Oxford University

by Ed Nelson

  I did that giving him the range and passenger capability.

  “When will the plane be in service?”

  “They promised all three would be ready by next Saturday.”

  “Three?”

  “They had a sale going on, buy two get one free.”

  Hey, I’m still sixteen going on seventeen. That sounds like it belongs in a song.

  “Seriously I got them at a good price because of a company going out of business. I will probably be reselling two of them. They are still factory new.”

  “Would you be willing to rent one out on a longterm lease?”

  “Certainly, what do you have in mind?”

  “Our budget this year will allow us to have a plane in our livery, if we did one of yours up, we could lease it and you could fly it for us. You are the only one on staff with a license that lives in England.”

  “I checked the UK is the same as the US. I have to be seventeen before I haul passengers.”

  “Not if you are in the Royal Air Force as a Flying Officer. You can join the RAF at fifteen with a parent’s consent.”

  “If you remember I am emancipated so I don’t need that. But wouldn’t I have to go to special schools?”

  “Normally yes but we will have you listed as a Queens Messenger seconded to the RAF. That way we are responsible for your training. There will be training on proper behavior, ranks, uniforms, and odds and ends like that but it will be on our schedule which will be at your convenience.”

  “The idea is to allow me to fly one of my own aircraft as a Queens Messenger and actually pick up passengers?”

  “You got it, my lad.”

  “Would my Flying Officer status allow me to fly nonduty passengers?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sign me up. Now I have to tell the Cessna people they have two planes to paint. Will they have the livery?”

  “I believe so. If not have Cessna give me a ring.”

  “Okay, when shall this happen?”

  “You mentioned you will be back next Saturday to take delivery why don’t you pop in.”

  “Okay, I will do that. I’ll call from Cessna before I head over.”

  I went back to the Sales Manager and explained that one of the aircraft was to be painted as a Queens Messenger, Grey Hound and all. He took me right at my word. Not so bloody likely.

  He called the number for Buckingham Palace and asked to be put through to the head of the Messengers. As expected he talked to Mr. Norman who confirmed the request and thanked him for being cautious. Who knows what teenagers would get up to?

  The Sales Manager brought up something we hadn’t addressed. How were we going to get three planes to Oxford and end up with my car in Oxford after me coming in for a final inspection and signing of the paperwork?

  We finally decided that I would pay for three pilots to fly them to Oxford. Then we would all return to London in one plane, and then I would drop them off and return home in that plane. This would do away with needing my car that day. I could take a cab to the Palace.

  The Sales Manager, of course, wanted to know all about the Queens Messenger bit. He knew about my saving the Queen but hadn’t learned anything else. I had to show him my Grey Hound pin which I also had with me, in this case, attached to the inside of my sports coat.

  He then came up with the idea that they take pictures of me taking delivery. I think I have heard that one before. Ford Motor Company was still probably mad at me. I think they would buy Aston Martin if they could, just to spite me and keep me in a Ford.

  I explained as an actor that I charged for personal appearances. He quickly dropped that thought.

  As I was driving home I realized that I had solved one problem the one about buying three airplanes. When I told Mum I was joining the RAF the planes would be ignored in the explosion, clever me.

  When I got home it was time to get cleaned up for dinner so I didn’t have to face the music until at the table. I decided I would make a clean breast of it so asked Mum to let me tell the complete story of the day before getting excited. I thought I had better warn her she would be getting excited.

  I hoped it might act as a safety valve like on a steam boiler.

  When I said three airplanes her body language got tightly closed. When I mentioned the prices and my original intention was to sell the other two, and good news I had already leased one to the Queens Messenger service.

  Of course, I would be using it some of the time to carry people for them. All I had to do to be legal was to be seconded to the RAF as a Flying Officer.

  I finally ran out of words and braced myself. From the look on her face it would be tremendous, horrible, momentous, loud, long, and never to be forgotten. However before she let lose Grand Mum said, “And what were you doing at his age Olive?”

  Grand Mum always used Mum’s real name. Mum had taken a deep breath to start on me but let it out with a scream of Aarrgh.

  “We will talk about this later.”

  I knew what she was saying was, we will talk about this when my mother is not around to remind me how stupid I was when I was your age.

  Now all I had to do was hide in my room for the rest of the evening, get up early and leave for school and hope she had cooled down by dinner. Oops, I forgot tomorrow is Sunday. Well, I could take a long run around the countryside, maybe a double marathon.

  Chapter 27

  As Robert Burns put it, “The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,

  Gang aft agley. Mum was waiting for me in the morning. At least she didn’t have that tear your head off and pull your heart out-look that she had last night.

  “Richard now that we have both slept on it will you please explain to me what you were thinking.”

  Maybe I will live. I proceeded to break it down, first starting with the opportunity to take delivery of my plane early in England rather than wait another month or more and then have to have it ferried from LA to Oxford. That made sense to her.

  “Now how did three aircraft enter the equation?”

