Oxford University

by Ed Nelson

  When I told him yes, he asked if I would like to join the University Club. He was impressed with my capabilities and thought I could add to their team especially in their upcoming match with archrival Cambridge in July.

  I told him I wouldn’t be able to make that date as I would be back in the states. He wondered if I could delay my trip.

  “Actually I’m playing as an amateur in the US Open in June and I don’t have time to play all the other golf dates before the Cambridge match.”

  “Are you Sir Richard Jackson?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “It is very nice to meet you. I would love to introduce you to our team. They are cheering for you as the only Brit in the tournament.”

  “When will they be here next?”

  “Our next meeting here is next Sunday morning.”

  “That works well for me, I can come out and practice and meet them.”

  We settled on 10:00 am the following Sunday.

  When I got home Monday evening after attending my afternoon lectures there was a package waiting for me. It was all my mail that had accumulated at Jackson House for the last month. There was also a stack of business reports to go through.

  There were even a couple of movie scripts that Mr. Baxter thought I might be interested in. That poor guy kept trying to retire and my family kept dragging him back in. Now it was Mary. I gave the scripts a cursory look but neither of them grabbed my attention. I had pretty well decided to stay out of the movies, at least this year.

  Next, I went through the business reports. There were expansions recommended based on the amount of work coming to us. None of them out-stripped our capital reserve so I initialed them as approved and set them aside to return to the States.

  There was a financial statement included It was a high-level overview. The basic message was that I could spend as much money as I wanted for the rest of my life and never outspend it. Not quite true, I could spend it all if I wanted to buy a small South American country.

  The amounts of money being projected were obscene to my world view. I would like to meet Mr. Getty and ask him, “What is the end game of having all that money.”

  I had heard the saying that he who dies with the most toys wins. What about having the most toy factories? Oh well, that is why I have a staff of accountants, investment counselors, and tax lawyers to keep it all straight. Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with them or they would see how lost I am at this level of finance.

  There was one personal letter postmarked Columbus Ohio. It was from Judy King. She wrote that she was very sorry about the way it had ended but she and her family couldn’t stand the pressure of her dating me. They would have no personal life and so she had to end it.

  She gave no hint that she would like to get back together, just regret that we couldn’t go on with a normal life. I thought about it and decided to write back my own regrets that we couldn’t date and learn more about each other. I gave no hint that I would like to get back with her. We both were keeping our lines of communication open without raising any hopes for the future. I found it all very sad.

  Tuesday as I was wheeling my bike out of the garage to ride to my early lecture I was waylaid by Iris Butler.

  “Rick could you give me a minute, I have a favor to ask.”

  “For you my dear all the minutes you need.”

  Where did that come from? It certainly caused her to pause for a heartbeat.

  With a short stutter, she brought up, “There is this formal dance next Friday and there is a girl in our house at the university that doesn’t have a date. Her duenna is very strict and because of her social rank in Spain she only lets her go out with people of ‘Quality.’ With this old bat that means a title. We have checked and a Knight of the Garter is acceptable.

  “I have no plans. You say it is formal, how formal, morning suits?”

  “That and the military can wear formal mess dress.”

  How fortunate that I had just purchased such an outfit and had no idea when if ever I would be able to wear it.

  I was told to present myself to the Porters Lodge at her school this evening promptly at 5:00 where I was to meet the young lady and ask her out. It would be supervised by her Duenna so be on my best behavior.”

  “As my Lady wills it.”

  What is going on?

  “Rick you know I have a serious boyfriend.”

  “I know, you just bring out, well, you bring out something in me.”

  “5:00 don’t be late, a suit would be appropriate.”

  “Yes, my, sure thing Iris.”

  “That’s better.”

  Hmm, Spanish girl with a Duenna, no it couldn’t be.

  I had to rush home after my last lecture and change clothes but I made it on time. I checked in at the Porters Lodge and my name was on the expected visitor’s list so I was escorted to a sitting room.

  It was.

  There sat the girl and her Duenna, the one that snubbed me and then had made me miss my flight to London. The Duenna, not the girl, she had been shy and reserved during the whole event.

  Iris was there and performed the introduction, Elena may I present Sir Richard Jackson Knight of the Garter, Richard may I introduce the Duchess María Isabel Dominica de Silos de Borbón y de Grecia.

  Not being certain what to say I gave a simple nod of my head and then, “It is nice to see you again. I trust you have recovered from your trip here.”

  Since that trip was last summer I think she probably had.

  She gave a demure smile and told me she had.

  In the meantime, I had an eye on the gorgon. I was waiting to be turned to stone.

  She did give me a steely-eyed look and then asked me a question.

  “I understand that in America you are an actor?

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That explains your dress and appearance when we first met, you were in practice for a role, no?”

  My thought was no I had just worked as a deckhand on an ocean freighter for the prior months.

  My words were, “You see things clearly.”

  We talked for a few minutes, mostly establishing that I was fit company for a Spanish Duchess. Half-way through the conversation. I converted to Spanish as soon as the Duenna, said in Spanish, “He will do.”

