2nd Lieutenant Kevin Carroll
41 Squadron
Conteville

1 confirmed kill

12th June 1918

The rain had finally relented overnight but it was still the afternoon before the airfield was ok to use.

Major Bowman had briefed the squadron on their mission which would be taking off at 4pm.

At 2.30pm the aircraft were being readied. Kevin was sat in his cockpit helping to load the vickers and lewis drums.

The Adjutant appeared at his office window and shouted for Major Bowman. The Major went over and there was a short conversation which Kevin couldn't hear.

The Major then came back and called the chief mechanic to him. "How many aircraft our ready right now, fueled and armed?" asked Bowman.

"Three sir, your's, Captain Hemming's and Lieutenant Carroll's sir." replied the Chief.

"Right, start the engines on those three, we have incoming aircraft" said the Major.

"2nd Lieutenant Carroll, Captain Hemming, grab your gear. We have incoming two seaters coming towards us. There's no time to get the others ready" said the Major.

Kevin was airborne shortly after and formed up with the Major and Hemming.

They'd climbed up to around 2000 feet when Kevin saw dark specks coming in from the east.

He didn't wait to be asked. He throttled up and climbed as fast as he could.

He now saw they were German DFW's and there appeared to be seven of them.

The other two now followed Kevin on climbing as fast as they could but Kevin was some way ahead of them. He was nearing the bombers now and crept up on the leader.

The other two seaters started evading but the leader held his course for a few more seconds which allowed Kevin to come up behind him and blast the unsuspecting hun. Now the German tried to evade but Kevin just kept on hitting him. The next moment the DFW lurched into a spinning fall and Kevin watched him most of the way down.

He now came around for another target. He came up behind another DFW. This one tried to evade but Kevin swung with him. He'd reloaded his lewis gun and now poured both weapons into the Hun. Another burst and the DFW rolled over and fell.

Kevin wasn't sure he wasn't trying to fool him though so he dived with him.

The DFW was trying to level out but Kevin hit him again. The DFW now fell into the same spinning fall that the previous one had done and went into the ground.

Kevin realised there was no chance of catching any others so spotted the other two SE's and formed up. Together they headed home.

On landing Kevin climbed out and joined Major Bowman and Captain Hemming, together they headed in. "How did you coax that much climb out of your crate Lieutenant? I couldn't get anywhere near you" said the Major.

"Well, however you did it, you flew fantastically well. I saw you down those two DFW's myself, so you can count them straight away" said the Major.

"Thank you sir, I thought if we attacked them quickly we might break their group up and it worked" said Kevin.

Later on the Major spoke to the squadron in the mess. "Enjoy your drinks chaps but don't be going mad. We'll be out early tomorrow".

Henri du Fay
June 12, 1918.

Well , its back to the front by train in 24 hrs, but 1st I must stop into Paris to check on the saloon. I can always sleep later.

Lou, I love ya man, I really do, but I had to wince when I heard my name mentioned for a gong. The good news is, I’ve flown 2 missions since getting the gong. The bad news is, it takes 15 to break the spell. Kemp will have to be really careful. Thanks mate!

Raine - Great to have young George back in action. Nice of Grid to keep him out of the pilot pool. Judging from all the German aircraft he's knocking out of the sky it appears MacAlister didn't miss a beat during his time away. Must be that suppressed frustration at being denied some true private time with Miss Bronwyn. A good read. I like those two together. I do wonder how Mac will fare as he wades deeper into political waters. I've no doubt many an awkward and dodgy situation awaits if he hangs out with Bronwyn's father for any length of time. That Mannock fellow sure is moving up fast. You'll have to watch him.
Oliver's new American pals are tough on the liver that's for sure! Must avoid those dangerous Springs concoctions.

Albert - Kevin has fallen into a good situation with Oliver's old pal Beery as his CO. These new Fokker biplanes sound very nasty. Oliver will need to be very careful should he return to the front.
From the sound of it, Kevin is in with a good crowd with 41 Sqn, eh? Who is the pilot looking at the photo?
One vs 7 DFWs and dropped two?! Hanging around all those Canadians sure had a positive impact. I'll need to extend my previous "Hell of a first day," comment to "Hell of a first week. Kevin is on quite the tear. Well done indeed.

