The Rainbow and the Rose (3 page)

‘Better take me to the hotel,’ I said. I remembered it from my forced landing, years before. ‘What’s its name?’

‘The Post Office Hotel,’ he said. ‘They won’t be open yet. They don’t get out of bed till about nine.’

We drove into the deserted street, black and silent and wet. ‘Well, take me there, anyway,’ I said.

He stopped in front of the hotel. I got out and knocked on the door for a few minutes, with no result. Then I went exploring round the back with my small torch and found that the kitchen door was unlocked. I went back to the street and paid off the taxi, returned to the hotel kitchen, and switched on the light.

It was a pretty dirty sort of place, and smelt a bit. It was warm, though, with the residue of heat from the
stove. I was hungry again and there was nothing much to do for an hour, so I started ferreting around and found the larder, smelling a good deal worse than the kitchen. There was an electric cooker there, so I made myself a cup of tea and boiled a couple of eggs and cut some bread and butter.

It was still dark outside at half past six, and there was still no movement from upstairs in the hotel. The controller at Essendon had said that the woman at the Lewis River would be speaking on the morning schedule at seven o’clock; before then I must get to a radio and find out what was happening. I wrote a note for the hotel on a page torn from my diary and left it on the table with a ten bob note to soothe any ruffled feelings there might be, and went out to the yard, and so to the street. I could see the length of it now in the faint light, but the wind was still high and there was a little rain with it.

It didn’t take me long to find the police station. There was a light on in the front office, and when I opened the door a young constable got up from a desk. Behind him on a table was the black metal case of a transceiver. I had come to the right place.

He said, ‘Guid morning,’ in a strong Scots accent. ‘And what can I do for you?’ He could not have been in the country very long.

‘My name is Clarke,’ I said. ‘Have you heard anything about me?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I’m a captain with Australian Continental Airways.’ I went on to tell him briefly why I’d come to Buxton. ‘They told me at Essendon that Mrs Hoskins would be speaking on the morning schedule at seven o’clock. Mind if I listen in?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘There’ll be others coming to hear that. Mr Monkhouse, the ground engineer, for one, and Sergeant Farrell from the house. Nae doubt they’ll be making a great effort to get him out of it today.’

I nodded. ‘Have you heard a weather forecast this morning?’

‘Only what came through on the six o’clock news.’

‘What was that?’

‘Stormy, with low cloud and rain.’

I offered him a cigarette and we stood smoking for a time, not saying very much. Presently a very old Ford Anglia drew up in the street outside; the constable glanced out of the window. ‘Here’s Mr Monkhouse.’

He was an oldish man, shaved and presentable, dressed in a roll-neck sweater under a soiled sports coat. He had once had red hair, now turned mostly to grey. He had a merry face and, I guessed, some affinity for beer that might have prevented him from rising higher in his life than ground engineer at a small Tasmanian aero club. His face struck a faint chord of memory in my mind; I introduced myself, and then I said, ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

‘Burma,’ he said. ‘Cox’s Bazaar and Akyab. I was with the Army, servicing L.5.S of 82 Div. You were in 607, Spitfires.’

‘You’ve got a memory,’ I remarked.

‘Cor,’ he said, ‘I remember you before that. I was a G.E. with the Yorkshire Club at Sherburn-in-Elmet back in 1930. You came over for a Pageant one time, in a Bluebird. You learned to fly at Leacaster.’

I smiled. ‘That’s right. Captain Pascoe taught me to fly. He was at Leacaster instructing.’

‘So he was.’

I glanced at him. ‘You’re English?’

‘Not me – I’m Aussie. But I been all over. Went to England after the First War and never come back till 1946, except one time. I’m from West Australia.’

‘You’ve been in aviation a long time.’

He nodded. ‘Pretty near as long as Captain Pascoe, and
that’s saying something.’ He glanced at me. ‘You come to fly him out?’

‘We’ll see what the form is,’ I replied. ‘The Hobart club may have got something laid on by this time. What have you got here?’

‘There’s an Auster and a Tiger,’ he said. ‘Tiger’s got a super canister in the front cockpit.’

‘Take you long to get it out?’

‘Three or four hours. But the Auster would be better. Got a blind-flying panel. Stick a stretcher down in the rear fuselage of that, too.’

‘It’ll take a stretcher?’

