Chapter Ten
June 18, 1940
Speech given to the House of Commons by Winston Churchill
The disastrous military events which have happened during the past fortnight have not come to me with any sense of surprise and I made it perfectly clear then that whatever happened in France would make no difference to the resolve of Britain and the British Empire to fight on, 'if necessary for years, if necessary alone."
We have, therefore, in this Island today a very large and powerful military force. This force comprises all our best-trained and our finest troops, including scores of thousands of those who have already measured their quality against the Germans and found themselves at no disadvantage. We have under arms at the present time in this Island over a million and a quarter men. Behind these we have the Local Defense Volunteers, numbering half a million, only a portion of whom, however, are yet armed with rifles or other firearms.
This brings me, naturally, to the great question of invasion from the air, and of the impending struggle between the British and German Air Forces. It seems quite clear that no invasion on a scale beyond the capacity of our land forces to crush speedily is likely to take place from the air until our Air Force has been definitely overpowered.
In the meantime, there may be raids by parachute troops and attempted descents of airborne soldiers. We should be able to give those gentry a warm reception both in the air and on the ground, if they reach it in any condition to continue the dispute.
I am happy to inform the House that our fighter strength is stronger at the present time relatively to the Germans, who have suffered terrible losses, than it has ever been; and consequently we believe ourselves possessed of the capacity to continue the war in the air under better conditions than we have ever experienced before. I look forward confidently to the exploits of our fighter pilots-these splendid men, this brilliant youth-who will have the glory of saving their native land, their island home, and all they love, from the most deadly of all attacks.
There remains, of course, the danger of bombing attacks, which will certainly be made very soon upon us by the bomber forces of the enemy. It is true that the German bomber force is superior in numbers to ours; but we have a very large bomber force also, which we shall use to strike at military targets in Germany without intermission.
Much will depend upon this; every man and every woman will have the chance to show the finest qualities of their race, and render the highest service to their cause. For all of us, at this time, whatever our sphere, our station, our occupation or our duties, it will be a help to remember the famous lines: He nothing common did or mean, Upon that memorable scene.
If Hitler can bring under his despotic control the industries of the countries he has conquered, this will add greatly to his already vast armament output. On the other hand, this will not happen immediately, and we are now assured of immense, continuous and increasing support in supplies and munitions of all kinds from the United States; and especially of aeroplanes and pilots from the Dominions and across the oceans coming from regions which are beyond the reach of enemy bombers.
What General Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilization. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us.
Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this Island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science.
Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, "This was their finest hour."
After listening to Winston Churchill’s speech, Eric walked with Edith at the Air Transport Auxiliary headquarters at the White Waltham Airfield, watching the hive of activity, and the stream of new, repaired and damaged military aircraft. Eric took her hand and held it, but seemed lost in thought. She looked at his careworn expression, and railed quietly at the injustice of having to get to know someone in wartime, in wartime conditions. Knowing a bit already about how Eric’s mind worked, she tried distracting him with details.
“The original plan was that in the ATA, we would carry personnel, mail and medical supplies” said Edith, “but then the pilots were needed immediately to work with the RAF ferry pools. “I got into the ferry pool by the skin of my teeth – they required female pilots to have 500 hours of flying time, minimum.”
“Oh really?” asked Eric, surprised.
“Yes, and that’s twice as much as a male ferry pilot would need!”
A lorry carrying crates of parts swung into a rut with a puddle and they leaned back in the nick of time, as a wide swathe of muddy water leapt into the air.
“Well that was a close call” said Eric, and then smiled slightly at the irony, defending themselves against mud when the entire country was under threat of invasion. “We mustn’t be out of form for the invasion I dare say.”
Eric looked over all the variety of planes at the airbase and paused for a moment.
“What has been your favorite plane to fly so far?” he asked, feeling an impulse to stop there with a ray of sunshine and see it dance on her hair and green eyes.
Edith raised her hand to shield her eyes and looked at the rows of planes.
