Like Father Like Son - Parts One to Five

“Bethan, I cannot tell you how delighted we are that you have come to visit Phillip. He was positively insufferable before you came and I dare say he will be the same after you have gone back to the hospital. Oh dear, that sounded wrong. What I meant to say, my dear, is that you shall be welcome here anytime, whether Phillip is at home or not.”

“That’s most kind, Mrs Welford-Barnes. Indeed, it is most kind of you to allow me to stay.”

“Not at all! And between you and I, I think I’d prefer it if you called me Beatrice. It won’t make me feel quite so old, if you take my meaning?”

“I’m sure you’re not old at all, Mrs Welford.., I mean Beatrice. It is lovely here, though, and I should like to visit again.”

“Just visit, my dear?”

Bethan coloured to the roots of her hair and looked away.

“I did just happen to see you and Phillip from the terrace last evening. No, don’t be embarrassed, dear, I heartily approve. My boy is not one of those ‘men of the world.’ I believe that you are both innocents and nothing could be more fitting, in my view, than that you discover life together. Now, I promise we shall not have this conversation ever again, but, for what it is worth, my dear, you have our blessing, come what may.” 

Bethan’s mind was in turmoil. No words came and she was suddenly conscious that she was sitting, mouth agape, like a stranded fish. She summoned every last ounce of her tattered composure and managed a weak smile of thanks. She collected her scattered thoughts just as the men entered. Phillip reached down and squeezed her hand gently before helping himself to tea. That brief contact steadied her and she resolved not to be taken aback by anything else that happened during her stay. It made her feel like a schoolgirl all over again – all this blushing and stammering – it would not do at all!

Phillip and Bethan spent the rest of the day, with a brief interval for lunch, walking over the estate. Phillip showed her each of the farms and told her something of the tenants. Bethan found all this intriguing. Her father owned his own land and she found it hard to imagine him being beholden to anyone, however nice and understanding they might be. She soon came to see that Phillip’s family viewed their privileged position as having a matching obligation. Landed gentry they may be, but they were also central to the well being of the community at large. She soon learned that landlord and tenant were interdependent. For the relationship to work, there needed to be a healthy respect on both sides. And yet she could also see that this ancient way of life was under threat. Men returning from the war would not slip happily back into the old ways. Already, there was a new mood in the land. This part of Dorset may be slower to change than most places but change it would have to, whether it liked it or not.

She voiced these concerns to Phillip who frowned but did not deny that she had the right of it. 

“Too many of the best of our people will not make it through the war. I do understand Kitchener’s thinking when he called for the brightest and the best, we shall need them if we are ever to win. But, oh, the cost, Bethan! I fear we shall never replace those whom we lose; that our nation will never be the same when this beastly war is over.”

“Maybe some things need to change, Phillip. Not everything was perfect before the war, you know. I’ve seen the miners thrown out of their homes when they went on strike. I’ve seen tenants put off their farms when they couldn’t pay the rent. I know you would never do that but some landowners do. Yes, I think some things have to change. After all, if it was so good, how come we’re now in this dreadful war?”

“To stop Germany from trying to rule Europe. Just as we had to fight Napoleon when he tried it.”

“And did the Germans really want to rule us all, then?”

“That’s what they say, Bethan. I have to confess that I really never thought so. There just seemed too much blood everywhere. Everyone was spoiling for a fight.”

“But why did we get involved? We are an island and the Navy would never let anyone come here, would they now?”

“Well, we guaranteed Belgium that we would uphold their neutrality. The Germans invaded Belgium to get to France. They’d been planning since the year I was born. Once they marched into Belgium, we were committed.”

“Nobody knew what it all meant then, did they though? I remember the crowds all out in the streets cheering because we were going to war.”

“I know; I was there. We marched through Southampton behind our band and the people came out to cheer us on our way. All the ships’ sirens blew when we sailed. And everyone was saying it would be over by Christmas, that the French and the Russians would crush Germany between them. We were told we were an expeditionary force and only there because of our treaty obligations.”

They walked on in silence. Phillip’s mood turned as gloomy as the day. Bethan wasn’t quite sure how to deal with him. Part of her wanted to tell him to snap out of it while another part simply wished to hold him and tell him that everything would come right. Instead, she took his hand and gave a companionable little squeeze. He looked down at her and she smiled at him. His eyes looked fogged and distant and his brow was furrowed. She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers. She struggled to find exactly the right words to soothe him but nothing came to mind so she wisely opted for silence. He continued to stare at her and slowly, his brow cleared and his eyes saw her again. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Sorry, my love, just a touch of the ‘black dog,’ as father would say.”

