As they came in to land for the final time on the third day, Nick spoke through the tube. ‘All right, Perys, you’ve held the controls often enough while I’ve brought the ‘Longhorn’ down, now you can do it by yourself.’
Perys felt a sudden thrill of fear. ‘You mean . . . you want me to land . . . now?’
‘That’s what I said. It’s all yours. I’ll be leaning back with hands and feet off the controls. You’re in charge.’
Perys snapped a glance back over his shoulder and saw Nick sitting in the rear cockpit with eyes closed and arms folded - and he broke out in a cold sweat.
He needed to turn the aeroplane in order to approach Brooklands from downwind, and turned so sharply he felt certain Nick would say something. However, the only sound from the speaking-tube was a faint whistling that sounded remarkably like the latest popular dance tune.
Perys was able to right the aeroplane easily enough, then he tried to remember everything that Nick was in the habit of saying aloud when he was bringing the ‘Longhorn’ down to earth.
Check speed . . . don’t put the nose down too far on the approach . . . height . . . steady . . . adjust the trim . . .
Suddenly the high banking of the racing track loomed ahead and Perys had a sudden moment of panic. I’m too low . . . we’re going to hit it . . . no, we’re clear, but if I don’t touch down soon we’re going to over-run! Get it down . . . Quick!
The landing was so heavy that Perys felt certain the undercarriage would collapse, but then the wheels began rumbling over the grass and he cut back the engine. They were down safely!
His exhilaration was only slightly dampened when Nick said, ‘We bumped down so hard I thought for a moment we were going to have the wheels up in the cockpits with us.’
‘Was it really that bad?’ Perys asked, anxiously.
‘I’ve known a lot better landings,’ Nick said, honestly. ‘On the other hand, I’ve seen a great many first landings that were a hell of a lot worse - more than one from experienced pilots, too. Come on, take us over to the hangar. Time we went home.’
The whole of the following day was spent practising take-offs and landings and Nick would not allow even the smallest error to pass uncorrected. As he explained in very strong terms to Perys, most flying accidents occurred during these two essential procedures, adding, ‘Any fool can fly an aeroplane once it’s in the air. It takes skill and know-how to get it there and bring it safely back down again.’
By mid-afternoon Perys had lost count of the times he had landed and taken off in the ‘Longhorn’, then Nick’s voice came through the tube. ‘I think you’ve finally got the idea, Perys. Let’s celebrate with a trip to the seaside. Head south, south-east, and gain a bit of height.’
Perys was only too happy to follow the orders of his instructor. Brooklands was going through a busy period. Trainee RFC pilots were circling the racing track and practising their own landings and take-offs. He thought the airfield resembled a bee-hive, with aeroplanes buzzing around it like giant bees.
Once the ‘Longhorn’ gained sufficient height, Perys continued on his designated course, occasionally carrying out a manoeuvre ordered by Nick, such as a stall, or, far more frightening on the first occasion, putting the aeroplane into a spin and getting out of it again.
When they were little more than half-an- hour’s flying time from Brooklands, Nick called Perys’s attention to the view around and below them. They were approaching the sea and, as they passed over the coast, Perys pointed out another aeroplane flying on a converging course, but closer to the ground than the ‘Longhorn’.
‘Well spotted!’ Nick said, ‘Let’s go down and have a look at him.’
Perys banked the aeroplane and with a thrill of excitement pointed the nose of the ‘Longhorn’ downward. The wind sang in the wire rigging as the flimsy Farman gathered speed. As the two aeroplanes drew closer to each other a number of thoughts crossed his mind.
What would they do if the other aeroplane proved to be a German? They carried no weapons. If it was a German, would it have a gun?
He need not have worried. As they drew nearer he could see the British markings on the other plane. The aircraft itself was similar to their own, but without the extension in front of the cockpit which had given rise to the nickname ‘Longhorn’.
Nick called out that it was a ‘Shorthorn’, belonging to the Royal Naval Air Service. ‘He’s probably on patrol,’ he added, ‘but he’s not keeping a very good look-out. All right, Perys, I’ll take control for a few minutes and wake him up a little.’
Reluctantly, Perys relinquished control of the aeroplane, wondering what Nick had in mind.
He soon found out. They were quite a distance above the other aeroplane which was ambling along at a comfortable speed. Now Nick put the ‘Longhorn’ into a dive, gradually gathering speed. Perys realised they would be diving dangerously close to the other aeroplane. He could imagine the effect it would have on the two occupants of the Royal Naval plane when they suddenly appeared out of nowhere, cutting straight across their flight path.
The result was all he thought it would be. The other pilot did not see them until they came down in front of him. He took immediate and violent avoiding action, diving to one side and away from them.
He recovered quickly enough and immediately recognised their own aeroplane for what it was.
The two aeroplanes converged once more, but this time, when they were close enough, they flew alongside each other. The naval pilot shook his fist at them, but his wide grin took the sting out of the gesture.
The planes flew side by side for a couple of minutes before Nick’s voice came through the tube again. ‘All right, Perys, take over now. We’ve had our fun for today. Let’s go home.’
