‘What’s the matter?’ asked Ted.
Archie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Nothing, really.’
Ted looked at him again. Go on. But when Archie remained silent, he said, ‘Is it what happened yesterday? The blood on the canopy? You’ve got to try to put it out of your mind, you know.’
‘I wish I could, but I can’t stop thinking about it. The pilot was probably just like us. Alive one moment, in a thousand pieces the next. It’s all so – so unfathomable. I keep thinking that might happen to me. Or to you, Ted.’
Ted patted him on the back. ‘No, we’ll be all right. We know how to handle ourselves now. Remember what Pops said, and what Mac told us. Experience is everything in this game, and we’ve got that now.’
‘It makes a difference, I know, but a lot of it is luck – chance, fate, whatever you want to call it.’
‘And as we’ve already shown, we’re lucky.’ He grinned. ‘Come on, Arch, this isn’t like you. And anyway, now that we’re pals again, we can’t let anything happen to us. We’ll be all right, you’ll see.’
Archie smiled weakly. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
In two days of combat he had been a hair’s breadth from colliding with a Messerschmitt, had been hit by a cannon shell, his plane peppered with bullets, and he had nearly plunged head first into the sea. And this was almost certainly just the beginning. The beginning of the battle, the beginning of the war. He knew he somehow had to push such thoughts out of his mind, but it seemed to him that the odds of their surviving were stacked against them.
20
Forty-eight-hour Leave
At the end of the month, on 26 and 27 July, Archie and Ted were given leave for forty-eight hours. Two whole days! Regular leave was something Air Chief Marshal Dowding had recently introduced: every pilot was to have twenty-four hours off a week and at least forty-eight hours off every three weeks. As far as Archie was concerned, it could not have come at a better moment.
‘I think we can survive without our aces for a couple of days,’ Jock had told them. ‘In any case, Happy tells me the weather forecast is looking poor for the weekend, so I don’t suppose Jerry will be coming over much anyway.’
So it had proved, not that Archie minded. He had gone to stay with the Tylers – at Ted’s insistence – and for much of that first day had slept. A large bed, crisp, clean sheets, a mattress at least a foot deep, and a room filled with paintings and furniture and a carriage clock that whirred and ticked comfortingly. Biggin seemed a long way away.
When he awoke, early in the evening, it was to see Tess sitting on the edge of his bed.
‘Am I in heaven?’ he said, opening his eyes.
She laughed and kissed him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Much better. Much, much better.’
‘Good, because Ted wants us all to go out.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘I’m so glad you’ve patched things up.’
‘So am I.’
They headed out soon after: drinks at the Café de Paris, then dinner at Oddenino’s before heading back to Pimlico. Eating out was expensive, but Archie saw no point in saving his pay. What’s more, it was fun, and made him feel just that little bit older and more grown-up – to be drinking cocktails and dan-cing at famous clubs like the Café de Paris, and to have Tess at his side in sophisticated Regent Street restaurants, was rather thrilling. He was conscious he walked taller and straighter when Tess was with him.
‘Thank you, boys!’ she said as they arrived back at Winchester Street later that night. ‘It’s been lovely – and such a funny time too. I’ve laughed and laughed.’
‘It’s been very jolly,’ agreed Ted. ‘If only we could be on leave all the time.’
Group Captain Tyler was home before them this time, sitting in the drawing room with a tumbler of Scotch.
‘Ah, boys!’ he said, standing up and shaking hands vigorously. ‘How good to see you both!’
‘I’m an ace, Pops!’ said Ted. ‘And so is Archie. We’ve both got six.’
His father smiled. ‘Well done. Well done. And how is the squadron?’
‘In good form,’ said Ted. ‘We’ve not lost a man yet. A few bail-outs but no one’s got the chop, thank goodness.’
‘It’s incredible, really,’ said his father. ‘The Luftwaffe are still attacking ports and ships and that’s all. It’s given us the most wonderful breather.’
‘But we’ve been flying non-stop!’ said Ted.
‘Ah, yes, but how often have you actually engaged the enemy?’
