Winston's Spy

by Robert Webber

  ‘Tell me what happened, if you can face it,’ suggested Alex gently.

  ‘It is all a bit unclear, and the RAF is not helping much, but, apparently, Toby was too large to be the fighter pilot that he wanted to be. I suppose all those years playing sport at school meant that he was not the right size to fit into the cockpit of one of their new fighter aeroplanes.

  ‘At university, he joined the University Air Squadron, and afterwards they sent him to a place in Gloucestershire for more training before he was sent off to a squadron in Lincolnshire. One night, they were on a training mission over the North Sea, and Toby’s plane went missing; it simply did not return with the others. Nobody saw him crash and nobody heard any distress message; one minute he was there and the next he was gone.’

  Alex could see the tears welling up in Teddy’s eyes, and he squeezed her hand for encouragement. ‘If it is too painful…’ He left the question hanging.

  ‘No, it’s good to talk,’ responded Teddy stoically, ‘Toby’s commanding officer came to see Mummy and Daddy, though I don’t think he told them very much more, and nobody included me, anyway. I care so very much that I will never see Toby again.’

  Alex was concerned for Teddy and, listening to her story, he entirely forgot the tea and muffin that he had ordered, and both got stone cold. It did not matter. Neither did it help to see Charles glancing at his watch repeatedly, and making “we need to go” signals. At that moment, Alex would happily have stayed with Teddy, giving her the comfort that she so desperately needed, and to hell with Charles and the bloody train. Alex rebelled, and asked Teddy and Charles whether they would care for more tea; it was a seemingly innocent enquiry, to which Teddy agreed and Charles shook his head impatiently, so Alex ordered another pot.

  The conversation between them dwindled eventually when it became clear that it was only Charles’s breeding that was stopping him from being rudely insistent that they left, so Teddy took the initiative graciously by suggesting that she had another appointment. Alex and Teddy embraced, and he affectionately kissed her cheek, lingering just long enough so that he could savour the deliciousness of her perfume, and they agreed that the next time Alex was in town, he would call her.

  Almost embarrassingly soon after Teddy had left, Charles gathered his coat impatiently along with Alex’s and insisted that they should go. Charles left two half-crowns on the table as settlement for their tea, which included an extremely generous tip for the young Nippy, and they hurried from the restaurant to where Charles had left the Lagonda. He was patently irritated on the drive back to Ennismore Gardens, and on turning off Knightsbridge he was more frustrated to see a drab, khaki car parked outside the house. ‘Damn,’ he swore, ‘we shall have to hurry!’

  Leaving the Lagonda at the curb, Charles ran up the steps, and he almost arrived before the door opened; Alex followed him into the house.

  ‘Ross!’ Charles shouted. ‘We are running late,’ he continued when the butler appeared, ‘is everything ready?’

  ‘Yes, milord,’ was the response.

  Charles bounded up the stairs two at a time, and again Alex followed him, before going to the Persian guestroom. He opened the door, and discovered his suitcase open but neatly packed on the bed, and his uniform freshly pressed on the dumb valet. Alex did not even feel slightly put out that strangers had packed his case, and wondered in passing whether he was becoming too accustomed to this level of service. In a slight act of rebellion against the meticulous neatness of the packing, Alex undressed; threw his clothes on top of those already packed; clambered into his uniform; adjusted his tie; grabbed his hat, jacket and suitcase; and hurried downstairs.

  Arriving looking somewhat dishevelled, he was astounded to see Charles waiting for him, appearing the perfect image of sartorial elegance in his guards’ uniform, straightening his tie in a gilt-framed mirror. How the devil does he do that? thought Alex.

  ‘Chop, chop, old chap,’ chivvied Charles, ‘otherwise we shall miss our train, and the army thinks it a poor show if carefully worked out schedules are disrupted by junior officers! Dunno about your lot, though!’