Carrick - Good Lord, man! It's just a nonstop Blue light situation here with these nurses. L'Amour, l'amour... Glad that Henri survived his physical therapy. I trust he's not so depleted as to affect his flying now that he's heading back to Le Front.

MFair - A very decent gesture on Collin's part. Congrats on the promotion, Herr Leutnant. Duty and honor can be most inconvenient but Ludwig did the right thing, survived and got a kill to boot. That scrap sounded like a real edge of the seat affair. The kind where you need to take a walk after flying the mission so the adrenaline can wear off. Congrats on the well-earned Gong. 14 more missions to break the curse. Head on a swivel, man!

Fullofit - I think if you read the Orpen scene again, you may find that Orpen's disappointment was for a different reason.
That June 9 mission was a rather near run thing. I thought that second SE5 had Raben for a moment. Good show getting out of that with just the radiator perforated and not something more vital. As to the claims office, the less said about those dummkopfs the better.
Abandoned by Schwarm Eins again?! One vs Many makes for exciting viewing but I worry for Klaus' health going forward. Nice kill. What trophy did he salvage from the wreck?

Lou -Hope that pesky RL relents soon. You and Freddy are greatly missed.

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 85



14 May 1918 (continued)
Royal Automobile Club
Pall Mall, London



Seeing Arthur’s portrait shattered the illusion that I’d made any kind of peace with his death. After my visit to Orpen I walked the London streets to clear my head. Down the Victoria Embankment toward Parliament and Big Ben. Passing New Scotland Yard I turned west on Bridge Street, then walked back up Whitehall. Drawing abreast of the War Office, I noticed the narrow passage through Horse Guards on the opposite side of the street, which gave me an idea.

I spent the remainder of the day walking along my usual routes, looking for a likely spot. I made myself easy to follow, stopping often and trying to use the windows of the storefronts as a mirror. I saw him then, and only for the briefest moment. Far off, at the distance of what I imagined to be maximum respect for one of his profession, was a man I had seen before. I was sure of it now.

Smokey told me long ago - Once is happenstance. Twice a coincidence. Three times is the work of an enemy. I was definitely being followed but to what purpose?

In the block south of Rules Restaurant lay several alleys connecting Maiden Lane to the Strand. The westernmost one, Exchange Court, was the narrowest and would suit my purpose nicely. If I moved down that alley after leaving Rules, a man following would be forced to do likewise, or risk losing contact. In such a place I might affect an ambush. It was a dangerous idea with many unknowns. Would the man be alone? Would he be armed? Could my first blows render him hors du combat? A very dangerous idea, but I was tired of being hunted and I wanted answers.

Afternoon routine as always but breaking with precedent I did not go to the Savoy, rather I took a cab north to Russell Square and The International in the hope that my sudden presence there might pique the curiosity of those following, and perhaps that of their masters.

Just walking back into the lobby was like a cold dagger in the gut. Memory of those glorious four days with Eliza last July swirled thick around me. Glorious days…then things went so wrong. Eliza! I tried not to dwell on the past and failed miserably. There was nothing for it but to endure. I had a trap to bait yet there was no need to do so without the comfort of a drink. I judged an hour in the bar to be sufficient to my purpose. Word would travel. The International still resembled a Pirate haven and the clientele were as well dressed and dangerous looking as ever.

A long walk down Southampton Row toward the river, then I hailed a cab and headed to Rules where the maître d’hôtel, by our previous arrangement earlier this afternoon, led me to the corner table in the Upstairs bar where I’d dined with Mac in March. Mr. Winter would be an important part of my plans and I had tipped him lavishly after setting up dinner reservations for the 16th, 17th and 18th. The only complication was for the 17th, when the upstairs room would be closed for a private function.



A fine dinner. I was craving a beefsteak and theirs did not disappoint, though I thought the portion quite a bit smaller than in the past. Had the food shortages reached Rules at last?

