A Diamond in the Rough

by Marilyn Land

  They arrived at Darr Aero Tech in Albany, Georgia, a civilian flying school taken over by the U.S. Army Air Corps on a beautiful but hot summer day in mid July 1941. They were required to repeat basic training, and although they were looked after very well, they weren’t allowed off base for six weeks.

  When the six weeks were up, and they were given a weekend pass, Jake, Tommy, and Andy set out to sample some of the southern cooking and southern hospitality that they had been hearing about. On base, they wore khaki shirts and slacks, but on excursions into town, they once again wore their civilian clothes, and it almost made it seem as though they were on holiday.

  Jake was having the time of his life, as he waited impatiently to fly. His first flight made on 5 September 1941 was an experience that he would never forget. Dressed in overalls, helmet, and goggles, he sat in the rear seat and bumped across the grass until the aircraft suddenly stopped bumping and he realized they had left the ground below. It was 40 minutes of sheer ecstasy until they touched down. A feeling of euphoria came over him and at that moment, he realized he had made the right decision to join the RAF.

  After ten hours of dual instruction, Jake flew solo and passed with flying colors. He almost drove his instructor crazy by constantly urging him to test him further and further. It worked. He passed the Flight Commander 20-hour and 40- hour checks with no problem whatsoever, and also the Army 60-hour.

  Both the flying instructors and flight instructions at Darr were first class. All flying was done without airspeed indicators—in other words—by the seat of your pants. The feel and flicks of loops, rolls, slow rolls, and aerobatics were used to make the pilot feel as one with the aircraft they were flying, and their ability was judged accordingly.

  Two incidents occurred in September. The first was the sole fatality during Jake’s time at Darr. A solo student took off and climbed too fast causing him to collide with a dual aircraft ahead of him. The instructor and the pupil in the dual aircraft survived without serious injury, but the solo student crashed, and the plane caught fire killing him. The group attended its first Military Funeral held at St. Paul’s Church in Albany, but it cast a shadow over the group of young men forcing them to face reality.

  The second was the hurricane that hit Darr. Gil Carson their meteorology instructor was in his element when word reached him that a hurricane was coming. His ability to forecast the hurricane’s precise arrival greatly impressed the group. Most had never experienced such a phenomena before and were at first amused by the apparent panic to get the aircraft into the hangers and everything movable tied down and secured. It was while watching from the comfort and safety of their barracks, and seeing the ferocity of the wind, the deluge of the rain, and the sudden calm in the eye of the hurricane as it passed directly overhead, that they soon realized the seriousness of the situation.

  Thanksgiving Day in November was yet another new experience. The group enjoyed a traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings. In the evening, there was a dance arranged and busloads of local Georgia Peaches were imported to supplement the women who worked on the base. By American standards, the group’s dancing abilities were staid.

  A pretty young girl with blond, curly hair approached Jake, and with her pronounced southern drawl said, “Hi, my name is Sally. Would you care to cut a rug?”

  Jake didn’t have a clue what she was suggesting. “Hi to you too. I’m Jake, and what is it exactly you want me to do?”

  Sally laughed. “I didn’t know you were British. I asked if you would like to dance—jitterbug, that is.”

  Jake laughed too, although she had cleared up one thing, he now wasn’t too sure about another. “If jitterbug is an American dance, I’m afraid I’m not your guy.”

  As the band started playing In the Mood, Sally grabbed Jake’s hand and in a manner of seconds, she had him in the groove.

  All too soon the dance floor was cleared, and Jake and Sally were the only couple dancing—to the hoots and hollers of his friends as they cheered him on.

  On 7 December 1941, several cadets came up with the idea of staging a British Rugby Football Match. The two teams of cadets impressed the locals not only with the physical game that ensued, but the fact that they wore no helmets or protective padding. At the conclusion of the game, the public address system brought the news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

  This brought America into the War, and immediate changes to the routine at Darr. Security was increased; the tempo of their training was significantly put on a faster track, and the wearing of civilian clothing was banned.

