From Arctic Snow to Desert Sand (British Ace Book 6) Read online

  As parties go it was subdued but it seemed a fitting end to the venture.

  It took us a good ten days to reach Suez and then we had to make our way back to our field. That took another few days and there was a great deal of paperwork to be done before we could all leave. Captain Connor stayed on in Heliopolis. The DH 9as were to be flown north to Palestine by Jack and his men. They were needed in Mesopotamia. Henry and his Snipes would join them there. My Dolphin would be attached to them. I was flown by a Vickers Vimy. We landed in Palestine first where we picked up more passengers and then made our way back to England. It was not comfortable and it seemed to take forever. I was in the air for what seemed like weeks and not days. We had to stay overnight at some of the airfields to allow the crew to sleep but I did not mind for I was going home.

  We landed at Hendon where a Royal Air Force car was waiting to take me home. The driver nodded knowingly to me as I sat in the back. “You must have some pull, sir. This is the Minster of Air’s car.”

  “I have been away for some time.”

  “Then I had better get you home quick as, eh sir?”

  “That would be delightful.”

  “There is a letter addressed to you in the back, sir. A Mr. Balfour gave it to me. He said would you read it before you got home?”

  I opened it, and saw that it was handwritten.

  February 1920

  Ministry of Air-Intelligence department,

  Wing Commander,

  Congratulations on three missions successfully completed. Mr. Churchill was not happy about the ultimatum. He does not respond well to threats. Had you asked for the leave then it would have been granted. However, he is pleased with your achievements.

  Enjoy your time in England and your new daughter.

  You have been granted a month’s leave. I will be in contact with you on the telephone. It is already installed in your new house. I hope you enjoy the house. The garden looks promising.

  Your next posting will be in Mesopotamia where we hope you will be reunited with Squadron Leader Woollett and Squadron Leader Thomson. You seem to work well as a team.

  Yours,

  Arthur C Balfour,

  Undersecretary

  As I folded it up I read between the lines. He had seen my house and knew that I had a daughter. Even I did not know that. Mr. Balfour was more than he seemed. I would have to be careful what I did and said around him.

  Epilogue

  April 1920

  It was the last week of my leave. Mary, my daughter, was a joy but she was still at the gurgling stage and seemed to be forever attached to her mother. Tom, on the other hand could toddle and talk. Beattie had shown him photographs of me and read him the parts of my letters which she could. She had told him stories of me each night so that I did not seem as a stranger to him.

  The Undersecretary was correct. The garden did have prospects. While Beattie fed, winded and changed our daughter, Tom and I were in the breezy April garden tidying and planning. There was a lovely old chestnut tree which would make a perfect tree house. I also carried him on my shoulders as I walked down lanes with new growth burgeoning on the trees. After the white of the Arctic and the brown of the desert, the green of England was wonderful. England in April was the antithesis of both of my recent postings. It was good to be home.

  I reluctantly traded in my motor for something a little more practical. I bought a smaller Morris shooting brake which suited Beattie. She would be driving it more than I would. I was changing. I was becoming a family man.

  Mr. Balfour had rung during the third week to confirm what he had told me in the letter. He reiterated that it would be the same team and that meant Captain Connor, Sergeant Major Hale and Sergeant Major Robson as well as my squadron leaders and, after I asked for them, Swanston and Williams. There was something comfortable about having them with me. They felt more like family.

  I had told her of my new posting and she was adamant that she would be coming with me. “There is no war there and in a month’s time Mary will be old enough to travel. You have four weeks to find us somewhere to live. You are a Wing Commander now. Surely that must bring some perks!”

  That had been a week ago. Mary had just gone down for her sleep as had Tom. Beattie had chided me for keeping him going so long. “He is still a baby, really. He will have to have an afternoon nap.”

  He had just gone down and we were cuddling on the settee when a car drew up and I heard a knock at the door. I had no idea who might be calling. Beattie had been too busy with the family to make friends and only Balfour knew where I lived. I had yet to tell Lumpy, Gordy, Ted and Randolph. I was being selfish. I wanted my wife to myself.

  “Who can that be?”

  Beattie rolled her eyes, “I bet it is that nosy woman from the Post Office. Every time I posted a letter to you she asked me about you. She said a Wing Commander raised the status of the village.”

