white chalky liquid.
Generally the instructors were helpful and right, thought Bill.
‘Only when the manual is as big as the kit do we have a real problem.’
‘But what do the asterisks mean?’ asked Bill.
FOB looked serious as he took the manual from Bill’s hand and thumbed through it. ‘There are always asterisks, Bill. Always! Remember that. Put another way, it’s the small print that holds the secrets.’
The entire experience was surreal and inspired awe beyond Bill’s wildest dreams.
‘Unlike in the movies with Betty Grable and Spencer Tracey, this is happening. People out there will be seriously planning to kill you.’
Bill instantly felt alone and horribly scared.
Sensation of speed when flying low exhilarated Bill. Higher up it seemed as though he hardly moved. Sense of speed vanished. If only he could turn that bastard big fan away from his face.
G—force as he dived, knocked the breath from his body. It felt as if his innards were squeezed out through the back of his neck. Bill found it hard to suck in air and learned the value of oxygen.
As the plane turned upside down he experienced a helpless feeling of hanging around in harness. Oh, fuck! Thank Christ for the harness!
He tried in vain to tuck his knees up under his chin while his testicles reminded him who the boss in this partnership was. As his disorientation became worse, the harness-thing definitely was a first up task even prior to spitting into the goggles.
Next day they continued with rolls and through to upright again. He learned to cope with the additional handy skill of staying focused through blurred vision and resultant nausea.
‘Handy holiday hint number one,’ shouted FOB. ‘Remember to vomit to the left or right. Opposite side from the airstream.’
Bill only had it wrong the first few times. Aerobatics was constrained to effective flight control and how to evade or attack enemy aircraft, practice interceptions and complete cross-country exercises. None of the cadets knew where they might be assigned. Some would become fighter pilots. Others might fly heavier aircraft like bombers. A few sadly, were destined to the rear of the kitchens.
The job was to learn, grasp and retain knowledge, while leaving others in his wake, but not to become an idiotic thrill seeker. Bill’s constant goal was to avoid failing. At all costs not to be reassigned to peeling those wretched potatoes. Bill saw each step forward as a step closer to his coveted nineteen shillings and sixpence a day.
A new way of life began for Bill. He was taught how to climb steeply without stalling and what the hell to do, when he did. His first stall terrified him.
‘Throttle back, get the nose up, easy on the stick,’ shouted FOB.
Bill noticed the speed drop off rapidly, the noise quietened and the controls grew sloppy. They shuddered and rolled almost upside down. Oh, fuck! Then with ease they resumed straight and level flight. Phew!
How to determine a safe height from which to dive and withstand the G—forces without blacking out. How to peel away fast to one side and dive. Or to roll in an emergency to make him a difficult target but twirls and victory rolls were out, as was any reckless low flying or showing off.
‘Keep your feet on that bloody rudder bar!’ shouted FOB.
But nothing was pretty or clean. Planes were streaked along their cowlings, blackened from leaded petrol. Everything was covered with grease, oil and what looked like dried vomit. Scuffmarks from pilot’s boots had worn away paint on most upper surfaces of the wings with telltale damage in the more traffi cable areas. Bill screwed his nose up. ‘The constant smell of leaking aviation fuel is enough to turn a vulture off carrion.’
‘Aye, nauseating enough for you but I care naught for their no eating before flying rule, by gum. I get hungry before I fly.’
Bill learned the flying process was not difficult. Soon he was at the controls but the instructor was always in his ear.
‘Pull that bloody stick back! Okay. Let’s do another circuit. You’ll land this time, then take off again—what did I just tell you about that bloody stick?’
Bill was getting the feel of a Tiger Moth.
After seven hours he went solo and FOB was delighted.
‘If you hadn’t gone solo by ten hours, Bill, you’d have got another instructor in case of a clash of our personalities. By sixteen hours Chief takes a look at you and your progress. After that it’s usually goodbye.’
Circuit after circuit Bill flew monitored by FOB from the ground.
FOB was pleased. ‘You’ve done very well, Bill. Keep this up and you’ll be my star pupil.’
They had Sundays off and in between learning to fly there were social outings, for the most part dances held in local church halls. Courtesy of various groups intended to make young cadet pilots feel more at home in this strange but friendly land.
In a corner of one such hall sat the latest efforts of the local knitting circle, which included colourful tea cosies. Bill was reminded of Lily and without warning he became down in the dumps and homesick. Being godly, liquor was not involved but cadets hid their stashes well.
The official program included lots of hot sweet tea, coffee and soft drinks but with the added attraction of crumpet galore. Richard was in the know and had big news to share with Olly and Bill.
‘Word is, chaps, there will be a few nurses from the local hospital at our next dance.’
Bill was confused. He didn’t understand why the fuss.
‘Surely, you don’t think we’ll need the attention of a nurse? We’re not likely to injure ourselves at a dance, are we?’
Richard roared with laughter. Olly cracked up until his sides ached.
‘Nurses have a reputation, Bill. They are so disgustingly clinical and no peccadillo is too extreme,’ explained Richard, as he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
Bill’s expression gave nothing away.
‘Aye, they’re naught but bikes, Bill. Like to be ridden.’
Even now no answering sparks from Bill.
‘Sex, we mean, Bill, for Christ’s sake, sex,’ offered an exasperated Richard.
‘Oh,’ said Bill.
‘Nurses have to work alongside naked men twenty-four hours a day. They’re used to bodily functions, penises, blokes’ erections, masturbation, those sorts of things,’ explained Richard.
Olly took his illicit hip flask from his pocket and gave it a sideways shake.
‘Aye, this might help summat too. Naught but limber them up a bit.’
‘Use booze to break the ice you mean. Splendid idea, Olly. At the risk of complicating what has always been a basic activity, some women at these socials might have greater expectations than we do, but we might as well enjoy ourselves,’ laughed Richard.
Added to diets of adventure was an eager anticipation of danger that pervaded everyone’s daily lives. Newspapers reported thousands of tons of ships being lost in the Atlantic; non-combatants were being targeted in bombing raids in England, and troops everywhere were being slaughtered. Countries were falling like ninepins and the yellow peril was everyone’s secret dread. Always there was something important to worry about. Talk by and large was of death and misadventure somewhere, and most people combated this by living for the moment.
‘Aye, Bill, if you have money, better to spend and enjoy. There might naught be a tomorrow.’
No one wanted to admit to being scared.
Richard looked serious. ‘You realise it’s improbable the