When the promise of death, willingly accepted, was withdrawn – what had there been to take its place? Johnnie Pascoe had gone on flying, anyway; I had never heard that he had done anything else.
I was growing sleepy now, and ready for bed. Marian Forbes had ceased to worry me, for she was something different, like an Eskimo. I threw the butt of my cigarette in the fire. There were a couple of thick logs smouldering together but there was no flame; the fire was safe and it would probably last till morning. There were still a couple of mouthfuls of whisky left in my glass; I stood there finishing them, looking at the photos in that corner.
That
, the single-seater with the top wing of the biplane sprouting from the fuselage at the pilot’s seat – that must have been a Sopwith Dolphin.
That
, with the backward stagger, might have been a D.H.5. How he had loved those days of early youth, to keep so many photographs!
I went through into his bedroom, for I was very sleepy by that time. Unknown to me, Mrs Lawrence had been in the house, for someone had removed the bedspread and turned down the bed; there was a pair of clean pyjamas, Johnnie Pascoe’s, laid out on the folded sheet. I had brought with me only a haversack filled with warm clothing and a few essentials and my flying helmet; there had been no room for pyjamas and I could get on without them for a night or two. Now Johnnie Pascoe was providing them for me, as he was providing everything else in this room.
His razor, his hairbrushes, his washing things, his towel, were there for me to use if I wanted them. His pictures were there for me to look at and to savour his early life, even in this room. There was a very large framed photograph of the earliest Handley Page bomber, the 0.400, with a Camel flying beside it, perhaps to show the scale of the big aircraft; the Camel had the same chequered markings that I had seenon the photo in the other room. There were two pictures of biplane fighters that I could not identify at all, and one of an S.E.5. His bed was there for me to sleep in, his pyjamas for me to wear.
I threw off my clothes and got into his pyjamas, washed my teeth at his washbasin, and got into his bed. I put out his bedside light and settled down to sleep, tired after thirty-six hours on the go. Outside the wind was high and the rain still beat against the side of the small, exposed house, and drummed on the corrugated iron roof. Later on I would ring Sheila, when I woke again. She wouldn’t be worrying yet because it was only about five o’clock, though it was now quite dark.
We must get help to Johnnie Pascoe the instant there was a break in the weather. I didn’t know how long a man with a fractured skull could live without attention, but no more than a day or two. I should have asked the doctor, I thought, how much time we had, and yet it would not have made any difference to events. I had failed in my first mission, failed because I had forgotten about the door. I knew that Johnnie would not hold that one against me, for we all have finger trouble now and then, but the onus was on me to get help to him and repair the error. I would do so even if I had to tie that doctor hand and foot and shove him in the aeroplane, for Johnnie Pascoe was dying.
I was very near to sleep now, in his bed and on his pillow. If he were to die, at any rate he would know that we were doing everything we could to help him, for he would come back to this small house beside this minor aerodrome, if a man goes anywhere beyond his death. This was his home, the only home he had, the shrine that held the treasured relics of his life. Somewhere in this bedroom with me would be … would be the Military Cross, in one of the drawers of his chest, perhaps. Somewhere there might be souvenirs of Judy … a silk stockinghe had worn around his neck when flying, forty years ago.
Those rotary engines … the Le Rhones, the Monos, and the Clergets! They made a sort of crackling
I was growing sleepy now, and ready for bed. Marian Forbes had ceased to worry me, for she was something different, like an Eskimo. I threw the butt of my cigarette in the fire. There were a couple of thick logs smouldering together but there was no flame; the fire was safe and it would probably last till morning. There were still a couple of mouthfuls of whisky left in my glass; I stood there finishing them, looking at the photos in that corner.
That
, the single-seater with the top wing of the biplane sprouting from the fuselage at the pilot’s seat – that must have been a Sopwith Dolphin.
That
, with the backward stagger, might have been a D.H.5. How he had loved those days of early youth, to keep so many photographs!
I went through into his bedroom, for I was very sleepy by that time. Unknown to me, Mrs Lawrence had been in the house, for someone had removed the bedspread and turned down the bed; there was a pair of clean pyjamas, Johnnie Pascoe’s, laid out on the folded sheet. I had brought with me only a haversack filled with warm clothing and a few essentials and my flying helmet; there had been no room for pyjamas and I could get on without them for a night or two. Now Johnnie Pascoe was providing them for me, as he was providing everything else in this room.
His razor, his hairbrushes, his washing things, his towel, were there for me to use if I wanted them. His pictures were there for me to look at and to savour his early life, even in this room. There was a very large framed photograph of the earliest Handley Page bomber, the 0.400, with a Camel flying beside it, perhaps to show the scale of the big aircraft; the Camel had the same chequered markings that I had seenon the photo in the other room. There were two pictures of biplane fighters that I could not identify at all, and one of an S.E.5. His bed was there for me to sleep in, his pyjamas for me to wear.
I threw off my clothes and got into his pyjamas, washed my teeth at his washbasin, and got into his bed. I put out his bedside light and settled down to sleep, tired after thirty-six hours on the go. Outside the wind was high and the rain still beat against the side of the small, exposed house, and drummed on the corrugated iron roof. Later on I would ring Sheila, when I woke again. She wouldn’t be worrying yet because it was only about five o’clock, though it was now quite dark.
We must get help to Johnnie Pascoe the instant there was a break in the weather. I didn’t know how long a man with a fractured skull could live without attention, but no more than a day or two. I should have asked the doctor, I thought, how much time we had, and yet it would not have made any difference to events. I had failed in my first mission, failed because I had forgotten about the door. I knew that Johnnie would not hold that one against me, for we all have finger trouble now and then, but the onus was on me to get help to him and repair the error. I would do so even if I had to tie that doctor hand and foot and shove him in the aeroplane, for Johnnie Pascoe was dying.
I was very near to sleep now, in his bed and on his pillow. If he were to die, at any rate he would know that we were doing everything we could to help him, for he would come back to this small house beside this minor aerodrome, if a man goes anywhere beyond his death. This was his home, the only home he had, the shrine that held the treasured relics of his life. Somewhere in this bedroom with me would be … would be the Military Cross, in one of the drawers of his chest, perhaps. Somewhere there might be souvenirs of Judy … a silk stockinghe had worn around his neck when flying, forty years ago.
Those rotary engines … the Le Rhones, the Monos, and the Clergets! They made a sort of crackling
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