Biggles by John Pearson

I’ve had enough of shooting in the last few months,’ he said. The General shook his head as if to say the boy was going soft. The General also had a new invention with which he was terrorising the whole neighbourhood — a radio-controlled anti-aircraft rocket. ‘Like most of the old boy’s brainwaves, it was a trifle premature,’ said Biggles later. ‘Probably as well it was. If it had really worked there’d not have been much future left for chaps like me.’
    After his time in Norfolk, Biggles still had a few days before returning to his Squadron, and had planned to see the Laceys at their house in Sussex. He had not had much time to write to them whilst at the Front, and had no idea what to expect when he went down to Lewes. His Aunt Priscilla had been somewhat guarded on the telephone, but he was looking forward to seeing his absent-minded botanising uncle once again, and even his spoiled young cousin, Algy. Rather to his surprise, his uncle met him at the station with an ancient pony trap that had been taken out of moth-balls, since the motorcar was laid up for the war.
    Lord Lacey seemed as vague and bumbling as ever with his long dundreary whiskers and his big checked overcoat. For a while he chatted on about the scandalous way the local farmers had been ploughing up the Downs. ‘Never a thought for the effect on the flora of the district. Still, such is war, and one must make one’s sacrifices.’ Biggles agreed that it was very hard, and then his uncle suddenly said, ‘Your dear Aunt thought that I shouldbreak the news to you so that it wouldn’t be too great a shock.’
    â€˜What news?’ said Biggles, thoroughly alarmed.
    â€˜We have a visitor — or should I say a guest. Someone we haven’t seen for years. My sister, Catherine — that is to say, your mother.’
    Biggles’ heart began to pound as fast as if he were facing twenty Fokker triplanes in a dogfight.
    â€˜My what?’ he said incredulously.
    â€˜My dear boy,’ said his Lordship. ‘I do realise the shock that this must be for you. And I realise how you must feel, but life has not been easy for her. She is a widow now. Her husband died last year in France and we have offered her a home at least until the war is over.’
    Biggles was completely lost for words. This was the moment he had dreamt about for years, the longed-for rediscovery of his beloved mother. But now that it had come he wasn’t sure he wanted it.
    â€˜What is she like?’ he asked at last.
    Lord Lacey smiled. ‘She’s changed a lot, but underneath I think she’s probably the same as ever. Life never really can defeat people like your mother.’
    â€˜Thank God for that,’ said Biggles quietly.
    She was waiting in the drive to greet them, and at first he barely recognised her. The mother he remembered was the youthful, fair-haired goddess who had come to kiss him goodnight every evening in the nursery. Now she was a plump, grey-haired matron in a dark-green overcoat. Could it possibly be her?
    He jumped down from the trap, and for a moment they stood staring at each other.
    â€˜James?’ she said tentatively.
    â€˜Mother,’ he replied, not certain if he should laugh or cry, and then they were in each other’s arms.
    â€˜Thank God I’ve found you!’ she exclaimed.
    Biggles’ rediscovery of his mother did not turn out to be as joyful an affair as he imagined, and though it would be pleasant to record an idyllic reunion after all the years that they had been apart, it did not happen.
    â€˜Perhaps deep down I still resented her for leaving us,’ Biggles admitted in old age when he brought himself to talk about it all. ‘And I suppose that I reminded her of many things that she would rather have forgotten.’
    The truth was that they were strangers. Biggles had been living for so long with the image of a dream-like mother that he