  I thought she was going to have a heart attack. I didn’t wish it on her, but…

  We talked through the details of the dance at St Anne’s. It was a sort of coming out, homecoming thing, but I wasn’t certain what they were coming home to or even from for that matter.

  All that was important was that I pick up the young lady here at 7:00 pm sharp on Friday with a corsage to go with a red dress. My RAF formal dress mess would be acceptable.

  I had to rush from there to my Tuesday meeting with Flight Lieutenant Smyth. He had wanted me to bring my uniforms with me so he could make certain I had all the correct pieces. When I arrived with them he questioned me as to why not?

  I informed him they wouldn’t all fit in the car. He had a hard time accepting that. I offered to drive him over to my house and show him. I think he suspected that I hadn’t bought anything.

  His first surprise was when we pulled up to the front door of The Meadows. He had no idea that my family had a place like this in England. The next surprise was when Mr. Hamilton, who had answered the door told me that one of the spare bedrooms had been converted into a closet for me.

  He led us to the room. My clothes from the US had arrived along with all my uniforms, so there were my civilian formal clothes and my RAF uniforms, a ton of them.

  The Lieutenant looked them over and told me he had never seen a complete set of RAF uniforms before. I even had various outdoor coats. On the way out I had the pleasure of introducing Flight Lieutenant Smyth to Viscountess Jackson. Mum handled the event coolly. I normally didn’t try to put on the dog but the Lieutenant’s previous mistrust had gained him a little.

  Thursday I meet the guys at the Dog and Crown. Early on
I told them about my aircraft so the next thing you know we made a trip to the hanger to show off my acquisitions. They waxed enthusiastic about the possibilities. We could do Paris on some Sunday for brunch, Munich for a beer, and Pamplona to run with the bulls in July.

  That all sounded good to me as I had those types of thoughts. I’m not certain about the Bull Run. I’m not that fast of a runner.

  We came up with a tentative plan to fly to Paris for a brunch the first Sunday after I had my RAF papers and official permission to fly.

  The paper part came on Saturday in the form of orders to report to RAF Barkston Heath for a check ride on my Cessna 310. The tail number for the Queens Messenger Service was specified the following Sunday at 1000 hours.

  I loved it. I had to fly to them so I could take a flying test to prove I could fly the aircraft. I couldn’t wait to tell Mum and Dad, they both had their share of stories about absurdities that could occur in the military. I now had my own.

  Friday was the day of the dance so I cut my last lecture of the day to go home to get ready. Mr. Hamilton insisted on helping with my mess dress. I won’t be a hypocrite, I needed his help.

  He seemed to know his way around the uniform quite well. I asked about that and he replied that he had some experience from the war. What could he have done in the war that would have made him familiar with the formal RAF dress? It wasn’t my place to ask. I would bring it up with Mum and see if she could dig it out of him. She was good at the inquisitor role.

  The only badge I had on my uniform other than the service buttons was a silver greyhound. I was hoping to get a set of wings soon. Mr. Hamilton showed me how to quickly turn the sword and its scabbard so I could ride in the backseat of Mums Bentley. Yes, she had bought a Bentley.

  There was a man in the local village that drove for her. It is a good thing as she had already collected two speeding tickets. He was my driver for the evening. The sword couldn’t fit into the Aston Martin. Besides this was a formal dance so I had to have a formal car. Mum had been kind enough to take care of the flowers. She insisted as she pictured me picking a bouquet of dandelions. I told her not to be silly, the yellow would never go with the red dress but I would keep the thought in mind for future events.

  Mum and Grand Mum saw me off with cameras clicking. I admit I must have been a sight. I had worn many a movie costume but I must say this was the grandest of them all. I told Mum she should send copies to Sharon Wallace for the publicity value. She told me she already had thought of that.

  The Duchess María Isabel Dominica de Silos de Borbón y de Grecia must have had someone on the lookout for me because as soon as I was escorted from the Porters Lodge she made an appearance.

  We went through the formal greetings in front of her Duenna. The room had grown quite full as we did this. I think every girl in the hall was taking a look at us. The Duchess who never went anywhere was making her first trip a grand one.

  To my dismay the Duenna, I wondered if she had a name, or was just a title, was going to the dance with us. Not that I thought anything could or would happen but still.

  In the backseat of the car, it quickly became Rick and Maria, and Aunt Inez!

  The dance itself was a mixture of High Society put on and High School Prom. In other words, the girls wore designer dresses but acted like any other high school group I had known. We sat with Iris and her boyfriend David who was okay. The girls gossiped about all the others there. Inez the Gorgon, so nice to have a name for the face, kept a beady eye on me all night as though she expected me to try something with her charge.

  There were many young men in, regimental mess dress, present. There was even a hoity-toity Life Guard. I was the only representative of the RAF. Those in uniform would get close enough to see the Silver Greyhound on my breast but no one asked about it. You could tell some were puzzled.

  The ride home was quiet. Maria asked if there were other events would I please escort her as there were so few that she would be allowed to attend with. Of course, I had to tell her it would be my pleasure. The real fact of the matter there was no chemistry between me and Maria at all. She was nice but I had no desire to get to know her better. And that ended the ball.

