Come the Hour (10 page)

‘We’ll get through this,’ Dan said.

There was nothing that Amy could say.

T
he twins came home for the summer vacation. On their first evening they sat in the garden, having sherry before dinner.

‘Nice to have you home,’ Dan said, ‘have the family together again.’

‘Have a good term?’ Amy asked.

‘Yes,’ Tessa said. ‘It was lovely. I’ve got some snapshots to show you. I’ve got very good at poling a punt. I only fell in once.’

Amy laughed. She looked around the garden, at the height of its summer beauty, the finest summer for years. How could one imagine that all this would ever change? Surely nothing was going to happen? The King and Queen were back home from touring America. They had come back. They obviously hadn’t intended to send for the Princesses and stay in America or Canada, out of danger. That wouldn’t be very good for morale. She looked at the children, half-closing her eyes against the evening sun. They looked well. Charlie especially looked cheerful and full of energy. He must have found Cambridge very much to his liking. If it wasn’t a girl, perhaps he was finding his way, something he wanted to do with his life – if…. The terrible thoughts would not go away. If he was allowed to do anything.

‘What are you going to do in the holidays?’ she said.

‘I’m going to see if I can do a first-aid course,’ Tessa said. ‘I’m not much use as I am now, am I? I can’t actually do anything.’ Amy glanced at her quickly, but Tessa was calmly sipping her sherry. ‘Do you know if any of the hospitals are doing them?’

Amy forced down the immediate spike of fear. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I can find out.’

‘I might go up to Cambridge now and again,’ Charlie said.

Amy’s ears pricked up. ‘What for?’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘just to see some chaps.’

Amy wondered again whether he had a girl. Neither of them had said anything.

‘I can take you to the hospital, Tessa,’ Dan said. ‘I’m sure the casualty officer would help you. He would probably be a better instructor than your mother and me. He does that sort of thing all the time. And the nurses could show you a thing or two.’

Amy looked at him sharply, but he merely raised his eyebrows, signalling her to say nothing.

After dinner Dan followed Charlie back into the garden. He lit his pipe, puffing to get it going. He blew out the match and flipped it into a flower-bed. ‘Why are you going back to Cambridge, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Anything we should know about?’

Charlie leant back, looking up into the sky, blue and cloudless. ‘I wasn’t going to say yet,’ he said. ‘Especially to Mum.’

‘What then?’

Charlie looked back at his father, smiling a little. ‘I’ve been learning to fly, Dad, in the air squadron. It’s absolutely terrific. I’m about to do my first solo. If the balloon goes up I want to join the Air Force.’

For a long moment Dan was silent. It was all too easy to bring back the last war – those young men in the Flying Corps. Many of them died just a few weeks after they got their wings, shot down, killed, or worse. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell her yet. Nothing has happened yet. Get over your first solo.’

‘How do you think she’d take it?’

‘Your mother,’ Dan said, ‘is one of the bravest women I know. Women are tough, Charlie, when the chips are down. She did her surgery all the way through the last war in France, through the bombing and the danger. She went out with an ambulance picking up the wounded from God knows where. She’ll love you and support you whatever you do.’

Charlie grinned. ‘I think at one time she thought I might be a conscientious objector.’ He looked into the sky again. ‘I want to fly fighters, Dad. If I have to fight I want to see my enemy, face to face, man to man.’

Dan sighed. ‘If what we are hearing about Germany is true, our
enemy would be far more profound than fighting only men. We’ll be fighting something much worse, a philosophy that could poison the world for hundreds of years. We will have to win, whatever it takes. We will all have to do what we’re told, whatever it is, no matter how much it goes against the grain.’

‘But women and children, Dad?’

‘They won’t care about women and children,’ Dan said. ‘Look what they did in Guernica. They’re very powerful, Charlie. They have enormous military strength. They’ll try to frighten us to death.’

Charlie smiled. ‘No chance.’

‘Could I come?’ Dan said. ‘Could I come to see you do your first solo?’

‘That would be great,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve brought a paper for you to sign. You have to give your consent, as I’m not twenty-one yet. I suppose we’d have to tell Mum.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Dan said. ‘I’ll tell her afterwards, when you’ve done it and it’s all over. She’ll be fine.’

