Tommy forced himself to a semblance of efficiency, displaying the Tabloids to the General, he never having seen one before.
“What’s that in the cockpit, Mr Stark?”
“Mapboard, sir, with pencils and paper for drawing anything of interest and for noting the positions of bodies of troops. Major de Havilland’s rifle mounting to the side, sir.”
“Good idea, that, if we had any maps.”
“Michelin road maps, sir. Bought them in a shop in Calais. All we could get, but they can be used, sir, we can pick out the roads from two thousand feet.”
“Clever, Mr Stark, very clever indeed. Where did you find the funds for all of these purchases?”
“Out of my own pocket, sir. Not a lot of money, and they seemed sensible.”
“So they did. Put up your captain’s pips, Mr Stark. Brevet, but I shall push for it rapidly to become a permanence. You are Joe Stark’s son, are you not? Met him more than once – wild but good. You obviously take after your father, young man! The remainder of your squadron will join you here on the Thirteenth. The other three will go to Amiens and you will all follow on the next day. Are those lorries, I see? Ours? Where the bloody hell did they come from?”
“Ordered aboard by mistake at Dover, sir. Everyone was in a hurry and the barges were sent to sea before we could hear from a senior officer. The drivers have made the best of it, sir, and they have shown themselves very useful. I understand that we have a pile of supplies down at the quayside, sir. Nine lorries, sir, could start to shift the material to Amiens?”
“Make it so, Captain Stark.”
General Henderson returned to his car and was driven away, north along the coast in search of more landing fields within reach of Dover. He was happy to leave Tommy in effective charge of Calais – the boy was of the right sort, good family, no fears there. He instructed his aide to note that there must be a permanent commission for Captain Stark at earliest; it was not impossible that he would wish to brevet him to major before the end of winter, ready for the spring offensive that must end the war, and it was always easier if it was a matter of just one rise above permanent rank.
“Make him a temporary major and when the war ends he will fall to captain with no difficulty. If he drops to substantive lieutenant, then it’s a different matter as he could end up junior to a captain who he had thoroughly trodden on as a major. Better far to keep it to just the one rank.”
General Henderson himself was well aware that he was a major by permanent rank, and that he had been prodigal in his creation of enemies in recent weeks; promotion to major-general and substantive colonel would make him far more comfortable.
“Michael, you are today’s lucky man! Take the lorries to the quays, find the Naval fellow and tell him you are to make a start on shifting the RFC’s supplies to Amiens. I expect he will be glad enough to get some of the stuff off of his hands. Keep all of the lorries together, don’t send them off singly, and have a vehicle mechanic with you to make repairs on the road. Feed the men at Amiens, if you can, if not, bring ‘em back here. Refuel as and how possible. Keep going during daylight hours then return here to change drivers and take a break. I shall send Sergeant Arkwright with you to identify any materials for Three Squadron and take them into his charge.”
Tommy believed that Michael, as an eldest son, must have some idea about the running of an estate or family business, should be able to organise a few lorries effectively.
“John, George, sort of thing you might know about, let me pick your brains. We have fittings for rifles on the three Tabloids, but we have no rifles to put in ‘em. What do we do?”
“Go to the quayside with Michael, Tommy, and find a quartermaster who needs a lorry loaded urgently with supplies to go to Amiens, or somewhere close.”
“Ah, a deal. I can’t do that, not as an officer. I’ve just been made captain, by the way.”
They offered their congratulations.
“Pips, sir – you need the third to go up. And the cuffs, they need to be changed.”
“Hell! Where do I find braid and pips?”
“Ask Sergeant Arkwright, sir. Was he anywhere near when General Henderson promoted you?”
“We were looking at the Tabloids.”
“Call him over, sir.”
“I’m still Tommy.”
“Only on our own, Tommy. Got to be more formal with a captain, when there’s witnesses.”
Sergeant Arkwright appeared, gave a rigid, best salute at his first meeting with the captain.
“Sir!”
