A Family Affair. Nancy Carson

in the same house as two frivolous young fillies who can’t keep their eyes off you?’

      ‘I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration, Dorcas,’ Clover said and left to fetch another tray of sandwiches for the taproom.

      Ned and Amos had already loaded the flying machine onto the borrowed cart by the time Clover arrived at Springfield House. Mr Mantle appeared in his dressing-gown and night-cap and wished Ned the very best of luck, to which Ned replied that he was getting nervous about the whole thing. But at least the weather remained warm and sunny.

      ‘I hope there’s a bit more wind up on Rough Hill,’ Ned commented apprehensively as they walked alongside the cart down Tansley Hill Road. ‘I’ll need a bit o’ wind to keep me aloft.’

      ‘The wind’s kept me aloft all sodding night,’ Amos said sombrely and Clover giggled. ‘That Millard’s bloody mild up at the Gypsy’s Tent serves me barbarous. And what with having to run up the yard when I was took short…’

      ‘It’s all right for you to mock, Amos,’ Ned complained, ‘but what about if I fail today? I’ve asked the Dudley Herald to come and report on this attempt.’

      ‘Well I don’t suppose he’ll mind, the Dudley herald, specially if you crash, our Ned. It’ll give him summat to shout about…Who is he, anyroad, this Dudley herald?’ Amos winked conspiratorially at Clover.

      ‘Who is he!’ Ned scoffed. ‘The Dudley Herald is the newspaper, you fool…’ Then it dawned on him that Amos was pulling his leg. He laughed, embarrassed. ‘Swine!’

      All three laughed and it relieved some of the tension they all felt. This was going to be a day of great significance. If Ned and his machine covered any distance and it responded to his new control mechanisms, he could be on his way to more important things. Powered flight would inevitably be next, and the search for a suitable engine. If he failed…No. Failing was not to be contemplated. Even though he had to scrimp and save so he could afford to buy the materials to build his machines, it really was a labour of love.

      Folk on their way to church stopped and gawped at the strange contraption that was strapped in sections onto the cart. One or two of the more enlightened men guessed that it might have been a flying machine but, for all some of them knew, it could have been a giant bedstead.

      Eventually they trundled past Oakham Farm and, on a lane known as Turner’s Hill, they arrived at the broken gate that led into the high field that crowned Rough Hill. To Ned’s relief the wind was blowing significantly harder up here than it had been in Tansley Hill Road, which lay in the lee of Cawney Hill. They off-loaded the flying machine and Ned began by bolting the undercarriage – a pair of bicycle wheels attached to a wooden frame – to the fuselage. While Clover held the assembly steady, Ned bolted the wings to the fuselage and began the complicated routine of fastening the bracing and the rigging between the top and bottom wings that afforded some stability and tension to the structure. By this time, the reporter from the Dudley Herald had shown up and began asking Ned all sorts of questions. Ned answered them patiently while he worked, but he would not stop what he was doing. He fastened the stiff wires that joined the wing flaps to the levers by his seat and within an hour, the Gull was ready to fly.

      ‘Steady as you go,’ Ned urged as they trundled it towards the launch point, holding it back so that it shouldn’t run on its own down the hill and fly off unmanned; that would be the ultimate embarrassment with a reporter there to witness it. Amos was chocking the wheels with a large piece of wood when they heard a man’s voice calling from behind them, its sound almost carried away from them by the stiff breeze.

      ‘Clover! Clover!’

      She turned around. Tom Doubleday was rushing towards them carrying his camera, a case and a tripod. Her heart leapt into her mouth but she waved at him, blushed and grinned. Guiltily, she looked at Ned.

      ‘Ned, there’s a photographer here to take your picture,’ she said. ‘Don’t climb aboard yet.’

      Tom was panting when he reached them. ‘I’m glad I caught you…Didn’t think I’d get here in time…Which one’s Ned, Clover?’

      Clover introduced them.

      ‘You’re just in time, mate,’ Amos informed him. ‘Two more minutes and you’d have missed all the fun.’

      ‘Do you mind if I take a photograph of you and your machine, Ned?’ Tom asked. ‘It’s for my own interest really.’

      ‘I’ve got no objection,’ Ned replied.

      ‘Maybe the Dudley Herald would like a copy?’ Clover suggested to the reporter. ‘It could illustrate your article.’

      The reporter nodded. ‘That’d be perfect. We could make a proper feature of it.’

      ‘What’s your name, by the way?’ Ned asked.

      ‘Julian Oakley.’ Julian smiled. ‘At your service.’

      ‘Welcome to this little gathering. Let’s hope you get something worth reporting.’

      ‘I have every confidence, Mr Brisco,’ Julian replied diplomatically. ‘And a picture will certainly help, if it comes out.’

      ‘Great,’ Tom said. ‘It’ll come out all right, have no fear. Now, if you can just bear with me a minute while I set up my camera and put in a plate…’ When Tom had found a suitable place to stand that showed the biplane off to best advantage, he adjusted the legs of his tripod to compensate for the uneven ground. ‘If you like, I’ll take one of you, Ned, standing at the side of the machine, then another with you sitting in it.’ He hid his head under the black cloth that enabled him to see an inverted image on the ground glass screen. He focused it, then inserted a photographic plate into the back of the camera and pulled out the dark slide that protected it from unwanted light. He screwed a shutter release bulb into the body of the lens. ‘Smile, please.’

      ‘Can I have one with Clover and Amos on?’ Ned asked. ‘Have you brought enough plates?’

      ‘No trouble, Ned,’ Tom said obligingly.

      So Amos took his place by Ned and Clover self-consciously shuffled into the frame. Ned suggested she stand between them. Tom took out the exposed plate and inserted a new one.

      ‘Right…Look into the lens and smile, please.’

      The shutter clicked, the group dispersed, Ned clambered up onto his machine and posed for another photograph.

      ‘If I can get one of you in flight as well…Give me one minute to swap plates…’ Tom rushed to finish his task then thanked Ned for waiting.

      ‘I think we’re ready now,’ Ned called. ‘Amos, shift the chock…Wish me luck, you lot.’

      ‘Good luck,’ Clover called, echoed by the rest of them.

      Amos removed the chock and the biplane rolled downhill, rapidly picking up speed. Clover saw Ned gently pull the levers that worked the flaps on the trailing edges of the wings and tail and, magically, the glider lifted into the air. She watched, mesmerised, unable to speak as its trajectory levelled out. Momentarily the wings dipped from side to side as Ned played with the controls and Clover was reminded of a heron she’d once seen floating with absolute grace and composure over a field not unlike the one she could see now below her. The biplane seemed to climb a little, but from these heights it was difficult to tell how much. It turned slightly to the right, then to the left and Clover knew that Ned was testing his controls for response. Smiling, her eyes sparkling with tears of admiration at Ned’s achievement, she turned briefly to Tom. Her only fear now was that Ned was going to run out of terrain. He was rapidly approaching the New Rowley Road and the Springfield Colliery.

      Suddenly, Clover was anxious. ‘What’s he going to do now, Amos?’

      ‘Practise landing a bit sharp, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Amos replied sardonically.

      Clover realised that of course, Ned had never