She could not understand how her father could be so complacent.
“Well, my dear, your Uncle James intends to take a wife this year, so there will be another boy of the name, with a little good fortune. The inheritance and the estate will be safe and so the family will survive. George can do his duty and all will be well, whatever happens. We cannot stand back when our country is at war – it is part of our duty, you know. We are well-off and we lead the local people, and so we must take the extra risk that they do not. Not all families will accept this duty, but we have never shirked, and nor shall we while I live!”
“What if the war is not short, sir? What then?”
“All the more reason for us to play our proper part! Better to consider what may happen after the war, my dear!”
“I shall be old enough to marry, sir.”
“You will be, much to my pleasure. Lavinia is already of that age, of course… What do you think of Mr Joseph Stark, my dear!”
“Not a great deal, Papa!”
Mr Stark had moved into his inheritance and the neighbourhood had, as was mandatory, made him welcome and had invited him to dinners and had made morning calls upon him. He had been brought into the nexus of influence that was the County – because the system was inclusive and could hardly survive when one of its members was cold-shouldered.
“I have little liking for him as a man, Monkey, but he has a holding of land, of course, and some small amount of investments besides. And, I have discovered, he is not so far removed from an inheritance deriving from his grandfather’s estate. His mother had an amount settled on her, held in trust by her parents for Joseph after her death; Tommy’s father must have come to an arrangement with them to pay for the boy’s upbringing and that sum will also come to the young man on his thirtieth birthday. Rather late, and probably done intentionally to keep him on a short string financially and out of sight of Society until he is forgotten about – but scandal is never wholly buried, of course. No need for you to know the details, my dear, but I do not want him as a son by marriage with the burden he carries, but Lavinia seems struck by him.”
Monkey shrugged – her sister’s fads and fancies had never attracted her attention. She had stopped talking to her sister some five years before – not that Lavinia had noticed the fact, being wholly capable of carrying on both sides of a conversation herself. Monkey had discovered that to say ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘how wonderful!’, at fairly much random intervals left her sister perfectly content and saved her from having to try to listen to whatever nonsense she might actually be drivelling on about.
“Just point out that Mr Monkton, who has shown himself much taken by her, is heir to four thousand acres, Papa, and that his father has hopes of becoming a peer within a few years. The elder Monkton is a Member of Parliament and a Minister of the Crown and ought to receive some reward. Even if he only lands a baronetcy, Papa, that would still eventually give her a title, something Mr Stark can never expect if, as you suggest, the family is bescandalled.”
“Very true, my dear! Most sensible of you to point that out. Mind you, his brother almost must pick up a knighthood in a few years. All he will need will be to come through this damned war – if it ever happens – with a decoration ideally, and then a promotion or two and a place in London under government and he will be made.”
Her face brightened as she discovered a positive side to the impending conflict.
“Then you think Tommy will do as well as George, if there is a war, sir?”
“Between you, me and the bedpost, my dear, not to be discussed or even mentioned to the rest of the family, I am sure that Tommy is far brighter than George can ever be. George may make something of himself, but I think it almost certain that other people will make a lot of Tommy. He will be forced to take command, to show his ability, to make himself a name, because he will commonly be obviously the best man available.”
She nodded – that seemed an entirely reasonable supposition.
“Well, Mr Stark, what do you think of pushers?”
Tommy had sat silent for nearly an hour in class, listening to debates on aerial warfare, almost bored by tedious discussion of how to mount guns and then take an aim. Captain Paine had been watching him for some minutes, decided that it was time to bring the talk down to hard practicality.
“Given a powerful engine, sir and robust construction, then there is much to be said for the concept of an engine positioned behind the pilot and giving him a clear, unobstructed view to his front and sides. A speed of not less than ninety, sir, and the ability to throw the machine about the sky, and one might have a solution. A powerful engine is vital if one is to carry the weight of a fixed machine-gun forward with a sufficient supply of ammunition. Choosing from the machine-guns you have described to us during the course, sir, then the ideal is a Vickers with a belt of three hundred or so rounds. If that is not feasible, then a Lewis placed close enough to the pilot to reload in flight. Given speed and a good gun, it becomes possible to chase and shoot down most other aeroplanes, sir, until a better one is invented, of course. However, sir, pushers tend to be slow and unforgiving of violent manoeuvre, which means one cannot chase effectively. In that case, of course, the only choice is the ambush.”
“That sounds jolly unsporting, Stark, old chap!”
Tommy was unsurprised that the voice belonged to Edward, the cornet of cavalry, a product of Eton who had ‘chosen’ Sandhurst rather than go up to Oxford with so many of his peers. He was a younger son of a landed family and had never in his life indulged in thought, but he was said to play a very good game of cricket, which made an acceptable alternative.
“I do not intend to play games, Edward.”
The other four all agreed with Edward that it was important first to behave like a gentleman and only secondly to win.
“If we are forced to the insane stupidity of war, gentlemen, then it must be on the sole understanding that we are to win. There can be no other justification for war. As an officer I shall order young men who have less education and understanding than myself to go out and die. I can do that only if their deaths are to bring about victory. I shall never order men to risk their lives so that I can tell myself I am a ‘preux chevalier’.”