“I need rank markings, Sergeant Arkwright.”
“Just polishing them, sir. Not quite right, knocked them up from a bit of scrap aluminium, but they look close enough, sir, until you can get hold of the proper sort. Can’t do nothing for the cuffs, sir, but they are due to be changed anyway, so best to forget about them.”
“Mr Makin was right, then. He said you would have the business in hand. What about rifles? We thought that if someone was to talk to a QM down at the docks, and suggest that we could lend him the use of a lorry for a day or two, then we might be able to pick up some Lee-Enfields and rounds for them. If it was possible, I should really like to give Commandant Mauret a drop of Scotch by way of thanks for all he has done…”
“I shall see what can be done, sir. Might be that I would have to offer two lorries rather than one, and drivers, of course.”
“Leave Mr Mulgrew with five at least, so that we can look busy for General Henderson’s sake.”
“Will do, sir.”
“While I think of it, Sergeant Arkwright, did you train as an observer?”
“Not as such, sir, being as how I am a mechanic by trade and too useful, just at the moment. But I did manage to get some flying time in, sir.”
“Handle the controls at all?”
“Not that you would notice, sir, being as I wasn’t flying at all, officially, but I did manage to get four or five hours in, sir. On the Avro, that was.”
“When we get to our own airfield – not Amiens, you would be too visible there – then I shall take you up in a two-seater and see if you have the feel for it. If I am happy that you can do the job, then I shall see what strings can be pulled. No promises – I don’t know if it is possible. But, if it can be done, then you will be buying the uniform before this war is over.”
“I’ll save up my pennies, sir.”
There could be no thanks offered by a sergeant to an officer – it was contrary to regulations.
“Mess supplies, sir!”
Tommy was sipping his breakfast coffee and glancing out at the western sky; it was too early for the squadron, but they were due in during the morning. A dry day and the wind not too strong. Ideal for flying.
“Four cartons, Sergeant Arkwright?”
“Two for the Commandant, sir; two for the Mess.”
“Should you have one for the Sergeants’ Mess?”
Sergeant Arkwright gave him a pitying look and did not say that they had six. His silence was sufficient.
“Ah, yes. Silly of me! Could you send a couple of aircraftmen across to carry for me?”
“Waiting outside, sir.”
Tommy finished his coffee and walked through the hangar; there was a stand of rifles and a dozen boxes of a thousand rounds tucked into the driest and darkest corner. All had appeared overnight.
“My word, you have been busy.”
Tommy made his way across to the French offices, exchanged morning’s greetings formally then waved his two carriers forward.
“We found a little something in the supplies going to the General’s headquarters, Commandant. Much better put to practical use here!”
“Vive la Entente Cordiale! Single malt!”
Commandant Mauret had visited London frequently and knew his Scotch.
“I have given orders for a fire of oily rags to be made at the edge of the field; black smoke.”
It would show the wind direction, was much appreciated.
“What will your people be flying, Tommy?”
“BE2s and RE5s, I think, mostly, but also some Bleriot two-seaters, and perhaps a Farman or two. It depends what has been made available from the Central Flying School and from private owners. I shall be recommending the purchase of Nieuports, for sure, Commandant, and Morane-Saulniers if they need more. I would much like to see one of your Caudrons, sir.”
“Not easy to lay my hands on such as yet, Tommy. They are being sent to fields in the east of France.”
“I had thought the need was greater on the Belgian frontier, Commandant.”
“The First Army is attacking into Alsace and Lorraine, Tommy, pushing into French soil stolen from us by the Germans forty years ago. The Army has made substantial gains, though the word is that it is facing increasingly strong defences as troops are diverted from Belgium to face them. I am told that the German plan of attack has been greatly disrupted as a result of our offensive. They had intended to reach towards Paris in five spearheads, passing through Luxembourg and Belgium, but they have been unable to assign all of the necessary troops to their planned tasks, or so it is thought.”
