Cold War

Gordon MacDonald deftly folded up the ironing board and shoved it back in its stowage space beside the refrigerator. He’d learned how to open it at a height that enabled him to iron from his wheelchair. Although he still made a hash of tricky items like shirts, he could manage dish towels, napkins and the like. With three of the latter on his lap, he wheeled himself to the cramped dining room and put the freshly ironed and neatly folded napkins on the three place settings he’d laid. He paused to survey the little room, looking for something he’d forgotten. He’d polished the silver tea service, and he’d dusted everything he could reach. Seeing nothing more he could do, he rolled himself back to the parlour and looked it over critically.

Gordon remembered how pleased he and Maisy had been to move into this house when they married eighteen years ago. Maisy had gone to a lot of effort to find the right furniture and had been proud to inherit the china service and a proper cabinet to store it in. His parents had given them the etchings on the back wall, and his sister had stitched the cushion covers. The photographs on the mantlepiece recorded the milestones of his life: a big-eared kid grinning at the camera in the uniform of a Halton apprentice, a proud corporal on the arm of Maisy in a white wedding dress, the Christening of both daughters, the wedding photo of the eldest, a formal picture of him with sergeant’s stripes and his aircrew brevet, and finally, a crew picture in front of the Lancaster Z-Zebra. Everything in the room had a memory attached to it; most of them good. It wasn’t the past that hurt, but the future, so he dwelt on the past.

Over the years, he’d invited many of his mates home with him. Few had liked it as much as Terry, who claimed it was the nicest place he’d ever stayed in his life. Terry had always jumped at an opportunity to come home with Gordon. Tonight’s visitor, however, wasn’t an orphan raised in poverty like Terry, and Gordon wasn’t sure how he’d react. Flight Lieutenant Moran had grown up in spacious houses full of native servants and gone to posh schools where they taught Latin and played cricket. Gordon didn’t think he’d had anyone with that kind of background to dinner before, and looking things over critically, he noticed that the paint was peeling over the door to the hall, the curtains were badly faded, and the rugs were getting threadbare from the wear and tear of his wheelchair. Six years of wartime had taken their toll on the little house, and now that he was an invalid there was no money to repair things. The house had a rundown feel about it, which made Gordon sad because he’d always been so proud of it.

“Gordon?” His wife called from the kitchen. “Can you come here for a moment?”

He wheeled around and headed towards the sounds and smells of food being prepared. His wife was wearing an apron and scarf over her hair for cooking. She pointed towards a tray with cream crackers with cheddar and asked him to take it to the parlour.

Gordon manoeuvred the wheelchair until he could reach up and pull the platter onto his lap, then retreated. No sooner had he arranged everything on the coffee table than the doorbell rang. Punctual to the minute, Gordon thought with an inner smile; that was the skipper all right. If they were even 30 seconds late over the target, he was unhappy about it. Calling to Maisy that he’d get it, he rolled himself to the entryway and opened the door. Kit Moran stood on the doorstep with a large bouquet.

“For the Mrs,” Kit explained with an almost apologetic smile.

“That was thoughtful of you, Skip. Come in,” Gordon pushed himself backwards.

Kit entered, his eyes sweeping his surroundings, and Gordon found himself mumbling apologies about not being able to keep it up as he should. “But it’s wonderfully cosy!” Kit assured him, and his tone made Gordon start to relax a little. If only he knew why his former pilot had invited himself to dinner.

Leaving Kit in the parlour, Gordon went to fetch a vase and water for the flowers. Together Gordon and Kit together found a place for them and then Kit sat down — only to spring to his feet again when Maisy arrived. She was still flushed from the heat in the kitchen but without her apron or scarf. Tall and slender for a woman her age, the strength of her Highland upbringing was reflected in her sharp features and upright bearing.

“We’re so pleased to have you here, Flight Lieutenant Moran,” she welcomed him as she shook his hand vigorously. “I only wish I could have made you a better meal. Who would have thought that three years after the Germans surrendered, we’d still be clipping ration coupons! And now they’ve even put bread and potatoes on ration as well — like they never were in the war. But meat is the worst, you know, I can’t seem to get — why am I babbling on like this? I’m sorry, Flight Lieutenant. Please sit down. We’ve got the cheddar at least.” She indicated the platter.

“Thank you, Mrs MacDonald, and I’m the one who ought to apologise for inviting myself like this, but —”

“Oh, let me get you something to drink, first. What would you like?” Mrs MacDonald broke in to ask, and Gordon could tell she was nervous because she didn’t usually chatter or interrupt.

Kit took it in his stride and with a glance at Gordon asked, “What are you drinking, Gordon?”

“Guinness.”

“Then I’ll have one as well.”

Maisy disappeared and returned with two glasses and two bottles of beer; she didn’t drink herself. Gordon opened the first bottle but poured it out too quickly and the creamy head frothed out of the glass all over his knees. He was about to come out with some choice language when Kit and Maisy burst out laughing. The spill was quickly dabbed up and Maisy urged Kit to try the nibbles. Kit thanked her and took a cracker, while Gordon gulped down half his glass before he nodded to himself and faced his former skipper. “Now, don’t keep us in suspense any longer, Skip. What is this all about? There’s nothing wrong at home is there?”