  “Well I shall smile and say I have malaria or Beri Beri: some such tropical disease. If I cough she will run a mile!”

  Beattie laughed, “Bill, you can’t!”

  I opened the door and looked down at Peter Hardwicke and a serious looking man dressed in formal clothes. “Peter! I would say I am surprised but that would be an understatement. Come in, come in!”

  “We are sorry to bother you at home, Wing Commander. I got your address from the Ministry. This is Mr. Collins. He is a solicitor.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Wing Commander.”

  “Here, give me your coats.”

  Beattie had heard the voices and she appeared in the hall, “We have guests? I shall make some tea.”

  The solicitor said, “Not on my account.”

  Peter shook his head, “That would be delightful, Mr. s. Harsker.”

  “It’s Beattie.”

  “This is Peter Hardwicke, Beattie. I told you about him and Mr. St. John Browne.”

  “Of course. I shan’t be a moment.”

  The lounge was a little messy. Tom’s toys littered the floor. We were used to just stepping around them. “Let’s go into the drawing room eh?”

  We sat around the table and Mr. Collins began to take out papers. I had been brought up too well to ask the purpose of their visit. I stayed on safer subjects. “When did you arrive back in England, Peter?”

  “I arrived back two days ago. I have been in London.” He smiled sadly, “I have no people. My father died in the Great War. Mama followed him a year later. I think it was a broken heart.”

  It was a familiar story. I saw the solicitor glance at Peter. He had not known of the tragedy. “Shall we get on?”

  Peter gave the lawyer a withering look, “Let us wait for Mr. s. Harsker. This involves her too, albeit indirectly.”

  He shrugged.

  “Did you serve in the Great War, Mr. Collins? You look to have been of the right age.”

  “Sadly, I did not. I never seemed to have the time. I think that those of us who stayed at home contributed as much to the war as those who served.”

  Peter and I exchanged a look. He had been too young and had an ailment. An eloquent silence filled the room and I took the opportunity to light my pipe. When Mr. Collins wrinkled his nose, I saw Peter smile.

  Beattie had tidied herself up; not that she needed to. Even casually dressed with baby milk spilled on her blouse she was still stunning. She laid a tray down, “Sorry I took so long. I shall be mother eh?”

  Peter said, “I believe you are the only one qualified to do so.”

  When she had poured the tea and handed around the home-made biscuits Peter said, “Now you may begin, Mr. Collins.”

  He put a pair of pince nez on the end of his nose. “I am the executor of the will of the Honourable Reginald St. John Brown of Burton Leonard, North Yorkshire.”

  I looked at Peter, “He is dead?”

  He nodded, “A week after you left.”

  The solicitor looked up, annoyed that he had been interrupted. Peter ignored him. I could see that he
was quite emotional. Beattie reached over and put her hand on his. “Bill told me about the two of you. He seemed like quite a character.”

  “He was. Don’t be upset, Wing Commander. He knew he was dying but his last week was joyous. He regaled Ravi and Gupta with the story of his flight and the fight. He finally got to do that which he had wished to for his whole life. He died with a smile on his face. An hour before he died he gave me his will and a letter for Mr. Collins here. He gave Gupta and Ravi a hundred sovereigns each and told them that they should go home and enjoy a life instead of watching over a desiccated old man. His words Wing Commander. Then he lay down, folded his arms and an hour later he was dead.”

  I nodded, “He spoke with you, of course.”

  “Of course and that, if you do not mind, Wing Commander, will remain private.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  “If we might get on, time is wasting!”

  Beattie looked at the solicitor and said quietly, “Speaking well of the dead and reflecting on what they have done is never time wasted, Mr. Collins.”

  He looked abashed, “I apologize. If we may?”

  I nodded, “The two of you are his sole beneficiaries. He leaves the family home of Burton Leonard in North Yorkshire to Mr. Hardwicke. It is a fine property and represents the bulk of the estate. He has made other bequests to Mr. Hardwicke.”

  I smiled, “He thought well of you.”

  “I believe so.”

  “To you, Wing Commander, he leaves the sum of twenty thousand pounds and a large number of shares in the Anglo-American Oil Company and the British- American Tobacco Company.”

