The Secret Generations (9 page)

‘
You think you can make it back to the Manor, Ma’am?’ She nodded, uncertain.

‘
Perhaps if I walked the horse?’

‘
Oh would you, Mr Berry? I’m not really hurt, but… well, finding out this is Lady Nellie’s hedge, and everything…’

‘
If you can mount, Ma’am, I’ll lead him.’

So they set off at a walk, and, to regain her composure, Sara asked Bob Berry about his work, and, as he talked, she found
herself becoming intrigued.

He spoke of the dairy herd, the grazing land, and of the way they rotated the crops of corn, potatoes, and other vegetables. His voice had a quiet, soothing quality, as reassuring as the seasons. A man perfectly content, she told herself; someone who loved the land and the animals; someone who saw results each day of the year.

‘You’re lucky to be so happy, Mr Berry.’

‘
Happy indeed,’ he paused for two long strides. ‘Happy as long as I remain here.’

‘
You’re not leaving us, surely.’ She reined in the horse, looking down at him.

‘
Not of my own accord, no, Ma’am.’

‘
Then…?’

‘
I shouldn’t speak of it to you, Ma’am…’

His brow creased, and she saw concern in his eyes.
‘Tell me,’ Sara heard a new note of command in her voice.

It was a simple story. Berry was an Oxfordshire man, son of a farmer from North Hinksey, a few miles west of Oxford itself. He had courted the daughter of a neighbouring village publican for two years prior to applying for the farm manager
’s post at Redhill Manor, three years previously. He suspected The General had given him the appointment on the strength of his forthcoming marriage. Certainly he knew The General’s son, Mr John Railton, expected a married man as farm manager. It had always been so at Redhill.

But life is never smooth. On the very day the letter arrived from The General offering him the post, his intended bride broke the news that she could not marry him.

‘The General was a good man. Told me it didn’t matter, and in any case the right girl would come along soon enough.’

The right girl had not come along, though, and Bob Berry was very much aware that his appointment would come up for review at Michaelmas.

Sara began to walk the horse again. ‘And you think my husband will replace you because you’re not married?’

‘
He’s every right to, Ma’am. Every right, but I ask you, please, don’t mention this to him.’

She reined in again, looking him straight in the eyes.
‘I’ll only mention it to him if he threatens to get rid of you before the right woman comes along.’ She smiled. ‘That’s the least I can do. I will
not
see you leave, Mr Berry.’

Natter met them in the stable yard, and Sara thanked Berry for all his kindness, reassuring him that her husband would not see him out of the farm.

‘No harm done, Ted, thank God,’ Berry told him.

‘
Don’t know ’bout that, Mr Berry. There be trouble at the ’ouse, I can tell ’ee that for sure.’

Trouble there was.

Vera Bolton – Cook’s daughter, who was Sara’s maid at Redhill – lingered by the door, trying to catch her mistress before she got in. ‘Oh, M’m, thank ’eaven you’re back and safe. Mr John’s ’ere from London – waitin’ for you. Worried out on ’is life he is; and when he heard you’d fallen at Lady Nellie’s hedge – well! He’s in such a state, about you and…’

‘
And what?’

‘
Best go in an’ see ’im, M’m. In The General’s Study. Then the… best go see ’im.’

John was slumped in his father
’s chair, behind the big desk, his face grey, looking older than she had ever seen him. He was up and over to her the moment she appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh, my dear, thank God you’re safe.’

‘
John, it’s all right. I…’

‘
You are unhurt? When I heard it was Lady Nellie’s hedge, I…’

‘
I simply need a bath, with something in it to ease the bruising. A nasty fall, that’s all.’

He made her promise never to go out again without either Natter or Billy Crook, but she could see from the creases on his face that his concern had not diminished.

‘Are
you
all right?’ Placing her arms on his shoulders. ‘John? What is it?’

‘
There’s a telegram. From Dr Savory, in Farnborough.’

‘
James?’

He nodded, going to the desk and picking up the small slip of paper.
‘I said he should have come here to stay with you.’

She took the paper and read.

James slightly injured in flying machine accident. Feel it best if I bring him home to you today. Savory.

Chapter Six

Throughout the rigorous years at Wellington College, those who came into contact with James Railton put him down as either a superior snob, or a quiet, lonely boy.

At that time, Wellington – like most public schools – did not smack of luxury. The discipline was harsh, the training hard, the conditions and food worse than merely mediocre.

James appeared not to mind this, and improved greatly when given some authority as a prefect
– a natural progression, the Headmaster considered. After all, the boy was grandson to a General, and destined to become a professional soldier himself.

When he took the Sandhurst entrance examination there were many prayers that he would pass
– for even a General’s grandson did not gain automatic entrance to Sandhurst.

The exams were difficult, but young Railton sailed through his
‘Preliminary’ – taken in the early part of 1909 – and they expected him to pass the exceptionally hard ‘Further’, which lasted for six hours a day, covering eight days.