Exiting the restaurant, I crossed Maiden Lane, turned right and walked past the small entry to Exchange Court. The intersection of Bedford Street lay a further 30 yards beyond. Once I reached this point, I would vary my route over the coming days. Tonight, I turned left on Bedford St and walked the short block to the Strand. Returned to the RAC via Charing Cross and retired early.

Epower - The SE is pretty good at 'hanging' in the air on low revs which is ideal for Kevin's tactic against two seaters. The colour photo is Fred McCall. Looking back through the records, 41 Squadron has a real purple patch in June and July, several of the pilots score heavily and McCall is one of them.

So Oliver is being followed, what on earth is going on there. He thinks he knows him but even so he must be cautious. It's a good job he knows the streets and alleyways of London well.

Albert, they say you can’t win the war by yourself, but it currently feels like Raben is the only one fighting it. Even with one eliminated, those two Camels were a handful for a single Pfalz.
It was pure luck those three SE.5’s were ready when the Huns showed up, otherwise it would have been another massacre. What was it in Kevin’s petrol tank that allowed him to climb that much better? Was it simply flying in the direction of the approaching/leaving enemy formation, instead of pointlessly circling the airfield with the rest? In any case, congrats on both confirmations. Kevin seems to be in claims gods’ good graces.

Epower, I have a feeling this Schwarm Eins ignoring the battle just in front of their noses will be a constant theme. Here’s effective fighting force of Jasta 18 just cut in half.
Oliver is up to his old tricks. A mouse springing a trap on a cat. I bet it’s the US government keeping tabs on him. Or maybe someone wants to find out where Clarissa is and follows Winningstadt to get to her? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Blade_Meister, I know I sound like a broken record, or a fragmented stream like the kids these days like to say, but why not join us and increase your enjoyment of this thread by a whopping magnitude of 101%? The good thing about joining us is that we’re not a cult and we don’t have Cool-Aid. Still/only five months to go. There’s also no membership fee to pay and regret for the rest of the year. Instead you may occasionally be visited by the most vicious creature alive, the Gong Fairy. How’s that sound? Appealing, I know. (And we have Lexi Belle!)

13 June, 1918
Lomme, Flanders Sector
Jasta 18
Feldwebel Klaus Gustav Raben
Pfalz D.IIIa
6 confirmed kills

The Camel was confirmed immediately after the observation balloon commander phoned it in. That mangled Vickers from that Camel wasn’t needed as proof after all.
The news of the transfer to Montingen in Verdun sector came early in the morning. It was the result of Jasta 18 being assigned to 19 Armee stationed in that region. Everyone had to pack quickly. The C.O. informed his pilots they’ll be travelling by train.
“- Leave your airplanes here, you won’t need them anymore.”

Fullofit - Congrats on Number Sechs. At this rate, it be long now before (Der, Die?) Gonfee comes calling.
Will Raben be keeping the Vickers above his bed or will it grace the Kasino?
US Government, eh? That's an outstanding idea and one I admit I hadn't considered. Hmmmm... So much fun playing this blind, or mostly blind anyway. Some days I really don't know what direction Oliver's Tale might take.

Epower, shhh! Let the sleeping Fairy lie. We don’t need any premature curses getting cast. You just wait and see what happens to MFair.
I would have thought Oliver’s government would want to keep an eye on their greatest war hero. There is no man nor child in the world who has not heard his name. If the Baron were still alive, he’d said: “Mein Gott, was für ein Flieger!”

Fullofit - Congratulations on Raben's confirmed Camel. He's in top form. Now he's off to pastures new which is a relief to 41 Squadron as Jasta 18 were stationed opposite them and maybe Kevin and Raben were going to meet in the air. You're right about the lack of magic petrol in Kevin's tank. Just an inclination to get the bloody enemy before they bugger off again.




2nd Lieutenant Kevin Carroll
41 Squadron
Conteville

3 confirmed kills

13th June 1918

Morning sortie

Major Bowman hadn't been kidding when he'd said they'd be out early. Corporal Didcott woke Kevin up at 4.45am.

In the briefing room, the Major informed the squadron as to that mornings destination. They'd be heading north east over to the lines east of Bethune.