  I explained how a local business went broke and had to default on the purchase leaving the local dealer in a bind. They were willing to sell me three airplanes for the price of two. I had already paid upfront for one. So I was getting two for the price of one. I know poor logic, but it hit the female shopping nerve.

  “You get to live so far, now why did you leave your mind and join the RAF?”

  “I haven’t actually joined the RAF, I’m a Queens Messenger who has been seconded to the RAF with the rank of Flying Officer so that I can ferry passengers for the Messenger service. I will also be able to carry private passengers on my own time.”

  “When you put it that way it almost makes sense. What you are missing is that the Messenger service can be directed to deliver almost anything around the world.”

  I had an image of being told to deliver a nuclear weapon. What Mum said next was almost as bad.

  “This includes MI6 personnel and defectors.”

  Jackson, Richard Jackson.

  “That may sound romantic right now, but remember your run in’s with the KGB? It’s that world that has me frightened for you. I have been there and trust me you haven’t seen the bad side yet.”

  Now that was disconcerting. I had helped kill KGB agents and transported their severed heads and I hadn’t seen the bad side?

  “What course do you suggest I take?”

  “You have told Mr. Norman that you will do it, so don’t back down on your word. Staying safe will depend on your common sense, which I don’t feel as strong about now as I did yesterday morning.”

  “Mum to have full flying rights I didn’t think things through.”

  Mum sighed as she told me she well remembered how she kept her Mum up at night with her antics.

  “Can you share what those antics were when you were my age?”

  “It involved French cognac and unpaid taxes, that is as much as I’m going to say. My being on the wrong side of the channel
at the war’s outbreak led to everything else.”

  My Mum was a smuggler!

  “I will try to think things through before I accept any missions moving people around.”

  “I’m glad that’s settled, now you have to call your father and tell him.”

  Crikey, I thought I had got away clean! With the time difference, it was way too early to call Dad so I had the rest of the day to stew about it.

  I did end up going for a long run. I had to use up energy or I would go nuts. After running and then showering I took a drive to the Oxford airfield. It’s a private airfield owned by the City of Oxford. It was in the small village of Kidlington and had been an RAF station during the war.

  Now it was a center for private aviation and pilot training. It also had major maintenance shops. I was used to small airfields in California excluding LAX. This was the second busiest airport in England after Heathrow.

  I wondered if there would be any hanger space available. I went to the private aviation center and found their business office. Even on a weekend, it was staffed. I could see why, looking out the window you could see at all times at least three aircraft in some form of movement, taxing, landing or taking off.

  I inquired if there was any hanger space to let. I was told no, all their single aircraft buildings were rented out. I replied that I was hunting for space for three aircraft, Cessna 310s. That got the man’s attention. He called another employee over and asked him to man the desk while he, Mr. Morton showed me what was available.

  Mr. Morton took me to a hanger which could have held twenty of mine. His attitude was that this was the only open space on the airfield, take it or leave it. Since I needed space starting next Saturday I told him I would take it.

  “Oh, I thought you were inquiring for someone else.”

  By now I had enough of these discovery conversations so I went to the heart of the matter, I’m Sir Richard Jackson, I’m emancipated so I can legally make my own decisions, and I have the money in the bank to pay cash.

  I delivered this factually, trying not to seem arrogant or nasty.

  He took it well,

  When I asked the leasing fee, he told me it was a lot better than I would think. It was owned by the RAF and they wanted to get it off their books. This made me think of possibilities. Either I could buy it outright, or better yet since it was owned by the RAF have it assigned by them for my aircraft.

  I explained my connection as a Queens Messenger to Mr. Morton and how I was being seconded to the RAF so I could carry passengers.

  His only comment was, “Make a decision fast it has only been sitting empty for five years.”

  What a dry sense of humor the British have. I told him I would call London on Monday and see what could be arranged. One way or the other I would be using this space. At least nothing else I could leave my car inside when on trips.

  On the way home I had a thought and stopped at Blackwell’s. Unfortunately, they were not open. I had forgotten it was Sunday and like the US most stores were closed on Sunday.

  I went home and worked on that pesky calculus. It was now reduced from being a nightmare to pesky. Things were looking up.

  Monday after my normal routine I arrived at school with enough time to stop at Blackwell’s. Bill was there so I explained that I needed anything they had on the RAF.

  “Have you been disowned, sent down and are now joining the RAF to get away from it all?”

  “Not quite, you know I’m a Queens Messenger and they are seconding me to the RAF as a Flight Officer. The Cessna I told you about became available here in England and the Silver Greyhounds want me to have one of them painted in their livery so I can fly people around. The only way I can legally fly under the age of seventeen is to be in the RAF which you can join when you are fifteen.”

  “Slow down mate, one of them, how many airplanes did you buy, and how old are you if you aren’t seventeen.”

  “I bought three planes all Cessna 310’s and I’m sixteen years old.”

  “Why would you buy three planes, you can only fly one at a time.”

  “They had a sale.”