The
‘Further’ was, in a real sense, a detailed survey of the candidate’s academic and physical condition. As James had remarked to his grandfather at Christmas, ‘What’s the use? Soldiering’s what I’m after, not writing essays.’

The old man grunted and laughed,
‘You’ll find out soon enough, boy. It all comes in handy. Think ahead. I’ve always tried to do that, which is more than can be said for some of the General Staff these days. Change in the wind, James; change in the wind.’

‘
Like flying?’ The young man had said, rather slyly.

‘
Like flying; the internal combustion engine, and the reorganization of the Navy. The Army’ll come to it as well. Think ahead.’

‘
It’s what I’m trying to do, sir,’ James replied, then launched into the short speech that was to bring about the telegram from Farnborough.

James had discovered a true passion. He was desperate, and determined, to fly: like the Wright brothers, and Cody who flew the fist aeroplane in England.

With this new obsession, James harnessed an already well-developed military mind to the challenging possibilities of the future. He knew he was scheming when he brought up the future of flying with his grandfather, just as intrigue led him to cultivate boys like Martin Savory.

Savory had a
‘thing’ about girls, which was yet to hit James, who had a ‘thing’ about flying. More important, young Savory lived in Farnborough where a lot of flying went on. It was as simple, and as deceitful, as that. It should be added that he also told nobody about the five hundred pounds his grandfather had placed, with sworn secrecy, in Coutts Bank under James’ name. Last, it was simple to get invited to stay at the Savory house during the break in the Easter term.

The days were clear and cold, with occasional mist in the evenings, and James came to an easy arrangement with Martin.

Each evening they planned a ramble in the area – for the next day – with Martin briefing James about the local terrain, sights, and places of interest they would have seen.

The following morning the boys would leave together
– Martin to ‘do a spot of mashing’ as he put it, with a local girl, home from some ladies’ school in Sussex, and not averse to a bit of canoodling; James to go down to the large stretch of ground, dotted with wood and tin buildings, where, because of the clear weather, much flying was taking place.

Since Sam Cody had first flown from this field, still operating as the military balloon factory, many pilots, inventors, and mechanics had made their way to Farnborough. Within a matter of days, James
– who had devoured every available book about heavier than air flight – was able to make a few friends among the people working at the balloon factory. These conversations proved good supplementary experience to the books. Technically, James knew exactly how to fly.

On the day that would, in some ways, change his life young Railton entered the aerodrome and set off in the direction of the large hangar where he knew Allicott Verdon Roe was working on his latest machine.

He had gone only a few steps when a new sound caught his attention. Already James prided himself on being able to recognize various engine notes, but the noise he now heard was unknown to him – a gentle, steady bee-like sound coming from the south. He turned, looking in the direction of this new engine note.

It was low over the trees, nose slightly raised, preparing to land
– a beautiful, box-like machine, superbly rigged, with a pusher propeller. Long triangular struts held an elevator well forward of the wings, while the open framework swept back to a pair of boxed rudders. Skids, like skis, hung below, each fitted with what appeared to be unusually small wheels, while another pair of even more minute wheels were visible forward of the box-kite rudder section.

‘
Farman!’ James breathed aloud, recognizing the lines of the machine. A Farman biplane had carried off the distance prize at Rheims last year. He watched, fascinated, as the aeroplane banked gracefully, losing height, its pilot plainly visible, exposed to wind, bitter cold and all weathers, as the propeller whirred behind him.

The Gnome engine began to die as the aeroplane descended onto the grass, turned, and came to a halt not a hundred yards from where James stood.

The pilot was bundled up in helmet, goggles and leather coat, so James could make out neither features nor age. When the man climbed down, it came as something of a surprise that he spoke with a distinct American accent – for the Farman was a French aeroplane.

‘
Where do I find the top man around here, son?’

James asked if he meant the commanding officer of the balloon factory, or some other official.

‘I guess the Commanding Officer. I’m supposed to be here on military business. You a flyer?’

‘
Yes,’ James lied. ‘Waiting to go to Sandhurst. Just filling in a bit of time here.’

‘
Well, if you’re not doing anything, could you keep an eye on the ship while I try to find out if I’m expected?’

James said he would certainly look after the Farman, and could he just climb up and take a peep at the controls?

‘Don’t see why not.’ The American thrust out a hand, ‘Name’s Farthing. Richard – Dick to my friends.’

‘
Railton. James Railton.’

The American nodded, and James watched him walk away, a tall muscular man
– about ten years older than himself, he guessed. There had been a particularly attractive glint in the large brown eyes, as though the American viewed the world, and life in it, as some joke, not to be taken seriously by those who were the dramatis personae of history.

James climbed up onto the Farman
– a Farman III, he thought – taking his place at the controls, checking which levers operated the ailerons, rudder, and elevator. The mechanisms were all simple enough: strong bolted wood, wheels, and pinions, carrying wires to the various control surfaces.

He forgot cold and time; even the ground disappeared as James went into a daydre
am. He knew exactly what was required of a pilot in flight. What he needed was the opportunity; all the imagination in the world could not make up for the real thing: to look down on earth from a height of several hundred feet; feel the wind, see the horizon tilt; to be free, and touch the clouds with his hand.