  I was astounded. Twenty thousand pounds was a small fortune. I realised how lucky Peter was if he had the bulk of the estate. “But he barely knew me!”

  “There you are wrong. Wing Commander. As he told you in Berbera, he had kept a record of your achievements along with other aces. He told me, after you had dined with us, that he had concentrated on you as you represented, to him, the true Englishman. You had humble beginnings and yet you became a classic English gentleman. He also admired this,” He waved a hand around Beattie and my house, “and that is why he left me his home. He knew you have a new home and a family. He wanted a family more than anything. He had been engaged when he was a young man but when he left for India she married another and he remained a bachelor.”

  Mr. Collins pushed papers over for us to sign which we did and then he packed them back in his case. “Well Mr. Hardwicke, shall we head back to town?”

  I could see that Peter was torn and I said, after glancing at Beattie, “Peter, stay the night. I will run you back to town in the morning.”

  “If it is not too much trouble.”

  Beattie jumped up, “Of course not! You shall be our first guest!”

  After dinner and when the children were in bed the three of us shared a bottle of whisky. I learned more about the kind old Englishman who had changed our lives.

  “Well, Bill, do you have plans for that money?”

  “I do.” Beattie looked surprised. “St. John Browne always spoke of owning a house in France. Albert helped me in the war. I would buy something in France to honour them both. It would be a holiday home for us but Tom and Mary could learn French. I could, hopefully, live for two old men. I would want something with purpose so that when I meet them in the hereafter I could say, I left a memorial to you in Northern France.”

  Peter nodded, “I think that the resident would have liked that. He made a wise choice.”

  “And you Peter?”

  He looked at me sadly, “I was in Berbera for the same reason as St. John Browne. I too, am not in the best of health. I have been told not to exert myself. I have the scrapbooks. I think I shall become a writer and make these stories something which young people read. North Yorkshire sounds the perfect place to do so. I shall write under the pen name of St. John. Perhaps he might approve.”

  “I think he will. And put him in the stories too. He deserves it.”

  “I will. They will all be in there, Wing Commander. I shall use my time wisely.”

  As I cuddled up to Beattie I reflected that was all any man could ask, to use his time wisely. I now knew that I had made the right decision to stay in the service. It would be my career and, hopefully, my son’s. Time would tell.

  The End

  Glossary

  Beer Boys-inexperienced fliers (slang)

  Bevvy- drink (beverage) (slang)

  Blighty- Britain (slang)

  Boche- German (slang)

  Bowser- refuelling vehicle

  Bus- aeroplane (slang)

  Corned dog/Bully Beef- corned beef (slang)

  Dewar Flask- an early Thermos invented in 1890

  Donkey Walloper- Horseman (slang)

  Erks- Slang for Other Ranks in RAF

  Fizzer- a charge (slang)

  Foot Slogger- Infantry (slang)

  Fuzzy Wuzzy- Dervish (slang) named because of their hair style.

  Gaspers- Cigarettes (slang)

  Google eyed booger with the tit- gas mask (slang)

  Griffin (Griff) - confidential information (slang)

  Hun- German (slang)

  Jasta- a German Squadron

  Jippo- the shout that food was ready from the cooks (slang)

  Killick- Leading seaman (slang-Royal Navy)

  Kite- aeroplane (slang)

  Lanchester- a prestigious British car with the same status as a Rolls Royce

  Loot- a second lieutenant (slang)

  Marskin ryyppy – Finnish Schnapps (see text below)

  M.C. - Military Cross (for officers only)

  M.M. - Military Medal (for other ranks introduced in 1915)

  Nanak- Nickname for Airco DH 9

  Nelson’s Blood- rum (slang- Royal Navy)

  Nicked- stolen (slang)

  Number ones- Best uniform (slang)

  Oppo- workmate/friend (slang)

  Outdoor- the place they sold beer in a pub to take away (slang)

  Pop your clogs- die (slang)

  Pukka- Very good/efficient (slang)

  Reval- Tallinn (Estonia)

  Rosy – Tea (slang- Rosy Lee- tea)

  Rugger- Rugby (slang)

  Scousers- Liverpudlians (slang)

  Shufti- a quick look (slang)

  The smoke- London (slang)

  Toff- aristocrat (slang)

  V.C. - Victoria Cross, the highest honour in the British Army

  Historical Notes

  There are a number of real historical figures I have used: Bruce Lockhart was a famous spy as was Captain Crombie who was killed by the Bolsheviks. Rear Admiral Cowan took over from Rear Admiral Alexander-Sinclair in 1919. Lieutenant Augustus Agar and Major Donald were also real. Captain Cummins was the first head of the Intelligence Service and it was he and his spies who came up with the plan to use the torpedo boats to attack the Bolshevik Fleet. It worked.

