At the end of the test flight, when Moran announced it was time to return to Woodhall Spa, Peal countered by asking if they shouldn’t say hello to Kirkby Grange first.
Moran couldn’t get a word out for the enthusiastic responses of the others. He turned on the course Peal give him, and at the sight of the school, pushed the controls forwards. He took Zebra down to 50 feet and they belted over the school grounds at 130 miles an hour. Moran imagined he could see white faces pressed to the window and excited bouncing up and down as they swept past. Georgina would think he was saying “hello” not “good-bye.” Yet as he pulled the control column back to climb steeply away and banked for Woodhall Spa he wished her a last farewell.
The second briefing for pilots and navigators started at 1100. In addition to the weather, the pilots were briefed on fuel loads, take-off times, aircraft spacing and so on. The total distance was close to 1,500 miles and they would be flying for nearly eight hours. Fauquier explained that the low-level bombing would to be carried out in pairs; Fauquier would lead in with Forrester on his wing, followed by Howard and Moran, and finally Cockshott and Sanders. The latter were only to bomb if the barrage was still standing.
While the separate briefing for gunners and wireless operators took place, Moran found a notepad and a pen in the ops room. He sat down to dash off a letter to Georgina.
Dearest Georgina,
If you are reading this, it is because I failed to return from today’s sortie. Words cannot express how much you mean to me or how much you have sweetened my last days on earth. Please don’t grieve too long or too hard. I don’t want you to be miserable, least of all on my account. Please fall in love again and make another young man as happy as you have made me. Both Don and I will rejoice in your happiness. I only ask that now and again you wear the elephant earrings in remembrance of me.
All my love, Kit
Maybe that wasn’t very good, but he didn’t have time to rewrite it. He should have had the foresight to write something before this. He should have taken the time to draft something beautiful and elegant, full of profound sentiments, a letter Georgina could have treasured for the rest of her life. But he’d missed the opportunity for that, and this note would have to do. Moran hurried to the squadron adjutant’s office and asked for an envelope, explaining, “I want to be sure Miss Reddings gets this letter along with the telegram, if I don’t return.”
“Good heavens, Moran! Don’t tell me you’ve had some sort of premonition?” The adjutant sounded concerned. Too many men who had premonitions didn’t come back.
“No,” Moran denied it, “but flying at 600 feet into heavy flak isn’t a formula for long life.”
“I’m sure the CO wouldn’t have agreed to it if there was no hope.”
“Of course not,” Moran concurred, but still he addressed the envelope, slipped his note inside, and left it on the adjutant’s desk.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.