  Less than a week later, the students that had completed their 60 hours flying in the Stearman Aircraft left Darr to start the next stage of their flight training at Cochran Field Macon. The excitement and anticipation was tinged with regret at leaving the town that had introduced them to southern hospitality, not to mention, bubble gum, Coke Cola, peanut butter, southern fried chicken, French fries, pumpkin pie, peaches and pecans, and the best iced tea ever—and, of course, the jitterbug!

  With his Primary Training behind him, at Cochran Field Macon, Jake looked forward to starting his service flying with U. S. Army instructors on the Vultee BT13A Aircraft. Having learned how to fly, he now had to apply his skill and knowledge to service requirements. The Vultee was a monoplane with fixed undercarriage and two-speed propeller. It also had some flying instruments—airspeed indicator, altimeter, compass, needle, and ball indicator.

  Blind flying, night flying, formation flying, and day and night cross-countries, all helped make the course extremely intensive. Twelve-hour days with only Christmas Day off and only one weekend leave, which Jake spent in Atlanta with his friends, took him to completion of the course on 12 February 1942. And while no one was watching, Jake’s 18th Birthday came and went in mid-January. He did not allow himself to become sad or morose or recall old memories of happier times and birthday celebrations. He didn’t share with anybody that it was his birthday. He looked forward to the day when he would shoot the Germans out of the sky.

  Jake left Georgia a week later. He was moved to Napier Field, Dothan, Alabama, where he learned to fly AT6A Harvard Aircraft, a much more advanced aircraft with retractable undercarriage, variable speed propeller, a full set of blind flying instruments, and capable of flying much faster than any plane he had flown to-date. Two days after dual flying with Lieutenant Billings, Jake went solo. Formation flying took place day and night; tactical flying consisted of a Rat Race—chasing the instructor and trying to keep on his tail. Now that he was flying so much, time seemed to pass quicker.

  On 17 April 1942, Jake graduated, and received his American Wings. He became an honorary 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army Air Corps. He declined an RAF Commission, as it meant staying in the United States and instructing future RAF Cadets. By May 1942, Jake was back in England—with five days of leave.

  He arrived in London and booked himself into the Savoy Hotel. Located just off the River Thames near Hyde Park, the hotel had been bombed repeatedly during the Blitz, but was never forced to close. Facing a manpower shortage, food rationing, and a decline in the number of foreign visitors following the barrage of German air raids, business reversed itself once America entered the War.

  It again became a favorite meeting place for American officers, diplomats, journalists, and world leaders. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel, and Lord Mountbatten, Charles de Gaulle, and high-ranking British and American military were regular Grill Room diners. The Savoy management cooperated fully with the government’s wartime restrictions helping to draw up an order imposing a five-shilling limit on the price of a restaurant meal. In addition, the hotel’s air raid shelters were known to be the smartest in London.

  After a shower and a change of clothes, he headed off to De Beers to see Marcus Hirsch.

  When he walked into his office, Marcus let out a big whoop. “Jake, you are a sight for sore
eyes! You look fantastic.”

  He rose from his desk and pulled him into a bit bear hug. “Do you have any plans? Come home with me. I’ll call Elena and tell her we’re having company for dinner, but I won’t tell her it’s you. We’ll surprise her.”

  Jake smiled. It sure was good to be home even if it was just for five days. “No, but I do now. Dinner with you and Elena sounds like a good plan to me.”

  They spent the evening catching up, but Jake did most of the talking. He told them all about the numerous flight schools, about his friends Tommy and Andy, about America, about southern hospitality, about all the good food he had sampled, and about learning to dance the jitterbug. Now the time had come for him to get down to business and do what he was trained to do. After his five days of leave, he would learn where he would be posted.

