by Nancy Carson
‘Yes, I thought that’s what you said. You’re not from the Army, are you?’
‘No, sir, I’m asking on my own behalf. I’ve built a biplane and it glides beautiful. Now I need an engine to power it. To be honest, coming here is a bit of a wild shot ’cause I didn’t really expect you to have such an engine. Engines for aeroplanes need to be light and more powerful than the engines of motor cars.’
For the first time, Edward Lisle smiled. ‘You’ve built a biplane, did you say? And it actually flies?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ned felt in his pocket and retrieved the three-months-old cutting from the Dudley Herald. He opened it up and handed it to Mr Lisle.
Mr Lisle browsed it with interest. ‘That’s damned impressive. How come this was never reported in the Express and Star?’ He looked up at Ned, who perceived friendliness in his eyes now. ‘Would you like to come up to my office, Mr…I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?’
‘Ned Brisco, sir.’
Mr Lisle led the way, up a narrow wooden staircase to an office with a wooden bay window that overlooked Pountney Street. The room reminded Ned of a verandah. It was a working office and not a showpiece. Blueprints covered every available flat surface and some not so flat. Shiny, precision turned parts acted as paperweights and a wheel and tyre assembly that was caked in dried mud stood against one wall. Mr Lisle sat down in a leather and wood chair behind a desk and invited Ned to sit opposite.
‘Tell me about this biplane, Mr Brisco – this Gull. Tell me how you became interested in building an aeroplane.’
‘I learnt a bit about aviation when I was a lad, Mr Lisle – I read all sorts of things and made models. Then, when I heard of the Wright Brothers’ success, I reckoned I could do just as well. And I have, as far as I’ve got.’
‘So who funds all this activity?’
‘I do. I’m a moulder at the Coneygree Foundry in Tipton. But somebody’s lent me two hundred pounds to get an engine. It crossed my mind that for all I know, you might be developing one that could be modified.’
‘I’d like to think we could develop one, Mr Brisco. Tell me – is there a chance that I could have a look at this aeroplane of yours?’
‘Yes, if you think you can help. I see no harm in that. When do you want to see it?’
‘Would it be convenient right now?’
‘Right now? It would mean a trip out into the country, to Bobbington, Mr Lisle. But I couldn’t promise to show you the Gull in flight today. Not with the weather the way it is. In any case, Mr Woodall might not be around to give me a tow.’
‘No matter. The thing flies, evidently, if this photograph is to be believed. I’d like to take a look, though.’
So Edward Lisle drove Ned out to Bobbington and to the farm of Fred Woodall. On the way, Ned spoke enthusiastically about aviation and propounded at length on why the French had not been as successful as the Americans. Edward Lisle was becoming more impressed with the enthusiasm of this young man with every minute of the journey.
The rain had eased off by the time they reached Bobbington and the farm. Fred Woodall was surprised to see Ned but gave permission for them to visit the barn that housed the Gull, and even accompanied them.
‘I’m impressed, young man,’ Mr Lisle said, running his fingers along the trailing edge of the top wing. ‘And you say you’ve seen young Ned perform in it, Mr Woodall?’
‘Flies like a bird,’ Fred confirmed. ‘Never seen nothing like it. Nor never will again maybe.’
‘All right, Mr Brisco, I’m convinced. So, let’s get back to my office and discuss this a little more.’
They dropped Fred Woodall back at the farmhouse and made their way back to Wolverhampton with the sun piercing the clouds, casting beams of slanting sunlight that made the wet roads glare so fiercely that you couldn’t look at them. Ned told Mr Lisle as much as he knew about the Antoinette engine, and Mr Lisle listened intently. Twenty-five minutes later, they were back in his office in Pountney Street.
‘Now, Ned – may I call you Ned?…I have two things to say. One is a proposition I’d like you to consider, the other is a confession. First, the confession. For a while now, it has been my intention to investigate this business of constructing aeroplanes and start some trials. I agree with you that the French have made an utter hash of their attempts so far but, at least, they are having a go. I’d like to think we British could do better if we applied ourselves to the problems with our usual tenacity of purpose. Certainly, if we don’t do something very soon we’re going to be left sadly behind. Which is a pity, because I believe there is a big future in aeroplanes and I’d like to get in on the ground floor, as I believe I have with motor cars. I think, Ned, that you could assist in this. So, to the proposition. How would you like to come and work for the Star Engineering Company, Ned, developing aircraft? I’m sure we could come to a suitable arrangement that would be to our mutual benefit.’