He nodded. ‘Captain Pascoe had it modded, special. Both of them. We got a special stretcher, narrow each end like a coffin lid. Take out the front passenger seat and it fits just nice.’ He paused a moment in thought. ‘He had it with him yesterday, so I suppose it’s bust. Knock you up another one in half a day, do for the time being.’

‘Is the Auster okay?’

‘Filled her up and did the daily last night,’ he said. ‘Case anybody wanted her.’

The sergeant came in from a door that led into the house, buttoning his jacket. He went to the transceiver and turned it on to warm up, and we stood silent, listening. Presently it came to life, and Hobart came upon the air. The sergeant adjusted the tuning a little.

The announcer said, ‘This is 7HT. 7HT calling all regular stations. Good morning, everybody. This morning I’m taking 7KZ first, and after that we’ll take the regular schedule. 7KZ, if you are listening, will you come in, Mrs Hoskins.’

There was a momentary pause, and then, ‘This is 7KZ,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘How are you today, Mr Fletcher?’ And then, ‘Over.’

‘I’m fine. How are your two patients? Over.’

‘Well, Betty’s better, Mr Fletcher. There’s no doubt of
that. Her stomach doesn’t feel so rigid, and she drank a little milk. Captain Pascoe, he seems just about the same. I gave the second injection at midnight, like the doctor said.’

‘Is he conscious?’

‘Well, it’s hard to say, you know. I don’t think he can say anything. I don’t think he’s feeling much pain, though. Sometimes his eyes are open, and then it’s as if he’s looking at things in the room, you know. It’s hard to say. Over to you.’

‘I’ll put you through to the doctor in a minute, Mrs Hoskins. Before I do that, tell me about the weather. What’s it like with you this morning?’

‘Just the same, Mr Fletcher. There don’t seem any difference to what it was yesterday.’

‘There should be a fine spell this morning, according to the Met. It ought to be clearing soon from the west, away over the sea. Is there any sign of that?’

‘Well, to tell the truth I haven’t looked, Mr Fletcher, only just out of the window. If you’ll hold on a minute I’ll go out and see.’

‘I’ll wait, Mrs Hoskins. Take your time; there’s no hurry.’

We waited silent, staring at the set. If it was true there was a break coming, I would try and make it in the Auster. That was, if Hobart had nothing better to suggest. I said as much to Monkhouse in a low tone, and he nodded.

In a few minutes she came on again. ‘Mr Fletcher? This is Mrs Hoskins here. It’s quite right what you said. It’s showing a little line away over on the horizon, like as if it was clearing behind the rain.’

‘Good-oh. They forecast a fine morning and it looks as though you’re going to have it. I’m going to switch you through now to the doctor; he’s waiting on the line. Before I go off, though, we shall want to speak to you again before the machine takes off, to get the latest weather from you. Can you be listening again at half past eight?’

‘I’ll be listening at half past eight. After I’ve spoken to the doctor, can I speak to Don? Over to you.’

‘He’s here with me, Mrs Hoskins. I’ll put you through to the hospital now, and Don will speak after that.’

I lit another cigarette and we stood listening to the consultations. The doctor took the child first, and from the tenor of the conversation there seemed to be no doubt that she was better. The pain and the inflammation were less than they had been, and the temperature was now below a hundred. So far as Pascoe was concerned, there did not seem to be much change. The doctor was principally concerned about infection of the head wound, and he gave her very elaborate directions about dressing it, making her write them down as he dictated slowly.

In the end he said, ‘Well, that’s all for now, Mrs Hoskins. I’ll be speaking to you again from the airport at half past eight, before the machine takes off. It’s just possible I might be coming out with the machine. But anyway, I’ll speak to you again then. Now back to the control.’

We listened while the woman talked to her husband, but there was nothing much in that. He was weatherbound, as all the fishing boats were in Recherche or Southport at the entrance to the D’Entrecasteaux Channel; the report from the Maatsuyker lighthouse on the south coast showed the weather to be quite impossible for small craft. Don Hoskins was still in Hobart tied up at the quay, judging it better to remain available rather than to be lying anchored somewhere out of touch.

The announcer allowed them two or three exchanges, and then he cut them short. He said, ‘Before we go on with the morning schedule, has any other station anything to say about Lewis River?’

At the set the sergeant touched a switch and spoke into the microphone. ‘This is 7PC, Buxton. There is a Captain Clarke here wants to speak. Over.’