With a final reciprocated wave from their occupants, the two aeroplanes parted company, the Royal Naval ‘Shorthorn’ resuming its patrol, and its older and slightly more cumbersome ‘brother’ setting a course for Brooklands.
Chapter 25
The following day Perys flew solo for the first time. It came without warning. He and his instructor had travelled to the airfield in Nick’s car, as usual, and Perys entered the office to put on his flying clothes while Nick went into the hangar to speak to his mechanics. When he returned to the office, instead of following Perys’s example and putting on his flying clothes, Nick sat down at his desk and began poring over some paperwork.
Disappointed, Perys asked, ‘Aren’t we going flying right away?’
‘I’m not,’ was the reply, ‘but you are. Away you go, before the RFC lads come out to play and get in your way.’
Perys had been aware that this moment could not be too far away, but coming like this it took him by surprise. Nick had said nothing to him about it on the way to Brooklands that morning.
‘What is it you want me to do?’ he asked, hesitantly.
‘Nothing you haven’t done many times before,’ was the reply. ‘Take off, fly around the track for a few circuits, then land. Take off again immediately and do the same again. After a while, if you feel confident enough, go off and take a jolly somewhere - but don’t lose yourself. Choose a course, stick to it, and fly a reciprocal course home again.’ Perys taxied the aeroplane across the runway with considerable trepidation. He had practised all this before, and performed it well, but at the back of his mind had always been the thought that if anything did go wrong, Nick was always there to take over.
Now there was no one. He had to do it right the first time.
The knowledge that Nick trusted him to fly on his own was reassuring, but before he took off he looked across to the office. Both Nick and the mechanics had abandoned their work to come out and watch him.
The take-off went surprisingly well and Perys realised that the loss of weight of one man helped the performance of the ‘Longhorn’ a great deal.
For the same reason, the landing was somewhat less than perfect, but although Perys was not satisfied with it, the aeroplane suffered no damag
e and when he glanced towards the office Nick gave him a cheery wave.
The second landing was better and the third as good as any he had made with Nick in the aeroplane with him.
When he made his fourth landing, Perys saw that Nick and the mechanics had stopped watching and gone back to their respective tasks. He decided it was time to enjoy his flight.
He had already decided where he would go on his first solo flight and had even worked out the course and the distances involved. In preparation for this moment he had written a brief note and placed it inside a small shell case, attached to a home-made parachute.
It was his intention to fly over his old school in Oxfordshire and let them know that one of their less illustrious students was doing something useful with his life after all.
By the time Perys reached the school, lessons were over for the morning but, as had been the routine when he was there, most of the boys were out on the sports fields. They were either preparing for inter-house Rugby Union matches, or practising in order that the participants might one day graduate to a house team.
Perys’s first pass over the fields brought all activities to an excited halt. His second, much lower this time, added consternation to the excitement. At the very moment he threw out his message, Perys thought he saw the face of the headmaster looking up at him, but he could not be certain.
Looking back as he climbed to clear the school buildings he saw such a scrummage to collect his parachute message that he could identify no one.
The return flight to Brooklands was uneventful, but back at the airfield an accident occurred. It was one that would remain in his memory for ever, even after he had witnessed the full horrors of war. It was undoubtedly caused by the RFC’s poor method of training, something that Nick felt very strongly about.
The Royal Flying Corps had gone to France in the first days of the war. Despite the opposition of some diehard senior army officers who still believed wars could be won by sword-wielding gentlemen on horseback, the fliers had swiftly proved their worth in reconnaissance duties. Indeed, it was soon conceded, albeit grudgingly, that without them the German army might not have been thrown back from the very gates of Paris.
With this recognition came a belated realisation that Britain lagged woefully behind the other powers in the number of flying machines in service, and men qualified to fly them. In order to rectify this situation as quickly as possible, hastily recruited trainee pilots were rushed through a skimpy flying course. They learned only as much, or as little, as was necessary to obtain the qualifications required to pilot the increasing flood of aeroplanes being turned out by dozens of factories and workshops throughout the land.
As Perys brought the ‘Longhorn’ down, he observed a ‘Shorthorn’ aeroplane turning out-side the perimeter of the motor racing track with the obvious intention of coming in to land. The somewhat jerky movements of the plane as it manoeuvred into position led Perys to the conclusion that it was probably a trainee pilot making his first landing under instruction.
Not wishing to risk distracting the novice pilot, Perys put the ‘Longhorn’ into a wide banking turn. By the time he returned to his original position the other aeroplane should have landed.
Because he was making such a wide turn, Perys did not witness the actual crash. Not until he began his second descent did he see the ‘Shorthorn’ on the ground outside the racing track. It was lying on its side in a crumpled heap, the wings on one side pointing up to the sky. The accident must have only just occurred, but civilians and RFC personnel were running towards the scene from all directions.
A horrified Perys watched as the aeroplane erupted in a fireball that sent flames and smoke leaping into the sky ahead of him.
The would-be rescuers stopped running, standing about helplessly, waiting for the fire-engine from the airfield to arrive on the scene.
Perys’s flight took him directly over the crashed aeroplane and through the smoke billowing up from it, but he needed to concentrate on his own landing and soon the tragic scene was behind him.
