faintest gleam. He whooshed in some tonic and took a deep gulp, relishing its acid clarity. Right-ho, Reggie, concentrate now.
He detached a crisp dark blue sheet of paper from the unanswered pile of letters of condolence. Wendy and Chaggers Fortescue. Never liked the woman. Sharp-nosed and sharp-tongued. God knows why Chaggers had tied the knot. She used to patronize poor Mary, telling her to go out and find herself some charity work. âThat would take you mind off, you know,
things
â¦â she always said, and Mary would nod and give her sad smile.
Chaggers was a good sort; excellent man in a crisis. The steadiness of his voice over the RT, cutting through the hiss and crackle, calm and measured as all hell broke loose. Reginald gazed out of the window, lost in a reverie that owed much to memory, something to Kenneth More, Richard Todd and the cinema, and not a little to wishful thinking.
He and Chaggers had been pilots together when the squadron, at that time eight-strong, attacked a tight, defensive circle of twenty yellow-nosed ME 109s, the hardest formation to break up. The usual tactic â risky â was to form up into a line astern, encouraging them to attack, and then at the last moment to haul hard back on the control stick and do a steep climbing turn. In seconds, youâd have the advantage. Reggieâs eyes blazed as he relived it. Another second, then Iâd fired, saw Chaggers fire his own four-second burst, and we were both safely away. My Messerschmitt hung motionless; time was suspended; had I got him? Yes! A jet of red flame shot out and upwards and he spiralled away down, out of sight. Moments later another 109, bent on revenge, flashed across my bows, followed by a Spit, chasing him with the same motive. I gave him a quickie - his number was up! âThatâs for Eric Johnson, you swine!â I shouted. No doubt about this one! andheard Chaggers across the RT: âYours, Reggie!â The skies blazed in a chaos of flame, smoke, gunpowder and sudden death.
An hour later weâd be tucking into ham and eggs back at the mess. That was the life! thought Reginald. Nothing in the next fifty years had ever equalled the glory and the recklessness of those times. Life? Death? You didnât stop to think about it. And your victim: married or single? Husband to a fat Frau with two fat blonde German children? Or a lean, ascetic young bachelor, not keen to tie himself down? Fighting men were better off without a young bride to worry about. Only hamper your freedom of action - or so heâd thought, till he met tender, gentle, trusting Mary. Until you were married, you didnât care. The Germans werenât individuals, hardly even rivals; they were just targets, the object of the dayâs exercise.
Am I still the same person, Reginald wondered, as that daredevil boy? How they praised us, the women and the old men; they talked of our bravery, courage, valour, gallantry, envying us our clouds of glory. But among ourselves
we
knew we were competitive young daredevils, superbly tuned to physical and mental health, who had been given a wonderful fighter plane with which to play aerial games. We were playing God, dicing with life, giving or taking death. That shrunken old woman who died in hospital three weeks ago: was
she
the same person as my slender, clinging girl?
When the gin bottle was empty, Reggie steered past the walls and through the doors towards the kitchen. An acrid smell stung his nostrils. He reached for the oven glove, but it wasnât in its usual place, so he opened a random drawer and found a couple of neatly folded tea-towels. He crouched down awkwardly, opened the oven and manoeuvred the Pyrex dish on to the worktop beside the cooker. The shepherdâs pie was blackened at the edges and dark brown on top, but he could always scrape that off. He dug a spoon in, blew on it several times, and began his supper.
Chapter Three
Roy Southgate woke early,
He detached a crisp dark blue sheet of paper from the unanswered pile of letters of condolence. Wendy and Chaggers Fortescue. Never liked the woman. Sharp-nosed and sharp-tongued. God knows why Chaggers had tied the knot. She used to patronize poor Mary, telling her to go out and find herself some charity work. âThat would take you mind off, you know,
things
â¦â she always said, and Mary would nod and give her sad smile.
Chaggers was a good sort; excellent man in a crisis. The steadiness of his voice over the RT, cutting through the hiss and crackle, calm and measured as all hell broke loose. Reginald gazed out of the window, lost in a reverie that owed much to memory, something to Kenneth More, Richard Todd and the cinema, and not a little to wishful thinking.
He and Chaggers had been pilots together when the squadron, at that time eight-strong, attacked a tight, defensive circle of twenty yellow-nosed ME 109s, the hardest formation to break up. The usual tactic â risky â was to form up into a line astern, encouraging them to attack, and then at the last moment to haul hard back on the control stick and do a steep climbing turn. In seconds, youâd have the advantage. Reggieâs eyes blazed as he relived it. Another second, then Iâd fired, saw Chaggers fire his own four-second burst, and we were both safely away. My Messerschmitt hung motionless; time was suspended; had I got him? Yes! A jet of red flame shot out and upwards and he spiralled away down, out of sight. Moments later another 109, bent on revenge, flashed across my bows, followed by a Spit, chasing him with the same motive. I gave him a quickie - his number was up! âThatâs for Eric Johnson, you swine!â I shouted. No doubt about this one! andheard Chaggers across the RT: âYours, Reggie!â The skies blazed in a chaos of flame, smoke, gunpowder and sudden death.
An hour later weâd be tucking into ham and eggs back at the mess. That was the life! thought Reginald. Nothing in the next fifty years had ever equalled the glory and the recklessness of those times. Life? Death? You didnât stop to think about it. And your victim: married or single? Husband to a fat Frau with two fat blonde German children? Or a lean, ascetic young bachelor, not keen to tie himself down? Fighting men were better off without a young bride to worry about. Only hamper your freedom of action - or so heâd thought, till he met tender, gentle, trusting Mary. Until you were married, you didnât care. The Germans werenât individuals, hardly even rivals; they were just targets, the object of the dayâs exercise.
Am I still the same person, Reginald wondered, as that daredevil boy? How they praised us, the women and the old men; they talked of our bravery, courage, valour, gallantry, envying us our clouds of glory. But among ourselves
we
knew we were competitive young daredevils, superbly tuned to physical and mental health, who had been given a wonderful fighter plane with which to play aerial games. We were playing God, dicing with life, giving or taking death. That shrunken old woman who died in hospital three weeks ago: was
she
the same person as my slender, clinging girl?
When the gin bottle was empty, Reggie steered past the walls and through the doors towards the kitchen. An acrid smell stung his nostrils. He reached for the oven glove, but it wasnât in its usual place, so he opened a random drawer and found a couple of neatly folded tea-towels. He crouched down awkwardly, opened the oven and manoeuvred the Pyrex dish on to the worktop beside the cooker. The shepherdâs pie was blackened at the edges and dark brown on top, but he could always scrape that off. He dug a spoon in, blew on it several times, and began his supper.
Chapter Three
Roy Southgate woke early,
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