Back at it after a week's vacation celebrating 30 years with SWMBO.
Ten forum pages may take me some time to digest, so I shall set Oliver's latest episode here before I proceed to catch up with all your adventures.
Much gratitude to Lou for a most enjoyable collaboration. This most recent account of Oliver and Freddy was much improved by his crisp turn of phrase and sharp editorial eye.
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À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 82

(continued from previous entry)


7 May 1918
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London

Finally settled into the RAC. Most frustrating that I must wait until the stitches come out on the 9th before taking advantage of the Turkish bath, the Frigidarium or the marvelous pool.

A grand day touring the countryside with Freddy. As arranged, he met me at Folkestone.
I waited until the mad rush of leave goers raced ahead toward the leave train then disembarked onto the Folkestone dock. Freddy stood leaning against a small 2 seat automobile painted the most striking shade of pale green.



“What Ho, Ripper!” Freddy greeted with his signature toothy grin. “Spiffing morning for a jaunt, eh what?”
Before I could answer he had relieved me of my kit and shoe-horned it into the deceptively large boot of his sporty little mount.
“Hop in, old top, while I get us started.”

He motioned to the door on the portside of the vehicle, (the only door, I soon noticed), then zipped round to starboard where he bounced up onto the running board and reached in to set a brace of knobs and a switch on the dash before bouncing back down and racing to the front. There he took hold of the starting crank poking out below the radiator and gave it a short, quick turn, bringing the petite beast to life. Then it was back to starboard where he bounded once more up onto the running board and with his long stork-like legs stepped over both the side of the vehicle and the spare tire and rim mounted there, settling deftly into the cockpit, feet and hands landing instinctively on the appropriate controls.
“And we’re off!”

It was a magnificent day for a drive. We traveled down the coast, past the Esplanade at Sandgate and on toward Hythe, where I’d spent a frozen week learning gunnery last February.



I watched Freddy working the various pedals and levers of the little car, which I learned was an AC 10. He drove with a gleeful enthusiasm, expertly catching each corner at the apex and carrying just the right amount of speed through the turns as we raced down the country roads. His was not quite the wild and reckless abandon of Aunt Rhea driving her monstrous Daimler, the world’s fastest production automobile, but it was close. Still, there was a precision in the way he carved his way along and despite the breakneck speeds, I always felt he had complete control of the machine.

The rolling hills of Picardy have their beauty, and if they are dusty in Summer, they grow lush in Spring but nothing like the country we drove through. There is something about the verdant pastures of England that sparks my imagination. So intensely green! The hills of my native northern California run dry and golden for all but a few weeks in February and March. Even in the wet of Springtime they show nothing of this color. Each little town we passed, Lympne, Aldington, Stone Cross, Bromley Green, with their Tudor plaster and beam exteriors, looked something out of a storybook.


Approaching Biddenden from the South we drove past an ancient Windmill. In the distance I could see the top of a church as we came nearer the town.


Continuing through Biddenden High Street we turned south onto a smaller country road.

Freddy shot up a small lane, then into a drive ultimately bringing the AC 10 to a crisp halt before a sprawling brick manor from which many tall chimneys rose.

No sooner had we stepped from the car when the door of the expansive home swung open and a stately-looking butler strode out to greet us both.

“Mr. Pearson, my good man, how are you on this spiffing day!”, Freddy called over.

“Quite well, Captain Abbott, thank you for asking. And it is, as you say, a ‘spiffing’ day. And this must be the American gentleman you informed us about.”

“He is indeed. This is Captain Oliver Winningstad, VC; but we all call him ‘Ripper’,” Freddy beamed. “And Ripper, this is our Mr. Pearson. A finer butler, or fellow, you’ll never find.”

“Captain Abbott, you flatter me, Sir”, Mr. Pearson replied in a tone that seemed to hover somewhere between proud and embarrassed. But he quickly regained his proper bearing as he turned to me. “Welcome to Birchley House Captain Winningstad, it is an honour to have you as our guest, even if it’s only for luncheon.”

“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Pearson. I thank you very much for your welcome.”

“I assume my parents are still away”, Freddy inquired, his voice showing a slight trace of annoyance.

“I’m afraid they are, Captain Abbott. A pity too, as I am certain they would have liked to meet Captain Winningstad.”

