Our Father's Generation. F. M. Worden

going to a pub?”

      Tim, through the open driver’s window answered, “Yeah. You girls want-a go with us?”

      One of the ladies yelled back, “Yes, we do.”

      Tim invited them to hop in. Three of them got in the back seat with me. The other one opened the door next to me and popped right in onto my lap. She remarked, “You’re the Yank all the girls are talking about, right?”

      “Yeah, I am.” She was the WAAF with the ammo I met at my plane.

      “Hope I’m not too heavy?”

      “No, you’re just fine.”

      The WAAF who stopped us said, “I’m Maggie.” The one next to her said, “I’m Edith.” The other one said, “I’m Ginger.” The one on my lap said she was “Sarah.”

      I told them, “I’m Tom, the Yank.”

      “Are you a single man, Tom?” Sarah asked.

      “No. I’m not, but I like pretty girls just the same.”

      “Look out Sarah,” Ginger quirked, “He’ll have you in bed shortly.”

      “No way,” I said.

      Maggie looked in the dim light to be in her late twenties, rather husky and sharp featured lass.

      We arrived at the Red Barn shortly and our entire group entered a typical English pub. There were three men and two ladies at the bar. Sarah, Edith, Tim and I sat at a table, Sarah sat next to me. Maggie, Ginger and JW went straight to the bar. Maggie ordered a jinn, she took off and laid her cap on the bar exposing her short cropped man’s hair cut. I thought, “That woman is the bossy kind.”

      Edith was a very quiet sort; she was pretty, five-two and nicely built. Ginger was the party type, a beautiful blonde with blue eyes and a well-built body that even the blue uniform could not hide, she was a real butterfly. Sarah was pretty with her dark brown hair and flashing brown eyes, full lips and gorgeous smile. A most pleasing voice, I liked her immediately. She reminded me of a woman in the American movies, darn if I could remember her name. I could see Sarah wanted to talk. The waiter came; I asked Sarah what she would have to drink. “I’ll have a pint,” she replied. I ordered the same. And I put money on the table, she said in no uncertain terms, she was paying. She was so forceful I put my money away.

      I asked her how she became a WAAF. “I wanted to be a nurse, but my father talked me out of it. You see he was a Doctor, a Surgeon, in the first war in France. He was gassed by the Germans in a field hospital. All the time he was with us, he was kind of sickly. He told me he didn’t want me around sick people, so I trained to be a WAAF, my father died when I was fifteen. I have a little Brother, who will be ten this year. I was born in a small hamlet north of London, I want to hear about you. How come you came over here to fight?”

      “I know America will have to soon be where I am.” I asked, “Where are your Mother and Brother now?”

      “They moved in with my Mother’s Brother as soon as the war started. They live on a farm in the center of the country. I hope they won’t get bombed there.”

      We made small talk for over an hour, I really like her.

      Maggie announced, “We have to go, we must be back in our quarters by ten fifteen.”

      Tim got to his feet and said loud and clear, “Drink up, we’re leaving.”

      We all returned in Tim’s auto. We sat in the same arrangement as before with Sarah on my lap, Sarah put her left arm around my neck and whispered, “I like you Tom,”

      “I like you, too, Sarah.” She rubbed her cheek against mine.

      Ginger heard it and said, “O-o-o-o-o what’s going on here?”

      I said, “Nothing, Ginger. We two are just being friends.”

      “I bet, if I were her, I would like it.” Ginger was laughing.

      Tim turned, “I better get to know you Ginger.” We all laughed.

      We dropped the girls off at their quarters. Sarah waved and called, “I’ll see you again Tom.”

      As we pulled away I remembered, “Teresa Wright,” I said out loud. “Teresa Wright. You chaps help me to remember that name.” They both said they would.

      At our hut, Tim let JW and I off. Inside, the black-out curtains were pulled, Lee and Lyseek were both in bed. Lyseek was snoring the roof off. I got out my pj’s, robe and slippers and a set of ear plugs. I undressed, put on the pj’s and robe, grabbed my kit and went to the wash room. I brushed my teeth, washed up and hurried back to the hut.

      Lyseek was still snoring, with ear plugs, I went to bed. I turned my lamp off, dark as sin in the hut. I lay in bed thinking I had a good day. When I fly, it is always a good day. When I had shut my eyes, I could see war planes in my mind, black ME 109's, lots of them. All of a sudden I was tired, I felt a little guilty about Sarah, what would Allie think if she knew? Oh well, tomorrow I fly my first combat scramble. I adjusted my head on the pillow to get more comfortable and soon fell asleep.

       Chapter 5

      1st Combat – September 1940

      I was awakened by a bright light, I pulled out my ear plugs and sat up in bed. The sound of aircraft taking off filled the room. Sgt. Lyseek was up and dressing, when he finished dressing, he opened our hut door. The smell of fresh mown grass sifted through the screen door. Birds could be heard chirping from the trees, A new fresh fall morning. The morning sunlight had not begun. Lyseek called, “It’s four a.m., everyone up.”

      Lee slowly put his feet on the floor, he stretched and yawned, “God. What a terrible time to get up.” JW was the last to rise, he took a cigarette and lit it. I watched as the smoke he blew drifted up and disappeared.

      I took off my pj’s and hung them and my robe in my locker. Dressed, I slipped on my flight boots. Carrying my Mae West, Lee and I went together to the NCO mess for breakfast. Two eggs, bacon, hash-brown potatoes, sliced tomatoes, toast, tea and coffee.

      All the pilots who were to fly this morning gathered at the dispersal area. Our Squadron commander came to talk to us. “We will fly the {vic} formation. Tom, any questions?”

      “No sir. I know the {vic}.”

      “You will be number eight, Lee number nine.”

      I was ready.

      The telly rang, “SCRAMBLE!”

      What a rush. By the time I reached my machine, Smithy had the engine started, I was in the cockpit in a flash. Smithy helped me buckle up, first, the parachute harness, then the seat straps.

      I taxied out with the other planes. We were all in the air in minutes; up we went and formed into the Vic formation. Oxygen masks on, we leveled out at twenty thousand heading east, only slight cloud cover.

      In a few minutes, we could see below a guppy of forty or fifty J 87's Stuka, dive bombers. They were ready to attack the radar towers on the Dover coast, no escort fighters could be seen.

      Our Squadron Leader called on the R/T, “Tally-Ho.” He peeled off and dove down at the Stukas. The Squadron followed one by one. Me, I was in the eighth place, I lined up a Hun and gave him a two second blast. Shit 0h dear, too far out, the tracers showed I was missing badly. In closer I hit home, he started to smoke, I must have hit the engine, he rolled over and dove into the ground, HA! My first kill.

      As I started to climb, I saw three Stukas heading east. They had dropped their load and started scampering home. “Not so fast old boys,” I said. “Sitting ducks, just my meat.” I proceeded to chase them. After a few minutes, I was on the tail of the rear Hun. A two-second blast found the mark, pieces of aircraft began to fly at me, one hit my wind screen, no damage.