David laughed and straightened up. "Maybe you're right, but I'll have a word with him, see if I can get him to ease up on you a bit." He smiled at Tony. "I still don't totally approve, but I love you, and I'm glad you're out of the worst danger." He breathed deeply. "Thanks for listening tonight, little brother, it’s been a big help. We get so tired at base that fear takes hold of us all too easily. But after this spot of leave I'm sure we'll be fit and ready to go again. The battle will be over before you know it, and we'll laugh at the times we were afraid!"
Tony reached out to touch his brother’s shoulder again. "I'll always be here if you need to talk David. I love you, and I’m immensely proud of you. I'll do my best not to let you or Dad down. By the time this is all over, maybe you’ll all appreciate my contribution too."
David nodded. "I'm sure we will. Everything is so black and white in wartime, brave or coward, loyal or traitor. It won't be until this damned war is finished that we’ll be able to see the shades of grey.” He grinned, more like the David that Tony knew from before the war. “Now come on, let's get down to the pub!"
The two brothers climbed into the sports car and the engine roared into life, but before pulling away David turned to his brother once more.
"I'm glad we had this talk. You don't know how much it means to me that we’re friends again."
As the car pulled out into the road and headed for the village, the two young men were smiling happily.
It was David’s last morning at home before rejoining his squadron at Wittering, and the family were together in the drawing room. Sir Michael had noticed the change in the relationship between his two sons, and felt that if David, whose life was in constant danger as he fought for his country, could come to terms with Tony’s apparent cowardice, then he, too, should make an effort. The atmosphere had eased slightly, much to the relief of Louise and her mother, and the family could meet once more without fear of arguments.
The two young men were playing chess at a table placed in front of the window, so that they could look out at the pleasant sunlit gardens. Madame de Thierry and her daughter were both engaged in writing letters, while Sir Michael sat in his favourite armchair reading the morning newspaper.
"Mr. Churchill has been giving another one of his speeches," he said to no-one in particular. "That man does have a way with words. He seems to be able to bring out the best in us, and to say what each of us feels."
"What did he have to say this time?"
Sir Michael turned towards his son. "He’s been praising the work that you and the other brave boys in the RAF are doing."
There was silence for a moment, and Tony feared that Sir Michael might make some comment about his younger son’s reluctance to fight. But the moment passed and nothing was said.
"Read it to us, mon cher."
Sir Michael smiled at his wife. "Of course, dear. I'm sure you'll like it." He cleared his throat and rustled the paper as though he were about to make a speech to Parliament, not read one that was already a day old. His two sons smiled indulgently at each other as Sir Michael began to read.
"’The gratitude of every home in our island, in our Empire, and indeed throughout the world, except in the abodes of the guilty, goes out to the British airmen who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, are turning the tide of the world war by their prowess and their devotion. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.’"
"Never was so much owed by so many to so few? He must have seen our mess bills! "David winked at his brother, and they both laughed.
"Do not make a joke of it, cher." Louise was smiling indulgently at her son. "This shows just how much the people of England appreciated what you are doing. I am so proud of you."
"Me too. What you’re doing will go down in history as one of the greatest battles ever. And if you fly your plane like you play chess, Hitler doesn't stand a chance!" Tony indicated the board where his white king was almost surrounded by black pieces.
"That’s always assuming Hitler is as bad at planning his battles as you are at playing chess! Come on, let's go for a walk before I have to leave."
As the two young men left the room, they failed to notice the frown which furrowed their father’s brow. As the door closed he turned to his wife in exasperation.
"I don't know how David can be so friendly with Tony, while he's taking the easy way out in this ghastly war."
Louise gave a typically French shrug. "Perhaps he knows more about Tony’s job than we do, and can appreciate its value. Or perhaps he merely loves his brother. Whatever the reason, I am glad to see them friends again. They should not part as enemies in wartime. Life and love are too precious to waste, mon cher."
Sir Michael nodded. "Perhaps you’re right; but I don't mind admitting that I find it hard to keep my relationship with Tony friendly."
With a sigh, Louise turned back to her letter-writing.
24
Four days after David rejoined his squadron, Tony was reading the morning paper in the gardens. The headlines filled almost the entire front page, and what they said filled him with a deep anger. 'German bombs fall on London'. In his mind’s eye he saw once again the refugees bombed and strafed in France, the horror of the bombing on the beaches at Dunkirk. He transferred the vision of fear and pain to the civilians in London, his own capital city. If it could happen there, it could happen anywhere. Would the Germans dare to bomb other civilian centres?
A shadow fell over the paper, breaking into Tony’s black thoughts. He looked up.
"Sarah!" He leapt to his feet at the sight of the girl beside him. "It's good to see you again. I was going to come looking for you later on. I have to be back at work soon and I wanted to see you again before I left."
Sarah’s smile was forced, holding none of its usual sparkle and Tony frowned. "Is there anything wrong?"
Sarah indicated the newspaper lying at his feet. "Why did they do it Tony? Why bomb London? Do you think it was deliberate?"
