Quill Pen Scratchings

Edmund’s stomach was grumbling ominously as he stepped off the train and onto the concrete platform. He had a great pain in his middle section.  On the back side of the platform was a railing, with woods and a few houses off in the distance.  He walked over to a ticket window that sat in the middle of the platform.  The pain in his gut was excruciating.  He got to the window and had to lean down to see the man seated inside.  “Excuse me, do you have a bathroom I can use?”

The man eyed him for a moment.  “The toilet?  Out back,” he said, gesturing with a half turn of his head.  Edmund looked to where the man had indicated and saw an outhouse sitting several yards away from the station.  He took the stairs at the end of the platform two at a time and then broke into a run.  After what seemed an eternity he reached the outhouse door, yanked it open and slammed it behind him.  He stayed in there for quite a long time.

When Edmund finally emerged, shaky and sweaty, the outside air made his hands and feet feel cold.

“You alright?”  The man from the ticket booth was leaning out of the door looking at Edmund.  Edmund wondered if he had been looking the whole time Edmund was in the outhouse. 

“I am now,” Edmund replied.  The man stared at him for a moment and then leaned back into the booth and shut the door.  Edmund looked around, but he didn’t see any sign of a town.  Before he could decide which way to go the door of the ticket booth opened again.

“Wendover’s that way,” the man pointed down the road towards the town.

“Actually, I’m trying to get to Halton.”

“S’nother couple o’ miles on the other side of Wendover, so you still need to go that way.”

Edmund looked again towards the town.  “Thanks,” he said.  The man continued to look at him for a moment, and then, as before, disappeared into his booth.  Edmund started walking towards the town.  As he passed the end of the station, he stopped at a framed poster that hung on the corner post of the platform.  Large letters across the top of the poster proclaimed “ROYAL FLYING CORP” and below that in smaller letters “Military Wing.”  Under that was a leafy wreath topped by a small crown with the initials RFC inside the wreath, and two large wings sprouting from either side.  Below this emblem was printed, “Vacancies Exist for Men aged 18 to 30 of various mechanical trades, and others of good education.”  There were two photographs of airplanes, one of which also showed a truck on the ground below a plane in flight overhead.  The photograph was labeled “Repair Lorry.”  Edmund wasn’t sure what a ‘lorry’ was, but he assumed it was the truck.  Below that was a chart showing the pay for various occupations.  Edmund’s position, 2^nd Class Air Mechanic, was clearly at the bottom of the pay scale.  Below the chart was a photograph of a man in a military uniform whom Edmund though looked pretty sharp.  He wondered what kind of uniform he was going to have.  And then he wondered if he was going to get one at all.  He wasn’t going to be in the military.  After all, the Escadrille Americaine wasn’t really a part of anybody’s military.  He wondered how long his clothes that he brought would last.  He didn’t have much money.

Edmund heard a noise behind him and turned to look, and the man from the ticket booth was looking at him again.  When Edmund turned around the man said, “Halton’s that way.  You need to keep going,” and then disappeared again.

Edmund turned and looked at the poster one last time, and then started off towards the town.  The road wound through green fields and the dirt and gravel crunched under the soles of his shoes.  Small cottages with thatched roofs began to appear, and these gave way to larger buildings and the occasional farmer and his dogs and horses.  Edmund still had a shaky feeling in his stomach, and his tongue had swelled until it felt like it filled his whole mouth.  Soon he came upon a pub with large leaded glass windows.  A sign hung over the door that had a side view of pig on it, painted a fading and dusty blue.  The words The Blue Pig were emblazoned below the picture.  Edmund opened the door, and several people were inside, some sitting at the bar, and still more sitting at tables, or standing near the back of the room talking.  He walked to the bar.  The bartender was down at the far end talking animatedly to a small group of men who were laughing a lot.

“Excuse me,” Edmund said.  A man that was sitting at the bar next to Edmund looked up at him.  Edmund nodded towards the bartender, and the man next to him returned to his companion.

“What’ll it be, sir?” said the bartender, approaching Edmund from behind the counter.

“Can I just have some water, please?” Edmund’s mouth felt pasty.

The man surveyed Edmund for a moment.  “Pump’s out back.”  He turned his back to Edmund and picked up a glass and began wiping it with a dirty towel that had been slung over his shoulder.  He turned again and Edmund was still looking at him.  The man nodded towards a door opposite the one Edmund had entered.  “That way.”  He looked at Edmund again, and seemed to be taking measure of him. “And when you get back in, I still have some stew left, and you can have a proper drink.  You look like you could use it.”