When he climbed from the ‘Longhorn’, he was shaking. His first words to the flying instructor were, ‘There’s been a crash. A ‘Shorthorn’ . . . it’s on fire!’
Nick nodded sympathetically, but when he spoke it was in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘This is a training airfield, Perys, crashes are not uncommon. You’ve been lucky not to have witnessed one before this. When the RFC first moved here there were two or three a week - sometimes as many as one a day. Is it going to put you off flying?’
Perys was silent for what seemed a long time before replying, ‘No. It will probably make me a better pilot and teach me to concentrate on what I’m doing for every minute I’m flying an aeroplane.’
Resting a hand on Perys’s shoulder, Nick said sympathetically, ‘If the accident has done the same for all the trainee pilots here today then two good men won’t have died in vain. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink on the way home and you can tell me where you’ve been . . .’
That night Perys wrote a long letter to Annie. He told her about London, about Brooklands, about Nick and his flying experiences to date. He did not mention the crash he had witnessed that day.
It was something he would try, without success, not to remember for as long as he was training to become a pilot.
Chapter 26
At the end of his first week of flying training, Perys returned to Knightsbridge and the home of Maude and her daughters. He discovered the whole family was far more closely involved with the war than he and the trainee RFC pilots who spent their days circling above the race track at Brooklands.
In Europe, the British, French and Belgian armies were locked in a desperate defensive battle against the Germans, who were fighting their way towards the Belgian town of Ypres. Casualty figures on both sides were appallingly high. British casualties alone could be counted in tens of thousands, and hospitals in battle-torn France were unable to cope. As a result, trainloads of wounded soldiers were carried to the Channel ports and ferried to England, stretching the resources of the London hospitals to breaking point.
Nursing training had been temporarily suspended. Although still limping, Arabella had returned to the hospital after a plea from the matron. Young, would-be nurses suddenly found themselves performing duties that only a week before would have been considered far beyond their capabilities. Now such limitations were ignored. They had some knowledge of nursing. It would have to be sufficient for the time being.
Morwenna returned to the house on Sunday morning having been on duty all night, but she stopped only long enough to bathe and change out of the blood-soiled uniform she had been wearing for twenty-four hours. She looked desperately tired, but insisted there was no question of resting for a while. ‘If you saw the state of those poor men you wouldn’t be able to rest until every one of them had been treated and made comfortable. Some are in a pitiful state. I’ll have something to eat quickly, then get back to the hospital.’
‘I’ll take you there,’ said Perys. ‘You can ride side-saddle on the pillion of the motor-bike. We’ll need to go fairly slowly, but it will be quicker than by bus.’
At the hospital it was immediately apparent to Perys that Sunday was not going to be a day of rest for the doctors or nursing staff. Another train loaded with wounded soldiers had arrived at the nearby Waterloo station. All available transport, including that offered free of charge by sympathetic taxi-cab drivers, was being utilised. Some, more mobile than others, chose to walk, tearfully relieved to be home and away from the hell they had left behind them in France and Belgium.
Morwenna wasted no time in thanking Perys and hurried inside the hospital. As Perys was about to ride away, a soldier walking to the hospital wearing a uniform still caked with the mud of the trenches, with a bandage around his head and an arm in a sling, suddenly collapsed without warning, his knees simply buckling beneath him.
Abandoning his motor-cycle against the railings outside the hospital, Perys hurried to
the soldier.
‘Here, let me give you a hand.’ Putting an arm about the wounded man, Perys lifted him carefully to his feet. As he did so he was aware of an unpleasant odour emanating from the soldier’s clothing. It was the stench of dirt, mud, blood - and something else. Something indefinable. It was a stench that would one day become familiar to Perys. Although no one ever put a name to it, he always felt it to be the smell of death.
He helped the soldier into the hospital. Here the situation was chaotic. There were far more wounded men than the doctors and nurses could properly cope with and they had insufficient helpers.
Perys found a male nurse to take the wounded man off his hands, then went to the aid of a female nurse who was struggling to support one end of a stretcher.
Before long, he found himself as fully involved as the hospital porters in helping with the wounded men. It was a task that lasted for the whole of that day.
The hospital staff coped as best they could with at least ten times as many patients as they were equipped to deal with, and by the end of the day they had managed to transfer a great many of the wounded men to other hospitals in and around the capital city.
Now things were quieter, Perys went looking for Morwenna. He found her thoroughly exhausted and ready to go home, having worked for a full thirty-six hours.
They travelled home on the motor-cycle. Maude was waiting for them, having already tucked her younger daughter up in bed.
When she had dealt with Morwenna in a similar fashion, she came downstairs and sat with Perys, who was having a drink while a servant prepared a meal for him.
‘Was it very bad at the hospital?’ she asked, aware from the expression on his face that he had found helping out there a traumatic experience.
He nodded. ‘It was tragic to see the state of the wounded men. Many were no older than me. One can only guess what they’ve been through in France.’
‘The first thing Arabella did when she reached home was burst into tears.’ said Maude. ‘She has had a busy and upsetting day, but by the sound of things managed to cope very well. I am extremely proud of my two girls.’
The Lost Years Page 13