‘Not often, but we have had a few big dust-ups the past week or so. Aircraft swirling about all over the place. It’s been mayhem.’
‘So do you think things are looking a bit more hopeful, sir?’ asked Archie.
‘Things are better than they were. Put it this way, more and more new aircraft are being built. Production is outdoing wastage. More pilots are being trained. But Göring has got to make an all-out strike soon.’
‘Why, Pops?’ asked Tess.
‘Because if Germany is to have any chance of defeating us, Herr Hitler has to invade, and he cannot successfully invade unless he has control of the skies.’
‘Why not? They’ll be coming by sea, won’t they?’
‘Because, my little sis,’ said Ted, ‘we’d shoot up and bomb all the boats and barges carrying their troops like rats in a barrel if they didn’t.’
‘But time is a very important factor, darling,’ said the group captain. ‘Hitler doesn’t have a large navy and, in any case, would have to carry most of his troops in barges and small ships.’
‘Because,’ interjected Ted, ‘you can’t rapidly unload lots of fighting troops on to beaches from warships – they can’t get close enough to the shore. So you need landing boats or flat-bottom barges.’
‘Which cannot cross the Channel unless the weather’s reasonably fine,’ continued their father.
‘Which it is in summer?’ said Tess.
‘Which is most likely in summer,’ agreed her father. ‘Come the autumn, the sea will be too rough, the days too short and Hitler will have to wait until the spring, by which time we’ll be strong enough to defend our skies again.’
‘So it really is a race against time,’ said Tess.
‘Yes,’ agreed her father. ‘And with every day that passes, our chances of survival improve just that little bit more.’
‘Do you have any idea when they might launch their main attack, sir?’ asked Archie.
Tyler shook his head. ‘I wish we did. I suspect when there’s a spell of good, clear weather, but the outlook remains unsettled, thank goodness. Normally, we all moan when it rains, but I’m praying this is the wettest summer on record.’
They all went to bed soon after, heading upstairs together, so Archie could not snatch a brief moment with Tess alone. For a while, he lay in his bed in the guestroom on the first floor, unable to get to sleep, thinking, not of colliding aircraft or pulverized pilots, but of Tess. He felt quite bewitched by her. Was this love? Perhaps he would marry her. Could they? One day? What a great evening it had been, and there was still all of tomorrow. It reminded him of Christmas Eve: the feeling of contentment mixed with expectation that was all too rare these days. He rolled over and was soon asleep, dreaming as usual of dogfights and all the horrors of war that now invaded his dreams.
The following morning a telegram arrived addressed to both Ted and Archie. They were having breakfast and Tess hurried to the door when the knock came.
‘I don’t know who to give it to,’ she said, looking anxious. ‘Oh, I do hope it’s nothing awful.’
‘Probably recalling us from leave,’ said Ted. ‘Go on, Archie, you open it.’
Archie held the envelope for a moment. No one spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic tick of the wall clock.
He tore open the envelope and pulled out the thin piece of paper with its glued-on words. I don’t believe it! he thought.
‘Well?’ said Ted. ‘Well?’
‘Congratulatio
ns. Stop. Award of DFC confirmed to both Pilot Officers A Jackson and E Tyler. Stop. No bragging allowed. Stop. Skipper. Stop.’ He looked up, a wide grin on his face. ‘We’ve been given the Distinguished Flying Cross!’
Ted’s mother and Tess hugged and kissed them both in turn. Archie could not stop smiling.
‘We must tell Pops!’ said Tess. They called his office and after a brief delay Ted managed to get through.
‘He sends his congratulations,’ said Ted after he had put down the receiver, ‘and says they sell the right ribbon at the Army and Navy store in Victoria Street.’ He clasped Archie on the shoulder. ‘We should go there now. Mama, you’ll sew it on for us, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘If you boys go now, I’ll have it done before lunch. Then you can wear it before you go out tonight.’ She looked at them both. ‘You are going out tonight, I take it?’
‘Of course!’ Ted laughed. ‘We need to celebrate!’