  Chapter 30

  Saturday was a nasty day, wet cold rain, not enough to prevent flying but it wouldn’t be an enjoyable experience. Face it as a California flier I hadn’t much training in bad weather. I was up early and did my short version of my exercises.

  I really liked the exercise room off the garage. The house had a portico in the back so you didn’t have to cross over in the rain. Now if the wind was blowing it sidewise you could get soaked. Of course, if it was raining that heavy I would think twice about going out.

  I drove over to the hanger. I did get a little wet opening the hanger door. I had read about an electric door opener in Popular Mechanics, maybe I should look at getting one of those. Of course, the doors on the hanger were side sliding or man doors.

  Or maybe I should learn to use my umbrella.

  Anyway, I went in through a man door and slid the larger doors open so I could get my car in and an aircraft out.

  I checked out the Greyhound Cessna to a fare thee well. I made certain that all liquids were present and there was no water in the fuel tank. I had filled it after its last use so there wouldn’t be much room for water to condense in the tank.

  I made certain all safety devices were current, like charges on fire extinguishers. They were all done at the factory but I wanted no surprises. All checklists and logs were present. My flight log was current. I was pleased to see I had over five hundred hours in this type and approaching a thousand hours altogether.

  The literature said I had just past the danger zone of new pilots having enough experience to be overconfident and get themselves in trouble. Mr. McGarry told me that was a load of bull, that it took more than three thousand hours to get your head out of your…well you get it.

  I finally had to acknowledge that I was as ready as I was going to be. I went over to the flight office and filed my flight plan to Barkston Heath, it was only 105 miles north by north-east of Oxford so it was an easy half-hour flight. By delaying as much as I had the weather had abated so it really wasn’t a bad trip, a little bumpy but I could handle that.

  I used very proper flight procedures when announcing my arrival to the Barkston Heath RAF air station making certain they knew it was a Queens Messenger Service aircraft. It wouldn’t do to get chased away by jets or even forced down. I managed that without embarrassing myself.

  I parked on the apron in front of the flight center. Two crewmen rushed out and tied the aircraft down. I could get used to that service. I was wearing an RAF work uniform. I left the Greyhound off as I didn’t really know if it would be allowed.

  I was welcomed at the doorway by a gentleman in flight clothes. He introduced himself as Flight Instructor Ed Tracey his rank was Squadron Leader so I presented him with my first official salute as a member of the RAF.

  I told him that and he called an Airman over and told him to salute me, he did, and now I owed the Airman a pound as that was the first salute I had taken. It was a nice tradition.

  Squadron Leader Tracey told me to call him Ed as it was too cumbersome to go with Squadron Leader on this type of mission.

  I replied, “Yes Sir,”

  “Good answer.”

  We went over to the flight operations area and got a weather briefing and generated a flight plan, local pilot examination. The Squadron Leader asked me how this all had come about. I told him that I was a Queens Messenger.

  He knew all about that as my saving the Queen was big news. He laughed when I explained how I was the only Messenger with a license but they had to second me to the RAF so I could carry passengers. I thought he was going to laugh himself silly when I told him how I ended up buying three Cessna’s.

  “Rick, this story will get free beer for a month at the club.”

  He then turned very serious and we went out to the a
ircraft. I went through the preflight checks thoroughly. Everything checked out so we got into the plane. The Squadron Leader told me to take off. I went through the standard radio communication with the tower to start taxiing. As we took off I mentioned that I could feel the wet runway, that I had better remember it would take a longer run out when landing. I only said that so that he knew what was going through my mind.

  One of the things I had learned was that when one was being observed the observer had no way of knowing what was going through your mind so it didn’t hurt to talk, even if you only talked to a wall. They would know what was going through your mind. It helped in situations where you made a decision not to do something.

  As I had noticed on the way up to Barkston Heath the plane’s performance so a little slow as the rain disturbed the airflow over the wings. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to cause concern but I mentioned it so he knew I was aware.

  Once we were above the low cloud cover it was pretty decent flying. I was put through all the same paces as I had been when I did my check ride back in the States for both visual and instrument flying. He had brought a hood for the front windscreen. I think they used the same manual for their tests.

  I’m proud to say that everything went smoothly and the Squadron Leader never once looked like he wanted to grab the controls. After he had given me the standard verbal quiz he asked where I learned to fly.

  I told him about the aviation school in LA but that my first instruction was from a Mr. Bill McGarry.

  “Did he teach you how to strafe an airfield?”

  “Yes Sir, both a long low approach and a diving one.”

  “He is one of the more famous pilots in the world, I read about his teaching methods, sounds like fun but not very useful.”

  I was quick to correct him. I related how I used the diving approach to rescue people trapped in a brush fire in California. That started another round of questions about how the plane handled with the firestorm around it and was I bloody crazy?

  I told him school was out on the crazy part but the plane handled well. The trick was only to fly over the wall of fire with its updraft while taking off.