They shook their heads gravely and feared that he misunderstood the case – one would win only by virtue of being honourable. Dastardly conduct must be its own enemy – the dishonourable must fail in their endeavours.
“Lord Kitchener defeated the Boers by putting their women and children into concentration camps, where more than one half died. We won the Boer War, did we not, gentlemen? By your definition then, the butchery of women and children must have been honourable.”
Captain Paine intervened before the debate could descend to insult.
“Not really relevant to our current discussion, Mr Stark. What do you mean exactly by ‘ambush’?”
“Fly high, sir, and hidden against cloud or the sun, and then dive down upon the enemy’s tail, shoot and flee – continue the dive, pull out and then see what one has achieved, and if necessary, repeat.”
All five of Tommy’s classmates – including Charlie – agreed that to be outrageous.
Captain Paine said that he too believed it to be a disgraceful concept – but it was also almost certainly necessary and unavoidable.
“We have discussed the concept of spotting for artillery, gentlemen. It has been done by the use of the captive balloon, as early as the American Civil War, and to great effect. Let us say that you discover a German two-seater working with their guns and destroying a column of our infantry; what are you to do?”
They did not know, but could not accept shooting the Germans from behind.
“Then we should allow a thousand of our soldiers to die before we smirch our precious honour, gentlemen?”
They could not accept that either; there must be an alternative.
“Excellent. Tell me what it is when you discover it. It is a moot point at the moment, for w
e have no pushers that will mount a machine gun. But we will have, and the actual dilemma will arise, and sooner rather than later.” Paine stood up from his desk. “Flying tomorrow morning, gentlemen; free from midday – time for a break, I believe. Examinations next week, remember. If I may offer the advice – go off camp tomorrow, a rest will be just as useful as four hours of swotting.”
“Salisbury, for me,” Tommy said. “Any takers?”
Now that they were only six, they could all fit into the Lanchester; all chose to do so.
“That gunsmiths, Charlie, was down here near the cathedral, was it not?”
“Over to the right, in that small road that takes a dogleg there. Looking to buy a shotgun, old chap?”
“Not quite, Charlie. Come and see – you know more about guns than I do.”
Tommy looked anxiously, but the big-game rifle was still in the rack. He smiled across at the gunsmith, pointed to the heavy-calibre sporting gun.
“Could that be converted, sir, into a magazine-fed piece, an automatic like a very large Colt pistol?”
“No, sir. Far too great a calibre, the propellant charge too large. Bolt-action, like one of your three-oh-threes, would be possible, though I could not convert that particular rifle, would have to build new.”
“I doubt that bolt action would be practical, sir. I had it in mind to fix one of these on the wing of an aeroplane, with a cord to pull the trigger from the cockpit.”
“No, sir. Cannot be done, I fear. Bolt-action and a magazine of probably five rounds, yes; but a piece that could be fired at a distance must be of smaller calibre and lesser charge. One might be able to fix a Lewis gun out on the wing… I can think of no better, sir.”
“Destructive of lift and also too heavy for most wings, I fear. What is the price of the rifle, sir? I might take it with me when I must act as an observer; it will do far more damage than a service rifle could achieve.”
They agreed on twenty pounds for rifle and ammunition – a discounted price inasmuch as the gentleman who had commissioned the rifle had paid a deposit upon it.
“I do not believe we shall ever need such a thing, Tommy. I hope not!”
“If there should be a war, then one can expect to be shot at, Charlie, and I shall have the means to shoot back.”
“Won’t happen, Tommy. Bet you!”
“Bottle of brandy, Charlie?”
“You’re on. I wager that there will be no aerial battle between aeroplanes of the two sides in the coming war. Airships excluded.”
They shook on the bet, and forgot it.
“The birthday party on Saturday, Charlie. What may I get the dear girl?”
“Very young, you say, Tommy, but determined to gaff you… must not be a precious stone, out of the question, that. Semi-precious and important to her. Can’t be a ring – too many implications there! A bracelet is always acceptable – silver and amethyst, that’s the ticket! Let us go in search of a proper gift. I must show willing too – a silver propelling pencil, perhaps, suitably minor but useful.”
Salisbury was a rich little county town and possessed a jeweller of some distinction, able to find amethysts and silver to demand, all in the best of taste.
“For a young lady, not yet out, but more than a schoolgirl, sir? A childhood friend, one presumes, sir.”
“A very good friend of mine, and of my family, sir.”
The jeweller shifted the focus of his attention from a bracelet at ten pounds to one of thirty; very good friends could so easily become more. The bulk of marriages in the county were made between couples who had known each other from childhood; there were, after all, only a few of eligible families in any neighbourhood.
“A rather fine bracelet, or perhaps one might term it an arm-band, sir, in the old Celtic style. Art Nouveau, of course. Silver and with a central amethyst. Striking, I believe, sir, and in the best of modern taste.”