  That cracked him up.

  “Right the wealthy yank sees three aircraft for sale and buys them all to get a better price, pull the other one.”

  “Bill it’s true, I bought them figuring that I could sell the other two to get my money back for the first one. Now the Service wants to lease one from me and have me pick up some passengers. They are seconding me to the RAF so I can legally do that. I want to buy some books to see what I’m getting into.”

  “Okay that makes sense, now tell me about being sixteen and going to Oxford.”

  “That is a long story and I will share it at the pub, I need to buy the books and get to class.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  At that he led me to a section which had a dozen different books on the RAF, some of them were manuals. I bought one of each without looking. I was really running close on time.

  The morning tutorial on metals was as unintelligible as the first day. I had my course notes out and followed the Don on those. Luckily for me, he was one of those teachers who never varied their lesson plan so I was able to follow by using the notes.

  Most of the other guys present were doing the same. One guy was reading a novel and another was sound asleep. Why are they here? Not my monkey, not my circus.

  I returned to my garage hideaway and went through the books I had just bought. No thanks to looking at what I was buying I had made several good choices or least grabbed good books off the shelf.

  The most important was the ‘Handbook for the New Officer.’ It was written in 1959 and from its printing history it was only updated about every five years so it probably was the current edition in use.

  It had everything that I could see a new officer needing to know. It had Uniform types and insignia, plus all ranks and ratings and where they fit, job titles, and descriptions. There was a listing of all types of aircraft in service plus all the bases in the UK.

  Another book was about the specifics of each aircraft including speed, range, armament, flight crew and type of missions flown. They even had Cessna 310’s in-service listed as executive aircraft. I wondered if I would end up flying any Air Marshals around. They were the same as Generals.

  I spent every spare minute from school work studying about the RAF. I was fascinated by its history and pilots like Roy Brown and Douglas Bader.

  I even practiced standing at attention and saluting in front of a mirror. I wanted to do this right. The more of a head start I got the better.

  On Wednesday Mr. Norman called. The RAF was giving notice to the airport that I had free use of the hanger for the Queens Messenger Service and any private equipment I owned. They would not be making any improvements to the facility. I was welcome to do so but at my own expense.

  Once I had the keys I did a walkthrough. Just like in the Forest Service hanger in California there was a basement. I went down the steps wondering what I would find. I found an empty room. A careful check revealed no hidden doors or spaces.

  I arranged with the airport for their cleaning crew to come in at my expense and give the large hanger a good trash pickup and sweep. That included the many cobwebs on the rafters. I saw no need to spend a lot of money on improvements but eventually did break down for a desk and chairs for the office along with a coffee pot.

  There were toilets with running water so it was set there. Other than that I was in business. On Saturday the three airplanes landed and were directed to the hanger.

  The three aircraft were so cool. One in the Queens Messengers livery, greyhound painted on the side. My personal plane was British racing green with my coat of arms on the doors. The third one was in factory colors. I guess if I wanted to fly incognito I could use that one.

  Somewhere along the line my mind I had accepted the fact that I owned three planes and were keeping them. Precious, my precious, I loved those stories.

&nb
sp; One of the pilots told me the hanger would look good with the Messenger service logo on the side of the hanger. I would have to think about that. Another one of the three gave me his card and told me he was available to ferry any of them around at need.

  The other two then produced their cards. It looked like I might have the start of my own air force. After a bathroom break, I gave a quick tour of the hanger, not much to see.

  The question arose if I was going to have any maintenance done here or would I fly them back to London. I told them since all services were available here I would probably have it done locally. I didn’t want to get involved with having to go through this all the time.

  We took my personal plane back to Heathrow. It was neat getting re-familiar with the aircraft type whilst other pilots were on board. We discussed the strengths and shortcomings all the way back to London. It only took forty-five minutes gate to gate.

  I then took a black cab to the Palace. I had worn a suit along with my tie with its greyhounds. The driver never blinked when I told him my destination. They were even getting to know me at the Palace security entrance. I was on the list and had no luggage of any sort so it was a quick pass through.

  Mr. Norman was ready for me. He wanted to know if it had gone okay getting the planes in place. I told him that there were no problems. He then brought up the RAF.

  “It has been very clear to me that you will not be involved with any operations from MI6. Your Mum spoke to the Queen, the Queen spoke to me and the head of MI6. I must say it cut back on several plans.”

  “Mum was not happy when I broke the news about being in the RAF.”

  “I know her displeasure was felt through the system something about severed heads was mentioned. I have no idea what that was about but C took it very seriously and personally.”

  “Now that is out of the way I would like to introduce you to someone.”

  He had a Wing Commander brought in who proceeded to take me through the paperwork to second me to the Royal Air Force. Once that was taken care of he told me that I would be contacted in Oxford by a Flight Lieutenant Smyth who would start teaching me the basics of being with the RAF. The Flight Lieutenant was on limited duty due to an injury and lived in Oxford so this worked out well.