Reluctant Hero. John Hickman
wrung his hands. ‘Should there be the slightest chance of getting laid, no matter how important the plan, all bets are off. Carpe diem.’
‘What’s carpe diem mean?’ asked Bill.
‘It’s Latin, Bill. It means seize the day.’
‘Aye, in Latin, that’d be right. So what does seize the night translate into?’ laughed Olly.
‘Carpe noctem.’
Th is led to daunting experiences for Bill. ‘There’s crumpet everywhere.’
‘Aye, there is, Bill. Makes for a pleasant change us blokes outnumbered by women. Back home only place I know summat like this, is Nottingham.’
To most young men, the social side would be a pursuit of sex until exhausted, then one more session as they pretty well reached their finest hour. But Bill had a problem. Inexperienced sexually, he was shy around women. Being brought up to respect ladies, he treated them as he would his mum. They ended up on a pedestal, which didn’t help him mentally.
‘Aye, you’re about as confused as a dog with a choice of two bones to gnaw,’ laughed Olly.
Bill’s competitive nature had him coming to grips with learning to fly.
He understood the need to apply himself to aerobatics, cross-country and suchlike, but this?
Richard smiled. ‘Perfectly understandable, old chap, don’t worry about it. It’ll take care of itself in due course, won’t it Olly?’
Olly laughed in agreement but wasn’t himself at all sure of the correct protocol.
‘Aye, you might be better attracted to the more elusive butter won’t melt in the mouth variety of woman, Bill.’
‘All women can be wonderful,’ interjected Richard. ‘They should be soft and molten in your bed. You shouldn’t be so discriminating, Bill. You will limit your potential.’
Bill felt uneasy but this was wartime. Anything goes. He took a deep breath and promised himself whatever came along he would handle it.
‘What is your favourite food, Bill,’ asked Richard.
‘I don’t know that I have a particular favourite. I like a variety of foods,’ answered Bill.
Richard laughed. ‘Think of women as food, but they come in different flavours.’
Canada might have been designated a safer zone, but local men had signed up to go overseas and fight in their droves in support of the Commonwealth. A lot of lonesome girls remained, many who were determined to do their bit to support the war effort. They admired these young patriots who when they became pilots would doggedly put their lives on the line to help protect their homelands.
Whenever cadets waved and smiled at local women they seemed eager to return the compliment.
‘Aye, if they resent us being here, they hide their feelings well, by gum.’
‘A sure sign of their interest in a uniform and a desire to be sociable with whoever is in it,’ laughed Richard. Bill began to realise women were often anxious to be seen in the company of a cadet airman going for his wings. His confidence grew.
The shouting, marching and physical training over, Bill’s first introduction to flying was both exhilarating and scary.
When he entered the RAF he’d had a secret fear; vertigo. Standing on a chair to change a light bulb engulfed him with giddiness and panic.
‘Don’t worry, Son,’ Fred had said, ‘It’s not the fall that hurts you it’s the sudden stop at the end. Not likely you’ll get killed falling off a chair.’
What would he feel, he wondered, when he left the ground and flew?
It started with parachute training, which unsettled Bill. He went weak at the knees but he learned to pack his own parachute and how to put it on.
The Chief Ground Instructor was a rude man. They agreed he was nothing like Richard’s obedient servant. What he said went.
‘If you ever have to jump, Cadet, count three slowly after leaving the aircraft, then pull the large ring hard.’
Bill vowed after his first practice jump never ever to use it and never ever to jump out of an aircraft.
Richard took him aside. ‘You might want to reconsider your strategy, Bill. One day it might be important to jump.’
‘All right. If flames are licking around my arse, I’ll jump.’
Richard shook his head sadly at Bill’s negativity.
Tiger Moths were used because they were easy to fly and extremely safe.
Issued with basic flying kit, helmet and goggles, overalls and a one-piece padded outfit known as a Sidcot suit, they were almost ready to start. The Sidcot suit was named after the First World War pilot, Sidney Cotton, who developed it.
Bill was assigned to flying instructor, Flight Officer (FO) Barnaby. A kind man of middle years, he treated the cadets as though they were his own sons. He spoke to Bill from day one, as if he was a young man of limited intelligence.
‘First tip, Cadet, is never eating a large meal before take-off. Second is losing those sunglasses. Sensitivity to bright light or not, the relationship will be short-term,’ said FOB.
Then he showed Bill over the aircraft, the joystick and what equipment it moved.
‘You’ll see how when you push forward the nose of the aircraft lowers and you dive. When you pull back the reverse happens, you climb.’
The purpose of the rudder bar and the effect of lift by airflow over the wings made sense to Bill.
‘In the event of engine failure it’s an aircraft renowned for its gliding characteristics,’ said FOB.
On his introductory flights Bill was a non-fare paying passenger and sat like a dummy in the rear seat where FOB could observe him in his mirror. Trussed up like a hen about to be roasted this was the first time Bill had ever flown.
Ground crew swung the propeller and the engine started. It was incredibly noisy.
They began to move at a snail’s pace. Rattled and vibrated their way across the bumpy grass then gathered speed. FOB monitored Bill’s progress in his mirror.
It was awe-inspiring. Bill had never ridden a fast motorbike, but as they gathered speed he likened this new sensation, to being on one. The wind in his face was unrelenting.
Suddenly the bumping ceased. Bill felt the tail lift before they surged upwards, then in a second they were airborne. Time stood still. He felt as if they were hovering but when he looked down they were flying. The ground continued to fall away and Bill realised he was looking down on roofs and other planes beneath them only seconds before had been beside him on the ground. Bill felt the take-off had been a breathtaking experience.
Bill had no fear of heights. He could focus downwards through thousands of feet of space from the open cockpit without any trepidation, which led to him becoming over excited.
‘It’s exhilarating, Sir,’ shouted Bill down the speaking tube.
‘Yes, Bill, it can be. Now you see why you put your goggles on tight. It’s important. Everything has to be tight, then tighter than tight,’ shouted back FOB.
The experienced pilot put the plane through its paces to demonstrate the cool handling features. It was then Bill realised he had a problem. Airsickness! His experience on the ship should have been a prelude as to what to expect. Bill was as poorly as a sick dog.
FOB was not in the slipstream but next time up involved changes.
‘Spitting into your goggles to prevent them from fogging up is important. Preferably in one smooth action prior to starting the engine, rather than as an afterthought with the big front fan at full revs. Oh, and remember not to eat