Sorry, I couldn't resist one last story. It's become something of a habit.
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Postscript 1923 – DelhiThe city was a building site. British India's grand designs made manifest in stone. Lutyens' Delhi was still taking shape, but the government of India would not wait. While the council required pomp and circumstance, a surprising amount of work was taking place in quiet bungalows partially hidden amongst groves of blossom trees.
"Welcome to my humble abode!" Cadogan West shook Jack Cairns' hand. "What do you think of the new capital?"
Cairns was lightly dressed in cream coloured blazer and Panama. "It's lovely." He indicated the bundle in his wife's arms, "Edmund didn't care for the crowds, but it is nice around here. Westie, you have done well!
"This is my darling wife Vanessa and my son Edmund."
"Delighted to meet you Vanessa. And look at you!" Cadogan grinned and mugged to Edmund's bemusement. "Dorothy is inside, along with my little bundle of joy. Edith is a little handful, I must warn you!"
As they turned to go indoors Cadogan addressed an Indian servant. "Sahil, please take the Cairns' bags to the guest room."
Edith, was fascinated by little Edmund and spent most of the next hour staring at the baby as Dorothy played hostess, pressing tea and cakes on their visitors.
That evening, dinner was a simple affair. As they sat at the table after the ladies had withdrawn, Cadogan told Jack, "I thought that you wouldn't have liked a dinner party after your long journey. We do frequently have them - it helps keep the local ex-pat community happy. You don't fancy yourself an amateur detective do you Jack?"
Cairns raised an eyebrow. "No. Why?"
"I won't have detectives at a dinner party," Cadogan sniffed. "They're quite the fad these days, but too dangerous."*
They regaled each other with stories. None of them were from the war. Instead Cadogan talked about his time in the office of Lord Reading, the Viceroy of India.
"We're making ourselves redundant." Cadogan related, "even while we build all this, we train native Indians to serve in government. And no matter how many we take on, the National Congress say that we haven't done enough. Quite thankless. So I joined the Archaeological Survey. Sir John has been working hard on some fascinating sites in the Indus Valley. They are extremely old. Cities that might be as old as Ur."
He poured Cairns another drink. "The sites that we have found, we have excavated exhaustively. So we are looking for more. The mounds don't look like much; low hills made of mud brick. I suggested aerial reconnaisance and I recommended you."
"Thank you Cadogan." Cairns took a sip of his drink. "We've done some interesting work in that sort of thing. Last year in Jordan we found huge circles. They couldn't be seen from the ground, but they were associated with artefacts that suggested they were from the time of Christ."
"Astonishing!"
"Yes indeed. I already have a government engagement. Can't say much, but it involves the area of the Kush."
"Fierce tribes," Cadogan murmured.
"Yes indeed. The upper Indus could conceivably be on my route. I'll see if I can give you a week at the end of my trip."
"That's not much. We are talking huge areas."
"Sorry old man, I want to get back to England by summer. You know how it is."
Cadogan grinned, "I do indeed. I'm grateful for whatever help you can give me."
Postscript 1945 - The Rhineland.The British army had established itself in Paderborn. Most of the city had been destroyed by bomber command. Nissen huts and tents were everywhere.
Nearby Wewelsburg had not been hit as badly. Two RAF officers sat in a car that was approaching a townhouse that would have been non-descript if it wasn't for the armed guards.
"Have you visited the castle?" the more senior officer asked his companion.
"Yes I have," Cadogan West replied, his lips twitched at the memory. "What an abomination! If Himmler hadn't set fire to it, I would have!"
"Pity we never bombed it properly for him!" The Air Vice-Marshall's moustache bent upwards above a grin.
"Shame really," West conceded. "It was probably rather nice before old Heinrich got his hands on it. Oh, we're here. Thanks again for letting me come along, by the way."
"You're welcome! This is really a treat for both of us." Burroughs smiled. "It wouldn't normally take two brass hats to do this."
The German officer rose from his seat by the window as they walked in. He looked tired with sad eyes that still showed a proud defiance. His uniform was in considerable disrepair, but he wore it proudly.
"Generalleutnant Niemann?"
Niemann nodded, "yes."
"It is an honour to meet you," the RAF officer with a walking stick declared and saluted.
"Do you speak English?"
"A bit," Niemann replied cautiously. "There is a translator also."
"Captain Jurdyga, yes," Cadogan beckoned to the guard at the door.
"I had hoped we wouldn't need the translator, no offence captain," Burroughs said after Captain Jurdyga had been brought in. "I am Air Vice Marshall Artemus Burroughs, and this is Group Captain Cadogan West. We are the bearers of good news.
"The investigators are satisfied that you were never a member of the Nazi party nor part of their attrocities. As such you are free to go."
Niemann looked surprised. "Free?"
"Yes. You can leave here any time you like," Burroughs looked from West to Niemann. "We wouldn't normally deliver news like this but West and I remember your conduct in the last war. Because of that, we called in a few favours.**
"Artemus Burroughs?" Niemann's voice lifted in recognition, "something of a celebrity. It is indeed an honour to finally meet such a famous and noble flier. It was a better age that we knew."
"Sadly, I think that you are right about that," Burroughs turned around to West who handed over a bottle."It shouldn't be better," Artemus poured out four measures, "but it was. Perhaps you would take a drink with us? In the hope of a better time to come."
Niemann looked at the proffered bottle. "Mount Gay rum? Is rum not the drink of the British navy? Are you an old sailor like myself, Burroughs?"
"No, neither of us are," Cadogan West handed out a glass each to Burroughs and Niemann. One for the translator and one for himself.
"The rum is in honour of another flyer we once knew. Ward, if you remember him?"
"Ward, ah yes. A menace to us, as much as I tried to be a menace to you."
"Indeed," Burroughs nodded. He raised his glass, "Now; to the brave men we knew and the hope that we will never see such times again!"
"Cheers!"
"Prost!"***
"Na Zdrowia!"
"Santé," Cadogan toasted and downed his glass.
"Santé?" Artemus asked quizzically.
"I just thought that I ought to include the French somehow," Cadogan explained.
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* One of the hazards of living in a semi-literary world. If Agatha Christie has taught me anything, it is never to invite a detective to dinner.
** I'm not sure who really organised this. Both Cadogan West and Burroughs have connections with the intelligence service.
Burroughs rubbed shoulders with spymasters during the war and it sound like he might have continued to work with them into the 1920s.
West had Captain Stephenson on his squadron. Codenamed Intrepid, Stephenson was the foremost man in British Intelligence's American operations during WW2.
Cadogan's cousin, Freddie West VC was also an air attaché to the embassies in Rome and Berne during the war. He did help allied escapees from Germany and I strongly suspect he would be another intelligence contact that Cadogan could pull a favour with. There is also the acquaintance with a certain Jack Cairns, adventurer archaeologist.
*** German speakers, is this an appropriate toast for a spirit like rum? I think that Niemann would be quite precise when it comes to such things.
OK, you got me. That was two final stories.