The weather was dramatically better, clear blue skies greeted Kevin as he took to the air at around 5.45am. The sun was already above the horizon and after forming up and climbing they seemed to be flying straight into it.

The trip east went without incident until they'd just passed Bethune. Kevin saw several dark specks down to his right.

They were definitely coming the other way and by now the rest had seen them.

Judging by the square box shape Kevin judged them to be Fokker biplanes.

'B' flight nosed down and raced towards the enemy aircraft. Kevin on the other hand maintained his height. The one advantage they had was height and he didn't want to waste it away just to reach the enemy sooner.

He was above the enemy now and circled, looking for a target. He found one as one of the Fokkers had been climbing hard to get up to him but had overdone it and had to level out.

Kevin rolled and dived down onto the Hun and fired. The Fokker rolled away but Kevin swung right and came around behind him. He poured bullets into the enemy aircraft who now tried to dive away.

Kevin fired another long burst which ripped the top left wing away. The Fokker lurched into a spin and spun down into the ground.

Kevin looked for another target but saw only SE's. He formed up with them and they carried on their patrol. Kevin changed his lewis drum.

The rest of the patrol went quietly and they headed for home.

On landing Kevin found they'd downed five Huns for only minor damage to two of the SE's.



Afternoon sortie

After some lunch, refuelling and rearming. The Major had the squadron in the briefing room once more. He explained they would be escorting some RE8's from 13 Squadron to bomb ground targets opposite the St Vaast lines.

"Your old outfit Fred" said Kevin to Fred McCall. "Yeah, they're based not far from here" said Fred.

"We'll be heading off in 20 minutes to rendezvous with the 'Harry Tates'. If you see aircraft flying over the airfield as we get going they should be SE's from 24 Squadron who are taking off just before us" said the Major.

24 Squadron were also based at Conteville but Kevin hadn't seen much of them at all. They had their own mess and facilities across the other side of the very large airfield.

A short while later Kevin was in his SE and ready for the off. A flight of SE's from 24 Squadron did indeed fly across the airfield on their own sortie.

Kevin and the others were in the air and moved off towards the rendezvous point. They'd climbed to about 7000 feet and could see a group of aircraft ahead.

As they neared they saw they were the RE8's and the two formations joined up and headed east.

Kevin had to keep the throttle on 60% to keep pace with the 'Harry Tates'.

They made their way across the lines unmolested and the bombers went about their business, with the SE's circling above them.

After forming back up they were making their way back across the lines and had reached St Vaast when Kevin saw a large formation high up to the right.

He waggled his wings and pointed up. Kevin looked back to see where 'A' flight were and was glad that they were only a short distance back.

He nervously watched as the large formation above broke up and dived down towards them.

Kevin rolled right as the Fokker biplanes attacked. He climbed as well and tried to stay above the enemy as they shot past.

By now 'A' flight had seen the enemy and we're joining in and a very large melee ensued with aircraft whizzing around within inches of each other.

Kevin looked were the RE's had gone. They'd had the good sense to nose down and head home.

Just at that moment Kevin checked his six and saw an enemy aircraft clambering for his tail.

He rolled up and over and tried to get a shot in as the Fokker flew past. A turning match ensued but Kevin had a slight height advantage which he now used. He rolled and dived and then came up and around and had a fleeting shot at the Fokker and did not miss.

The enemy panicked and rolled left towards his own lines. Kevin anticipated this and got behind the German. He poured both barrels into the biplane and clearly hit the pilot. He slumped forward and the biplane nosed down and went straight into the ground.

Kevin took stock and saw a couple of Fokkers running away and several SE's nearby and formed up with them.

They caught the RE8's up and escorted them home.

On landing Kevin met up with Fred McCall.

"Top job there Kev, I saw you bag that hun. I got one too" said McCall as they headed in.

Major Bowman spoke to Kevin and Fred McCall later on in the office.

"First rate job out there today Gentlemen. I've just had a thank you from the commander of 13 Squadron and he's commended our performance to HQ" said Bowman.

"I'm happy to confirm both of your claims from this afternoon chaps......AND....your claim from this morning Lieutenant Carroll. That brings you upto 8 confirmed kills Lieutenant McCall and you upto 5, 2nd Lieutenant Carroll" explained the Major.