  These were different times. Colonialism was not yet a dirty word and no one had any idea what racism actually was. My characters reflect those views. They are all people of their time. I have not airbrushed history just to suit the sensibilities of modern minds.

  The British flotilla consisted of a carrier, H.M.S. Vindictive, as well as two Seaplane tenders, C Class Cruisers and W Class Destroyers. In December 1918, they helped the Estonians under General Yudenich to recapture most of Estonia. It was a short-lived victory for by 1922 the Bolsheviks had recaptured it. The threat posed by the CMB boats and the British Flotilla forced the Bolsheviks to despatch a young Joseph Stalin to help defend Petrograd. I have had H.M.S Vindictive beginning operations in the Baltic just a few months earlier than she actually did. For the purists out there, I apologize; it is in the interests of the story. This is historical fiction

  RAF Ranks

  RAF other ranks (1 April 1918) RAF other ranks (1 January 1919)

  Technical Administrative Service other ranks

  Chief Master Mechanic (Chief Master
Clerk) Sergeant Major 1st Class Sergeant Major 1st Class

  Master Mechanic (Master Clerk) Sergeant Major 2nd Class Sergeant Major 2nd Class

  Chief Mechanic Flight Clerk Flight Sergeant Flight Sergeant

  Sergeant Mechanic Sergeant Clerk Sergeant Sergeant

  Corporal Mechanic Corporal Clerk Corporal Corporal

  Air Mechanic 1st Class Clerk 1st Class (Leading Aircraftman) Leading Aircraftman

  Air Mechanic 2nd Class Clerk 2nd Class Private 1st Class Aircraftman 1st Class

  Air Mechanic 3rd Class Clerk 3rd Class Private 2nd Class Aircraftman 2nd Class

  Aeroplanes referred to in the text

  Source: File: RAF Sopwith Camel.jpg – https://en.wikipedia.org

  Sopwith Camel

  Crew: 1

  Length: 18 ft. 9 in (5.72 m)

  Wingspan: 28 ft. 0 in (8.53 m)

  Height: 8 ft. 6 in (2.59 m)

  Wing area: 231 ft2 (21.46 m2)

  Empty weight: 930 lb (420 kg)

  Loaded weight: 1,453 lb (659 kg)

  Zero-lift drag coefficient: 0.0378

  Drag area: 8.73 square feet (0.811 m2)

  Aspect ratio: 4.11

  Power plant: 1 × Clerget 9B 9-cylinder Rotary engine, 130 hp (97 kW)

  Performance

  Maximum speed: 113 mph (182 km/h)

  Stall speed: 48 mph (77 km/h)

  Range: 300 miles ferry (485 km)

  Service ceiling: 19,000 ft. (5,791 m)

  Rate of climb: 1,085 ft./min (5.5 m/s)

  Wing loading: 6.3 lb/ft2 (30.8 kg/m2)

  Power/mass: 0.09 hp/lb (150 W/kg)

  Lift-to-drag ratio: 7.7

  Armament

  Guns: 2× 0.303 in (7.7 mm) Vickers machine guns

  Sopwith 11/2 Strutter

  Source: File: RAF Sopwith 1 1-2 Strutter.jpg - https://en.wikipedia.org

  Crew: two, pilot and observer

  Length: 25 ft. 3 in (7.70 m)

  Wingspan: 33 ft. 6 in (10.21 m)

  Height: 10 ft. 3 in (3.12 m)

  Wing area: 346 ft² (32.16 m²)

  Empty weight: 1,305 lb (593 kg)

  Loaded weight: 2,149 lb (975 kg)