For God, England & Ethel

Return to Abeele - from Chapter 1 ________________________________________ As soon as the aircraft was on a northerly heading, Nigel centralised the controls. The wings levelled out and the wheels cleared the tops of the trees on the aerodrome perimeter by less than thirty feet. Almost immediately, the lights of a dozen landing flares flashed past, close enough for him to smell their acrid smoke. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of two men and realised that they were his ground crew who had been taken by surprise by his decision to land across the lighted landing strip instead of along it. Knowing that in the final approach the RE8 would drop quickly and not float in the air like other aeroplanes, Nigel gently eased the control stick back. With his feet working the rudder bar he corrected for the cross wind, aiming the nose a fraction to the left of the hangar lights. When he sensed the ground was close he straightened out the aircraft in readiness for the landing, holding his breath with his mouth closed. A few seconds later the wheels made contact with the ground. With a jolt the aircraft bounced back into the air, forcing Nigel down into his chair and breaking the wicker seat under the cushion. He heard a tearing noise as a second wooden longeron snapped and the frame of the fuselage twisted upwards half way between the rear cockpit and the tail plane. Before he had time to shout out a warning to the observer behind him, the aircraft hit the ground again, this time with the wheels and tail skid striking the grass simultaneously. Nigel felt a bump as the propeller struck something soft. Above the noise of cracking timber he thought he heard the sound of a scream. Before he had time to look around, the nose of the machine swung upwards and he could see nothing but the night sky as the aircraft lurched once more into the air. He struggled with all his strength to push the stick forward but the control wires were jammed solid inside the twisted fuselage. He tried to move the rudder bar but found that that too would not move. Realising that there was nothing more he could do, he let go of the controls and braced himself, with his hands grasping the leather-covered cockpit surround and his legs pressed against the sides of the fuselage. Holding his breath once more, he waited for the inevitable impact. Farewell in London - from Chapter 2 ________________________________________ After a few minutes standing together in silence, Fred leaned forward and whispered something in Ethel's ear. She laughed and took hold of his hand, leading him out of the doorway and back on to the street. As they reached the end of Coventry Street, the billboard lights on Glasshouse Street came on, the bright electric lights illuminating the winged statue in front of them. "Look over there, Fred. It must be an omen." "They're only electric lights, Ethel. Nothing more." Fred placed his arm around her waist as they stepped off the pavement. " Let's make straight for the Criterion." "Whatever you say, Fred. I'm in your capable hands." Waiting for the right moment, Fred deftly guided Ethel between two horse-drawn carriages and across to the safety of the pavement on the other side of the road. From there they walked to the entrance of the Piccadilly Circus Tube station where they joined the queue of people at the ticket office. When it was Fred's turn at the counter he asked the clerk for two single tickets, one for Waterloo and the other for Paddington. Paying for them with loose change from his pocket, he handed Ethel her ticket. "I'm afraid we won't be able to say our goodbyes in private." "It's probably just as well, Fred. I don't like saying goodbye at the best of times and this isn't one of those." "All right, my dearest. Let's make this quick. I'll talk to you on the telephone as soon as I can. Who knows, I might even get a few days of leave before I'm sent to France." The two lovers paused for a moment before making their way to the top of the escalator. As they descended to the platforms, Fred stood behind Ethel with his hands on her shoulders. Reaching the bottom of the escalator they sought the privacy of an archway and stood facing one another, holding hands. "Chin up, old dear. It'll all be over before you know it." "Promise me you'll take care of yourself, Fred. Promise!" "Of course I promise." Fred let go of Ethel's hand as she turned away without looking him in the eye. Waiting until she had disappeared from view around a bend in the tunnel, he walked off in the opposite direction towards the southbound platform. The White Chateau - from Chapter 10 ________________________________________ The chateau presented an imposing sight, rising like a ghostly apparition from the low lying mist that covered all of the surrounding land. From a distance, a casual observer would be unaware that the magnificent four storey mansion stood in the centre of a battlefield, less than half a mile inside German held territory and within range of dozens of allied guns. It was early morning and the only sound that echoed around the building was the lonely call of a solitary bird. With the concentration of forces shifted south to France, the battle front around Ypres was quieter than in recent weeks and the day's shelling had yet to commence. Closer examination would reveal a different picture however, with gaping glassless windows and countless holes in the masonry where gun aimers had scored direct hits. Sections of the roof were missing or partly consumed by fire and the very feature that had given the mansion its unique beauty had also been its nemesis. It was not called the 'White Chateau' by accident. On a clear day, the white-faced stonework could be seen for miles to the west and it provided a perfect target for artillery ranging, standing as it did against a backdrop of brown countryside churned flat by the impact of countless shells. The silence was broken by the sound of a falling shell. The noise of the explosion ripped through the air, echoing off the walls of the deserted mansion. The unseen gunner's aim was long and a shower of brown earth and bricks burst up through the ground mist fifty yards beyond the main building, where once had stood a pair of imposing iron gates. A huge ripple of white mist spread out in an ever increasing circle, flowing up the walls of the chateau like an ocean wave hitting the face of a cliff. Home on Leave - from Chapter 13 ________________________________________ The crossing was uneventful and the ship arrived at Folkestone at five o'clock in the evening. Fred made sure he was first in line when the gangplanks were rolled out from the dockside and placed over the side of the ship. When the order was finally given to disembark, the returning servicemen slowly filed across the narrow gangplanks and up on to the exposed quay. The evening was dark and wet, not what Fred had imagined when lying in his bunk back at the aerodrome, and he felt anything but elated. Many soldiers were met by family and friends and quickly left the jetty. Others like Fred, who still had a long way to travel, made their way along the curved railway platform in the pouring rain to look for a seat in one of the carriages of the waiting train. Reaching the covered section of platform that offered some protection from the penetrating rain, Fred left the others behind and ran to the furthest carriage that was level with the rear entrance to the harbour master's house. Opening the door, he climbed up into the carriage and was surprised to find that it was already half full. One of the soldiers already on board removed his kit bag from the seat and threw it up on to the overhead rack, offering the space to Fred. Fred thanked him and sat down, squeezed between the window and the soldier, with his kit bag at his feet. After what seemed like an ag