"You're both doing very well and doing the Squadron proud. Now go and relax both of you. You deserve it" said Bowman.

Carroll and McCall headed off to the mess. "What'll it be Kev?" asked Fred.

"Well, seeing as I'm surrounded by Canadians I'll have a Canadian Club please. When in Rome and all that..." said Kevin.

McCall smiled, "Two Canadian Clubs please barman" he requested.

McCall held his whiskey up and said "let's drink to our kills, shall we drink to our kills?".

"We'll drink to our kills" said Kevin as he clinked Fred's glass.

"Cheers!"

e power:

Thats a fine looking Diner pic is it a " Denny's "

Fullofit - You see, other than last October's Chicago Tribune article by the irritating Alexandra Anderson, and the unfortunate puff piece by the Shrewsbury Chronicle after he saved young Georgie, Oliver has managed to stay out of the papers, except for the Gazette and maybe the Times when he gets gonged. He's fairly confident that only the most 'inside baseball', or in this case 'inside RFC' types are aware of his exploits, and that suits Oliver just fine. His pal McCudden is the darling of the press right now.

Henri N. du Fay
Spa 94,Sgt
Plessis-Belleville
Aerodrome

4 Victory's
2 Unconfirmed

June 13, 1918.

Back into Zee mix , posted to a Patrol and ran into the Boche. I noticed our flight going into a shallow dive into some clouds. I came out the other side all alone and just above some Tri planes. Made a pass then zoomed to repeat. As i glanced up, Oh Mon Dieu, I was under a Hun Jasta. I ran for it. I guess that in the surprise I got away. Heard later the Patrol didnt get into contact. any enemy a/c

Albert, I don’t think Kevin had anything to fear from Klaus’s Pfalz. Now, that he’s moving away - even less. He would be more likely to meet Jimmy, were he alive.
Kevin is just on a roll with kills and with getting them confirmed. That has to be like … 80% success rate, no? I bet it’s because he’s drinking that Canadian Club. Must be a shock to drink that stuff after being used to drinking scotch. Congrats on getting these latest two Fokkers. They’re not that good after all.

Epower, Young Oliver is still naive. It is not the public at large that is sending special agents after him. It’s the men behind closed doors that know well of his exploits and keep close tabs on him. The Bureau of Investigation is fully functional during this time and the Bolsheviks are a menace. Winningstadt has no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clarissa was involved. And you thought Alaska Davidson was the first woman at the Bureau.

Carrick, looks like your pilot simply blundered into a Hun formation on parade. Probably an air show for one of the Prussian Generals. Nothing to worry about.

Carrick - Henri was a tad lucky there but that just shows you, sometimes you can have too many aircraft up there. The Germans must have been like....."After you"...."no after you"...."no I insist". In the end he'd scarpered.

Fullofit - Klaus will have to be careful then against those Nieuport 28's, very nimble indeed. Kevin is enjoying the accepted claims and the Canadian Club. One of them will dry up very soon I'm sure. Which will then lead to over consumption of the other one.

Epower - Did Oliver leave an unpaid bar tab somewhere? A late library book? Is it a dastardly hun plot? The suspense is huge.

Albert - In order: Never. Very likely. Time will solve that mystery.

Fullofit - Apologies for invoking that which we all fear. Shadow and Flame Cigar ash and Tulle...

Albert - A brace of Huns. So Kevin's an Ace now. My goodness, he's moving up like a rocket. Excellent work bringing the Harry Tates home without loss. Will there be a binge soon to celebrate #5?

Carrick - Sacre Bleu! Quel Dommage! Zut Alors! It's a freaking Albatros overcast Henri ran under there. Mon Dieu!
As for Denny's, it's a little known fact that Rules of London was the inspiration for the chain's decor.
_____________________________________________

À la Recherche du Temps Perdu - Part 86



15 May 1918
No. 2 School of Aeronautics
Oxford University

Time to disappear for a day or two. Wired Tom my intentions and caught the morning train to Newbury.



