Yeates - Winged Victory

WINGED VICTORY

V. M. Yeates

V M Yeates 2014

V M Yeates has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published 1934 by Jonathan Cape.

This edition published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2014.

To

HENRY WILLIAMSON

at whose suggestion this book was begun , with whose

encouragement and help it was written and ended

Table of Contents

PHASE ONE

I

What makes you think you think with your head? inquired Cundall, alluding to a remark of Williamsons. If ever you get a bullet in your seat, Im sure youll find it very disturbing to thought. How could that be, if you think with your head only? You might as well say that all business is done in London because that is the seat of government. What about the solar plexus, or Birmingham; the liver, or Manchester? What the liver thinks today, the brain thinks tomorrow. After all, the brain is only part of the body, and cerebration is only part of thinking. Havent you noticed that a fat man never thinks in the same way as a thin man?

The woman brought their eggs and chips and coffee and two bottles of wine, a Muscat and a claret, for their choice.

One bottlell be enough, wont it? suggested Williamson.

To start with anyhow. Lets have the Muscat, said Allen.

Cundall addressed the woman. Nous voulons le Muscat sil vous plait madame. Madame was the proprietress of the tiny estaminet in the tiny village of Izel-le-Hameau. It was a mile or so from the aerodrome by the path through the fields.

Two gunner subalterns came in for a quick drink. Hullo Flying Corps, said one, hows life?

Pretty quiet just now. The Huns have got wind up, Williamson replied.

Heard about this big push the Huns are supposed to be going to make any minute?

Heard about it! exclaimed Tom Cundall, my God, we hear of nothing else. Were not particularly looking forward to it as weve got to go down and shoot it up when it does come.

Dont worry, said the other gunner. Personally I dont believe Jerryll dare come over at all, but if he does all the Flying Corpsll have to do will be to count the corpses.

H.Q. seems windy about it, Williamson commented. Sending round reams of bumf.

Dont you believe it. They want everyone keyed up, thats all. They know damn well Jerry cant come over against field artillery and machine guns without getting shot to pieces. By God, I wish the old Hun would come over. Weve got every yard zoned and hell never get as far as our wire. Itll be the biggest shoot-up ever. They havent even got any tanks.

Theyve got some guns though, Tom remarked.

Our front is stiff with them, too; and ammunition, I dont mind telling you.

The gunners swallowed their drink. Well, we must be off. Cheerio.

Cheerio.

*

They seem confident enough, said Allen when the gunners had gone.

The wish is father to the thought, answered Williamson. You get like that, all blooded up and longing to smash the fellow across the way. Its a different life from ours.

Thank God for that, said Cundall. I took up flying with that hope. PBI certainly didnt suit me.

I wish Id had the experience. Allen was very young, and out for the first time.

You should have mine if it were transferable, offered Williamson.

Marvellous how these Frenchwomen can cook, Cundall remarked. Even a meal of fried eggs and potatoes has style about it. The French have always been attentive to the practical needs of life. In England weve been worrying our heads about political things and theories for a thousand years and neglecting the basis of living. Look how we are, or were, fed. Anyone can make a fortune in England by advertising a remedy for indigestion.

Lets have another bottle of wine. Allen liked to get Cundall talking. He was young enough to admire his flow of verbiage, even if it was sometimes faintly professorial.

Williamson commented on what Cundall had been saying. Doesnt that show Englishwomen have failed in comparison with Englishmen? Englishmen have built up what men ought to build up. Look what they have done in science and literature. Yet their womenfolk cant even feed them properly. They are a worthless lot.

Hear, hear, Cundall agreed: but Allen revolted. Women have been what men have let them be. What chance have they had in a man-ruled world?

Plenty of chance to learn cooking, Cundall replied. I agree with Bill. Women are inferior creatures, mentally, physically, morally. He had had the misfortune a few months previously to be in love with a married woman who used him to make her husband jealous, and then dismissed him. He had got over it, but it left him with a tendency to amuse himself with misogynistic talk; especially when Allen was listening.

Morally? Allen was almost indignant. Dont talk rot. Everyone knows they are better than men are.

Good God, exclaimed Cundall. Pass the wine, Bill. Isnt England the paradise of the enthusiastic amateur, who has almost got official recognition as part of the war? Arent there already enough war babies to supply a division to the B.E.F. in a few years? And look at the way they gloat over the war.

But Allen interrupted indignantly, Gloat, you say. My God, dyou think a mother likes to hear of her sons being killed?

Not usually, though they like the importance it lends them. They have to pay for their luxuries sometimes.

Rot, said Allen; you know youre talking nonsense. Its rotten for women. Its worse to wait at home than go and get on with the war.

You dont seem to have convinced the lad, Tom, said Williamson. Its no use telling the truth to the very young. The bitter, old, and wrinkled truth. They wont believe it. They have to find it out for themselves.

Lots of them never do. I doubt whether Allen will ever grow up mentally, even if he lives to be seventy-seven. He will go on thinking women are angels, however much they cheat him sexually and upset his digestion.

Oh shut up, Cundall. You talk like some old bird whos been unhappily married for twenty years. Lets have another bottle of wine. Cheer you up.

Youll get blotto, drinking at this rate, and in your love for all the sex youll probably assault the woman here.

Not me. Theres only one Im interested in.

Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, said Williamson. Youre neglecting a lot of deserving young women, Im sure. An intrepid young birdman like you; tall, good-looking, plenty of money, in pink breeches and trench boots. You must have dozens of them running after you.

Dry up, Bill. You and Cundall do nothing but rot. I like you, and all that, but I wish youd talk sense sometimes. Ive got the only girl that matters to me, and what do I care about the others?

Youll find out when youve been married a year or two, replied Cundall.

Rot, you arid cynic. Allen pulled a case from his pocket and tenderly took a photograph from it. He handed it to Cundall, who saw the representation of a passable young woman very like a million other passable young women. He glanced up at Allen, and, perceiving how he felt about it, said Allen, my son, I congratulate you. Many happy years. He lifted his glass, and he and Williamson drank the toast.

Allen could hardly speak, being near to tears of alcoholic emotion. Thanks, he said after a little, and then, This bloody war.

Hullo! exclaimed Williamson, who wants cheering up now? You wait till its over and we go home conquering heroes. We wont half have a time.

Until our blood moneys spent, and then therell be hell to pay.

Why?

Theyll expect us to settle down to three hundred a year jobs while the profiteers have the good time. Youll see.

My God, were not going to put up with that! Allen said indignantly. Were doing the fighting and were going to have a say in things when its over. The first people wholl have to be considered will be the fellows whove done the fighting. The profiteers will have to fork out or by God well shoot em.