They arrived in Cambridge and Dan booked into the University Arms Hotel. They had dinner in the restaurant.

‘You’d better get back to college early,’ Dan said. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll pick you up tomorrow in a taxi. Get you there calm and collected.’

Charlie smiled. ‘I think it’s you who has to be calm and collected. I’m going to be busy.’

Dan lay in bed, thinking of Charlie, up there alone for the first time. He wasn’t worried – well, not too worried. Charlie was sensible and reliable. He wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t think he was ready. Hundreds of people did it. Girls did it. What about Amy Johnson? He deliberately closed his mind to the images of the air battles in the
so-called
Great War, aeroplanes a new weapon then. At least the RAF gave their pilots parachutes now. He would not think of Charlie in a fighter, turning and weaving in that desperate game.

They drove to the airfield the next day. Dan stood at the perimeter, out of the way. Why did I come, he thought? Was it just because he wanted to be here to watch his son do something rather important, or
was it because he wanted to be here in case something went wrong, so that he, and his medical expertise, would be on immediate hand? He shook his head briefly. He must dismiss that thought. He could not always be there. That responsibility would belong to someone else. The risk of impending war could so easily lead to black, negative attitudes. As he got older, he had begun to believe that thoughts were things, and that even unexpressed they could influence reality, one way or another. Positive. Be positive.

He watched as Charlie climbed into the Tiger Moth with his instructor and they took off. The aircraft did one sedate circuit of the airfield and then taxied back. He saw the instructor get out, have a brief word with Charlie, and walk away. His throat tightened. He watched as Charlie, alone now, turned the aircraft into the wind, watched as the aircraft trembled on the edge of the grass runway, gathered speed, and then as it rose, steady and graceful into the air. His throat tightened more. Is this what it’s like, he thought? Is this what it’s like, watching your son go off to war, into danger, into some steadfast resolve that you couldn’t share? The instructor, he saw, was standing as motionless as himself, watching the sky intently, waiting.

Charlie did his cockpit checks in a kind of tense calm – fuel, trim, magneto, compass, harness. All seemed well. Remember how to get out of a spin – stick forward, full opposite rudder – not that he’d have enough height. Air speed. Don’t stall. The green signal appeared. ‘Here we go,’ he said aloud. He pushed the throttle forward, his heart pounding. The Tiger began to move, gathering speed over the grass. He reached flying speed, eased gently back on the stick. The aircraft rose, steady and true into the still air. This is it, he thought. I’m off. There was no turning back now.

The ground fell away. He glanced down, then upwards into the clear sky, and felt a sudden kick of pure joy, of pure exhilaration. I’m on my own, he thought – there is no one here with me. It is all mine. He knew that for the first time in his life he was totally reliant on himself, that whatever happened now was entirely in his own hands and that nothing and no one could help him. The thought filled him with the deepest satisfaction.

He reached 800 feet and made the first of the gentle turns that would take him in a circuit around the airfield – stick and rudder together; watch the airspeed, nose attitude, come out of the turn straight and level. It felt absolutely meant, intended, that he should have the power of this wonderful machine in his hands. It felt right, as if the aircraft had settled with intention into his safe control. It felt like part of him.

He flew round the square circuit, maintaining his height, until he was on final approach. He had no doubts now, no uncertainty. He was in his element, and that element, he knew now, was the air. He felt that he had found something that he hadn’t even known he was looking for. He made his careful approach to the grass runway: flying attitude, airspeed, flaps, throttle. He watched the ground coming up gently to meet him, watched the yellow dusting on the grass turn into buttercups – throttle back, stick back into his stomach, the little bump. The aircraft rolled to a halt. I’m down, he thought. I’ve done it. I’m a pilot.

He taxied back and parked the aircraft. He got out and shook hands with his instructor, and walked back to his father.

Dan watched him coming towards him over the grass. He’s different, he thought. Something is different, some assurance, some strength. He shook Charlie’s hand. ‘Well done,’ he said.

Charlie gave a huge grin. ‘It’s fantastic, Dad. I wish I could show you. Perhaps I will, one day.’

‘I’ll look forward to that.’

‘I’ll have to stay for a bit,’ Charlie said. ‘De-briefing with my instructor. I’ll meet you back at the hotel in an hour or two.’