“Black dog?”

“It’s father’s expression for a fit of the melancholies. Sometimes I think that the whole war thing is just a piece of monumental folly. Perhaps, instead of countries going to war with each other, they should put all those jingoistic old men in a great big boxing ring and let them whale away at each other. Last man standing’s the winner. And it would provide good sport for everyone else, what do you think?”

“Oh, can you imagine it? King George and Kaiser Bill indulging in fisticuffs! And how about Emperor Franz Josef and the Tsar of Russia? Then we could have all those silly old generals like Lord Kitchener, well, not him, because he’s dead, but Poppa Joffre, then and that horrid old German, Falkenhayn or something. What a spectacle they would make!” 

They walked on, adding any other names they could think of until they had exhausted their supply of commanders and politicians. They had fallen into that easy intimacy which exists between old friends or young lovers. Time flew by when they were in each other’s company and dragged on leaden feet when they were apart. Their conversation ranged across many subjects. Bethan wanted to know all there was to know about Phillip. She quizzed him on his childhood, his schooling, his likes and dislikes. Phillip was similarly enthralled and hung on her every word as though each was a divine revelation. And so they passed that day and the next and the one after that; walking the hills and talking, feeling their way gently into one another’s hearts.

When Monday came, Phillip greeted it with a heavy sense of despair. The five days were almost up and he must take Bethan back to Dorchester to catch the afternoon train. Breakfast was a solemn affair and Bethan could eat little. She, too, was depressed by her impending departure. William and Beatrice kept silent, allowing the young couple space. Their sorrow hung in the air between them like the damp mist that had lain about the valley for the last few days. Phillip thought it ironic that Bethan’s last day should dawn bright and clear. He asked her, somewhat half-heartedly, how she wished to spend the time remaining to them. Without hesitation, she replied that they should climb the hill once more to the place where Phillip would build his house and he readily agreed.

They walked up through the woods from the house and onto the hillside. The magic had not departed and they stood together, each with an arm trailed about the other’s waist, silently gazing down at the sunlit village. 

“It truly is beautiful here, Phillip, and so peaceful. Somehow, just being here makes me feel better.”

“That’s exactly how I feel, my love, and it’s why I want to live here for ever.”

They stood in silence for a while longer then Phillip screwed up his courage and asked the question that had been in his mind for the last few days.

“Bethan, I know it’s awfully sudden but I would like to ask you nonetheless. What I mean to say is, it would make me the happiest fellow on earth if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.”

“Phillip?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I think I must be hearing things! Did you just me ask me to marry you?”

“D’you know, Miss Meredith, I rather think I did.”

Bethan’s mind raced in confusion. The prospect attracted her and frightened her at the same time. Phillip watched anxiously as she bit her lip. The white teeth against the rose of her mouth struck him as inordinately beautiful and his heart lurched. After what seemed like an eternity she turned towards him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. He felt the softness of her breasts pushing against him and he felt weak at the knees. He had to sit down and he drew her gently down beside him, spreading his jacket for her to sit on. Bethan kissed him again and he felt a new urgency in her embrace, a desperation almost. His hands moved to her breasts and she stiffened slightly but did not pull away. He stroked her through her clothing and she felt the strangest sensation that emanated from her nipples and kind of swirled down her front to between her legs. She broke the kiss and looked down in confusion. She stared in a mixture of fear and fascination at the very obvious bulge in Phillip’s trousers and saw again in her mind’s eye the rampant erection that had so disturbed her when he had been her patient the year before.

Phillip lay back on the grass and pulled her gently but insistently towards him. Panic and desire warred with each other inside her. He reached out his hand and softly touched her face, trailing his fingertips down her cheek until he cupped her chin lightly in his hand. He was looking deep into her eyes and she began to relax inside, the panic receding, the desire becoming controllable.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said softly, holding her gaze with a look that was both worried and tender.

She heaved a sigh. “Phillip, I will not give you an answer here and now. It is too big a thing for me to think about quite yet. Please, give me some time.”

“But I love you, Bethan!” His voice was like that of a small boy, pleading and wistful.