“Haw!”, Freddy laughed. “I am quite certain they couldn’t care less about missing one of my friends, but kind of you to say Mr. Pearson, as always. Now then, back to the topic of luncheon, what are we having? I’m famished!”

Before answering, the butler gave Freddy a brief yet telling look. The older man’s expression seemed more befitting of a caring father who felt bad for his child than that of a servant looking after a charge. I suddenly had a picture of Freddy’s family life being something less than ideal for him growing up, despite such seemingly idyllic surroundings. I found farm life oppressively small as I grew older, so I fled to sea, but I always carried with me the love of Mother and Father. Had Freddy found family among the caring house staff, nannies and governesses instead of with his parents?

“Chef Nibley has been busy most of the morning, preparing a cold pea and basil soup, a goose confit salad, an English pork pie as well as an onion and bacon tart, along with a variety of cheeses. And for dessert, a selection of sweet tarts and scones, with clotted cream and marmalades, in addition to a gingerbread cake. I apologize for it being a bit excessive for a luncheon, but he’s had little opportunity these days to exercise his culinary talents and I’m afraid he took advantage of the situation.”

“Outstanding! And no need to apologize for such an excess!” Freddy announced joyously.

Lunch was exactly the sort of extravagant meal that one hopes for after a long morning of travel. Like Freddy, I was starving, having eaten my last meal at 5.00 this morning. Chef Nibley seized his opportunity and led us on a tantalizing odyssey, each dish acting as a delicious compliment to the previous course. Between the pork pie and the onion bacon tart, the race was too close to call. The crust of each was perfect. As for dessert, there could be no finer accompaniment to scones and such than English clotted cream.

After the meal Freddy led us to a large paneled sitting room overlooking the manicured gardens. The ever-attentive Mr. Pearson soon appeared with a tray holding two small glasses of a lovely, and potent, pear calvados

“So Ripper, a bit of hard cheese missing you as I did at hospital. Sorry old man, did my best you know”, Freddy stated in a most apologetic tone, then immediately brighten up as he continued. “But it’s grand that it worked out for us to visit this way - much more relaxing, and fun, eh what?”

“Most definitely. Still, it was awfully good of you to make the attempt, Freddy. Alas, the RAMC had other plans. The Ambulance train ended up in Rouen, after all was said and done.”

“How is the wound doing by the way?”

“Better. My jab will need some time to recover but I’m past the worst of it. Good thing I’m not a left-hand bowler, eh?”

“Indeed. But what happened, old sport? I heard you had a run in with those Circus rotters - gawd but I hate them!” Freddy practically hissed the statement though his large teeth.
“I must admit I respect them a fair bit as well for their collective talent, but I hate them far more.”
He took a sip of the calvados, then added, “If they all dove into hell tomorrow it wouldn’t be soon enough for me.”

“They dove all right. Did they ever. We chased a flight of Hannovers running east of Amiens and sent 4 of the 5 down. I was after the last one when they appeared above. Seven of them. They know me, Freddy. Maybe not by name, but the Baron’s men know the SE5 with the ‘X’ on the top plane. We’ve fought before. I’ve sent many of them to the Death god, so have my men. The entire Circus came down. I think that’s the only reason I’m still alive. They got in each other’s way in their eagerness to murder me.”

Did grey-eyed Athene shield me with the Aegis? Did Eliza’s prayers send the bullets wide? Was it just dumb luck?

"I’d say it was my flying skill that saved my life, but that would be a lie. They should have killed me, Freddy. Seven on one, and the height advantage. I don’t know the reason, but I still live.”

Freddy sat quietly, listening with full attention. I felt embarrassed by the excessively personal nature of this last revelation and hastily changed the subject.

“Your motor, she’s a sweet little machine.”

“Oh she is that," Freddy agreed. “Father received her as a gift after investing substantially in the company some years back. He had no use for her though, nor did anyone else in the family, so she came to me. You should give her a whirl, old top! Much friendlier than most planes I’ve handled - or women for that matter. Haw!”

“You’re a good sport, Freddy, but I don’t actually know how to drive an automobile.”

‘What! You’re having me on, Ripper. All those Huns and you can’t drive?! You Americans and your sense of humour - can’t drive - very good.”

“No, it’s true, my friend. I was at sea for three years before I took up the King’s Commission. Never had the chance to learn. Your green flash looks like fun, I must say. Have you ever seen the green flash, Freddy?”