Suddenly he was pulled from the reverie by the American voice calling,
‘James? James, you want to come down here a minute?’

Dick Farthing stood below
the wings, grinning up at him.

‘
Just thinking how nice it would be.’ He began to climb down.

‘
Well, you could get your chance at that. For the time being, I guess it’s me who needs help. I’ve got no place to stay. Know any good hotels?’

There was the Queen
’s Hotel which James thought looked reasonable enough, but, probably, a shade expensive.

‘
The hell with the expense,’ Dick laughed again. He laughed a great deal. ‘Maurice Farman’s paying. I’m just here to show off his wares to the British Army.’ He pronounced Maurice in an accentuated French manner – Mor-reece’. ‘Just help me get this ship across the field to the hangar over there.’ He pointed at the hangar which James already knew was empty, next to where the Roe contingent worked.

‘
Hope they’ve given you some keys. The A. V. Roe people’ll be swarming all over this if you give them half a chance,’ James lifted his eyebrows.

Farthing dug into his pocket, producing a set of keys,
‘Courtesy of your army people. Strange, they
were
expecting me.’ He gave another laugh, ‘Mind you, it’s going to be a week before anyone’ll come over to take a look.’

James helped him start the engine. Swinging the propeller, he discovered the Farman had its drawbacks, for you had to stand within the framework of the two slim booms which made up the wide open fuselage, cocking your ear for the pilot
’s commands. The engine started on his first downward pull of the propeller, clattering into life, then soothed by Dick’s experienced hand on the throttle.

Ducking under the thin wood and canvas James gave his new friend the thumbs up. The engine blipped gently and the Farman taxied across the field, James running behind, head down, keeping out of the propeller wash.

The A. V. Roe people were friendly, though inquisitive about the new arrival, but Dick managed to keep them at a distance by pleading that he had not eaten for almost twenty-four hours. There was a professional briskness about him, offset by a disarmingly easy manner. He seemed to keep up a flow of conversation as James walked him to the main gate, and down to the Queen’s Hotel where he registered, insisting that James should stay and lunch with him.

However, it did not take James long to realize that, though Dick Farthing appeared to talk a great deal, his chatter gave nothing away. On the contrar
y, he interspersed his conversation with quick, telling questions, so that by the time they reached the hotel, he had a good knowledge of James’ background and future prospects. ‘Your Pa’s a Member of Parliament?’ he exclaimed with what appeared to be some awe. ‘Now that could be a real help. Maurice figures your military people may want some of his new designs. Getting to know an MP would be a good start. Reckon I fell on my feet meeting you like this.’

Over lunch, James began to learn something about the American. Their family backgrounds were very similar
– Army and Diplomatic Corps. ‘Yep, my old man’s one of the President’s foreign advisers; and I have an uncle, Bradley, in the Army; and another who’s a Senator. I reckon I’m the black sheep.’ When Farthing smiled the right corner of his mouth twisted upwards, half-closing the right eye, as though the smile brought with it a conspiratorial wink.

At twenty-seven, Richard was the eldest of five brothers.
‘Joseph’s just twenty; Michael’s about a year older than you, James. Then we have young Bradley, just turned fifteen, and Arnold, coming up twelve. We’ve a sister as well – Maud. Guess my folks squeezed her in between Bradley and Arnold.’

Dick had followed the military side of the family. A graduate of West Point, he was commissioned into the infantry. Then, like so many of his generation, he caught the flying bug.
‘Pa was scandalized, of course. Threatened to cut me off without a dime, but I used my natural charm,’ he grinned, to show the laugh was on him. ‘In time of war, or national emergency, back I go into the army – only I hope to hell they have some kind of air corps by then.’

James said it was his hope also.
‘The General Staff drag their heels. Nobody sees the potential.’

Dick shrugged, a gesture of agreement.
‘Well, your people do
seem
to be interested in Maurice’s designs. They certainly want to see how the Farman III performs. You want to give me a hand, or are you busy over the next few days?’

The invitation delighted James.
‘Hope you’ll let me take her up.’

‘
No problem. You got a certificate yet?’

‘
No.’ He could not lie about that.

‘
Well, if you have some experience, it’s okay. She handles like a willing lady.’

Dick
’s career in aviation had started with his hanging around flying fields in the United States. For some time he had worked for, and with, Glen Curtiss, but eventually came to France. Now he was one of Farman’s established pilots.

They arranged to meet on the following morning, and James could not wait to get back and give the news to Martin Savory.

The next day was like its predecessor – clear and bright, with a pinch of frost in the air.

They worked all morning, checking the rigging and tuning the engine. Dick Farthing had brought a hamper out from the Queen
’s Hotel, and said he would do a circuit after lunch.

‘
Just to keep her in trim. Then I’ll run through the procedures with you, if you’d like to fly her.’

There was really only one way to learn: get a thorough grounding by reading, listening and watching; then get up there and do it. James, with the supreme confidence of youth, knew that he was ready.