“And I think I love you too, but I do need to be sure. Please don’t be sad, after all, I haven’t said no, have I?”

He was tempted to press her further but held himself in check. Some instinct told him that forcing the pace would never serve. He gave a rueful smile and kissed her lightly once again.

“Just you be sure you don’t take too long. After all, there’s all those French mam’selles!”

She threw back her head and gave him a haughty look, then ruined the effect by laughing. Phillip was surprised to find that he could laugh too and, suddenly, he did not feel rejected but rather encouraged. He tried for another kiss but she pulled away.

“Hold your horses, sir. Things are getting just a little bit, well, you know, too…”

“Interesting?”

“Too interesting by half, isn’t it?”

But he pulled her down on to him despite her protests and she surrendered to his kisses with good enough grace and not a little enthusiasm of her own. She felt his hardness pushing against her and his hands were on her buttocks, kneading them gently through the heavy cotton skirt. It seemed to her that immense heat was being generated by his ministrations and was making her light headed. She forced herself to push his hands away and sit up again. She knew she was wet between her legs and was a little ashamed of herself. Then she thought of what Sister Hallam had told her: how young men, and young women, come to that, were given these desires for a purpose and that there was nothing shameful in it. One should only be careful how one acted on the impulses and to be sure never to do anything that one didn’t want to. But that was the problem! Part of her, the moist, slippery part, seemed to want to do something quite a lot! 

The realisation made her blush and she jumped hurriedly to her feet, smoothing away the stray stalks of dry grass and dead leaves. Phillip rose more slowly, more reluctantly but his face showed understanding. “ I love you, Bethan” he repeated and she nodded shyly, not able to bring herself to meet his quiet regard. They walked together further up the hill to the summit. Bethan made a long, slow circle, trying to imprint the place and its views forever on her memory. Whatever the future held, she knew that she would always love this place.

Then it was time to go down, time for lunch and time for them to part.

Part Four

August 1916 Return to the Fold

The RE8 was steady at 10,000 feet above the front. Phillip stood in the rear cockpit and scanned the skies for any sign of enemy aircraft. He had been back on the squadron for four days and this was his eleventh patrol. The Huns seemed to have more and more Albatros D IIs in the area now and 14 Squadron had been among the first to feel their effect. Four aircraft had been lost during Phillip’s absence, with two pilots and three observers killed and another pilot wounded. There also seemed to be a lot more ‘archie’ than there had been before he left. All in all, the Albert sector was becoming distinctly bad for one’s health, as Peter Riley had remarked. Peter had been the observer when ‘B’ Flight had been bounced by a dozen D IIs. The big British biplanes were no match for the German scouts in speed, firepower or manoeuvrability. They grimly held formation and hoped that the combined guns of the four RE8s would deter the German pilots long enough for help to arrive.

They had been lucky on that occasion. A Royal Naval squadron of ‘Tripehounds’ – Sopwith Triplanes – had arrived and joined the fight and the Germans had their work cut out. The Tripehound was an amazingly nimble little machine and could turn inside the bigger Hun biplanes. Their three wings made them very quick in the climb and they could rapidly get into the preferred position in a dogfight, above the enemy. ‘Height is might,’ the saying went. If you were higher than the opposition, you could dive down and use your superior speed to swoop underneath the target, get in a quick burst from close range and soar away again. It was even more effective if you could hide in the glare of the sun. That was why the RFC hated the dawn patrols so much. The German aircraft would often be up waiting for them as the British pilots flew eastward, squinting against the harsh brightness. 

‘B’ Flight had got home that day without casualties but with their planes shot full of holes. On one, the mainspar was so riddled that the upper wing collapsed on landing and the crew were fortunate to survive the ensuing ground-loop. Still, any landing you could walk away from was a good one. The result of the encounter was that Major Wigram ordered all the squadron machines to be fitted with a twin Lewis mounting for the observer. It wasn’t much but it helped morale. The Lewis guns were a perpetual headache. A single drum held only 47 rounds and the guns were prone to jamming. Most Observers would check the drums were loaded and the spares secured. Phillip, by contrast, was obsessive. He would load each drum himself. He carefully checked each single bullet whether ball, tracer or the explosive ‘buckingham’ rounds. The ‘buckinghams’ were supposed to be used only against static balloons but increasingly, the German Scouts fired explosive bullets against the RFC and there was a growing tendency to retaliate, even if the use of explosive bullets was against the Geneva Convention.