Edmund nodded his head and said, “thank you,” and walked over to the door the man had indicated.  He passed the group of men near the end of the bar and they had stopped talking as he walked by.  The door opened into a small mudroom.  Wellington boots and rain gear hung on a row of pegs on the wall.  The walls themselves looked like they had once been a pristine white plaster, but were now grimy and soot covered.  Edmund stepped through another door and out into a small yard that was surrounded by a low stone wall.  A field lay beyond the yard.  A dilapidated shed sagged under a large tree in one corner of the yard and, to Edmund’s relief, a pump stood in the middle with a bucket hanging below the spigot.  Edmund heard a noise to his right, and he turned to find a large orange tabby cat on a bench by the door.  It was sitting up and eyeing him suspiciously.  He walked over to the pump and, dropping his suitcase, began to work the pump handle, feeling the resistance against it as the cool water was drawn up from the dark earth below his feet.  Water began spilling into the bucket.  After several pumps Edmund reached his hands down and scooped up water with his hands and splashed it onto his face and through his hair, knocking his hat to the ground.  After doing this a few times, he lifted the bucket from where it hung and put it to his mouth and gulped the cool water greedily.  He could feel the coolness spread down through his chest and into his stomach.  It seemed to pour into this feet and hands.  After he drank he lowered the bucket and rested it on the spigot and turned around.  The cat was still watching him.

Edmund replaced the bucket and ran his fingers through his hair.  He put his hat back on his head, picked up his suitcase and went back inside.

“Feel better?” the bartender asked as Edmund entered. 

“Yes, thanks.”
            “Now, how about that stew and maybe a pint of something?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“We pour Mulligan’s, ale and bitter,” the man looked expectantly at Edmund. 

Edmund, not at all sure what to say, returned the man’s stare and said, “Do you have beer?”

“I just told you, didn’t I.  Mulligan’s, ale or bitter.”  The man spoke slowly and more loudly.  “Never mind, you look like you could use the bitter.”  He picked up a glass and put it under a tap with a long handle that he pulled towards himself, filling the glass with a dark brown liquid that developed a greasy looking head of foam at the top.  He stopped and paused and let the head settle, and then pulled the handle again slightly and topped the glass off.  He took a large round-ended knife and cut off the top of the head and then placed the glass in front of Edmund.  He then turned and picked up a bowl of stew that was sitting on the back counter and placed it next to the glass in front of Edmund.  He half nodded and said, “cheers,” and then walked back down to where the group of men was standing.  Edmund put his suitcase on the floor and sat down.  The stew was made with potatoes and carrots and chunks of salty meat, but it was warm, so he took several large spoonfuls in rapid succession. 

He then picked up the glass.  The foamy head had not diminished.  He put the glass to his mouth and tilted it until the brown liquid under the foam reached his lips.  It was warm and very flat and also salty.  He took a big gulp, and then felt as if his stew would come back up.  He wiped a large foam mustache off of his mouth. 

Edmund blinked as he stepped back out into the street after paying for the stew and the pint of bitter, which he had only been able to drink half of.  He now felt like he could have done without the stew.  The bitter was like food.

The brief sit upon the bar stool had caused his legs to stiffen and he took a few ginger steps back out into the road and continued walking the way he had been heading.  What appeared to be the main crossroad of Wendover quickly passed, populated by another pub and few small shops, and one place that looked like a shop and a pub.  Soon the landscape changed back to small cottages interspersed with large gardens, and then small farm fields.  He eventually passed a painted cast iron sign that said Halton 1.

A low stone wall followed the road on the right separating him from a low hillside.  On the left, the fields gave way into a slight valley filled with wind ruffled waves of golden wheat between the hedgerows.  Coming up from behind him, he could hear the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on the road.  He turned and looked back and then angled towards the shoulder of the road to allow a cart piled high with hay to pass.  A small ditch ran along between the road and the wall, and Edmund’s foot slipped into a muddy hole, momentarily sucking his shoe halfway off his foot.  He stopped and watched the cart pass.  The driver nodded to him as he passed and looked down at his mud-stuck foot without comment.  Edmund stepped back out on the road, and twisted his foot back down into his shoe, and continued to walk.

Halton began as Wendover had, with small cottages becoming more and more frequent, finally building to a small town.  A couple of pubs and shops lined the street, and Edmund came to an intersection.  He looked around and didn’t see any signs pointing the way to the Royal Air Corps base.  He looked up the street to his right.  It rose up and off to the left.  At the bent at the top of the road sat a large stone church, surrounded by a low wall.  Inside the wall was a graveyard.  Edmund looked at the church for a moment, and then looked further up the street he was on.  Edmund stood for a moment.  The sun was descending off to his left.  He didn’t know what time it was, or, in a brief moment of panic, when he was supposed to be at the air base to meet the pilot, Sinclair Knox.  He half turned around and noticed a man looking at him out of the window of a butcher shop.  He was hanging a pig’s leg from a hook in the window and staring openly at Edmund.  Edmund approached the window.