  Jake spent a day at the office with Marcus going over all his personal affairs that he had entrusted to him. Marcus showed him his reference list of documents and noted the dates when each item had been executed. When the victims’ remains were finally removed from the rubble, identified, and officially declared dead, all of his parents’ assets were transferred to him. In addition the Lerners’ assets were transferred to him as their sole heir, as well. All cash was placed in a bank account bearing the name Jacob Aaron Lyons. When all was said and done, Jake was financially quite well off—especially for someone who had just turned eighteen.

  The next day, he visited Rabbi Levin who was more than pleased to see him. He rightfully observed that the boy he once taught was gone and in his place was a tall, good looking young man with an air of confidence about him. As Marcus had surmised, so too did Rabbi Levin that this air of confidence was unprecedented for someone so young. Jake thanked Rabbi Levin for the Memorial Service he had asked Marcus to arrange for him.

  “It was quite a service. Never in all my years, has there been such an overflow crowd at the Great Central Synagogue on Rectory Square—no Bar Mitzvah, no wedding, no Sabbath Service—other than on that Friday night. Mr. Hirsch who worked with your father generously insisted on arranging and paying for the food and wine for the Kiddush following the service. Not only was it a miracle we didn’t run out of food and drink considering all those who attended, but that he even managed to secure the provisions since rationing was imposed.

  The Rabbi accompanied Jake to the Brady Street Cemetery, to the graves of his parents, his sisters, and the Lerners. They recited the mourners Kaddish together, and then Jake continued, “Baruch Dayan ha’Emet—May they rest in peace.” Rabbi Levin thought to himself—Harry and Ada would be so proud. He bid farewell to the Rabbi, promising to stop by to see him again when he was in London. The Rabbi promised to pray for his safe return.

  At first he didn’t intend to go by Valance Road, but he changed his mind and began walking through his old neighborhood. When he reached where their building had stood, a great sadness washed over him. Most of the rubble was gone but a fence had been erected around the site, and it was locked. He stared into space for a few minutes and then made his way to Max’s shop. He unlocked the door and saw that it was emptied of its contents, just as Marcus had told him—only the showcases and worktable remained. Marcus had taken the jewelry, the supplies, and all the tools and stored everything securely in the basement of the house in Middlesex.

  He spent the last day of his leave at the house on 11 Brook Avenue. Once again, he walked through the rooms, up and down the floors, all the while fighting the demons in his thoughts, just as he had done before he left to join the RAF. His feelings hadn’t changed; he could never live in the house. For now, he had no plans to sell it; that could wait until the War was over, and he came home.

  He wanted so desperately to contact Lexi, but he had conveyed to her his heartfelt thoughts in his letter and felt it best to leave things as they were. Seeing her would also have to wait until the War was over—until he could offer her a life, a secure future.

  He had dinner once again with Marcus and Elena, but this time, he took them to dinner in London at the Savoy Hotel where he was staying. The rules had recently changed, and hotels no longer had to contend with rationing thus allowing them to secure ample supplies of food and wine to serve their guests. What a wonderful dinner they had. They laughed and talked about the past, but it didn’t make Jake sad. Instead, he was glad that however short his father’s life had been, he had realized so many of his goals and dreams—first and foremost was the family he had.

  As they said their goodbyes, Jake told Marcus that he would let him know when he got his orders where he would be posted. “By the way, did you get to deliver the letter I left with you?”

  Marcus thought for a moment. “Why, yes I did. I delivered it personally that very day on my way home. The young lady was not at home, but I had a very nice visit with her mother, and I left the letter with her.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the fact that you delivered it immediately. It didn’t require a response, so I was just checking to make sure she received it.”

  Marcus could not understand why but he had a gut feeling that something was not right with the letter. He had hoped he would see Elise Portman, her husband, and daughter at the Memorial Service, and get to meet Jacob’s young lady; but despite the crowd, he was quite certain they had not been there.