Phillip swung the twin Lewis guns on their Scarff ring as he quartered the sky. He disliked standing in the cockpit but knew it was the only way. Of course, it meant that one couldn’t wear a seat belt and this could be hazardous in the extreme if the pilot was throwing the aeroplane around in a fight. A story was circulating about an air gunner named Whitehead who had been thrown clean out of the cockpit. Whitehead’s guardian angel must have been alert that day because the lucky gunner had managed to grab a wing strut and then get a foot on the lower mainplane and had hauled himself back in. As someone remarked, if he wasn’t Whitehead by both name and nature before that, he probably would have been afterwards!

Pinky Harris blipped the motor to get Phillip’s attention. He gestured, pointing below the starboard lower wing and then grinned, giving the ‘thumbs up.’ Phillip peeled back his smeared goggles and looked where Pinky was pointing. A puff of chalky earth was spreading out on the crest of a low ridge below them. The barrage they had been sent to observe had begun. Phillip wound out the sixty-odd feet of trailing aerial and tapped out the call sign on his Morse key. There was an answering chatter of RRR pause RRR from the gunners’ Forward Observation Officer. Everything was working so Phillip settled down to concentrate on correcting the shoot. It was a relatively simple task. If the shells were bursting short, Phillip sent ‘SSS’ followed by a number – his estimate of the distance short of the target. The gunners corrected their elevation and charges and tried again. Phillip fed them corrections until the barrage was falling firmly on the Hun positions. He would then send ‘OOO’, meaning ‘on target.’ 

Suddenly the air around him was filled with zip of bullets and tracer rounds slashed past the RE8. Phillip heard the ‘tackatackatacka’ of the enemy aeroplane’s machine guns before a dark shape flashed by so close he swore afterwards he could have touched the tail-wheel. Pinky instinctively swung away from the German machine and Phillip leapt to the Lewis guns. They were under attack by no less than three Huns. Phillip sized up the situation instantly. Their first attacker was wheeling about, seeming to stand on its wingtips as he hurried to return to the fray. The other two were coming on different sides. Phillip let one have a short burst and he saw the aircraft flinch away from the dipping line of his tracers. Good! A novice – or a nervous pilot, at least. He swung back towards the other machine and they opened fire simultaneously. 

Pinky pushed the throttle to the stops and corkscrewed to the right. Phillip kept his Lewises trained on the Hun and fired a long burst. He thought he saw bullets striking it in little flashes and the German plane gave a sort of lurch and pulled steeply away. Time to change drums. He pulled off his heavy gloves and wrestled with the awkward fitting on first one Lewis and then the other. He distrusted the double drums and stuck to the 47 round singles. The first attacker was back on their tail. This one meant business! He was closing rapidly, holding his fire. Phillip gave him a short burst from the left-hand Lewis. The tracers arched lazily and harmlessly past the German. He didn’t so much as twitch. Phillip hunched himself lower behind the guns. He felt horribly, personally, vulnerable. He saw the twinkling Spandaus behind the silver disc of the Hun’s propeller and he squeezed off another short burst, this time from the right-hand gun. 

Pinky took a quick glance over his shoulder and slammed the joystick to the left, kicking hard on the rudder. They immediately reversed their turn and the German’s tracers whipped past their tail. The Hun pilot flung his machine on its side to follow them. This was the moment! Phillip opened up with both guns and hosed the German from spinner to tail as it hung there. The machine seemed to jump in the air and shudder. One wing folded back and the aeroplane half-rolled onto its back before spinning to destruction. Phillip’s burst must have hacked off a wing root for he saw the damaged wing detach itself from the stricken machine and flutter slowly earthwards like a sycamore seed. The rest of the plane plunged on, faster now, and he glimpsed a bright burst of flame flower briefly on the dark earth as it reached the end of its last journey.

He pulled two fresh drums from the ammunition rack and moved to reload again. One drum stuck fast and he hammered at it with his fists until they bled. Pinky straightened out and dived towards the British lines. Phillip struggled on with the recalcitrant gun. His hands were numb with cold and he was panting from exertion and adrenalin. The two remaining Huns were following, albeit warily. Phillip gave up on the jammed drum and tried to reload the other gun. As he did so, he knocked one full drum off his seat and onto the cockpit floor. As he spun around to pick it, the drum he had been holding slipped from his numb fingers. It bounced once on the fuselage and dropped away. He cursed furiously and scrabbled up the one remaining full magazine. 

