A Pair of Silver Wings Page 5

  And he’d forgotten his mother’s birthday. He felt bad about this, but fortunately had managed to escape during a study period and had found her a photograph frame from a camera shop on King’s Parade. ‘I’m sorry this is so late,’ he wrote to her later that evening in his high-looped scrawl, ‘but we’ve been working like demons and never finish until at least 6.30 p.m. – which leaves little time for shopping. I could have managed it yesterday, but there’s a church parade this Sunday and the CO said I had to get a haircut beforehand. He said my hair was “disgracefully long”! So, sorry mother, but those wavy blond locks you always liked so much have been unceremoniously lopped off.’

  ‘Are you nearly done, Eddie?’ Harry Barclay was lounging on his bed, flicking through a magazine. ‘What a load of rubbish this is,’ he said slapping the magazine down on the floor. ‘Come on, I want to get to the pub.’

  ‘Five minutes,’ said Edward. He had stopped writing and was tapping his fingers on the table. ‘I’m sure I meant to ask her for something. My mind’s gone blank.’

  ‘Money?’ suggested Harry. ‘Someone needs to supplement our paltry pay from the Air Ministry.’

  ‘No,’ he said, then took up his pen again, speaking slowly as he wrote. ‘Sorry – to – be – a – nuisance, but – could – you – please – send – my – cricket – whites, boots – and – socks, plus – one – or – two – white – shirts?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Harry, ‘can’t have you letting the side down. Now tell her you love her, and let’s get going.’ He got up off the bed, lit a cigarette and put on his jacket, then held out Edward’s for him to take. ‘Ready now?’ he said.

  ‘Ready,’ said Edward.

  Many from the course were already there; it had become something of a ritual. And there was news, too – that they would soon be going to Canada. It was unclear precisely where this rumour had sprung from, but most of the recruits gathered round the bar seemed to accept the veracity of the news. ‘The girls out there love English accents,’ said one. ‘And they’re all gorgeous,’ said another. Everyone laughed; they were all quick to do so after a long day of study. There was also a palpable sense of shared excitement amongst them. Edward was proud – and relieved – to be finally wearing uniform, especially the uniform of a would-be pilot. He sensed the others felt much the same way. Pilots, particularly fighter pilots, were held in high esteem; he just prayed he would become one too. Any other course of action – from joining Bomber Command, to Coastal Command (widely perceived to be the bottom of the heap) – was simply unimaginable, and it was why he was determined not to let himself down at any point in his training. He knew Harry was of the same mind – they had talked about it; and it was why, after just two pints, that they nodded at one another, finished their drinks, and headed back to their room in St John’s.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to go to Canada,’ Edward told Harry as they wandered along the deserted streets, ‘even if the girls are stunning.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, it’ll take us even further away from the war, won’t it?’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Harry. ‘We’ve got to cross the Atlantic, don’t forget. Lots of nasty U-boats to dodge.’

  ‘That just makes it worse. I’m not sure I like the idea of a long sea voyage. I just want to get in an aeroplane.’

  ‘But think of all the flying in Canada. Vast empty blue skies. We’ll get far more flying there than we would stuck over here. And think of all those Canadian girls, as well.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps I don’t mind so much, then. I just don’t want the war to be over before I get my chance.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Eddie, believe me, I don’t think there’s much chance of that. My old man says this is going to take years, and I tell you, he’s right.’ He slapped Edward on the back. ‘Come on, Canada will be fun.’

  Away, far beyond the colleges on their left, the last faint streaks of light were disappearing. Their footsteps sounded loud on the pavement; Cambridge was still that night, and dark too. Not a single light twinkled. The roofs and minarets of the colleges stood out against the embers of the day, but the town seemed to be covered by a heavy shroud that still, after a year of war, felt unnatural. And although many of the colleges were once more filled with young men, albeit in military uniform rather than gowns, there was no sense of the vibrancy and buzz normally to be found during term-time before the war.

