Biggles by John Pearson Page A

was not prepared for the reality. For Catherine Lacey — or the Widow Duclos as she had now become — was as dominating and tiresome as ever, but she no longer had the beauty which had previously disguised her faults. Even that first night at the Laceys, over dinner, she managed to annoy her new-found son.
    â€˜But surely, James,’ she said, ‘the Flying Corps is not particularly smart. I think that I must do my best to get you transferred to the Guards.’
    â€˜I’d rather that you didn’t,’ he replied.
    â€˜Oh, but why not?’ she asked quickly.
    â€˜Because I happen to love flying,’ he replied.
    â€˜Young Algy’s just the same,’ said Aunt Priscilla, trying to change the subject slightly. ‘Since he’s joined up, the only thing he wants to do is get a transfer from the Grenadiers to the R.F.C
    â€˜How very strange of him,’ said Catherine, coldly.
    Later, as she kissed her son goodnight, she smiled and said, ‘Now that I’ve found you, darling James, I think the time has come to take you firmly in hand. You really do need looking after.’
    How those words echoed in his ears for the remainder of his leave! For years now he had managed on his own and really pleased himself in everything he did. But now he had a mother, this had changed. Nothing was sacred any more — his friends, his underwear, his overdraft, and even his sex-life.
    â€˜James, darling, you are so uncouth,’ she’d say and flash her brilliant smile at him. ‘You need a really nice girl who’ll take your mind off this beastly war.’
    â€˜I’m not so sure I want one,’ he replied.
    â€˜So like your father,’ was her answer, and before he left for France, Biggles endured interrogation upon almost every subject he held dear to him.
    So it was probably as well that his leave ended when it did, and as he stepped aboard the Channel ferry he did so with a sense of freedom and relief. No more loneliness in London, no morecomparisons with his brother Charles, and — for a time at least — no more questions from Mama!
    â€˜Biggles, my boy, you look exhausted,’ said Mahoney as he slunk into the Mess that night.
    â€˜Did you find yourself a lovely girl?’
    Biggles shook his head. ‘No such luck! I found myself a mother, and now the Huns will come as quite a rest. Thank God for the enemy!’
    For the next few days it was exhilarating to be back and flying once again. Despite the filthy weather and the depressing progress of the fighting in the trenches, Biggles had never felt so happy since he first joined 266. His old Sidcot flying suit was waiting for him like a faithful friend, and while he was away the mechanics had fitted a new Bentley engine into his Sopwith Camel. She flew like a bird, and as he took off on his first patrol he was like a man renewed. The strain and tension of the weeks before his leave were over, and more than ever now he felt that this was the only life he wanted. London, relatives, and those fat civilians he had seen on leave bored or disgusted him. He wanted nothing but the freedom of the skies and the excitement of the day’s adventure.
    But it was a slack time now for 266. There were two new Camel squadrons in the sector, clamouring for action on their own account. Mahoney was content to let them have it, but for Biggles life without its daily dose of action would have been unbearable.
    â€˜You know what you are, James my lad?’ Mahoney said.
    Biggles shook his head.
    â€˜A bloody flying addict. It’s worse than taking to the bottle. You should watch it and relax.’
    This was something Biggles could not do, and during the Christmas period he was continually nagging Major Mullen for some fresh assignment. Sometimes he got one and was happy. Twice he was ‘lent’ to Colonel Raymond (as he was now — he had been promoted) for a night-time ‘drop’ of Allied