Ned looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know, Mr Lisle, sir. It’s a very tempting thought but…but what about my Gull? There’s hundreds of hours of work gone into her. And I mean to get an engine for her. She’s a real labour of love. I didn’t come here after a job. I only came here to see if you had an engine I could modify. I could build one myself – from scratch. There’s folk who will help me with the engineering. I have all this money…’
‘A daunting task, Ned. Look, if you want to develop an engine independently of Star that’s up to you. But why put yourself to all that trouble when we can do it together at Star’s expense? What I want, is for you to develop with my company some aeroplanes – aeroplanes that can carry freight long distances, aeroplanes that could fly passengers. It’s my guess that the Post Office would relish the opportunity to employ aeroplanes that could deliver mail over great distances quickly. Don’t you think so?’
‘Oh, certainly, Mr Lisle. And I know the Army is already looking at aeroplanes as a means of reconnaissance. Better than those static balloons and kites they’ve been working on.’
‘All potential customers, you see, Ned. All willing to spend money on the right equipment. They could be using equipment you’ve developed. We could put Britain in the forefront of aeronautical engineering. How proud would that make you, eh?’
Ned smiled and nodded. ‘Very proud, Mr Lisle, sir.’
‘Then there’s another market that could be tapped. Those better-off people who would like to suddenly appear at a friend’s country house in a small aircraft. Social flyers, I’d call them. Showing off. There’s a whole world of possibilities, Ned.’
‘I suppose there is,’ Ned agreed.
‘So what do you say?’
Ned twisted his cap in his hands as he pondered what to do for the best. It had been his dream to do exactly this, but with his own firm. Now this Mr Lisle wanted to steal his thunder. But Mr Lisle had the means…
‘I have to be straight with you, Mr Lisle, sir. My main interest is in the Gull. One way or the other I’ll get an engine for her. If you help me develop an engine that will power her, you’ll end up with a design that can be sold to other firms that might start building aeroplanes…’
‘That’s so. Any engine you design and develop in our employment would be our property. Any patents arising from it would be ours.’
‘But there’s also the question of an airscrew, Mr Lisle. That’s going to need as much attention. If you’ve got the facilities and the contacts to design and make an airscrew as well, then I’ll come and work for you. Once those two problems are sorted out, building a craft that will fly is the easy bit.’
‘Join us and we’ll develop an engine and an airscrew together for your Gull, first and foremost. As long as we both understand that we shall be able to sell them commercially. That way we can justify funding development.’
Ned smiled. It all seemed very satisfactory. ‘Thank you, Mr Lisle.’
Mr Lisle arose from his seat. He walked towards Ned and offered his hand. ‘So we have an understanding, Ned. Let’s shake on it…We c
an discuss terms later. First, let me introduce you to my sons.’
‘So what should I do about the two hundred pounds I’ve got?’ Ned asked.
‘Well, that’s entirely up to you, lad. But I suspect you should give it back.’
The third Saturday in October was fine but cold. However cold it was though, it would never stop people going to town on a Saturday. As usual, Dudley was heaving with folk. Market traders hailed at the tops of their voices the virtues and the unbeatable value of their particular wares. Old women, watched by nobody, haggled for a better price and young women, watched by young men with covetous eyes, dodged the trams and the carts as they flitted from shop window to shop window to admire this dress, that hat.
The imminent birthday of Emily Doubleday, Tom’s mother, was the reason he’d arranged to meet Clover that dinnertime, to choose Emily a suitable present. So, making use of her mid-day break, Clover met Tom by the fountain in the Market Place. They greeted each other with a brief kiss.
‘I’ve been so busy this morning,’ she complained. ‘I didn’t think I was going to get out on time. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Only a minute or two. Have you eaten?’