“No. Not at all, but I wanted to tell you in person about a job I may have. I owe you my life, and I’ve felt so badly about being unemployed and—”

“Now, don’t go talking like that! You don’t have to be someone important for me to feel it was worth saving you. It’s enough just to see you with Georgina and that bairn of yours.”

Whatever Kit had meant to say, Gordon’s remark threw him off his stride. Briefly, he was visibly distressed, then he pulled himself together. “Gordon, I may have a chance to fly on the Berlin Airlift, delivering food to the civilian population.”

“Congratulations!” Gordon sat up straighter and reached out to clap Moran on the knee in sincere delight. “Well done!”

“It’s not certain, however. First, I have to pull together a complete crew.”

“Why don’t they assign you one or let you crew up like we did?” Gordon asked confused.

“The job’s not with the RAF. It’s with a private company.”

“Now that’s a formula for disaster if I ever heard one! A lot of private companies trying to do things their own way will just be like so many flies in the ointment of a good RAF operation. We’d be better off on our own!” Too late, Gordon realised he was deriding Kit and his new job, and he tried to put things right, “Not that you’d make trouble, Skip, but—”

“It’s all right. I know what you’re saying, but this is an opportunity I can’t resist, and I was hoping you might still be in touch with other flight engineers and might know of someone who could be interested in joining me.”

Gordon shook his head. “I’d like to help, Skip, but everyone I know is still in the mob.”

“What about that reunion, Gordon?” Maisy spoke up.

He looked at her blankly for a moment and then remembered. “Oh yes. Now I remember. I got an invitation a day or two ago from some bloke who wanted to have a reunion with those who went through flight engineer training together. He was no longer in, so maybe there are others who’ve been demobbed as well. But I didn’t want to go, so I tossed it out.”

“Maybe I can still find it!” Maisy said, jumping up and leaving them alone.

Kit was looking so earnestly at him that Gordon sensed there was more. “What is it?”

Kit drew a deep breath. “My father-in-law—”

“The reverend?”

“Yes, Reverend Reddings. He claims that coincidences are the hand of God in human affairs.” Gordon grunted to suggest his scepticism but waited for Kit to continue. “The company that I may be flying with wants to hire German aircraft mechanics to do the maintenance work. They need a crew chief who could supervise and train the Germans on Hercules VI engines.”

Gordon was puzzled why Moran would mention this so solemnly — and then the penny dropped. Something hot seemed to slide down his inert spine. “You — You — think — I — could do that?” he asked cautiously.

Kit nodded. “I’m sure of it. The knowledge is all there in your head. You don’t need to do the work, just explain it, and make sure the others do it right. I recommended you.”

“Why did you do a daft thing like that?” Gordon exploded, feeling overwhelmed. Already he wanted this job so badly he was starting to tremble. Yet he didn’t want false hopes or charity either. “What company would want to hire a cripple and why? What’s in it for them? Where’s the catch?”

Kit looked back steadily, and Gordon sensed the strength and goodwill that had always drawn him to the younger man. “It’s an air ambulance outfit run by one of McIndoe’s Guinea Pigs and a woman pilot formerly with the ATA. They aren’t your usual profit-driven businessmen.”

“You told them I was in a wheelchair?” Gordon just couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, I did.”

“And they were still interested?”

“Yes.”

“But why? There are lots of other men as qualified as me who aren’t cripples.”

“Well, it seems their British ground crew refused to remain in Berlin after the blockade started, which is why they decided to hire Germans. In other words, this job would be in blockaded Berlin, and it will only last as long as the blockade does. It’s a very temporary and somewhat risky proposition, so few qualified crew chiefs are likely to want it.” Kit explained, adding in a gentle voice, “And no one would be surprised or upset if you said no.”

“I’m not saying no!” Daddy snapped back, frowning. “I’d take any legitimate job, let alone one working with aircraft. And I don’t care about the pay, but I don’t want charity, either. As for —” He cut himself off as Maisy reappeared in the doorway.

She looked from one to the other, then handed Kit an opened envelope. “That’s the invitation to the flight engineers’ reunion. It’s going to be held in Warrington a week from tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I was just telling Gordon that the company I hope to work for also needs a crew chief to train Luftwaffe mechanics. They asked me to find out if Gordon might be interested—”

“Oh! That would be splendid! A job with aircraft again!” She looked at her husband.

“The work would only be temporary,” Kit hastened to explain.

“That doesn’t matter, does it, Gordon?” Maisy answered turning to her husband with an expression of almost painful eagerness. Turning back to Kit, she declared. “He’s been doing much better since I started letting him help around the house, but working with aircraft and engines — that’s his life. He loves them. It would do him a world of good to get back to them, even if only for a short spell or on an irregular basis. The pay doesn’t matter. Not with the girls earning their own way now, and with my job paying steady. How long would it be for?”

“We don’t know. It depends on how long the Russians keep up the blockade of Berlin. The job, I’m afraid, is in Berlin.”

“Oh!” She was taken aback by that but then turned to look at Gordon. Their eyes met. He didn’t have to say anything. Turning back to Kit she declared. “I think Gordon should go.”

Gordon was too overwhelmed for words. All he could do was reach out and clutch her hand with so much force he saw her wince.

She did not pull away, however. Instead, she declared firmly and steadily. “I want you to do this. It’s what’s meant to be.”