“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the Royal Air Corps base?” Edmund said loudly, so the man could hear him through the glass.

The butcher acted for a moment like he had not been starting at Edmund, and then quickly nodded with his head towards the direction in which Edmund had been originally walking.  Edmund turned and looked that direction.  The man banged on the window with the knuckle of his index finger.  Edmund turned back around.  The man’s knuckle left a bloody smudge on the window.  “Oy, keep on the way you were heading.”

Edmund looked back down the road, and then turned to say ‘thanks,’ but the butcher had already receded back into his shop.  Edmund stepped out into the street and continued walking the way the butcher had indicated.  He passed a large and elegant timber and plaster house on his right, and then followed the road onto a stone bridge that passed over a canal overgrown with trees.  Edmund stopped and leaned on the bridge wall and looked down into the water.  He couldn’t see a current at all and the water looked black and cool and inviting.  With one eye still lingering over the side of the bridge, he stood up and continued.  Soon the road took a sharp turn to the left and the trees to the right thinned out and gave way, and he looked out on a vast field with a small ridge of hills on the far end.  From the slightly elevated roadway he could see that lines had been laid out in chalk on the ground which seemed to form a giant X.  Above the X and just at the base of the small ridge, Edmund could make out a large circle, also laid out in chalk, and the word HALTON in the center of it.  A driveway of deeply rutted dirt peeled off the road to the right, and a sign bearing the same crest as he had seen on the poster at the train station hung from a wooden post.  ‘Royal Flying Corps’ was painted over the crest, and ‘Halton Aerodrome’ was painted below it.  A series of low tented buildings sat off to the right, and several airplanes sat on the far side of the buildings. 

He had seen one fly overhead once and had seen photographs in the newspaper, but he had never seen any up close.  Next to the road sat a small house that was made of brick, with an upper story of black timbers and white plaster, just like many he had seen in Halton and Wendover.  The front door stood open, and a sign was affixed to the wall next to it again bearing the crest of the Royal Flying Corps.  Two men walked out of the front door and down towards the large tent structures near the airplanes.  They wore uniforms that looked roughly the same as the one on the man in the train station poster.  Edmund walked up to the house and stepped inside.  The dusk was coming on quickly outside, but Edmund hadn’t really noticed until he stepped in the door.  The front room was illuminated by two electric lights that hung from the ceiling.  The wires had been nailed to a wooden beam on the ceiling and ran across the to the wall where they disappeared through a hole.  A desk sat in the middle of the room, and wooden filing cabinets lined the two side walls.  Behind the desk was a large stone fireplace that was dark and cold and covered in soot and ash.  A painting of a dog holding a duck in its mouth hung over the mantle.  A man in uniform sat behind the desk, and another was taking some papers out of one of the filing cabinets. 

“Can I help you?” The man behind the desk asked.

“Um, yes, I am Edmund Fitzhugh and I was supposed to meet a pilot here.”

“Nope, sorry.  Don’t have any of those round here.”  The man looked blankly at Edmund.  The man standing at the cabinet laughed slightly at the joke.

“His name is Sinclair Knox.”

“Oh, the Yank.” The man at the cabinet said.  “Got in this afternoon.”

“Right.  He was asking about you.  Seemed a bit put out that you weren’t here yet,” the man behind the desk said, staring hard at Edmund.  Edmund didn’t say anything.

“Think he’s up at the House.  Big dinner and all that,” the man at the cabinet said.  “Here, sign in and you can stash your stuff.  I have to run over to the House to take some papers, I will run you over.”  The man stepped forward and held out his hand. “Flurry Yeats.” 

Edmund shook his hand.  “Edmund Fitzhugh.”  The man at the desk laid a clip board at the edge that had a list of names written on it.  A pencil was tied by a piece of string to the clip.  Edmund wrote his name, and put “Annapolis, Maryland” next to it, then added “USA”.  He looked at a clock on the wall and wrote “5:35 p.m.” and then wrote “To meet Sinclair Knox, pilot” under the column that read Purpose of Visit.