  Alex smartened himself, put on his jacket, placed the unfamiliar cap on his head and adjusted it defiantly to a jaunty angle. The two men left the house and walked to the car. Alex placed his case on top Charles’s in the open boot of the car, and climbed into the back seat of the vehicle, through the door being held open by a corporal driver.

  As the driver settled himself back in the driving seat, Charles instructed, ‘Euston station,’ and then, as if remembering something, exclaimed, ‘stop!’ Charles wound down the window, called footman to the car, and said, ‘Bennett, make sure the Lagonda is parked in the garage, please.’

  The footman responded, ‘Yes, milord.’

  Charles then chivvied the driver of the car, ‘Carry on, Corporal.’

  IX

  Euston station was busy. Civilians and those in military uniform mixed in a frenzy of bodies as they each sought the correct platform for their train, but the corporal driver seemed to know precisely where he was going, and he stopped beside the train waiting at platform three. By this time, Alex was not surprised to discover that the driver had pulled up next to the carriage that their reserved compartment was in, which was just as well, as no sooner had Charles and Alex clambered aboard than the guard blew his whistle, and the train started to wheeze fitfully and snort its way out of the station.

  Charles was annoyed to discover that their compartment was already occupied by a major of the 2nd Dragoons, otherwise known as the Royal Scots Greys, who was creating a fug of foul-smelling pipe tobacco. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Charles announced, ‘this compartment is reserved and it is non-smoking!’

  ‘What?’ demanded the major.

  ‘You, sir, are occupying our reserved compartment!’ insisted Charles.

  ‘I do not think so, laddie,’ responded the major in a broad Highland accent.

  ‘Oh, I think you are, sir,’ insisted Charles. Alex noted that there was an edge to the way he spoke to cavalry officer; nothing that he could construe as insubordination, but there was most definitely a degree of defiance.

  ‘Aye, well, I am here and I am nae moving!’ asserted the major. ‘But ye are more than welcome to join me,’ he added generously.

  ‘Alex, did you not say before we left that you wanted to wash your hands? Perhaps you would like to wash them now before the facilities get too busy.’

  Alex took the hint and made his way, through the crowd of people in the passageway, to the toilet, where he washed his hands and dried them thoroughly before returning. On approaching their compartment, Alex had to make way for a very disgruntled major of the Royal Scots Greys, who was barging his way through the crowds with an overstuffed suitcase.

  ‘How on earth did you manage that?’ asked Alex, when he opened the door to their compartment and found Charles occupying the seat where the Scottish major had once sat.

  ‘One was obliged to explain the facts of life to the good major,’ Charles clarified enigmatically, but with an innocent smile, ‘When one is right, one must stand up for that right!’

  The journey northward was undisturbed, except by the guard checking tickets and warrants, until they reached Birmingham. At which point, an argument appeared to be underway in the carriage’s passageway, and Charles rose to see what the commotion was all about. He opened the door, and the enraged and red-faced dragoon major was sitting on his suitcase in the corridor and refusing resolutely to allow an attractive young lady in her mid-twenties to pass. She was being pressed from behind by others joining the train, and was evidently in some discomfort, not being able to circumvent the obstruction of the obdurate Highlander.

  Charles sighed. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Just as the girl was about to respond, the major growled, ‘It’s none of your business, laddie!’

  Charles clearly disagreed an
d, fixing the major with a steely stare, addressed the young lady chivalrously, ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance, miss?’ He was still staring at the major. ‘My colleague and I have this entire compartment to ourselves, and it would be most agreeable if you felt inclined to join us.’

  The young lady looked at Charles – who was still staring down the major – in the manner of a young maiden in distress, and seeing the proverbial white knight riding over the horizon she responded, ‘If you are quite sure, sir?’

  Charles reached for her case, which he grasped and handed to Alex, and then held out his hand to help steady her as she scrambled gracelessly over the major’s legs. The major was apoplectic, but Charles smiled at him as he closed the door, and then slipped the lock in place.

  ‘What a thoroughly awful man!’ commented the young lady, and she settled into the compartment, ‘Thank you, kind sir; that was most generous. My name is Millicent O’Brien, but all my friends call me Millie.’