"I've been thinking about it, and I don't think it was. Maybe the pilots got lost, and with the blackout they wouldn't have known they were dropping their bombs on a city." He took Sarah by the arm and began to walk with her across the lawns. "Maybe this will be just an isolated raid."
"Do you think we will retaliate?"
Tony shrugged. "If we’re wise we won't, at least not until they do it again, and we know that it wasn't an accident. But I don't think we'll take the sensible course; there’ll be calls, from all sides, for us to bomb Berlin. If we do retaliate then the Germans will bomb our cities again. It’ll be a vicious circle, with no way out."
Sarah felt a shiver of fear run up her spine as she tried to imagine how the civilians must have suffered.
"Do you think they’ll bomb other cities, apart from London?"
"I guess so. Especially the ones involved in the war industry." Tony felt Sarah’s arm stiffen beneath his hand and turned towards her. "I'm sorry, Sarah. Your family are in Coventry, aren't they?"
Sarah nodded. "There's just my mum, she's all the family I have. Then there's Joe." Deep down, Sarah had been glad that Joe had failed his medical, feeling that he would be safe at home. Now, with the prospect of the Luftwaffe bombing civilian centres, she realised just how insecure her loved ones really were. Tony took her gently in his arms and held her close.
"Don't worry, Sarah, I'm sure they’ll be all right. The Germans might not bomb other cities, but if they do there are plenty of air raid shelters. People will be safe."
Tony found it hard to concentrate on his words. Holding Sarah in his arms and feeling her soft hair brush his cheek, he was in heaven, and hoped the feeling would never end; but at last it did. As he knew she would, Sarah pulled away.
"Thanks, Tony. I feel a little better now." She turned towards the river, making a conscious effort to change the subject and to forget how good it felt to be held in Tony’s arms.
"I see your brother’s been hom
e on leave, too."
Tony smiled and nodded. "Yes, and I'm glad to say we parted as friends. David seems to have come to terms with the importance of my job, which is more than I can say for my father. He still seems to think I'm taking the easy way out."
"Do you feel that you are doing the right thing? I mean, civilians are in danger now as well as the military. Don't you think you should be out there doing your best to put an end to this, as soon as possible?"
"But that's what I am doing! I thought you at least understood that!" Tony was exasperated. He had thought Sarah understood him, but now he was not so sure. Even she seemed to be criticising him now.
Sarah smiled at him, the old warm smile that had first attracted Tony to her, and he felt his anger melting away.
"I'm sorry, Tony. I suppose I'm just worried about the people I love."
Tony knew she meant Joe, and he felt jealous. Never before had he cared so much about a woman, and the woman he cared for belonged to someone else. He fought to keep his emotions under control and not to let his feelings for her show in his face.
"Of course your job is important. After all, where would the army be without weapons? When do you have to go back?"
"In three days."
"Maybe I can see you again before you go?"
Tony smiled happily. "I certainly hope so!"
The two young people met every day during Sarah’s short lunch break, talking of the war and their hopes for a peaceful future. Tony had no more opportunities to hold Sarah and he regretted that. But at least he had her friendship to treasure as he set off north to Scotland and the training grounds at Arisaig.
As Tony had foreseen, the RAF bombed Berlin in retaliation for the raid on London. The evil circle was completed when the Germans came back and deliberately bombed more cities. There were many civilian targets, but at the end of August it was Liverpool which suffered the most, with heavy night raids between the 28th and 31st.
Then, at five o'clock in the afternoon on Saturday September 7th, the deliberate mass attacks on London began.
SEPTEMBER - OCTOBER 1940
25
September 7th began like any other Saturday morning. Children played in the streets, mothers did their shopping and chatted to neighbours over the garden fence. Then the Home Guard Stations received the signal they had been dreading - ’Cromwell’. They all knew that this was the code name for 'invasion imminent'. Every man in the Home Guard stood to arms, though often those arms consisted of little more than pitchforks, axes, antique weapons and anything else they could get hold of. In diverse parts of the country, from the borders down to the south coast, the coastline of Wales to the Wash, church bells were rung, in the mistaken belief that German parachutists had already landed. Remarkably enough, there was little panic. Mothers ushered their children down to the air raid shelters for a while; but as time passed and no attack came, they soon returned to life in the open, filled with hope that it was all a mistake. Then, at five o'clock, the bombs began to fall in London's East End.
26
David stretched languorously. “In a strange way it’s good to be back, but the changes are going to take some getting used to.”
Watson nodded. “Six new pilots.” He sighed. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t mean six others won’t be coming back.” He looked across at the new recruits, laughing together on the far side of the airfield. “I wonder how many of those will still be with us in a week or two?”
David shook his head. “Who knows. It looks like this is going to go on forever. You know how we got withdrawn from the front line after six weeks? Well, rumour has it that’s not going to happen anymore. We’re going to need every plane and pilot constantly, if we are to win. I was talking to Bear, and apparently we’re all now classed as Category A or Category B squadrons. B’s will be on standby to replace the frontline Category A squadrons, whenever their losses become too great. And we all know what that means.”
