The Lost Years (23 page)

‘The cost isn’t important, the sentiment is. Stay safe, Perys.’ Her smile was forced as she added, ‘Wherever you are you will always know there is someone thinking of you. I will pray for you each night.’

Deeply touched by her words and her gift, Perys said, ‘I will remember that, Grace, thank you.’ He kissed her self-consciously, aware of the beaming approval of Maude and her two daughters.

Their farewells were equally warm and sincere and, when he started on his way, he turned to wave to the quartet who were standing outside the house.

Then, putting Knightsbridge behind him, he set off to begin a new life. As a pilot in the Royal Flying Corps.

Chapter 36

During the weeks he spent in the training depot at Upavon, Perys began to think the War Office had posted him to an infantry training unit by mistake.

There were lectures on various aspects of aeronautics, but they covered such basic subjects that Perys realised he had learned more during the first couple of days with Nick Malloch than he would during the whole of this particular course.

Those who, like Perys, were civilian volunteers for the Royal Flying Corps, would not be allowed to wear uniform until they moved on to flying training. Others, who were already army officers, were required to remove all insignia of rank and were treated as ‘cadets’.

The days were spent mainly in learning drill, under the instruction of army sergeants to whom drill was the one thing that raised the British soldier above all his contemporaries. There was also a certain amount of physical exercise - and kit inspections. Perys felt the latter to be a total waste of valuable learning time. He doubted whether ensuring that the soles of his spare boots were highly polished was calculated to strike fear into the hearts of German airmen.

Something of his thinking showed in the attitude he adopted towards the army-style regime. As a result, one drill sergeant in particular singled him out for special attention. It was, perhaps, inevitable that such conflicting attitudes to the training methods would lead to a clash between the two men.

It came on a day when an aeroplane from the nearby airfield flew low over the parade ground, making Sergeant Middleton’s bellowed orders even more unintelligible to Perys. He turned the opposite way to the others in the squad and was immediately taken to task by the irate instructor.

‘What is the matter with you, Tremayne? If you can’t get your feet to do what they’re supposed to when you’re down here on the ground, they’re hardly likely to be any use to you when you’re up in the air. You’ll never make a pilot if you drill for a hundred bleedin’ years!’ Perys had become increasingly frustrated with both the drill and the sometimes vicious stupidity of the men who appeared to enjoy the harsh discipline inflicted upon the cadets in their charge. Throwing caution to the wind, he said, ‘I am afraid I must correct you . . . sir. I am already a qualified pilot.’

It was one of the anomalies of initial training that prospective officers were obliged to address their non-commissioned instructors as ‘sir’.

The sergeant had automatically written Perys off as being one of the many recruits who had joined the Royal Flying Corps direct from school, with little knowledge of anything beyond the classroom. Now he said, ‘What do you mean, you are a pilot?’

‘I mean that I have my pilot’s licence and have clocked up more than fifty hours of solo flying time, in three different types of aeroplane . . . sir.’

One of the squad tittered and Sergeant Middleton looked at Perys suspiciously, believing him to be enjoying a joke at his expense.

‘And where did you do all this flying of yours may I ask?’

‘Brooklands, sir.’

Aware that the sergeant was uncertain whether or not he was telling the truth, and beginning to enjoy himself, Perys added, ‘Mind you, when I was acting as observer to my cousin and we were shot at by a German warship - that was the occasion when he won a DSO -M we were actually flying over the English Channel.’

Now a number of the squad members were having difficulty stifling their laughter and the sergeant had no doubt that Perys was trying to make him appear foolish.

‘Do you think it’s clever to try to make a fool of me, Tremayne? Well, some of your friends may find you amusing, but let’s see if the adjutant shares their sense of humour. Fall out and report to the adjutant’s office. I’ll be along there to lay charges against you when I’ve finished with this lot.’

Aware he had gone too far and suddenly fearful that his commission as a Royal Flying Corps pilot might be in jeopardy, Perys asked, ‘What charges . . . sir?’

‘Insubordination - now move . . . at the double!’

As Perys ran across the parade ground, heading for the adjutant’s office, he heard the sergeant barking orders at the squad of would-be RFC officers, determined to reassert his authority over them.