  ‘I agree that the major is a boor, but his manner to you fell far short of conduct becoming an officer and a gentleman, even a Scottish gentleman! I suspect, however, that his wrath was more the fault of my friend and I than anything that you had done. We already had dealings with the noble major, long before you joined the train!’

  During Charles’s conversation with Millie, Alex took the opportunity to note that she was about twenty-five years old, quite slight in build and about five feet two inches tall. She wore a gold wedding band on her left hand, and her clothes were well cut in the contemporary style. He guessed that the girl might have worked as a clerk or a shop girl in a good department store. On the one hand, she appeared demurely innocent, and yet, on the other, utterly unconcerned that she was in a locked compartment with two strange men, one of whom was a sailor – and everybody knew the reputation of sailors!

  Alex enquired, ‘Are you travelling far?’

  Millie responded, ‘I’m going up to Manchester and then onto Liverpool. I’m going to join the Women’s Royal Naval Service, sir!’

  ‘Really? Why?’ Charles asked a little surprised.

  ‘Does your husband not mind?’ asked Alex, indicating the third finger of his left hand to show that he knew she was married.

  ‘I felt that I needed a new challenge since Merry’s closed the works, and my Harry’s in the merchant navy; I’ve only seen him for four weeks since we got married three years ago, but I wrote to him and told him my plans, so at least he knows. Who knows, being in Liverpool, I might even get to see him again soon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ was all Alex could think of to say.

  ‘What about you, sir?’ Millicent asked Charles, whom she still clearly held in the role of saviour.

  ‘Oh, we are just going to Manchester for a couple of meetings before returning to London,’ Charles played down their actual reasons for travelling.

  ‘You must be very important to have a whole compartment to yourselves,’ observed Millicent.

  ‘Not really,’ responded Charles, ‘We were supposed to be travelling with others, but they cancelled, and nobody reallocated their seats.’

  Alex noted how easily Charles could be economical with the truth.

  As Charles entertained Millicent, Alex pondered the fascination with rail travel. It was dirty, and if one were foolish enough to poke one’s head out of the window for any length of time, it soon became covered in smuts and soot. It was also smelly; to remove the stench of the major’s foul tobacco smoke, Charles had insisted on the window remaining open so that the smell of tobacco was replaced with the acrid smell of burned coal, steam and oil that was so evocative of train travel. Stations were often grubby and unkempt, although occasionally a station master would tend the flowerbeds lovingly in the forlorn hope that a little brightness may be conjured up in the lives of the travellers using his station.

  Trains, Alex concluded, were a means to an end. Little more than the efficient transportation of large numbers of humanity between two points, and the fascination that many young boys harboured of becoming a train driver was utterly lost on him.

  A catnap soon replaced Alex’s musings, and it was only interrupted by the clattering of the bogeys crossing junctions and points as the train approached Manchester Central Station. He woke and was surprised to find himself alone in the compartment. Trying to orient himself, Alex looked out of the window at the cheerless suburbs of Manchester, and on consulting his watch he realised the train was running slightly late. The door the compartment crashed open, and a giggling Millicent preceded Charles’s entry.

  ‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ said Charles, ‘You missed dinner! Millie did not want to wake you as she said you looked so sweet and innocent, kipping in the corner. Still, you did not miss much – it was Brown Windsor soup followed by steak-and-kidney pudding. I am sure that railway companies recruit their cooks from public school refectories!

  ‘Anyway, old chap, we are nearly at Manchester, so gather your kit and smarten yourself up; we do not want the world to think that the Senior Service cannot dress!’

  Millie gathered her luggage together as she was changing trains to continue her journey to Liverpool, and when the train pulled in at platform seven, under that great arched glass roof, all three travellers disembarked. In the station concourse, Charles and Millicent said their farewells, and Millicent again thanked Charles for rescuing her from the uncouth Scottish major. Charles assured her that it had been his pleasure and, in the manner of an avuncular uncle bidding farewell to a favourite niece, he gave Millicent a peck on the cheek before she made her way off to seek her next train.

