They walked to the front and looked at the nose. “What if a Jerry sneaks up behind you?” one of them asked.
“Then he’s a cad,” Piggott said,”and we never speak to him again.” While they were laughing he excused himself to go and welcome fresh arrivals. The Gordon Highlanders agreed that all RFC pilots were mad. “You’d need to be an imbecile to go up in that thing,” the captain said. “It hasn’t even got any brakes.”
Milne landed at last, carrying a side of smoked salmon he had bought from a lieutenant in the Border Regiment who had just been sent two and who wasn’t all that keen on salmon anyway. He gave it to the sergeant cook. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I hope I done right. I sent off two drivers to get all the food and drink they could find. I couldn’t feed a hundred guests on what was in stores, sir.”
“Of course you couldn’t. Did they find anything?”
“Lots of stuff, sir. Cost a packet, too.”
“If we get through this day alive,” Milne said, tossing his hat in the air,”I’ll put you up for a medal.”
Somebody had strung up some bunting and the flags of the Allies. Every table and chair had been brought out. Two bars had been set up. Seventy guests had arrived and another staff car rolled in every five or ten minutes. Milne, strolling about and making small-talk, was impressed by his own achievement: all these regiments, all these different uniforms, all those cooks carving cold ham and tongue and roast chicken, and batmen opening bottles of wine – it was like a garden party. Even the sun had come out. Everyone smiled. He’d borrowed a ten-piece band from the 8th Devons (camped only a few miles away) and they were playing a selection of hits from the London shows, jolly tunes like When you wore a tulip and Alexander’s Ragtime Band. Just like a garden party. No girls, of course. Pity about that. He stopped at a group of the Green Howards who were laughing at something Douglas Goss had told them. He said: “Pity we haven’t got any girls. Sorry about that.”
They were slightly embarrassed, and said nothing. What was there to say? Some smiled politely, some shrugged, some drank.
“I’ve got a girl,” Goss said,”but she’s in Norfolk.”
“I can beat that,” said a Green Howards captain. “I’ve got a wife in Brighton.”
“You can see Brighton from here,” Milne said,”on a clear day.” They looked at him, doubtful, afraid of further embarrassment. “At eight or nine thousand feet, that is. And no cloud.”
“Of course,” said the captain. “No cloud.”
“Can I get you a drink, sir?” Goss asked.
“I suppose you miss each other rather a lot,” Milne said.
“Oh well. You know how it is. One gets plenty of letters, but—”
“I knew a very pretty girl once,” Milne said. “Not in Brighton, though.” To Goss’s horror, a tear was leaking from Milne’s right eye. Goss looked around for a drinks-waiter and saw the adjutant approaching instead. “This is our adj,” he said. “Anything goes wrong, it’s his fault, isn’t it, Uncle?”
“Could I have a word, sir?” Appleyard said.
“The salmon is excellent,” Milne told them. “I caught it myself.” He moved away, walking backwards. “And after lunch we’ll all have a great big game of cricket,” he announced. “With two balls, to speed things up.” To the adjutant he said: “See to it, would you?”
“Yes, of course.” Appleyard scribbled cricket on his clipboard. “Bloody good bunfight, this. Brilliant idea, old boy. Absolutely brilliant. Caused us some problems, mind you.”
“Just feel that sun.” Milne tilted his head back and enjoyed the warmth on his face.
“End of the month, you see, Rufus. The mess account was pretty low. Couldn’t pay for all this stuff, not even half of it.”
“That’s the trouble with stuff. It costs money. I tell you, Uncle, the first man to invent free stuff will make a fortune.”
“I’m sure he will. The thing is, Rufus, I had to make up the difference out of my own pocket.”
“How much?” Milne was watching a bird, high, balanced against the wind.
Appleyard took out a sheet of paper and studied it as he spoke. “The fact of the matter is, Rufus, I’ve been lending my own money to half the squadron… I mean, no names no pack drill but some of these young chaps just don’t seem to be able to manage their affairs… It’s all down here if you want to… Anyway, the point is, this little party of yours has burst the bank with rather a loud bang, and yours truly could do with a spot of—”
“Bend over, Uncle.” Appleyard stooped and Milne rested his cheque book on his back, signed a cheque and gave it to him. “Now for God’s sake stop waffling.”
“But this is a blank cheque. I can’t take this.”
“Then throw it away.” He left Appleyard flapping the cheque to dry the ink and looking not unhappy, and walked past the band – now playing the Londonderry Air – to an open-top Bentley. A colonel and a captain were sitting in the back seats.
“Hullo, Bob,” Milne said. “I invited a few friends. Didn’t want you to feel lonely.”
Bliss looked at the crowd, now well over a hundred, at the band, the hurrying waiters. “The Corps Commander thinks you’ve blown a gasket,” he said. “You’re overdue for it, God knows. You’ve been flying for nearly two years, you’ve had this squadron for a year, it’s high time you went round the bend.”
“He doesn’t think I’m good enough. Is that it? Time I got pensioned off.” Scarlet patched Milne’s face as anger rose in him. “Bastard!” He kicked the car. “Bloody bastard!”
“You can’t break it,” Bliss said. “It’s a Bentley.”
“I don’t care if it’s a babbling brook.” Milne kicked it again, but already his anger was subsiding. “Damn, damn, damn. I’m sorry, Bob. This is… this is all wrong. Completely cockeyed.”
Bliss took off his cap, smoothed his hair, replaced his cap. Milne licked his fingers and tried to rub out a scratch on the car. In the distance, the band was playing a polka.
“I don’t understand any of that,” Bliss said,”but I don’t suppose it matters. The remarkably patient chap sitting in the car is Captain Dando, your new medical officer. Corps Commander’s asked him to take a close look between your ears and report what, if anything, he finds.”
Milne and Dando exchanged nods.
“And now,” Bliss said,”I’ll go and get myself a drink, because I’m sure you will want to attend to that rather wobbly aeroplane of yours.”
Milne turned to see where Bliss was looking. The plane was a BE2c. It was coming in to land and its approach was very uncertain, full of swerves and dips. The playing of the band had drowned its engine, but now the band stopped and they all heard the blips and spurts and crackles. A red flare soared from the plane, creating the brief illusion that it was hanging from a string. “Hell’s bloody bells,” Milne said wearily. An ambulance came by and he chased it and jumped on the running-board.
Chapter 7
It was a heavy landing. Kellaway, worried about his revs, chose the wrong moment to look at the gauge and he crashed his head against the instrument panel. Left to itself, the plane ran to a halt in the middle of the field. ‘C’ Flight circled overhead and watched the ambulance pull up alongside it. Kellaway was unconscious. A small cut on his forehead had released enough blood to cover his face but the real problem was his right foot, which was jammed behind a rudder pedal. By the time the medics had slit open his flying boot and heaved him clear, Bliss and Dando had arrived with a crowd of guests, and Paxton was telling Milne what had happened.