‘Shall I invite a friend?’ asked Tess. ‘Make up a foursome?’
‘Three’s a crowd, is it, sis?’
‘I just thought you might want to meet my friend Jenny. She’s very pretty and isn’t stepping out with anyone. You’d like her. She’s fun.’
‘What about that Polly girl?’ asked their mother. ‘You seemed frightfully taken with her a little while ago.’ Archie was very fond of Mary Tyler. She was a gentle lady – calm and assured but not a stick-in-the-mud at all. She seemed to accept, Archie thought, that times were changing. He adored his own mother, but he could not imagine her being willing to allow him to go out both nights of a precious two-day leave.
‘Don’t mention Polly,’ groaned Ted. ‘She’s back in the arms of some ghastly army captain now. Apparently, she always was and was only draping herself over me to make him jealous.’
‘Then what about Jenny?’ asked Tess.
‘When you say she’s pretty, just how pretty? The last thing I want is to be lumbered with some awful bore all night while you two giggle together in the corner.’
Archie laughed.
‘She’s blonde, has blue eyes, a pretty nose and is rather clever, but not in a showing-off way. I’m not a boy, but if I were, I’d say she was pretty much perfect.’
Ted grinned. ‘All right, ask her. But I’m trusting you, sis. Don’t let me down.’
Ted need not have worried. As Archie could tell the moment Jenny walked into the Brevet Club in Shepherd’s Market, Ted was instantly smitten. After drinks, they went for dinner at a French restaurant near Berkeley Square and Ted could not keep his eyes off her. When the girls later disappeared together to the ladies’ room, Ted turned to Archie and said, ‘This time I definitely am in love. Isn’t she amazing?’
‘You’ve only just met her, Ted.’
‘So? I can tell. Jenny’s the one for me. And she laughs at all my jokes.’
‘I saw.’
‘Coup de foudre, Archie, coup de foudre. Love at first sight!’ He sat back and sighed. ‘I never want this night to end.’
After dinner, they went dancing at the Bag o’ Nails, Ted and Jenny glued to each other and Archie happy to be able to hold Tess close to him.
‘It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘The fighting, I mean.’
Archie nodded. ‘I think so.’
She leaned her head on his shoulder as they drifted slowly round the dance floor. The band was playing ‘Blue Skies’, at a gentle, unhurried tempo, the female singer crooning huskily.
‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you or Ted.’
‘We’ll be all right,’ he said. He wished he meant it.
‘Do you get frightened?’
Archie nodded. ‘Before our leave I had a couple of bad days. A few close calls. It’s very tiring. The Spit’s a beauty, but it’s still very hard work moving it this way and that at three hundred miles an hour. Your arms ache, your legs ache, then there’re centrifugal forces to contend with too. I very nearly didn’t pull out of a dive the other day. The trouble is, gravity is pulling it one way and you’re trying to make it go another – it’s a massive strain on the aircraft and on our bodies. Fortunately, I did manage to pull up in time on that occasion, but I felt a bit windy after that. But it taught me a lesson. I shan’t make that mistake again.’
She held him tight, and then the singer breathed into the microphone, ‘Since we have a few airmen out there tonight, this one’s for you.’
It was ‘A Pair of Silver Wings’.
Ted brushed past with Jenny, grinning from ear to ear. ‘How about that, hey, you two?’
‘Can we sit down?’ Archie said. ‘I don’t really like this one.’
‘Good idea. I don’t either. It’s depressing.’ She smiled. ‘Ted’s happy.’
‘He’s in love.’
‘Already?’
‘So he says.’
Tess took his hand in hers. ‘I wish we could go away somewhere.’
‘Why don’t we? This won’t go on for ever. At some point, I’ll be given leave. I could show you Scotland. I could take you to Loch Rannoch. Or we could go to the West Coast. I haven’t been there since I was a boy scout, but it’s wonderful. Mountains and glens, and the sea. It’ll probably rain, but who cares?’
Her face lit up. ‘I would love that.’