Remembering what Clarissa taught me during the flight from Shrewsbury, my plan was to disembark at Reading and catch the 10:20 to Didcot, then continue on to Oxford. There was little margin for error at Reading but if I missed the connection, I could always lose myself amongst the many RFC officers there.

No need for alternate plans. The engineers of the Great Western Railway came through handsomely. I arrived in Oxford at 11.15 and made my way to the Commandant’s Office.



Colonel Beor was the same dynamo I remembered from my time in Reading. He carried himself with an energy and a large presence that made it very easy to forget that he stood barely 5’4”. His reaction to my visit could only be described as ecstatic.

“Winningstad!” he cried, leaping to his feet and firing off a smart salute before I could utter a word. I’m still unused to senior officers saluting me first when they see that blood red VC ribbon.
“Gleason said you would be coming to see us. Capital!”

On learning I would spend the night he immediately summoned a Corporal who took possession of my kit and disappeared to lodgings unknown. Next I knew we commenced then a whirlwind tour of the grounds. Col. Beor was eager for current news of France and queried me relentlessly on my recent adventures with No. 84 Squadron.

Lunch in the mess where I caught up with Tom. He would be free of instructional duties at 5.00.
Corporal Martin showed me to my billet, which turned out to be one of the old Master’s rooms on the 3rd floor.

With four hours to spend at Britain’s oldest university there could be only one destination. I retrieved my notebook and made haste to the Bodleian Library.





The Bodleian holds the rights to every book ever printed in England and it sure looked like they were all here. In recent weeks, I’d taken up Father’s practice of translating 5 -10 lines of Greek each day. Now, surrounded by all these ancient texts, and with six particular volumes that I never thought to see in life open before me, I completely lost any conception of time.



Afternoon light blasted through the windows of my secluded nook. As I read on, oblivious, I finally noticed a figure standing over me. I’d no idea how long he’d been there.

He was a tall man in his middle 50s wearing the flowing professorial robes of an Oxford Don. Small round spectacles sat on a straight nose; above, his large round pate was nearly bald. He wore the fuller mustache characteristic of his generation, much like General Haig’s.



“Is this the usual fare for one of the King’s Airmen?” he said, observing the array of ancient Greek texts strewn all across the narrow table.

“I couldn’t say, sir, though I think you’d be surprised by what some of the King’s Airmen read for pleasure.”

“Of that I am certain,” he said. His eyebrows rising and his mouth turning in a smile. He bent down to take a closer look at my translation.

“May I?” he asked.
When I nodded my assent, he took up my notebook examining it in detail, then turned to the array of books.

“Oedipus Rex, an interesting accompaniment to Homer. I am most partial to that particular translation, in fact.”
He took up the Iliad and opened it to the first page, before handing it back to me.
“May I ask, how would you translate this?” he inquired.

Strange old fellow. Are all Oxford professors so eccentrically forward?

I remained mute and motionless. My suspicion grew.

“Please, Captain, indulge a nosey old academician. Your work is excellent, and my interest genuine.”

Does he really think it so?

I looked once again at the passage I had translated many times and in many variations before settling on this interpretation.

“Sing, Goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus
and its devastation, which puts pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave to their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished…”

“Another modernist, I see. Yet your interpretation smacks of the archaic, even with the blank verse. Where did you learn your Greek?”

“From my Father.”

“He is a scholar?”

“Of a kind. By day he is a farmer and a rancher.”

“You are American, and from the West by your accent.”

“California,” I replied.

“I thought as much,” he said.

“Please sit, Professor.”

He nodded and turning one chair to face me he settled in, effortlessly flicking his robes over the back in an unconscious and graceful movement.

“You must be Captain Winningstad,” he said.

How on Earth…

Noting my look of surprise, he went on, “Not so long a walk, my dear fellow. You are an American wearing the wings of the Royal Flying Corps and the ribbon of the Victoria Cross. There have been only two: the late Major Swanson, and yourself.”

I never thought about it like that. Swanson. Was it really just the two of us?

“You’re extremely well-informed, Professor…”

“My name is Murray,” he said, extending his hand.