“You can put your stuff in the corner.”  Edmund put his suitcase where the man indicated behind one of the filing cabinets and followed Flurry Yeats through a door opposite the one he had entered.  They walked down a hallway that opened into a kitchen and then out a back door onto a dirt and gravel driveway.  A small truck was parked there.  Flurry walked over and got into what Edmund had thought was the passenger side, but then he remembered and article that his father had shown him about the steering wheel placement in British cars.  Edmund tried not to act surprised and also tried not to act as if he had been heading for the same side of the car that Flurry had.  They both slid into the car and Flurry handed Edmund a small wooden case. “You mind holding that?”

“Sure.”   Flurry started up the engine and then pulled out of the back garden of the house.  As they cleared the yard, Edmund got a view of the rest of the airfield beyond the tents he had originally seen.  There was a vast sea of small white tents along one edge of the field.  They looked as if they had been planted in neat rows.  And there were several long, low wooden buildings that looked sort of like warehouses.  One of them was painted white, and had the letters Y.M.C.A painted across the wooden roof.  By now, dusk was settling in, giving everything a hazy appearance, and he could just make out crews of men moving airplanes into larger dome-shaped tents that lined along the long runways that were marked out in the grass. 

“Been around airplanes much?”

“No, not really.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a mechanic.”

“Well, I am.  Mostly cars though.  My father owns a garage.  Been working on car engines all my life.”

“I hear that America is going to come into the war soon. Why didn’t you just wait and join the army?  Trying to get out of the fighting?”

“No!” Edmund said, rather more forcefully than he meant to.  There had been army recruiting drives beginning the previous fall, and he had considered it, but he hadn’t wanted to leave college just then.  “I just thought this would be a good opportunity to get over here earlier.”  Edmund made that up on the spot.

“No worries.” Flurry smiled at Edmund.  “You’ll notice I’m a clerk.  Most of the lads I grew up with are dead.  I’d rather push paper than daisies.”  Flurry pronounced the word ‘clerk’ as ‘clark’ and Edmund didn’t know what that meant, but he got the general message.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”  The truck had gone out the same entrance that Edmund had walked in, but as soon as they crossed the bridge over the canal they turned on a road that ran along the water, and beside the low stone walls that marked the back gardens of very picturesque houses of black timber and plaster.  Everything looked very neat and manicured.  The road soon came to a ‘T’ intersection.  To the left, a very ornate iron bridge crossed the canal.  The embankments on either side were elaborately planted with neat shrubs and flowers.  The truck turned right onto a very smooth and well cared for gravel road.  “Where are we going?”  Edmund asked.

“Halton House.”  Flurry looked at Edmund, as if that should be enough of an explanation.  “Kind of a fanciful place if you ask me.  Baron Rothschild lets the officers use it for meals and meetings.  Makes him feel patriotic I guess.  Don’t think he comes out here himself anymore.  Doesn’t leave London in fact.  Think he’s pretty sick.”  They drove on in silence.  Edmund had heard the name Rothschild, but didn’t really know who he was.  The car rounded a turn, and began driving up a formal driveway.  In the last of the daylight, Edmund could see ahead the largest house he had ever seen.  It looked like what he had always imagined a castle looked like.  It had a large cupola in the center flanked by towering spires.  Steep mansard roofs and gables completed the effect.  Edmund stared at it.  “Kinda nice, eh?”  Flurry smiled at Edmund.

“Is it a castle?”

“No, just a house.  Mansion really.  Not even that old.  Nice one though.  It’s what Jewish money will get you.”  The truck got closer until the spires of Halton House towered over their heads.  Flurry made a wide circle and pulled up next to the entrance.  Two soldiers stood guard outside the front door.  Flurry got out and Edmund followed, handing Flurry the case of papers. “I have papers for the commander to sign, oh, and I’m delivering this Yank car mechanic to Sergeant Knox.”  The guard eyed Edmund, then nodded at them and motioned them inside.  The doors of the great house stood open and the interior seemed brightly lit to Edmund, with a large electric chandelier hanging over the large two-story entryway.  It was the most beautiful room Edmund had ever seen.  A huge staircase flowed gracefully upward at the other end of the entry hall and the polished wood and ornate finishes shone brilliantly in the electric lights.  Edmund suddenly became very aware of how muddy and dirty his shoes and pants legs were, and then quickly took off his hat.  He certainly wasn’t dressed to be in such a place. A man in a black coat with tails and grey pants, the butler, stepped forward.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah, I have important business here for the commander.”  Flurry indicated the box of papers.

“I am afraid the Commander has just sat down to dinner.”  The butler looked at them and did not move.

“Well this is urgent, isn’t it.”