With trembling fingers, he forced the drum onto the working Lewis and swung it towards the Huns. Once again, they opened fire at extreme range and Pinky was able to evade their tracers with a swift sideslip. Phillip waited. He was chewing his lower lip in concentration. Anger coursed through him. How could have been so stupid! He now had only 47 rounds left and two enemy machines on their tail. The bolder of the two Huns was trying to dive beneath them so he could attack from a blind spot. Phillip stood on his seat and angled the Lewis as far down as he could. Pinky banked the RE8 tightly to the left and Phillip got in a quick burst of ten or twelve rounds before the German pulled away. 

The second Hun had sneaked up unnoticed on the other side and he opened fire at about one hundred yards’ range. Phillip watched in amazement as holes appeared in their wing before rounding to face the fresh danger. He fired in quick bursts, no more than momentary taps on the Lewis’s trigger. Again, the nervous enemy pilot pulled up short. The second Hun was back now and Phillip turned again to face him. He got off another two or three bursts and then nothing! He was out of ammunition. The Hun saw this and closed for the kill. In a blind fury, Phillip seized the empty drum off the Lewis and flung it at the German machine. He heard a high voice screaming obscenities at the enemy and was only dimly aware that it was his own. He stooped and seized another empty drum and flung that also, followed by a third. The German pilot pulled up and turned away. He gave Phillip a jaunty wave as he headed off eastwards. Phillip, his anger cooling now, was dumbstruck. Why hadn’t he finished them off? They had been defenceless. Only Pinky’s skill had kept them alive that long. The answer appeared in the shape of a squadron of Vickers FB9s. The two-seater fighters were angling down towards them The Hun pilots had obviously decided that this was one of those occasions that discretion would be the better part of valour. 

Reaction set in and Phillip started to shake. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt sick. Pinky flew them home low over the British trenches. Phillip could make out the pale blobs of upturned faces and he thought the troops were waving at them. He looked for his gloves but they must have gone over the side during the fight. He stuffed his frozen hands into his coat pockets and slouched in his seat. He hurt from head to foot. His body had been thrown across the cockpit by the violent manoeuvres during the fight and, although he had been unaware of it at the time, he was bruised from hip to shoulder on both sides from the impacts with the cockpit coaming, radio and ammunition racks. 

They landed safely at Bertangles and Pinky brought the wounded RE8 slowly up to the flight line. A crowd of officers was rushing towards them shouting. Phillip felt weary to his bones and heaved himself out of the cockpit like an old man struggling to get out of the bath. He was chilled to the marrow as, even though it was still high summer, the upper air was freezing. Added to that, he had been standing in the blast of the slipstream and propeller wash for over one and a half hours. His head ached abominably and the familiar nausea from the castor oil lubricant was gripping his stomach. He could taste the tainted acid in his mouth and had to force himself to swallow to keep from retching. 

He pulled off his helmet with a leaden arm and became aware of the hubbub surrounding him and Pinky. Odd phrases started to penetrate his fuddled mind:

“…bloody young fool, could have killed someone!”

“…landing with the aerial deployed, what were you thinking of?”

He spun in horror. Sure enough, sixty-four feet of wire tipped by a two-pound lead plumb were strewn on the grass behind the aircraft. Pinky came to his rescue.

“Sorry, chaps, we got bounced by three Huns as we finished the shoot. I took evasive action and the aerial got caught around the tailplane.”

Phillip goggled at him stupidly. He had simply forgotten to wind the aerial back in. He turned aft and stared. Sure enough, the wire had bitten deeply into the tailplane, wrapping itself round the wood and fabric a couple of times. Pinky hadn’t realised he’d forgotten the drill. He just assumed that Phillip had been unable to wind the aerial after it had become entangled. 

The clamour died a little and Major Wigram stepped forward to peer at the offending article.

“Well, you two nearly bagged the adj and me. We were sitting at the adj’s table when all of a sudden the bloody thing took flight! You snagged it with the plumb as you came in, Pinky. That bloody great lump of lead passed between our heads. The adj is frightfully upset. All the morning patrol reports are scattered to the four winds and he’ll have to start over. Oh well, no real harm done, what? Better go and give your report.”