‘Nothing yet. I’ll try and sneak my sandwiches when I get back. Have you decided what you’re going to buy for your mother, Tom?’
‘I’m not at all sure,’ he said as they stood facing each other, being jostled by the hoards of shoppers.
‘Why not give her a brooch?’
‘Hey, a brooch is a good idea. I knew you’d think of something.’
She smiled up into his blue eyes and took his arm. ‘Let’s see what they’ve got in Henn’s. I’d like to look for some shoes after, if we have time.’
Progress was slow because of the number of people milling about who always seemed to stop to talk in front of them. A drunk lolled from side to side as he stumbled from the Railway Vaults all the way to the Seven Stars, bumping into indignant shoppers. Then it was Clover’s turn to stop and pass the time of day with a woman she knew from Cross Guns Street. Eventually, they made it to Henn’s in Castle Street and peered into the window for an idea of what was available.
Tom’s eyes were drawn to the gold words engraved into the windowsill that said in large letters ‘NOTED WEDDING RING SHOP’. He felt for Clover’s hand and she looked up at him with her clear blue eyes.
‘Can you see anything that takes your fancy?’ she asked.
‘I can see a nice wedding ring I’d like to see on your finger,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she answered dismissively, but felt her pulse quicken as she squeezed his hand.
‘No, seriously.’ Maybe this was as good a time as any to convey the thoughts he’d been cherishing. ‘I’d like to think we’ll be married at some time, Clover…It’s a bit soon yet, I know, but…but someday…’
‘Oh, Tom,’ she cooed. ‘I didn’t know you were thinking of us marrying yet.’
‘Well not just yet…’ He smiled adoringly at her. ‘But not too far distant…’
‘Well…’ she said hesitantly. ‘You’ve really taken me by surprise.’
He looked at her, suddenly disconcerted at her apparent reticence. ‘I imagined you’d feel the same. Tell me I’m not wrong.’
She felt herself trembling. This was totally unexpected, yet so very welcome. Of course she’d entertained similar thoughts, similar hopes, but his mentioning it had come as a complete shock. ‘’Course you’re not wrong.’ She was whispering, for folk were milling around them and another couple were also trying to look at rings. ‘’Course I feel the same.’
He smiled proudly, a measure of relief too in his expression. ‘You had me worried then. I thought you were going to tell me not to be so daft.’
‘Oh, Tom. ’Course not. I’m flattered…It makes me happy that you feel that way.’
‘I’ve felt that way since the moment I first set eyes on you, Clover.’
‘I’ve harboured the same dreams as you, by the sound of it.’
They moved out of the way to lend the other couple more browsing space, to give themselves more space to say what was suddenly in their hearts.
He looked into her eyes earnestly. ‘Then maybe we should make some sort of plan. Maybe we should give ourselves some sort of time-scale.’
‘Yes…Tell me what you think…’
He shrugged. ‘All things being equal, how about us using your twenty-first birthday next May to announce our engagement, and plan to be wed on your twenty-second. Nobody could say we’d rushed into it, yet it’s only eighteen months away.’
‘What if I get pregnant in the meantime?’ she whispered.
‘Don’t tempt me, Clover. Then we’ll be married all the sooner.’
The other couple moved away. As they turned to enter the shop the girl smiled knowingly at Clover.
‘You don’t need to marry me, you know, Tom,’ she said, feeling an urge to test his devotion. ‘You’re already getting what you want.’
‘Oh, Clover, credit me with some honour. What I want is to be your husband. What I want is for you to be my wife.’
‘Do you want us to have babies?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, ’course I want us to have babies. Lots of little girls that all look like you.’
She sighed happily. ‘You’d make a good father. I can just see you with our daughter, bouncing her on your knee, throwing her into the air and catching her while she whoops with glee.’
‘Let’s go inside then and you can try on some engagement rings. That way I’ll know your size and the sort of style you’d like, ready for when I buy it.’
She smiled at him, love brimming in her eyes. ‘All right. But let’s get your mother’s birthday present first.’