The butler considered for a moment, and the said, “Very good sir, I shall show you…”

“No worries, I know where they are.” Flurry cut him off and began walking back to a doorway off of the right-hand side of the entry hall.  Edmund smiled and nodded at the butler and followed Flurry.  “Stuffy bugger.  The Baron left some staff behind to help out.  Just get in the way if you ask me.”  Flurry walked up to a set of closed double doors and knocked once and then turned the knob and pushed the door open.  A military attendant in a crisp uniform standing just inside the room whirled around and grabbed the door to keep it from opening further and stood blocking them.  Flurry repeated what he had said to the guard at the front door, gesturing with the box of papers, and indicating Edmund with a jerk of his head.  The attendant looked at the box and then leaned around and looked at Edmund.  The man didn’t seem to notice his dirty pants.  He opened the door further but put his hand up to Flurry’s chest to tell him to stay where he was.  The attendant walked over to a man seated at the head of the table.  The man looked up, listened and nodded, and then without looking back, motioned with his hand for Flurry to enter.  The attendant looked up expectantly at Flurry.  With a little jump, Flurry lurched forward and stood next to the man, the commander, and saluted.  He then snapped the box open and began taking a stack of papers out.  The commander held up his right hand to the attendant, who quickly produced a fountain pen from a jacket pocket.

Edmund had taken a step into the room but wasn’t really sure what to do.  Flurry was quietly showing the commander each document and indicating to him where to sign.  He quickly looked back at Edmund and then flashed his eyes down the table to a man in clearly a different type of uniform who was in animated conversation with a few other of the Royal Flying Corps officers.  Flurry nodded at Edmund and gestured with his head and then returned his attention to the commander and the documents.  Edmund walked forward hesitantly, and then realizing that no one had noticed him, proceeded more quickly down to the man that Flurry had indicated.  Edmund stopped behind his chair. The man was clearly in the middle of explaining some sort of aerial maneuver, and the RFC officers were paying rapt attention.  Edmund stood for a moment until he had finished talking, and then leaned in and said, “Sergeant Knox?”

Knox turned his head and looked at Edmund.  “Yes?”

Edmund hesitated a moment.  “I’m Edmund Fitzhugh.”

Knox stared at him for a moment, as did several of the RFC officers.  After a moment, he seemed to remember, and said, “Oh yes, Richard Fitzhugh’s son.  Glad you finally made it.”  He turned back to the table and said, “Excuse me gentlemen.”  The RFC officers, with another glance back at Edmund resumed their conversation.  Knox pushed his seat back and stood up. At the mention of Edmund’s father, he realized that Sergeant Knox must know everything about what had happened.  “I trust your trip over was uneventful?  No German torpedoes?”

“No.  Sir.”  Edmund added quickly.  As Edmund stood close to him, he noticed that Knox was not really much older than he was, though a bit taller, and with very broad shoulders.  He had a neatly trimmed moustache, and his hair was swept back with oil. 

“Good, good.  Well, I’m glad you are here.  I want to set off for France in the morning, 8:00 if the weather holds.  I’ve got an old Nieuport 10 that still has a second seat in it.  I have an 11 in Behonne that is being readied.  Just a few bullet holes, nothing serious.”  Knox smiled at Edmund.  “Ever worked on an airplane before?”

“Actually, no. Sir.”

“No matter, I understand you are quite a whiz with car engines.  You will pick it up.  I have an aces head mechanic, an Italian named Tino.  He will show you what to do.”  Edmund nodded.  Knox turned and glanced back at his dinner.  “Right, so I will see you in the morning then.  Our bird is in Hangar Three.  Meet me there say, 7:30?  We can get your stuff stowed.  There isn’t much room mind you, so you may have to ditch some things here.”

“Oh, I don’t have very much,” Edmund added hastily.

“Right. Very good.  Well, see you in the morning then.”  Knox smiled and held out his hand.  Edmund shook it and smiled.  Knox had a very firm grip and Edmund tried to match it.

“Thank you, sir.”  Edmund said, and Knox turned and sat back in his seat.  Edmund backed up a couple of steps and then turned to look for Flurry.  He was finished with the commander and was standing by the door watching Edmund.  With a glance back at Knox, who was once again fully engaged in conversation, Edmund turned and walked quickly back over to Flurry and the two exited out into the main hall.

“Got everything squared away?”

“Yes.  He wants to leave in the morning.  Said to meet him at Hangar Three.  Can you show me where that is?”

“Well sure, but it’s easy, isn’t it.  It’s the third one,” Flurry deadpanned and looked blankly at Edmund.  “Has a big ‘3’ on it, doesn’t it.”

Edmund looked at Flurry and laughed.  “Shut up.”