The name itched at my memory and after we shook hands, I picked up the copy of Oedipus Rex and scanned the title page, looked at Professor Murray, then back to the title page which read, G. A. Murray, PhD.

“I told you this was my favorite translation,” he said, with an entirely straight face but not without irony.
“Will you read a passage for me, from the original?” he inquired.

I opened the book at random and began. When I finished, he sat in silence, then added “Your pronunciation is excellent but your reading…”

Without looking at the text, he began to quote the same passage, but his voice, compared to my flat and wooden recitation, was almost like music, the breadth of which ran the full scale high and low. It was like nothing I’d ever heard before.

“You make it sound like a living language, Professor. You were singing in a fashion.”

“Oh, but it is alive and the language is meant to be sung. Remember that Homer was passed down in an oral tradition.”

He handed me the book, indicating the lines with his finger.
“Can you read this passage for me, my boy??”

There was a rising excitement in the timbre of his voice but I thought I heard a hint of challenge as well. I don’t know why his words should have sounded condescending, but I heard them that way and they kindled my anger.
Ignoring the verses indicated, I recited others from memory, in a tone of low menace, my eyes glaring.

“μή τί μευ ἠύ̈τε παιδὸς ἀφαυροῦ πειρήτιζε
ἠὲ γυναικός, ἣ οὐκ οἶδεν πολεμήϊα ἔργα.
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν εὖ οἶδα μάχας τ' ἀνδροκτασίας τε:
οἶδ' ἐπὶ δεξιά, οἶδ' ἐπ' ἀριστερὰ νωμῆσαι βῶν
ἀζαλέην, τό μοι ἔστι ταλαύρινον πολεμίζειν:
οἶδα δ' ἐπαί̈ξαι μόθον ἵππων ὠκειάων:
οἶδα δ' ἐνὶ σταδίῃ δηί̈ῳ μέλπεσθαι Ἄρηϊ.
ἀλλ' οὐ γάρ σ' ἐθέλω βαλέειν τοιοῦτον ἐόντα
λάθρῃ ὀπιπεύσας, ἀλλ' ἀμφαδόν, αἴ κε τύχωμι.” ***

The harshness of my features and the edge in my voice took the Professor visibly aback. When he spoke again his voice was conciliatory.

“I do beg your pardon, Captain Winningstad. It was never my intention to offer offense.”

What the hell is wrong with you, Oliver?! Growling at the man like that. He’s just acting the teacher, which is what he is.

“My response was unduly vehement, Professor Murray. The fault is mine.”

“I speak in earnest,” he said. “You are obviously capable. Were you to apply yourself to the examinations, you could certainly earn a place here. A VC helps open many doors, those to Oxford among them.”

“This was my father’s dream, Professor. It still is. I do wish I could show him this place. Oxford was the dream of a dear friend …but I don’t know if it’s for me.”

“Who was your friend?” he inquired.

“Arthur Rhys Davids was his name.”

“The Boy from Eton,” he said. “I remember him. He took the Newcastle Fellowship in 1915 before he joined the Flying Corps. I am sorry. The war list grows too long.”

“Will you walk with me, Captain Winningstad? The Bodleian has its place but not on such a fine day, I think. Come, I will show you an Oxford that you would see only as a student and you can tell me how you obtained such facility with Greek without a University education.”
____________________________________
____________________________________

***do not be testing me as if I were some ineffectual
boy, or a woman, who knows nothing of the works of warfare.
I know well myself how to fight and kill men in battle;
I know how to turn to the right, how to turn to the left the ox-hide
tanned into a shield which is my protection in battle;
I know how to storm my way into the struggle of flying horses;
I know how to tread my measures on the grim floor of the war god.
_______________________________________



What followed could best be described as a ‘secret’ tour of Oxford. Pointing out the history of each place as we went, Professor Murray led us through all manner of forgotten courtyards and rarely trodden passages, including one which required a key to move a bookcase.


The Divinity School



When we left St. Andrews Road and stepped into Christchurch Quadrangle, I knew what he meant by not wasting the day inside the Bodleian.