  The porter nodded to them as they passed through the gatehouse of St John’s. ‘I wouldn’t mind coming here after the war,’ said Harry as they trotted up the wooden staircase to their room.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Edward, ‘although I think after this I might have had enough of studying.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Harry as they reached their room. ‘It’s funny: you’re worried it’ll all be over too soon, but I can’t really think of what it will be like when it’s all over. Normal life seems to have vanished so quickly.’

  As Edward washed in the bathroom along the corridor and got ready for bed, it occurred to him that despite the lack of flying, he had much to be thankful for. Harry was right. Canada would be marvellous: long days swirling high in the sky and in a country untouched by war. After all, the Luftwaffe could hardly reach across the Atlantic. And he would be going in good company. Already he had made a number of new friends, not least Harry. Could it really be only three weeks since his mother and father had seen him off at the station in Woking? He felt he’d known his new friend a lifetime already. Initially, Edward had been rather in awe of Harry. He was older – twenty-four! – a sports writer for the Evening Standard, someone who had even played cricket for Kent. But then they soon discovered they had much in common: although Harry was several years older, he, too, had been born in India, and had spent his early life roaming from one colonial outpost to another. His father worked not for a tea merchant, but for the Shell Oil Company, but the Barclays had also moved back to England when Harry had been still young. They lived not in Surrey, but Kent, and from what Harry had told him, their house was not dissimilar to the Old Rectory in Chilton. And although Harry was not an only child, his sister was a number of years older and had been away at boarding school during those early years abroad. She was now married. Harry said he barely knew her.

  But it was not just similar interests and backgrounds that had drawn them together. It was shared experiences as much as anything that cemented friendships, and Edward had met Harry not at the Initial Training Wing, but on a tumultuous day in London a day before the course began. Edward had been having a coffee in a café at Liverpool Street whilst waiting for the Cambridge train. It was around four o’clock on a beautiful late summer’s afternoon. London had spent the day bathed in sunshine beneath a deep and cloudless blue sky. The sun was bearing down on the great ceiling of vaulted glass, so that the station concourse shimmered and flickered with brightness. Edward had been absent-mindedly glancing over a newspaper, when he noticed a man breathlessly walk in wearing the same brand new blue uniform, and clutching a battered suitcase that had clearly survived many long voyages around the globe. Immediately, Edward knew he had seen him somewhere before. As he struggled to remember where, the man had also noticed Edward, and grinning, waved to him like an old friend and headed over.

  ‘Harry Barclay,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Harry Barclay, my God!’ said Edward. ‘I saw you get a hundred against Surrey at Guildford two years ago.’ Edward stood up and shook his hand.

  ‘We still lost, though,’ grinned Harry. ‘Play much yourself?’

  ‘Whenever I can. I only wish I could bat as well as you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m pretty rusty these days, you know.’ He grinned again, and as they sat down, Edward signalled to a waitress in what he hoped seemed a nonchalant manner.

  ‘Tea, I think, thanks.’

  Harry took off his cap, and ran his hands through thick, wavy dark – almost black – hair, then pulled out a packet of cru
mpled cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Edward. ‘God, it’s a hot one today. I’m boiled. Smoke?’ he said, tapping an end of the packet so that a single cigarette stood out from the rest.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Edward. The waitress came over and hovered expectantly with her notepad. ‘What’ll you have?’ asked Edward.

  Harry grinned again, said, ‘What are you on? Coffee?’ then smiling at the waitress, said, ‘I’ll have a cold drink, please. Squash or something? Thank you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘What’ve we got? Twenty minutes. Plenty of time.’

  ‘I suppose you haven’t had much chance to play cricket this summer.’

  ‘No, not a lot. Still managed a few games, though. Actually, I haven’t played that much for Kent since the game you saw.’

  ‘Why not? I thought you played superbly.’