“But it is not known, from what you are saying. We should be pushing our aeroplanes forward to discover exactly where they are.”
Commandant Mauret shook his head, tried to smile.
“The generals prefer to use the cavalry for that purpose. They do not trust aviators either to see or to interpret the movements correctly. They are old men, all of them, and believe in the sabre and the bayonet.”
“The officer in command of our Expeditionary Force is a cavalryman.”
“God help us all! Has he heard of the Maxim Gun?”
“He believes it to be mythical; he would that is, if he understood so long a word!”
The first BE2 flew in, an early version, the ‘a’ rather than the ‘c’ model. There was little difference between them, except that the ‘c’ was even more stable and less susceptible to violent manoeuvring. The pilot announced proudly that he was the first RFC pilot to fly the Channel, and so it was recorded, for officially it was so.
“How are you, Tommy? I expect I should take over here now; I believe I am senior to you.”
“General Henderson promoted me to captain a few days ago, Jack.”
That piece of news did not go down particularly well.
“Oh! I don’t think the news has reached Major Salmond yet.”
“Then he will have a pleasant surprise, I doubt not. We are here overnight and are to fly into Amiens tomorrow. Our final field is still not known, but you can expect it to be closer to the Belgian frontier, unless the Germans manage to push down to Paris, which is apparently their plan.”
“Sounds exactly like the situation in Dover, sir. No knowledge but a lot of guesswork – a different guess for each senior officer who speaks to you.”
Tommy noticed that he had become ‘sir’ and made no comment.
“That’s about right, from all I have heard on this side. Do you know who is due in next?”
“No. Five minute intervals at take-off, so we will be spread out over an hour, faster machines first, so that we don’t bunch up. Five of BEs, followed by the four RE5s and then three Bleriots, or that’s the plan; we shall see what turns up, of course, because they may change everything yet.”
Three BE2s came in during the next twenty minutes, followed by the RE5s.
Major Salmond was flying the last of the RE5s, enquired where the missing BE2 was.
“Did it take off, sir? It has not got this far.”
“Henry was flying it, with Sergeant Walker as observer, to add a bit of experience.”
Henry was the newest of their pilots, only three days with the squadron; Tommy had not met him.
“Last course, sir?”
“Flying Officer, held a civilian licence for more than a year.”
He should have been competent, but there was some twenty-two miles of sea to cross, and it was always possible to come down unseen.
“Orders were to circle up to three thousand feet overland and then set out, when Calais would be plainly in sight. Shouldn’t get lost – the town and port are big enough targets.”
“I could send one of the sergeants into town, sir, to ask if any ship has reported seeing a machine come down.”
“Good idea, Tommy. Do that. What the hell’s that on your shoulder?”
“General Henderson, sir, came through earlier in the week and gave me the rank. Brevet, sir, but he said he would get it made permanent at earliest.”
“Congratulations. It has come quicker than I might have chosen, and you’ll have put a few noses out of joint – there are five full lieutenants who were senior to you and hoped for the rank themselves. I do not doubt you will do the job well. Who will you send into town?”
“Sergeant Arkwright, sir, who was Six Squadron. He’s been here all week and has found his way about already. I shall ask Commandant Mauret for use of the Peugeot again. He is the major in command here, sir. Good English. I mentioned him when I was not in Dover, if you remember, sir. I believe you have met him before, sir; he has been across to England several times.”
“I know him. Has he been helpful?”
“Gone out of his way to assist us, sir. I found a couple of cartons of Scotch yesterday, as an acknowledgement. My Sergeant Arkwright did the fixing, in fact, sir, behind my back, of course. We have a couple of dozen bottles as well. I did not ask how well the Sergeants’ Mess did out of the deal.”
“Very wise. Did he offer you absinthe; Mauret, that is?”
“My bloody head still hurts, sir!”
Major Salmond laughed; junior officers needed to be educated. He made his way across the field to find the Commandant.
Sergeant Arkwright returned two hours later.