  Indeed, Manny and Elise Portman were not at the Memorial Service. They did not know Harry and Ada Lyons having never met them. However, Lexi had been there with her cousin Ivan, but she did not know Marcus Hirsch nor of him, and he did not know her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At the end of his leave, Jake discovered that due to the excellent training he had received in America, and because he had declined a commission to remain and instruct future pilots, he was promoted to Flight Lieutenant and assigned to RAF Winkleigh in Devon.

  RAF Winkleigh was home to an incredible array of international combatants and their support units, including the IX USAF Service Command, the crack RAF 161 Black Squadron, the RCAF Swordfish Squadron, and the Free Polish Air Force.

  The brand new, purpose built RAF base at Winkleigh was just five minutes flying time to the north Atlantic coastline of Britain and less than an hour from the battlefronts of France. Therefore, it played an incredibly important and strategic role to the war in Europe, both as a tactical support unit for Coastal Command and an offensive battering ram against the rapidly approaching Germans.

  The Winkleigh family of squadrons resembled a flock of protective hawks in the skies over Britain’s southern cities. Their fearless pilots like stealthy black panthers in the night destroying the transport and communication systems of the enemy. Meanwhile behind closed doors, new developments in radar technology were being undertaken; munitions development and enhanced communications were being nurtured; secret operations planned; and deadly airstrikes begun.

  The Quarters on base were Nissan huts, constructed of corrugated steel, which formed the roof and sides in a half circle design. They were erected over a cement base with an access door at each flat vertical end. The huts were not heated but they did have a small cast iron stove in the center of the room. The ration of coke for the stove was one full scuttle per week. Scrounging for additional fuel was out of the question as the coke storage compound had excellent security, and anyone even found walking in the area was considered a potential thief.

  Single cots were provided with felt mattresses, a pillow or bolster, and two gray blankets, but no sheets or pillowcases. Jake found himself thinking more and more about that good old southern hospitality.

  A wide variety of operational aircraft flew out of RAF Winkleigh during the war years, including many flown by the seat of your pants super heroes in Spitfires, Hurricanes, Mosquitos, B26 Marauders, Albacores, and Dakotas, to name a few.

  As Jake and several others newly posted to Winkleigh were ushered around as an overview of the facility and the various aircraft, he eyed the Spitfires and Hurri
canes longingly. He had never flown either plane, but that didn’t stop him from hoping that one day soon, he would be in the cockpit of one or both. He had heard a good deal about the planes, and the parts they played during the Battle of Britain.

  The Hurricane was paralleled in many ways to the Spitfire in with which it was destined to form a legendary partnership. While the Spitfire was an entirely new concept based on specialized experience, the Hurricane was the logical outcome of a long line of fighting aircraft. Although the two fighter planes met the same requirements, they represented entirely different approaches to the same problem.

  The two approaches were reflected to an interesting degree in their respective appearances—the Hurricane workmanlike, rugged, and sturdy; the Spitfire slender and sleek as a thoroughbred. One was the studied application of experience, the other a stroke of genius. The fact that both the Spitfire and the Hurricane were developed and appeared on the scene at roughly the same time was purely coincidental.

  During the Battle of Britain, the Luftwaffe had tried to destroy the RAF Fighter Command and had conspicuously failed. At the time, the RAF had 33 Squadrons of Hurricanes compared to 19 Squadrons of Spitfires. Although they were lauded as the victor of the battle having been responsible for destroying more enemy aircraft than the Spitfires, the Hurricanes outnumbered the Spitfires, and many RAF pilots felt neither could have won without the other.

  Jake and nineteen others comprised the group of 20 who were selected to fly the newly equipped Spitfires.

  For the next two months, Jake and the others in his group were briefed on the Spitfire’s characteristics that were considerably different from other types of aircraft anyone in the group had flown. The instructors, who were fighter pilots themselves on break, led them on formation exercises and critiqued their every move while sharing their experiences with the aircraft in battle.