African days. He happily asked the question that should fix the blame on ‘Camel’.
“Should you have been flying in such conditions, Mr Stark?”
“The snow came quickly out of the west, sir, faster than could reasonably have been foreseen. As well, sir, we cannot learn to master such conditions on the ground – there is no substitute for experience. Had the conditions been any worse then I would have landed in a farmer’s paddock, sir. There is a risk involved in so doing, obviously, but one is expected to make the judgement of relative dangers. Only thus can one learn, sir.”
All three had served in the Boer War where they had sent green subalterns into battle; there was no alternative to practical experience of danger, they believed.
They did not ask of Tommy’s flying experience, knowing him to be a subaltern and therefore and by definition still learning his trade.
“Finally, Mr Stark, one must ask whether you considered Major Trenchard’s order to fly in those conditions to be reasonable.”
“Wholly so, sir. A flier must fly, sir – an aeroplane performs no military function on the ground, sir.”
They thought that was very well said, and quoted it in their findings, approving much of the spirit among the young pilots, so obviously dedicated to their duty.
The Commission reported that accidents occasionally happened in training and that, most unfortunately, Lord Alexander and his observer had happened to die; this was, of course, much to be regretted and they offered their sincere condolences to his parents.
Major Trenchard was heard to comment, very slowly, on the value of loyalty in the young officer; Mr Stark would, no doubt, go far. Captain Paine agreed.
“I am within reason certain that you will pass the course with very high marks, Mr Stark, and will then be posted to a squadron. Have you any favoured location, Mr Stark?”
“I am a Farnborough man, sir, and the aerodrome at South Farnborough would be home for me. A good alternative, of course, sir, would be Gosport, near Portsmouth, which is an hour’s drive away and gives every opportunity to work with the Navy. I have no great wish to fly seaplanes, sir, but it could be wise to know what is happening in the marine world.”
“So, either will do you. Both will be available, in fact. We are expected to bring the Corps up to seven squadrons, each of twelve pilots and twelve machines. Additionally, there are to be twelve reserve pilots and machines to each squadron. When you six pass out, assuming you all will, then we shall have forty-six active pilots and no reserves, and I expect fewer than forty modern machines that we would dare to take across the Channel – and those would include Farmans and some Bleriots as well as Avro 504s. The BE2 is to be replaced by a BE2c, which is a more powerful but equally stable observation craft; there is debate whether the pilot should occupy the front or the rear cockpit, by the way.”
Tommy had no comment to make on that; he preferred the front, but could not argue that the observer was better in the rear.
“What of the Morane-Saulnier, sir? Are we to purchase some of them?”
“Probably, Mr Stark. Some Nieuports as well, I believe, but only if war is declared and we shift squadrons to France. There is talk of equipping the single-seaters with small bombs, which may be dropped upon airships. It is likely that observers will be encouraged to take rifles or carbines into the air with them.”
Tommy shook his head – he did not like the very concept of fliers killing each other.
“Observers, sir – are they to be a specialisation, or will pilots take it in turn to observe, as we do on the course?”
“The squadron commander will make that decision, Mr Stark, depending probably on the number of pilots he has to hand. One suspects that in the first few months there may well be a number of interesting expedients in the field.”
Tommy did not understand what he meant.
Captain Paine smiled kindly.
“Other ranks, Mr Stark! Bright young men who may be made sergeant to act as observers, or who may even be taught to fly after gaining some experience in the air and showing an aptitude. Then a commission in the field and they increase the number of pilots very conveniently.”
“There are some very able sergeants down in the hangar, sir. Two or three of them could easily make pilots; they could certainly be officers – any good sergeant knows all we lieutenants do.”
“Do you not believe that an officer must be a gentleman, Mr Stark?”
“Charlie Petersham is a gentleman, and a good officer, I believe, sir. Lord Alexander was a gentleman and killed Captain Holmes through bad piloting and lack of resolve, probably, to put his plane down on unknown ground when the conditions became too much for him. I suspect as well that he believed he would be much applauded for flying home in a snowstorm, and was prepared to chance his own death, and that of his observer, for the reward of the approbation of his class.”
Captain Paine brought the conversation to a close, preferring not to state his wholehearted agreement with Tommy.
The weekend after the Commission of Enquiry was declared free time and Tommy drove back to Farnborough, confident that he would be able to beg a bed for Saturday night at the Big House. If there was a difficulty, due to a house party for example, then there would be a place with one of the fliers at Brooklands.
Charlie took the train to London, preferring not to drive quite so far. The tender took him and the other four course-members into Andover and would pic
k them up on Sunday evening.
Tommy drove up to the Big House and was greeted in the hallway by Monkey, out of breath from running downstairs from the first-floor drawing room she preferred to read and sew in. She was wearing his brooch, Tommy noted, on the substantial bulge on her chest, which he also observed with some approval.
“What is this about a Commission of Enquiry, Tommy? Uncle James told Papa about it, and said that you were to give evidence before it.”
“One of the other pilots on the course crashed in Savernake Forest. Not surprisingly, neither he nor his observer survived. The Army wished to discover if there were lessons to be learned, Monkey. No more than that.”
She was still young and had not learned how to listen to what was unsaid; she was quite content with his reply. Her mother, appearing behind her, heard the real meaning.
“You did not crash, Tommy.”
“No, ma’am. I was not so unfortunate as Lord Alexander.”
Squire came into the hall and made Tommy welcome, nodded to Abbot, the butler to tell the housekeeper to make up a room.
“A son of His Grace of Carmarthen, was it not, Tommy? All I hear of the father says that he is a drunken wastrel who has brought his family to the very edge of ruin.”
“I know nothing of him, sir, but his son was not one of my friends. He would never have been a safe pilot, but he might have made a name for himself in wartime. A Victoria Cross merchant, if ever one was, so my friend Charlie says; a death or glory boy who found the death but missed his other criterion, sir. His observer died with him.”
Squire had never served – the Army had not appealed to him and as elder son he had simply remained at home, learning his estate and discovering how to manage the family money – but he had listened to his perceptive brother’s trenchant comments on the mentality of too many junior officers.
“Would he ever have been content simply to do his job, in a workmanlike fashion?”
“He would have been insulted to be expected to do so, sir. The Army is not a place in which the young man of gentle birth shall lower himself to ‘work’, sir; it exists in order that he may demonstrate his valour and reckless disdain for peril.”
Andrew Wareham Page 9