Archie suddenly became quite animated. ‘I could get a bike with a sidecar. We could go by motorbike. Wouldn’t that be fun?’
‘Do you think we could? Honestly?’
‘Of course we could. If your parents didn’t mind.’
‘I wouldn’t tell them – I’d say I was going with a girlfriend.’
‘That’s so wicked.’
‘Not very. Not really. You’d have to get me a leather flying helmet and goggles specially.’
‘And an Irvin. I could raid the stores and nab one.’
She laughed.
‘Oh, Tess, let’s do it,’ said Archie. ‘It’s a wonderful country. So beautiful. We could go on a tour.’
She put her arms around him and kissed him. ‘That would be heavenly! And something we can both dream about. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’
The band had stopped playing ‘A Pair of Silver Wings’ and was beginning a rendition of ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’. Tess held Archie’s hand and stood up. ‘I want to dance again now. That’s made me so happy just thinking about it.’
Archie grinned, and pulled her back on to the dance floor.
‘You’ve got to promise to look after yourself,’ she said. ‘No more gadding about, flying over to France. I need you in one piece for our Grand Tour of Scotland.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Promise me?’
‘I promise.’ He laughed. And at that moment, he wondered whether he had ever been happier in his entire life.
21
Never Follow an Enemy Down
Tess had given Archie a journal before he and Ted had left the following morning. It was bound in black leather with lined paper, and in it she had written,
Everyone should keep a diary at this time. Who knows what things you will write in these pages, but I know in years to come we will look back at these days and marvel at what took place.
Your loving Tess
27 July 1940
‘I thought about getting you a diary,’ she had told him, ‘but then I decided a journal was better. You can write what you want, when you want.’
‘Thank you,’ he had said. ‘I will write in it. I’ll enjoy it. It’ll give me something to do while we’re waiting at dispersal.’
When they arrived back at Biggin on Archie’s Norton, it seemed as though they had never been away. Just as Jock had predicted, there had been little flying; that Sunday, the squadron had remained at Biggin. Archie and Ted found the pilots at dispersal. Outside it was raining.
But the rain did not last. They were up again at dawn the next day, flying down to Hawkinge, patrolling the south coast in the morning, before being scrambled and sent off after a reported enemy raid. They saw
nothing.
Archie scribbled in his journal as they sat outside dispersal at Hawkinge later that afternoon:
Monday 29 July
Another X raid. We flew to sixteen thousand feet and were then vectored to an enemy raid reported as being ‘twenty plus’ but there was a bit of cloud about and we couldn’t see an enemy plane anywhere. One thinks one should be able to see a plot of twenty enemy bombers and fighters, but when you can see an aeroplane no more than a few miles away, it’s actually difficult to spot them sometimes. The sky is a big place.
I’ve just bought a camera from Mick. His people sent him a new one for his birthday, which was three weeks ago – it arrived a tad late – so I’ve taken on his old one. I’m going to take snaps of everyone and stick them in my journal.
Archie reckoned he had got a bargain: an Argus 35 mm, only about three years old, Mick told him, and all for sixteen shillings – about a day and a half’s pay. Mick had also included a Kodak film, so Archie spent an evening going around taking photographs of the pilots.
‘Here,’ said Mick just before they flew back to Biggin. ‘Let me take a shot of you and Ted. You should have one of the pair of you.’
They sat on the step of the dispersal hut and grinned at Mick: hair unkempt, scarves instead of ties, sheepskin-lined flying boots battered and scuffed.
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘One for posterity.’
Twenty-four hours later, Mick was dead. It was the second scramble of the day. One minute they had all been lying out in the sun at Hawkinge, the next the telephone rang and B Flight were ordered off. Books and cards were flung down, Archie dropped his journal and then they were running for their Spitfires. Engines roaring into life. Snatch the parachute from the wing, fumble frantically with the straps and catches, then clamber into the cockpit, chocks away and off, quickly taxiing around the perimeter and, moments later, throttles wide, nine Spitfires thundering across the grass and into the air. Three minutes – that was all it had taken.
Battle of Britain Page 20