  Harry rubbed his fingers together. ‘I had to get a job – if only Kent would pay me. I was lucky, though. I was doing a few pieces for the local paper and then got a letter from the Standard offering me a job. And since I was living in a flat in London and travelling about a bit covering cricket and even tennis, I didn’t really have the time to play any more.’

  ‘Surely your editor would have given you the time off.’

  ‘Maybe. But it’s very competitive on the paper. If I’d continually taken time off, someone else might have taken my place and done a far better job than me. I was very fortunate to be given the chance to make a living from what I love doing. I didn’t want to blow it.’

  Edward said, ‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. It must be a wonderful job.’

  Harry chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s not bad. But then I reckon flying will be a lot of fun too.’

  Quarter of an hour later, they were making their way through a blast of steam towards a carriage on the King’s Lynn train. It was busy, but they found places in a compartment already occupied by an older man with a lined face and two middle-aged women. On schedule, a whistle blew and the train lurched and then began to steadily pull away.

  ‘Ah, that breeze is good,’ said Harry, lifting his face towards the open vent at the top of the window. Edward followed likewise, momentarily closing his eyes as the draught buffeted his face. He was glad to be on his way again. There was a knot in his stomach – excitement and a sense of anticipation.

  They had only been gone a few minutes when they heard air-raid sirens wailing mournfully across the city, their drone sounding loudly through the open window. Edward looked up at Harry, then at the other passengers. All looked anxious, their heads turned to the view of the city.

  ‘Probably nothing,’ said the older man, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

  ‘It usually is,’ said one of the women, tutting at her companion, who nodded in agreement.

  ‘Nuisance raids, they call them,’ said the first woman. ‘A couple of bombs then off they go again.’

  ‘Usually not even that,’ said the man. ‘Just reconnaissance planes.’

  ‘Well, hopefully we’ll soon be able to ensure there’s even fewer of them coming over,’ said Edward. He smiled at them, then at Harry.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said the man, just as they heard explosions, distant at first but then immediately closer.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said the first woman suddenly, ‘Jesus, would you look at that.’ Edward glanced at her now ashen face, then followed her gaze, peering up at the sky. Away to the east, almost as far as the horizon, the deep blue sky was now covered with a rash of black shapes. Harry had stood up and now all of them – normal decorum evaporated – were crowded around the window, staring aghast at the scene unfolding before them. Vast black plumes of smoke were already pitching into the sky, whilst above were puffs of dark smudges where anti-aircraft shells had exploded. The train continued, falteringly, slowly. Outside the noise of explosions was constant. It reminded Edward of the finale of a Guy Fawkes’ Night firework display, except that this was louder and its effects so devastating. Overhead, aircraft droned like a massed swarm of insects, their engines audible over the din of explosions as they finished their bomb run and headed on over London.

  ‘It’s the docks,’ said Harry. ‘They’re hitting the docks.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said the second woman, holding a hand to her face, ‘my sister and her family are down there.’

  The train stuttered into Tottenham Hale then jolted to a halt. In the compartment, they all looked at each other. Edward wondered what they were supposed to do. On the platform, a guard in a tin hat was hurrying down the platform ordering everyone to disembark and to shelter at the entrance to the Underground station.

  The man and the two women bustled out. Harry and Edward waited to let them go, then followed. On the platform, a woman was screaming hysterically, but most seemed shocked into mute silence. From the streets nearby were the sounds of fire engines, their bells ringing shrilly. ‘Come on,’ said Harry, leading Edward to one end of the platform and away from the mass of people. ‘Just look at that.’

  What had begun as single plumes of smoke had now become one vast dark cloud, rising high into the deep blue until it passed across the sun. Even from several miles’ distance, they clearly saw flames angrily swirling into the sky.

  ‘Just imagine the poor bastards caught under that lot,’ said Harry.

  ‘Come along, lads,’ said an elderly guard. ‘Best be getting into the shelter.’ Obediently they did as they were told, heading down the stairs and joining the huddle waiting anxiously in the Underground entrance. More bells clanged nearby, and a further two fire engines sped past.