When he reached the building which housed the offices of the commanding officer, adjutant and initial training administration, a sergeant informed Perys that the adjutant was not in his office. Perys was instructed to wait outside, standing ‘to attention’ until his return.

He had been waiting outside for some ten minutes when the officer in charge of the initial training annexe left the building and saw him standing there, rigid.

Major Thomas Kemp, DSO, was an ex-Royal Engineers officer who had gained his pilot’s licence prior to the war, as had most senior RFC officers. Sent to France with one of the first squadrons to accompany the British Expeditionary Force on the outbreak of war, he had also been one of the first pilots to be wounded. Forbidden to fly an aeroplane until he had fully recovered, he had been sent to Upavon to take charge of the training annexe.

Seeing a crestfallen Perys standing stiffly to attention, he frowned, ‘What are you doing here, young man?’

‘I understand I am to be taken before the adjutant, sir, charged with insubordination.’

Raising an eyebrow. Major Kemp said, ‘It all sounds terribly serious . . . Were you insubordinate?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. Sergeant Middleton told me that if I couldn’t get my feet to do what I wanted them to on the ground, I’d not manage them in the air and would never make a pilot. I told him I already held a pilot’s licence.’ After a moment’s hesitation, he added, ‘I also mentioned a particular exploit I had in the air. I think he thought I was lying and trying to make him look foolish.’

‘Sergeant Middleton . . . Isn’t he the Coldstream Guardsman?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Hm!’ Thomas Kemp had always doubted the necessity of teaching Guards-style drill to prospective airmen. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘Tremayne, sir. Perys Tremayne.’

Major Kemp frowned. ‘Tremayne? Are you from Cornwall?’

‘Part of the family have a home there, sir. I was staying there recently.’

‘I thought I had seen the name somewhere. Come into my office.’

The major turned and went back inside the building. Mystified, Perys followed him.

Passing through the outer office, the commanding officer said to the surprised administration sergeant, ‘Find the file for cadet Tremayne and bring it to me straightway, Sergeant.’

Once inside his own office, Major Kemp dropped into a chair and faced Perys across the width of his desk. Perys was standing rigidly to attention once more and the commanding officer said, ‘Stand-at-ease, Tremayne. Relax and tell me something about your flying. Who taught you and how many hours have you put in?’

When Perys had replied to his questions, Major Kemp leaned back in his chair and said, ‘You had one of the best instructors in the country, Tremayne. He must be. He taught me to fly when I was more than twice your age and had stopped learning new tricks many years before. If you clocked up fifty-three hours with Hick then you are a more experienced pilot than a great many front-line fliers.’

The administration sergeant entered the office and placed a document file on his desk, together with a bulky manila envelope.

‘Ah yes!’ Major Kemp pushed the envelope to one side with the words, ‘I thought you were the young man I had in mind.’ Not bothering to explain more fully, he opened the file and began to read some of the documents from it, occasionally looking up at Perys in a speculative manner.

When he had shuffled through all the papers, he said, ‘You have certainly made your mark on the aviation world, Tremayne - even before you are commissioned into the Royal Flying Corps. I don’t think I have ever seen a more complimentary report from a flying instructor, and Nick Malloch isn’t a man to bestow praise lightly. I see there is also a recommendation from Colonel Lord MacAllen. As for your adventure with Captain Pilkington . . . it was worthy of a medal. Talking of which, I believe that last year you took part in the rescue of the master of a Russian ship off the Cornish coast?’

Startled, Perys said, ‘That’s right, sir, but how do you know?’

Major Kemp smiled. ‘It seems your sailor was related to an official at the Russian Court. As a result, Tsar Nicholas has awarded you the Medal of St George, for bravery. Not to be outdone, the Royal Humane Society have given you their Bronze Medal for the same incident.’

The significance of the two medals was lost on Perys. He had won various awards at school, and looked upon the two he had just been told about as being in the same category.

Major Kemp was quick to enlighten him. ‘Have you been measured for a uniform yet, Tremayne?’

‘Yes, sir, but I have been told not to order it until I have completed initial training and have received a commission.’