“The Green Flash? Is that another one of your American things?”

“No, nothing like that. In the right conditions, especially at sea, at the moment of sunrise the atmosphere splits the sunlight like a prism and the sky bursts clear in green.”

“You sailors are privileged to some rare sights the rest of us will never experience. An adventurous lot as well, given the dangerous waters you must sail. It’s no wonder you took to the perils of flying so quickly.”

“On that subject, my friend I must admit to ignoring your advice. I went sailing those waters near the edge of the map and what I found there was beyond all my imaginings. You were right, Freddy. There be dragons… creatures of air and fire. Creatures of myth. We had some adventure, Clarissa and I.”

Even as I spoke the words, my heart leapt. I conjured the memory of Clarissa, the golden dragon eyes, the smell of jasmine in her hair, the way she made me feel a god as we danced, and the glory of her naked body as we made love in the firelight.

Artemis, delighting in arrows,
...of lovely shape like none of the heavenly gods

Then too, unbidden, came the image of Mr. Right hanging suspended on an iron fence, gurgling out his life.

“This sounds serious,” said Freddy in a concerned voice.

“It is, Freddy, it is. I’m smitten, I can’t deny it.

Freddy’s bushy brows bolted upward as his eyes widened in horror.

“Oh, don’t worry Old Man. I know we have no future. In my lucid moments I know it will never work between us. But when I’m with her… When I’m with her, there’s magic…”

Because you’re in love with her, Oliver. Gods help you.

My voice trailed off as I recognized the truth of it.

Freddy studied me for a moment before he responded in a most solemn tenor. “I sincerely hope for your sake Ripper that this magic you’re so clearly enamored of isn’t in reality some evil sorcery. And knowing Clarissa as I do, I fear it’s the latter.”

“Oh, there’s sorcery,” I replied. "You’ve got that right. As to its nature, I’m still uncertain. In any event, she’s gone away traveling somewhere. I’ve not had a word since we parted on New Year’s Day. She even told me not to bother writing because she wouldn’t get the letters. All very mysterious.

“May I ask something of you, Freddy?”

“Fire away, old top.”

“If I get the chop and go West, will you give something to Clarissa for me? I can leave instructions that it be sent here if the time comes. She should get the news and my valedictory from a friend.”

“Of course I will, provided I don’t catch it first. Leave it to me, old man. Whatever it is, I’ll get it to Clarissa," Freddy assured with a stoic look. Then, in the next moment, his face brightened with a familiar grin as he held up his nearly empty glass and announced, “Enough of this talk. I’ll call for Mr. Pearson and we’ll have another of these, and take it for a walk in the garden. What say you to that, Ripper old sport?”



It was impossible to harbor dark thoughts for long around Freddy. His cheerful spirit and generous nature always lifted my own spirits. We spent the remainder of a glorious afternoon in the garden talking. We strayed occasionally to the subject of the war, but when I asked Freddy about the ancient fossils I'd seen in his hut he revealed his one, and apparently only, scholarly inclination - paleontology. He spun a long and animated tale of how he'd found his first specimen during his start year at Charterhouse School, sparking his intense interest from then on. He talked of early digs along the banks of the River Wey that he would sneak off to while at school, often abandoning his other required studies to do so. He described later trips to the Jurassic coastline of Dorset, and the Cretaceous cliffs of Beachy Head, to name but a few such outings. He expounded on Trilobites and Ammonites and Crenoids and beyond; and spoke of eons and eras and epochs with names which eluded my Latin, names I’d be hard-pressed to remember much less spell. To picture Freddy as a scholarly expert on anything would beggar belief, save for this one field. In this, he was in his element and suddenly the idea of him as a university professor seemed entirely plausible.

Now recovered from Chef Nibley’s splendid repast we made our farewells to Mr. Pearson and personally extended our compliments to Chef Nibley, who the butler had invited up from the kitchen at both Freddy’s and my request. Setting out for London, I was feeling most comfortable after several glasses of the Calvados but Freddy seemed none the worse for it.

The weather held fine and 90 minutes later Freddy dropped me off at the RAC.
Deflecting my repeated thanks for the hospitality, he shook my hand, wished me luck and zoomed off. I must remember to get my voucher for 20 gallons of petrol and send it to him.