  ‘Nice girl, that,’ commented Charles.

  To which Alex responded with a non-committal, ‘Hmm!’

  Rather than leaving the station by the main exit, Charles turned towards the side gate on Lower Moseley Street and, looking quickly up and down the road, identified an RAF car parked about twenty yards away.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘our carriage awaits!’ He strode off in that direction, trailed by Alex.

  As they approached the car, the driver’s door opened, and an RAF driver emerged, who asked, ‘Lieutenant Phipps, sir?’

  ‘Yes, with Sub-Lieutenant Carlton,’ responded Charles.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ The driver held the rear door open for his passengers and confirmed, ‘It’s about forty minutes to RAF Ringway, sir, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Capital,’ commented Charles as he clambered into the car.

  Alex looked at his watch, realising that it would be close to midnight before they arrived.

  Even though it was dark as they drove through the suburbs of Manchester, Alex realised that this was an entirely different place to London. The atmosphere seemed wholly dissimilar, although he could not put his finger on precisely why. Alex had learned at school that Manchester was a mill town that specialised in textile production, and he also knew that it had been a thriving port since the opening of the ship canal some forty-five years earlier. He knew, from his Latin classes at Lassiter’s, that the Roman name for the place had been “Mamucium”, which meant “breast-shaped hill” on which there was or had been a fort. All of this knowledge, however, did not explain the dissimilarities between Manchester and London.

  As the car headed south out of Manchester, it was evident that the countryside around the city was spectacular, and they sped through several picturesque villages. As the driver slowed through the village of Wythenshawe, he half-turned his head and announced, ‘Not long now, sir.’

  Charles had been dozing in the back seat, and he awoke with a start at this announcement, but gathered his composure quickly and mumbled, ‘Very good,’ in response.

  *

  About ten minutes later, the car swung onto the approach road to the aerodrome and pulled up to a barrier. A sentry appeared, and both Charles and Alex handed over their identification cards and orders, which the guard took into the gu
ardhouse.

  A few minutes later, he returned and handed the paperwork back to Charles. ‘You are billeted in the officers’ mess tonight, sir,’ announced the sentry, ‘and Squadron Leader Harvey will see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight, sir.’ The sentry stepped back, and the barrier swung upwards for the driver to proceed.

  Alex was unsure what to expect from an RAF officers’ mess, and he was disappointed. As they pulled up to a Nissen hut, the like of which he was only too familiar with, a flight lieutenant opened the rear door of the car.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he greeted them, ‘my name is Collins, and I am the duty officer. Welcome to RAF Ringway. Please excuse the mess, but we are only just operational, and they have not finished building yet, hence the rather ramshackle squalor of the mess facilities!’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Charles.

  ‘This way, gentlemen; we will get you bedded down for the night. I understand Squadron Leader Harvey is seeing you at about 09:30 hours, so you will have plenty of time to enjoy breakfast!’

  The duty officer took Alex and Charles through the door, and it became clear that two or three Nissen huts had been conjoined to form the officers’ mess. Following Collins down a corridor, they stopped just before the end of the building.

  Collins said, ‘Lieutenant Phipps, this is your room, and,’ he indicated the door opposite, ‘Lieutenant Carlton, this is yours. You will have to share a batman during your stay, and Corporal Drake has been instructed not to wake you before 07:00 hours.’ Collins opened both doors, and he waited while Alex and Charles went into their respective rooms.

  Alex’s room was sparsely furnished with a metal cot, a small table and a hard-backed chair, and a chest of drawers whose top was stained with several rings where earlier users had left hot mugs or beer glasses. The linoleum floor had been scrubbed and polished until it gleamed, and there was a patterned rug, thoughtfully provided to give warmth when getting out of bed. One wall had a 24x12-inch mirror screwed to it, and the opposite had a cheaply framed print of the English countryside, in an attempt to make the spartan room appear homely.