‘Then we will have to see what can be done to accelerate that day, Tremayne.’

Perys looked puzzled and Major Kemp explained, ‘The War Office forwarded your medals with a memo, Tremayne. They say every opportunity must be taken to boost morale among trainee officers. I am to present the medals to you at a full parade of all trainee pilots at the Central Flying School. As they are intended to be worn on your uniform, together with any decorations you may be awarded in the future, I think we had better see that you are put into uniform as quickly as possible. What aircraft have you flown?’

‘The ‘Longhorn’, a BE2c and an Avro, sir,’ Perys said, not certain why he had been asked the question.

‘Fine! I have a BE2c at my disposal, across in the Central Flying School. I’m not allowed to fly it myself just yet, but you can take me up for a flight and show me what you can do. Come along, I’ll have an orderly take us across there in the motor-car.

At the Central Flying School airfield, a BE2c was quickly wheeled from a hangar. Perys was fitted out with a flying suit and soon afterwards was taxying out to the airfield. He had felt apprehensive about acting as pilot to such an experienced RFC airman, but once in the air the sheer exhilaration of flying again took over and he put the BE2c through its paces.

Eventually, Major Kemp, who was in the forward cockpit, signalled for him to land back at Upavon. Reluctantly, Perys complied and twenty minutes later they were climbing from the aeroplane to the ground.

Patting Perys on the shoulder, the Major said, ‘I am pleased to see that Nick Malloch’s judgement is as sound as ever, Tremayne. You are a natural pilot. Putting you on the normal trainees’ flying course would be a waste of time and money. Come along to my office. We’ll see if I can find the exam papers for the theory you’ve learned so far. Nick will have taught you about such matters in far more detail. You can sit in my office to take the exam. Before that, give the details of your tailor to the admin sergeant. He can make a telephone call and arrange for your uniform to be ready for the weekend. I will present your medals at the church parade on Sunday, and you can join the advanced flying course on Monday.’

Perys was overwhelmed by his unexpected good luck but was temporarily brought down to earth when he reached the administration hut.

He had gone ahead of the commanding officer, who had stayed behind to detail the duties of his driver for the following day. Sergeant Middleton had been searching for Perys, furious that he had not been outside the adjutant’s office when the sergeant arrived from the parade ground. When he saw Perys, and without awaiting an explanation, he launched into an angry tirade, assuring Perys in no uncertain terms that his career in the Royal Flying Corps was at an end before it had even begun.

His angry outburst faded when Major Kemp came into view around the side of the building.

‘Attention, Tremayne!’ the drill sergeant barked, at the same time springing to stiff attention himself, his hand jerking up to perform a quiveringly perfect salute.

‘All right, Sergeant Middleton, at ease if you please. Tell me, what is this business with Tremayne all about?’

Surprised that the commanding officer should know anything about the matter, the sergeant repeated what Perys had already said, adding, ‘He was just making the stories up, sir, to belittle me and amuse his friends in the squad.’

‘I think not, Sergeant you see, all he said happens to be true. Indeed, he has just been awarded two decorations for bravery. I will be asking General Sir Charles Allerton to make the presentation at church parade on Sunday. I will expect a good, smart turn-out for the occasion. In view of this, I presume you will wish to withdraw your charges, Sergeant?’

The commanding officer’s stern glance left the drill sergeant in no doubt about what he was expected to say.

‘Of course, sir. Had I been in possession of all the facts at the time . . .’

‘Quite. Thank you, Sergeant Middleton. You may go back to your duties. Shall we go inside and find that examination paper, Tremayne?’

Chapter 37

Five days after his flight with Major Kemp, Perys joined an advanced flying training course in the main section of the Central Flying School. His commission as a second lieutenant in the Royal Flying Corps had been confirmed and he felt proud but conspicuous in his new uniform, tailored for him in a remarkable forty-eight hours, thanks to the persuasive powers of Thomas Kemp.

He was mildly embarrassed by the two medal ribbons displayed on the breast of his uniform jacket. The dark blue and gold of the Russian Medal of St George over his left pocket, and the navy blue of the Humane Society medal on his right breast. Both attracted considerable interest wherever he went.