Christchurch

We ended our journey in Professor Murray’s office, enjoying a glass of Amontillado. I’d never tasted it before but I would definitely do so in future. Before we parted, he pulled a book off the shelf and wrote something on the title page.

“A memento of our meeting, Captain Winningstad. My card as well,” he said. I do hope you will write when time allows.”

It was a copy of Oedipus Rex, original text on the left with a facing page translation by Prof. Murray.
After such a day it was all too easy forget the war and envision spending four years among these honey-colored stones. To follow the path of learning wherever it led at one of the world’s great universities was a very tempting prospect.
_____________________


Found Tom in the mess. It was some hours until dinner and I was ravenous. He was billeted in a house in town and boasted that his landlady served the best tea sandwiches and scones he’d ever tasted. He wasn’t wrong. Mrs. Crawford’s creations rivaled those of Chef Nibley himself.

As she doted on us, we caught each other up on the events of the last months. Tom was wounded in the leg last December. After two months in hospital, he made a full recovery and was sent here to Oxford as an instructor. He was bored to screaming from the start and eager as hell to get back to France. The only consolation was meeting the two large detachments of Americans who came through the School, Springs, Mac Grider and Cal were among them.

I told him about my time with 84 Squadron, the March retreat, and meeting the Americans attached just before I left for England. Turns out he knows Mort Newhall from Harvard. Mort is a good ten years older than the two of us, but he and Tom are both members of the Fly, which is some sort of exclusive university social club. Mort was the Quarterback of the Harvard football team 1905 – 1907, a detail he neglected to mention.

Over drinks before dinner, Tom took me around the instructor’s mess making introductions. Many of the fellows came up at the same time we did so I knew almost half of them from training together in 1916. Some of the others’ names I’d seen in the Comic Cuts.

I was apprehensive about being the guest of honor but Colonel Beor could not have been more gracious and put me completely at ease. All the instructors had seen active service, so the conversation inevitably turned to the March Retreat and current events in France. Three of the men were due for Squadron postings. Tom hoped to be the fourth. All peppered me intensely for details of the latest German aircraft. It ended up being a most enjoyable evening.

Tom had a good bottle of whiskey he was saving for a special occasion and tonight was it. We repaired to my digs and stayed up late. As it was bound to, the subject of Eliza came round at last.

“Whatever happened to that lovely nurse you were with last Summer? I quite liked her. She was a real doll, and smart, oh brother.” He let out a low whistle.

“It all went wrong. I still don’t know why really. She left. Ran away would be more accurate. Twice. Then, just last month when I nearly died from a d*mned anesthetic, she somehow finds out, and stays up the entire night watching over me. Left me a note asking why I never answered her two letters, and a St. Jude medallion that’s been in her family for three generations. I never got these letters so I don’t know her mind. I thought I understood a little about women, Tom, but I’m lost here.”

“Sounds like it’s not over, Oliver. She’s holding on to something. No woman does what you just described unless she has feelings for the man, or she’s bonkers. Where is she now?”

“Who knows? Somewhere in France. She moves frequently with a surgical team.”

“Maybe she’s playing hard to get. Maybe like you, she doesn't know what to say. Go find her, my friend. Be a shame to let that one get away.”

Gosh, the work you put into this stuff is mind blowing.




Thanks for the info epower. BTW Just doing the reports/snaps/vids over at CA in Rick's Se5a challenge is enough for me at the moment. Maybe one day I shall contribute here ...

But I have to say .... YOU'RE ALL DOING VERY WELL!

Although the business with that shameless LA lady is a bit below the belt. What next? The vote! Suffragettes will be the death of us.

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Wonderful stuff as always folks, and a most enjoyable hour's reading getting myself caught up a bit here. Also, it appears the infamous Gong Fairy will need to pay another visit in the near future.

BTW, Epower, all those wonderful photos of Oxford took me immediately back to my years in England. I attended a few lectures at both Oxford and Cambridge during my stay there a lifetime ago. Good times - good, good times.


As for Freddy, he continues to suffer as an advanced flying instructor at 49 Training Depot up at Catterick. There is talk however of promoting him to major and sending him back to France as commander of his own fighting squadron. We live in hope.

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