‘Okay Buxton. Put Captain Clarke on.’

I went to the microphone and said, ‘Clarke speaking. Have you heard anything about me from Essendon? Over.’

‘Yes, we had a message to say you were coming. We’re very glad to hear that there’s a pilot at Buxton. What aircraft have you got there?’

‘There’s an Auster fuelled and serviceable,’ I said. ‘There’s a Tiger with a canister in the front seat that could be made serviceable in half a day.’

‘Okay. Did you hear me talking to Mrs Hoskins?’

‘We heard all of that.’

‘This break in the weather that’s coming won’t last longer than two or three hours, according to the Met. After that it’s going to clamp down again for an indefinite period, days perhaps. The Met don’t think there’s going to be much reduction in the wind velocity. If that’s right, we shan’t be able to go round the south coast from here unless we take the Proctor, and that’s not got a hope of landing on that strip. We shall try it with an Auster taking the doctor as a passenger, with his operating gear. We don’t expect to be able to land properly, but in this wind force we hope to be able to fly so slowly across the strip into wind that he’ll be able to jump out without hurting himself. But we’ll have to go over the mountains to get there at all, and that may not be possible. Over to you.’

‘Clarke here. The wind’s dead across the strip, is it? Over.’

‘It is at present, and not likely to change much, according to the Met.’

‘It’s a job for a parachute doctor, surely?’ I said. ‘Over.’

‘I know it is, but we haven’t got one. The R.A.A.F. are sending down a Lincoln with a parachute doctor and a parachute nurse, but it’s got to come from Brisbane and I don’t think it’s taken off yet. It can’t be here before the early afternoon, and then we’ll have to brief them. It
doesn’t look as though this break will last so long as that. Over to you.’

‘I can make the Lewis River down the coast,’ I said. ‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Over.’

‘Are you willing to try and put a doctor down?’ he asked. ‘Over.’

I paused before replying. It was years since I had flown anything like that, but I had been good on Austers once, when I was instructing at Ballarat before I joined the airline. ‘I’m game to try it,’ I said. ‘I know what you want. Whether I’ll succeed in landing him – well, that’s another thing.’

‘What’s the weather like with you, now?’ he asked. ‘Any sign of this break?’

‘Hold on.’ I spoke rapidly to the sergeant, and he led me outside. Twenty yards up the street there was a gap between the houses and a view across flat country to the west. There was a line of blue sky down on the horizon.

I hurried back to the police station and the microphone. ‘Clarke speaking,’ I said. ‘It’s breaking over to the west, about twenty miles away. With this wind it might be clear here in half an hour. Over.’

‘The Met only give it about three hours before it clamps again,’ he said. ‘I’d like to fly our doctor up to you, but I don’t know that there’s time for that. Have you got a doctor there with surgical experience, who would be willing to try it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I turned to the sergeant and asked him. ‘Is there a doctor here?’ He replied, ‘Dr Turnbull.’ I said, ‘You’d better speak,’ and he took the microphone.

‘This is Sergeant Farrell,’ he said. ‘Dr Turnbull lives here. He does surgery on accidents and that.’

Hobart said, ‘I don’t know him. Is he young and active, or is he an old man?’

The sergeant said, ‘He’s young. Only come out of medical school two or three years.’

We left it that the sergeant should take me to see the doctor and we would speak again at half past eight. Hobart went on with other stations and the constable sat down to monitor the conversations. I turned to Billy Monkhouse.

‘We’ll have to hop around now, Mr Monkhouse,’ I said. ‘Will you go to the aerodrome and run that Auster up? I want to do two or three landings on her before I take off for the Lewis River. I’ll go with Sergeant Farrell now to see this doctor, and I’ll come out to the aerodrome immediately after that. Then we’ll come back here and see what the form is at half past eight.’

‘Take the dual out?’ he asked.

‘Oh – yes. We shan’t want that.’

He went off and got into his little car and drove away, and I went with the sergeant to the police car. As we got in I said, ‘Tell me about Dr Turnbull. We’re going to his house?’

‘He hasn’t got a house,’ he said. ‘He lives with the Reverend Haynes – he’s the vicar. He has two rooms in the vicarage and Mrs Haynes does for him.’

‘He isn’t married?’

‘No.’

‘Does he have his surgery in the vicarage?’