The two pilots sat in silence for a moment as they thought of the continued action and pressure that faced the Category A pilots. Each unit would have to fight on indefinitely, without the prospect of relief, their only chance to rest coming with twenty-four hours leave each week. They would be too tired to do more than sleep for that one day.
“Thank God we’re B. At least that gives us some time to put these new lads through their paces, and give them a better chance of surviving their first combat.”
Watson nodded but said nothing.
“It’s not just the new boys but the changes in command as well. We could do without that in the middle of a conflict. Freeman deserves his promotion. He’ll do well as commander of Red Section, but I’m going to miss Sykes. He’s a good pilot and they need men like him in the Operational Training Unit, but I’d rather he was back here with us. It was comforting to have him fly on your wing, knowing he was there to support you. Many’s the time he’s got me out of trouble up there.”
“You’re right. But I try not to think of the changes too much. Once we get sent back to the front line, the changes will come thick and fast. Being realistic we’re bound to lose more planes and men, though hopefully our losses will be less with those new Mk. II Spitfires we flew down here yesterday.” He looked around at the bustling airfield at Duxford. “From here we’ll be able to support the squadrons defending the south-eastern corner of England. It’ll be good to get back into the air again.”
David smiled. “You know, you’re right. There was a time when I thought I could never face combat again, but now I’m raring to go. I guess the rest did me good.”
“It was what we all needed.”
“You know, I never thought I’d complain about it being too quiet! When we were in the front line, we’d have flown at least two sorties by midday, yet here we are in the middle of the afternoon and the Mk. II's still haven’t seen action. I just want to get up there and fly!”
As David looked out at the new aircraft he felt much better now that his leave was over. Perhaps his fear had been compounded by exhaustion, for now that he was rested he knew that he would be able to face the enemy again in the same cool manner as he had approached his first action over Dunkirk.
"Scramble! Scramble! All Sections rendezvous with No. 19 and No. 11 Squadrons!"
As the Tannoy blared, David and Watson raced for their planes and were soon airborne, joining the three four-aircraft sections in line astern which linked up with the rearmost squadron in the flight.
"Dysoe Leader. Enemy over London Docks. Your boys take out the bombers, while we deal with the fighters."
"Roger." Reynolds’ voice echoed over the RT. "You heard that, boys. The bombers are ours."
As the planes approached the docks, David saw about thirty bombers at twenty thousand feet. He was cold. The skies at high level were always bitterly cold, and he was glad of his fur-lined flying jacket, but the cold was the least of his problems. As usual at this height, the inside of the perspex canopy had misted up and frozen over, leaving David semi-blinded. Frantically scrubbing the ice away, he peered out and saw the bombers below him. But as fast as he cleared the ice it reformed, and he could not wait to reach lower levels and warmer temperatures.
"Dysoe. This is Dysoe Leader." Reynold’s voice again came over the RT as the planes dived towards the enemy bombers. "Position yourselves for a head-on attack."
The Spitfires raced towards their targets, screens clearing steadily in the warmer air.
"Bogies at one o'clock!"
Freeman's voice broke through the silence, and David turned to see the enemy fighters bearing down on them.
"Dysoe. Turn in and attack from the beam." Reynolds was already carrying out the manoeuver as he spoke. "Good luck, lads."
Attacking from the beam, David saw his bullets hit two aircraft before he continued down in a fast spiral to evade the fighters. As the g forces caught hold of him, he pulled back on the stick and climbed rapidly to rejoin the fight, where he attacked a lone bomber head-on from out of th
e sun. The German pilot failed to see him until it was too late, and as David's Spitfire raced past he saw the bomber’s port engine catch fire. As he watched, he felt the impact of bullets ripping into the fuselage of his own plane, and dived away to avoid the fighter on his tail.
The sky was filled with aircraft. Like participants in some strange aerial dance, the Spitfires and Hurricanes moved in and out of the enemy bombers and fighters. Climbing, diving, weaving back and forth in an intricate ballet of the sky, lit by streams of de Wilde incendiary bullets which created delicate patterns of living death in the air. Yet for David and the other participants in the engagement, the tapestry of the battle was too broad. They saw only their own individual movement, and the occasional corner of a life and death struggle close by.
David fought on until his ammunition ran out, then dived away and headed back towards Duxford, one kill, two probables and one damaged to his credit. As his Spitfire touched down, he threw back the cockpit hood and climbed out to be greeted by the ground crew.
"You look a bit of a mess, sir."
David turned to look at his plane and smiled grimly. Two lines of bullet holes stretched the length of the fuselage, but by some miracle there had been no hits on vital equipment.
"I guess I've been lucky again." David removed his flying helmet and goggles and sauntered over to report to debriefing. It was good to be back in the air again.
It was the beginning of the second week in September. As 74 Squadron did not form a regular part of the Duxford Wing, life was not as hectic as it had been at Manston. David and his fellow pilots lounged in chairs or stretched out on beds, waiting for the order to scramble. From time to time the Operations Room phone rang, as the Sector Controller checked on aircraft and pilot readiness. Each time it rang the pilots would look across, waiting for the order to scramble. When the phone was replaced in its cradle with no message issuing from the Tannoy, they would relax once more.
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