Charlie thought it was outstanding, and Tommy, who had no opinions at all upon Art, new or ancient, immediately drew out his purse. The jeweller, not for the first time, wondered if he was wise to have a visible price tag on his wares; he had no doubt that the young gentleman would have happily coughed up another five or so of those lovely gold sovereigns.
“They can have their Art any day,” the shopkeeper thought, “the best gold I’ve got is sat in my till!”
Monkey would have been pleased with any gift given her by Tommy, but she was delighted by the taste he had displayed in her bracelet; it outmatched everything else she received on the day, in her eyes.
Her mother agreed – it was a very fine piece and suitable for a girl of her age, which was a surprise and suggested that Tommy had been very well advised, presumably by his friend, Lieutenant Petersham. A ‘good’ name, Petersham, presumably making him a member of the noble family, a first or second cousin of the Earl in all probabilities. She made delicate enquiry of the gentleman, beginning by asking what part of the country he was from.
“Oh, Yorkshire, ma’am! I am an officer of the KOYLI, you know. My father has a place up on the edge of the moors, in the north of the county. Two elder brothers, I am afraid, but I scrape by.”
She interpreted that as saying that the family was rich; as third son he nevertheless had a very respectable allowance.
“So many young men of good family are forced into the City, these days, working for their living in commerce rather than serving in the Forces in the old way.”
“We keep to our habits, ma’am. My next brother Jeremy is a sailor – haven’t seen him in years, out on the China station – and the heir, Edward, is a gentleman of leisure, more often to be discovered in Town than ruralising in Yorkshire. I fear that neither he nor my father approves of my dabbling with aeroplanes, you know – not really the thing for a Petersham!”
She was tempted to agree, being herself wholly unable to comprehend this desire to venture into the air in flimsy constructions of wood and canvas, powered by motors that not infrequently stopped.
“To fly, ma’am – that is a privilege granted only to a very few, and it is unlike anything else. To soar into the sky, above the mere mortals on the ground – it cannot be described, ma’am; it can only be experienced. There are risks – indisputably so – poor old Tommy knows that well; but in exchange, ma’am – all I can say is that only those who have flown can know what it is to fly.”
It was very strange – but in her experience young men generally were rather peculiar in their enthusiasms and habits. No doubt they would grow up to be quite responsible adults, one day. For the while, all was well in her little world; Mr Monkton was fixed at Lavinia’s side and Tommy was hovering close to Grace and George had suggested that she should invite the daughter of old friends from close to Alton and was showing himself to be interested there. Mr Joseph Stark had not been invited to the little gathering – friends of her daughters and only younger people, he was aware, so it could not be interpreted as a cut.
Tommy returned to Upavon and his final week of examinations. As he had expected, he was able to answer the written papers with reasonable competence and he shone in the flying tests.
The BE2 was a placid, comfortable, undemanding machine that permitted the pilot to fly with no more than half of his mind while assisting his observer with his tasks as well. Tommy was able to hold the machine precisely level and exactly to its course – it had no vices to be allowed for, was inherently stable. He did wonder what might happen if he ever wished to attempt a violent evasive manoeuvre when at war; he suspected that the machine might be disinclined to cooperate. He was quite unable to comprehend why some others of the class wandered off of their course, unable to compensate for a gusting side-wind.
Flying the rotary engine Avro was a very different matter; the whole engine span around the fixed crankshaft at almost maximum revolutions, speed controlled simply by using a cut-out ‘blip’ switch or more satisfactorily but far less easily by controlling the fuel-air mixture entering the cylinders. The engine demanded the c
onstant attention of the pilot, but it delivered more power for less weight than a conventional motor. Turning and banking was greatly affected by the spinning engine’s mass; a bank to the right was almost instantaneous; to the left called for a great heave on the stick, a far slower process. Keeping the machine level in a turn demanded concentration and the skill to correct a rising or falling nose before it actually occurred, working the controls at the first indication of movement. The engine also threw out an unbroken fine spray of lubricating fluid which covered the pilot and his passenger, and, being castor oil, did their bowels no favours.
Despite the drawbacks, the Avro was a much more interesting aircraft to fly and could be persuaded into banks and rolls that were wholly alien to the BE2. Unfortunately, it was far more difficult to observe the countryside from the Avro – which negated the whole point of wartime flying. It was a good machine for an advanced learner, however, and had power sufficient to carry a small load in addition to the pilot and observer; there was a possibility that it might be used for bombardment, though, of course, just as yet there were no such things as bombs. It was thought that it might be possible to carry an artillery shell, or even two, and heave them over the side on discovering a profitable target – though this did cause the more thoughtful to consider just how much they fancied having a live, fused shell in the cockpit, ready to detonate on contact.
Tommy pushed the Avro to its limits, or to his at least, and took it through a barrel roll before executing a number of dives and zooms and sharp turns, such as might be useful in aerial fighting. He landed neatly and tidily and offered to assist Captain Becke out of the observer’s seat and into the hangar.
“Bastard! I can still walk, even if only just. The combination of castor oil and your flying has brought me close to an embarrassing accident, I will admit. You have passed your practical examination, Mr Stark, with the highest grade possible. What is your opinion of this machine as a possible scout in wartime?”
Andrew Wareham Page 11