“Beg to report, sir, two bodies in RFC uniform, sir, picked up by a destroyer which saw a machine going down at a distance of three miles. Machine hit the sea nose-first, sir, so the sailors said, and flipped over onto its back. They got a boat there within minutes but both men had been trapped underneath and had drowned, sir. Bodies are at quayside, sir, in the custody of an Army padre.”
“Shit! I must go down and deal with this one myself, Tommy. See to billeting and feeding the chaps, will you? I will do the necessary. They might want to return Henry’s body to England, to bury in his home parish; his father is a bishop. Sergeant Walker was a Barnardo’s Boy, joined the Army young; there will be no mourners at his graveside and he can be buried in France.”
They explained to Tommy that Barnardo’s was the largest carer for orphan boys in the country and sent its best lads to sea or into the Army as a general rule. The bulk of boy soldiers came from the orphanages.
“Makes men of them, Tommy!”
He had no reason to argue with that opinion.
The Bleriots had flown in safely and sedately and the squadron was safely assembled, with the exception of the two men whose names were already almost forgotten; the RFC did not dwell on its dead.
The French cookhouse did its best for the nomads passing through and provided beds, bunks and cots sufficient for every man to get a night’s sleep.
The lorries returned from Amiens and loaded up the squadron supplies, some of it despatched specifically, more simply liberated from the great mass of materiel dumped at quayside, and they made their most formal thanks at a brief parade. The Tabloids took off first at thirty second intervals and proceeded to climb to a thousand feet and then perform, in succession, a loop over the field, as a farewell, before turning towards Amiens. The remaining aircraft behaved far more sedately, as was their nature and made a direct line to their destination, which all reached.
They created an immediate problem, inasmuch that there were fifteen aeroplanes and pilots, and the establishment was twelve.
“It’s these damned Tabloids, Tommy. They were forgotten about when they did not show up at Dover, and now we have to fit them into the structure. We are to have fiv
e squadrons in France, according to orders for the BEF, but we only have four in fact, so I suppose we could eventually call the Tabloids the nucleus of the fifth. Very complex. Not to worry! We are to send twelve aeroplanes, a single squadron, north-east towards Namur in Belgium, so we are told, to operate from a small field a few miles on the French side of the border. If we leave the Bleriots here, ideally never to find them again, then we can include the Tabloids. The ground people are to go up this afternoon, and the ones coming by sea will be lorried across as they arrive, and we fly in tomorrow morning. You’ve got the maps, so you can take us there, to this place, Hastieres; it’s on the Meuse, so you should be able to locate it.”
“If Sergeant Arkwright is to go with the ground party, sir, then he will be able to set a smoke going for us. Gives a landing point and wind direction both. What of cover for the machines, sir?”
“There will be canvas hangars, I am told, big tents of some sort. There is a unit of Royal Engineers already there and erecting them – probably.”
The orders changed overnight; it was decided that the mixture of aeroplanes was undesirable and the RE5s were taken away and allocated to Two Squadron in exchange for BE2cs, which were to be posted across on a temporary basis, original pilots and observers to stay with their machines.
“Why, sir? Would it not be better for the squadrons to stay together?”
“No. I am informed, Tommy, that the squadron is no more than an administrative unit, a group of fliers collected together for a particular task. The CO and the adjutant may expect to be permanent, but aeroplanes and people are not.”
“That’s bloody daft, sir. Have they never heard of the regiment?”
Major Salmond feared that they had, but considered the RFC as a whole to be the pilot’s home.
“The Corps is very small still, Tommy. Compared to any other Army Corps, it is tiny, in fact. I must suppose that colours their thinking. The numbers of pilots in training, however, will increase our size rather rapidly, or so I assume.”
“What of observers, sir? Are they in training?”
“No. It is felt that their function is such that they can be picked up from spare bodies on the squadrons. After all, and I quote, ‘all it needs is some jolly old buffer who can keep his eyes open’.”
Andrew Wareham Page 23