  A stick of bombs erupted not far away. Smoke and dust billowed into the sky, followed by a deafening crash as a building collapsed. Edward jolted; he was not the only one.

  ‘A bit close,’ said Harry. ‘It would be cruelly ironic, don’t you think, if we were bombed out before even setting foot in an aeroplane.’

  ‘The bastards. Just wait till I get my hands on them.’

  A woman standing next to them was clutching a young girl, and swaying back and forth, trying to soothe her daughter. She looked terrified, but catching Edward’s eye said, ‘You make sure you get them for this. Who the hell do they think they are, coming over and bombing our city?’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ said Harry, ‘just as soon as we can,’ and touched his cap.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ added Edward, ‘we’ll soon send ’em packing. You’ll see.’ It was bravura he felt absolutely to be true, even though he was aware that neither of them were yet qualified to say it. Standing there, smoking once more with Harry, Edward felt a sense of relief sweep over him. To his surprise, he did not really feel scared, not even when he’d seen the dark mass of bombers for the first time. His heart was drumming in his chest, but from a sense of excitement. Already, he felt himself to be taller even than his five foot ten inches, and older than his nineteen years. It was as though he had already come of age: not only was he now in uniform, but in the middle of an actual raid. At last he had a proper part to play in this war. He thought of the long months since leaving school the year before. He’d been so bored. Three terms teaching at a prep school in Surrey had been purgatory. He’d felt so impotent, so wasted. And in the holidays he’d had to watch the mounting numbers of young men his age proudly parading their uniforms. With every week – every day – that passed, so his impatience had grown. When were the RAF going to send for him? Why was it taking so long? Sometimes he wondered whether he’d dreamt the whole thing; that he’d never been interviewed at Kingsway at all.

  Now, however, the moment had come. There was, at long last, something useful for him to do. Something worthwhile. Soon he would be the hero in the many adventure books he had devoured as a child.

  As the sound of bombs and firing at last petered out, so people began moving out of the cramped Underground entrance. Edward and Harry followed, climbing the steps to the main platform just as the all clear sounded. It was a little after six o’clock. Even in Tottenham, several miles from the main
infernos, the air was heavy and acrid, the stench of burnt rubber, dust and other fumes cloying and more choking than the worst London smog.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said a man behind Edward and Harry, his face drained and sallow. ‘I can’t bloody believe it.’ Most looked pale, too stunned to say anything at all.

  Guards ushered them back onto the train. ‘Departing in five minutes!’ shouted one of them, as he marched up and down the length of the platform. Edward and Harry returned to the same compartment but there was no sign of their fellow travellers. In their place was a man in his thirties wearing army uniform.

  ‘Something else, eh?’ he said to them as he sat down. ‘Quite a bloody show.’

  Edward, sitting opposite him, nodded. He wanted to ask him what he thought this meant, this sudden large-scale bombing of London, but kept his thoughts to himself.

  ‘You chaps started training yet?’ he continued.

  ‘On our way now,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, good for you. Make sure you give them what for when the time comes.’

  It still gave Edward a sense of satisfaction when he thought about the officer saying that, and in the passing weeks his sense of purpose, his hopes for glory and honour, had not diminished in any way. 7th September had already been dubbed ‘Black Saturday’; the bombers had returned again that night and had continued to pulverise the docks long after Edward and Harry had finally reached Cambridge. The attacks on London and other cities around the country had continued every day since without respite. Throughout the country, shock had given way to outrage, a feeling shared by Edward, and fuelling his determination to exact his own revenge. So it was with some relief to him when it was confirmed that they would indeed be going to Canada for their flying training – and without delay; their course was being accelerated and cut short by a week.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Edward said to Harry as they returned to their room in St John’s later that night. ‘The time taken from the course more than compensates for the length of the journey to Canada, so we’ll be flying just as soon as if we’d stayed in England.’