LITMIR.BIZ

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privileged and intelligent, thought Bill.

      Bill wondered at the absurdity of him and Olly trying to rescue Richard from having a tattoo, if he wanted one. Quiet and well spoken he was without doubt the most English sounding man Bill had ever heard.

      ‘Aye, sounds perfect fuckin’ Oxbridge to me, old chap,’ mimicked Olly.

      ‘Richard behaves more as if he’s on a sabbatical than about to go to war.’

      In a way they all were.

      ‘In hindsight, chaps, perhaps I was ill advised to interrupt my promising career as a professor of philosophy to volunteer and pursue this dream of madness,’ announced Richard thoughtfully. ‘I mean. Do I really want to join the RAF and become a pilot? Then again, it would be nice to learn to fly at their expense.’

      Olly suspected another reason Richard might have been keen to leave England was the break from other men’s wives, who from oblique mention in discussions, pursued him.

      ‘Aye, Bill, we’re in the presence of a true walking penis. He’s summat of a working theory, for sure.’

      Admiration for their well-groomed home grown aristocrat with the large bushy style droopy moustache shone in their eyes. There was something special about Richard. Without doubt he was a ladies’ man. From his groomed hair down to his trimmed fingernails he displayed impeccable manners. Whenever he came into social interaction with women even if he had no intention of asking them out, he was a traditionalist. Old-school rules applied. He held doors open for busy cooks, moved errant chairs out of the way for waitresses and always maintained a degree of sociable eye contact. There was always a clutch of adoring ladies who lived to be in his presence.

      In this way he occupied himself with women in much the same way as an angler might toy with a fish. Sometimes he little by little reeled them in; otherwise he’d let them run a while. Any who might not enjoy his sport could break away. Like any good sports fisherman he revelled in using light line for his purpose that could be easily broken-off. In contrast to his aristocratic ways, he avoided whenever possible wearing a tie or buttoning his shirt at the neck, around which hung a thick silver chain. From it swung a heavy medallion in the shape of a large key.

      ‘Aye, what’s the fuckin’ big key for, Richard?’ asked Olly.

      ‘A trinket, old chap, given me by Pater to commemorate my twenty-first.’

      Sometimes Richard’s fingers rested on the key, and as with any habit he would fondle or pull at it. That he came from money was obvious but he was a socialist at heart.

      An unusual combination, thought Bill. A true noblesse oblige who cared for underdogs, and was more supportive of Bill’s struggle with his lower working class background, than most. Bill felt whenever he came into contact with Richard he was in the presence of a quicker and livelier mind than his own. How gifted, and to have such fine prospects at his feet.

      Bill wished he was more like Richard who became something of an unofficial mentor to him. He confided with Richard about his feelings towards his dad, Fred. Richard seemed to understand.

      ‘Your dislike for your father is unceasing and all consuming, Bill. But only because your world has been too small, my friend, and within, your father assumes an outsized significance.’

       How profound and clever, to be able to put the sentiment into those fine words.

      Over the next few weeks it was as if they were back at school. They were given homework and plenty of it. Richard took it all in his stride but Olly and Bill struggled.

      ‘Did you do any revision for your tests, Olly?’ asked an instructor kindly.

      ‘Aye, some, Sir.’ Olly looked worried.

      ‘Congratulations! You hid it well.’ Their instructor shook his head sadly.

      Others were less congenial and took every opportunity to point out their shortcomings, which annoyed Olly and Bill.

      ‘A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult,’ whispered Richard.

      Over a few drinks in their Mess the three comrades came to know each other better.

      ‘Aye, I went to Glasgow Veterinary College because it was only place would take me. Their finances about as shaky as their academic standards.’

      ‘I was at Oxford University when I wrote to the Air Ministry,’ recalled Richard. ‘I told them I would take leave of absence if I could fly an aeroplane. It took about six months to get a reply with an application form. Their letter was signed, ‘Your most obedient servant.’ I thought at the time, what delightful manners the Royal Air Force have.’

      Olly and Richard laughed but Bill looked serious. ‘I left school at fourteen without any qualifications to do anything. You could say due to my deficient scholastic abilities and obvious lack of toast master skills in Notting Hill, I became an apprentice manufacturing jeweller—to eat.’

      They nodded.

      ‘Is Notting Hill a place?’ asked Richard.

      ‘Yes. But if you found yourself in Notting Hill, you wouldn’t like it there. It’s as if even the sun doesn’t hang around unless it has to.’

      It was apparent the three colleagues were from entirely different backgrounds. Bill might have come from the poorest part of London but now he lived and worked in the company of others from better origins. He could see an opportunity to make friends on a level par, as their blue uniforms of the same rank bore no distinction. But inside Bill felt more as if he stood out like a prostitute among brides.

      ‘Being under twenty-one at the time I received a letter from Pater. Come and see my roses before the heat spoils them,’ Richard said.

      Olly and Bill exchanged glances.

      ‘When I arrived, I met the family hanging up on the walls as usual. All painted life size. Then Pater showed me his new carpet. In effect the old boy informed me he’d also heard from the Air Ministry. He said they’d advised he needed to give his consent to my joining the RAF before I would be invited to attend a selection board for a Short Service Commission.

      When I went for my interview all they were interested in was, which newspapers I read, what games I played, and did I shoot or ride?’

      ‘What about your father’s carpet?’

      ‘Oh, that! He’d had it stretched out in a spare room for inspection. Do you think I should walk on it or hang it on the wall? he asked.’

      ‘And your response?’

      ‘I looked at the closeness of the weave, drift at the uneven margins, and told him to walk on it.’

      Olly was impressed. ‘Wow! Being clever must mean you’re shortlisted as an officer for sure, Richard.’

      ‘It would appear so, old chap. Instructions as to what I should take in the way of clothing included my Saville Row dinner jacket. But now I’m thinking do I really want to join the RAF to become a pilot?’

      ‘Aye, but it’s a bit late now to change your mind and go home.’

      ‘I suppose it is old chap.’

      In some ways Bill thought Richard, an idle young gentleman and a poor deluded bastard. But he liked him.

      CHAPTER 8

       PREPARING FOR ACTION SASKATOON

       JUNE 1943

      There weren’t any prostitutes as there were far too many enthusiastic amateurs. The popularity of aircrew, who for the most part were from overseas, meant women’s wartime morals became easy-here-gone-tomorrow. This created a minor crisis among Air Ministry officials.

      ‘Legislate away,’ Richard said. ‘As with leases, writs and statutes, all are written to be read but each by those with their own light of self-interest, which might cause any plans

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