‘Fine,’ Dan said. ‘Then I’ll make my way home. I’ll give your mother a call and tell her what you’ve done and that you’re still alive. She’ll be much relieved.’

His instructor seemed unmoved by Charlie’s pleasure. He’d obviously seen it all before. ‘Now you’ve got to do it again,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll have to start on some aerobatic manoeuvres. Can’t have you flying just straight and level, can we? Not a good idea.’

Charlie felt a moment of shock. He had been so engrossed, so filled with his achievement, that he had forgotten everything but the joy of the moment. He hadn’t imagined the obvious – that he was being
trained to dive and twist and weave with a hungry German fighter on his tail. He was instantly sobered. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

His mother hugged him when he got home, smiling, but he could sense her tenseness. ‘Well done, darling,’ she said, but her mouth trembled.

‘I’ve had a letter from one of the chaps at college,’ he said. ‘Arthur Blake. He’s asked me if I’d like to go and stay with him in Manchester for a few days.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I suppose he flies too?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie said, ’but he’s doing it just to get more experience with aero engines. He’s an engineer. He knows how everything works. He’s offered to give me a few tips.’

‘I see,’ Amy said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. ‘I suppose that would be very useful.’

‘Yes, it would.’ It was time to tell her, he thought. Things didn’t look good. No point in hedging now. ‘It would help me to get into the RAF.’ He saw the colour drain from her face and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s what I want to do, Mum, if war breaks out.’

She leant her head against him ‘I know, Charlie. Why else would you be flying?’

‘It’s great, Mum,’ he said. ‘The best thing I’ve ever done.’

She reached up and kissed his cheek and he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I know, darling. Go and see your friend. The more you know the safer you’ll be.’

‘It’ll be all right, Mum,’ he said. ‘We’re better than they are.’

She didn’t reply. For a few moments he hung about, awkward, not knowing what to say, then he went up to his room and sat on the bed. He hadn’t thought much about death. Life had been unquestioned and unquestioning. But if war came, the possibility was there. The possibility was always there, but war was different. So far no one had actually been trying to kill him. If he died, his parents would still have Tessa, and she would see them through, she was the practical one. He smiled. Practical to a fault in some ways. As far as Tessa was concerned, if you couldn’t get it into a test tube, it didn’t exist. It wouldn’t occur to her to question the morality of this war. Enemies were there to be defeated, be they disease, or want, or Germans.

We’re the wrong way round, he thought wryly, Tessa and me. But ever since his first solo, he had felt an absolute and pure determination to defend what he loved. He was under no illusions. War was a bloody and cruel business. History had taught him that. He did not see Agincourt or the English and the American civil wars as a kind of sanitized Hollywood adventure. He was aware of the cost and the pain. You couldn’t spend your life with two doctors and not be aware of those two realities. Pain and death could not be romanticized. And yet, in a way, he thought that Arthur was right. If he wanted to see it that way, he had been handed his steed and his sword.

He took the train from Euston. It was crowded, even more crowded than the Cambridge train when term started. There were uniforms everywhere, mostly army, and a few navy and RAF. There was conscription now, he remembered, for men over twenty. He was only nineteen. It doesn’t matter, he thought. I’ll volunteer – get in on the ground floor. He looked at the faces of the young men in their new uniforms and boots. They seemed mostly to be unperturbed. The older men in uniform – regulars, he supposed – looked, not pleased exactly, but confident, determined, casting steely, sardonic eyes on the raw recruits.

The train got more and more crowded as they travelled north. The voices changed, to accents he sometimes had to strain to catch. Homburgs and trilbies gave way to flat caps. They rolled through beautiful countryside, and then, at intervals, through the cheerless back streets of city suburbs.

They arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station in the early afternoon. Arthur was waiting for him. ‘We’ll get the bus to Trafford Park,’ he said. ‘There’s a bus station just down the road.’ Charlie looked about him. It looked much the same as any other big city, he thought, greyer than London perhaps, and the streets not so wide. There were a few fine buildings, big department stores, well-dressed women. Then as the bus took them away from the city centre the scene slowly changed. The streets became narrower and grubbier. There were groups of men standing on street corners, doing nothing, smoking, watching the bus go by with empty eyes.