It was as romantic a marriage proposal as she’d ever envisaged. A complete and utter surprise. All that afternoon she relived the few minutes they’d spent standing in front of Henn’s shop window, going over and over in her mind their words to each other. Inside the shop she had tried on engagement rings and held her hand out in front of her, gazing at each one and then seeking approval of it from Tom’s expression. But she could not make up her own mind. The amount of choice only served to confuse her. Each successive ring was as beautiful as the one she’d tried on before it; and the more expensive rings did not necessarily mean they were more appealing in design. But there was plenty of time in which to choose a ring. They were not to be officially engaged till next May.
Clover left Cook’s store after work and made her way through the town as happy as she’d ever felt in her life. She had a man who loved her, who intended marrying her; and she was head over heels in love with him too. She couldn’t wait to get to his studio, to be alone with him again, to wallow in the pleasure of his unbounded affection. But she had one little query and, not knowing the answer was beginning to niggle her.
Tom seemed as happy as she was. He welcomed her with a kiss, locked his front door and turned the sign round to show that he was closed for business. He sat beside her on the chaise-longue and they kissed.
‘So you’ll marry me?’ he said, when they broke off.
‘I will,’ she responded, as solemnly as any bride. ‘But should we tell anybody yet that we’re going to get engaged in May?’
‘I don’t see the point,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep it to ourselves and then surprise everybody on the day.’
‘All right. I can keep a secret.’ She chuckled and kissed him again. Now for the serious bit that was bothering her. ‘Where do you suppose we’ll live, Tom?’
‘It’s over eighteen months away, sweetheart. Any number of houses might come up by then. I can’t say where we’ll live.’
‘But not with your folks?’
‘God, no.’ It seemed that the notion appalled him. ‘On our own. In our own little love-nest.’
She smiled contentedly. It was as she had hoped. ‘That’s all I wanted to know…’
‘Well you’re easily pleased.’
Sh
e smiled at him impishly. ‘I’d be even more pleased if you made me a cup of tea.’
‘’Course I’ll make you a cup of tea, my love.’
Chapter 13
That same October Ned Brisco noted with disappointment that Henri Farman, the English-born but not English speaking son of an English journalist, and domiciled in France, flew 771 metres in fifty-two seconds. If only he could hurry things up with his own new engine he was certain he could beat the French once and for all, rather than lagging behind them all the time. But developing an engine of the calibre required to power an aeroplane was going to take time, even when the professionals were involved. For a start, there were too many other things going on at Star. One minute all attention was on his project but then, either a panic elsewhere would divert everybody, or Mr Joe Lisle, another son, would require attention to his racer. And technical problems were legion. The walls of the new engine block were as thin as they dared make them and yet the weight, Ned calculated, would be still too great when water was added to the cooling system. Pity there was no lightweight substitute available to replace water, some suitable chemical, for instance. Aluminium might be a suitable material in which to cast the engine block and cylinder head but, as Edward Lisle said, although it was significantly lighter, commercial production had been only recently developed. It was therefore expensive, scarce and an unknown entity as regards behaviour and wear in an internal combustion engine. No doubt time would prove it suitable in many an aeronautical application, but time they did not have.
For Ramona, life moved on, but not suitably. Her ardent encounters with Elijah were less frequent than she had hoped. The top storey of the brewery was not entirely safe, he told her. They could too easily be compromised by her father or by Mary Ann or by Bobby Cross, the drayman; his bedroom also remained taboo. And the more he had to put her off the more she was determined to have him. Her preoccupation was blinding her to the foolishness of the liaison. Had she stopped to think, she would have asked herself where this incestuous affair could possibly lead; and marriage was not one of the options. But she did not stop to think. She merely invented schemes, most of which were impracticable, that might enable her to spend an exhilarating hour on her back with Elijah once in a while. Elijah did, however, agree to meet her a couple of times in October at her father’s old house and this served to satisfy her and keep her moderately sweet when a pattern of such visits began to evolve through the winter. Other men vied for her attention and, at those times when she felt spurned by Elijah, she sought comfort in them, regarding these diversions as a means of spiting him; but of course they could only spite him if he knew about them; and he did not know. Dorcas, meanwhile, remained obstinately on the scene and seemed no less content with her lot than at any other time before, which suggested to Ramona that she was having little impact on that relationship. The realisation riled her even more.