“Well, I’ve been trained to fly in 38 types of aircraft” she said, and Eric coughed, in a combination of a gasp and sputter, which caused Edith to frown and then to grin, as she yanked on his arm, and then patted him on the back, as if she was burping a baby.
“There there, Eric, it’s ok. Don’t feel bad that you can only count the number of planes you’ve flown on one hand.” and she smiled with feigned concern.
“Well I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Eric, under his breath, admiring Edith.
“Well Hello Edith, what have you brought with you, there?” asked a friendly voice; they looked down and a short man looked up at them with his one good eye, un self-conscious.
“Hello John.” Edith said.
“John, meet Eric. John is a fellow ferry pilot, and his favorite type of plane to fly is the de Havilland Mosquito.”
“Pleased to meet you John. So I take it that they’re flexible about eyes and legs and that sort of thing?” asked Eric, who had seen people there at the base who looked as though they were ferry pilots but were missing legs, or arms.
“Yes, yes – it’s a unique feature here – as long as you can get the job done, we’ll take you. Edith has said good things about you. So you fly with Douglas Bader’s squadron? I’ve not met him but I believe he stands on two artificial legs, yes?”
“Quite right” said Eric. “And he’s a devilishly good pilot too, and an Ace at that.”
“Bahhh!” said John, thumping his clipboard. “Balderdash. Edith tells me that you’ve done a number on the Jerries yourself. As they used to say in the Navy – we’ll thump it to them again and again!” He screwed his face up in what he presumably thought was a menacing glare. “It’s too bad that we can’t sail around to Germany in the old style ship with knives between our teeth and swords and pistols and go yardarm to yardarm with the Jerries!”
Edith shooed John away. “Run along now John and go and deliver some more planes before Gerard sees you dawdling.”
“Who is Gerard?” asked Eric.
“Gerard d'Erlanger, who is in charge of the Air Transport Auxiliary. And I suppose it is a bit of a ragtag group of people. Gerard recruits pilots who are considered to be unsuitable for the Royal Air Force by reason of age or fitness. Some say that ATA means ‘Ancient and Tattered Airmen.’”
“Ancient Tattered Airwomen, just to be equal” said Eric, nodding and then grinned as Edith stopped and frowned.
“Hrrrmmmph” she muttered, as they walked on. “The ATA also takes pilots from neutral countries and, notably, women pilots.” she said, with emphasis.
“So how does the training work, then?” Eric asked, as Edith stopped to scratch the ears of a dog that was no one’s in particular, who was planted in the middle of a crossroads at the base.
“Do they let dogs fly?” he asked, and Edith pursed her lips.
“No. The training starts in single-engine aircraft, and you basically get experience in a single class of aircraft, flying any and every aircraft in that class. That way, you get to advance based on your own capabilities and not on any rigid timetable” she said.
“That sounds sensible.” Eric liked the feel of the place, the activity, the way that there was always something going on – no waiting for the inevitable scramble. He took in a deep breathe, ready to bring to the surface what must have been bubbling down below for awhile in a compartment, now released. Let loose the dogs of war, and love?
“I think something in the early summer sun is getting to my head, but I find myself wondering, Edith, well . . . “ and he stopped, and looked down at her in a particularly direct and lingering way, and her pulse rose a little, and she felt some butterflies nearby. Easy does it dearie, he’s just a man.
“. . . well, what do you think you’ll want to do after the war?” he asked, and took another breath, and felt as if a few cobwebs had been cleared away from his heart.
“I mean, here we are at an airbase, England is about to be invaded, we might neither of us survive the Summer, much less the war . . . but you’re a wonderful girl.” he said.
Edith gave him a measured stare, searching. Now you’re talking, you dim-headed poet pilot. Now you’re finally talking. She waited, enjoying his discomfiture.
“What I mean to say is, life is short, right?” Eric was surprised he was even talking this way. One minute he was listening to Winston Churchill talking about defending the Island of Britain to the death, and the next minute he was feeling the warm hands of a female ferry pilot and losing his head.
“Yes, Eric Wallace, life is short” she said. “And?” And she waited.
“Well, Edith, I wonder if you’d consider being my girl.” he said, unprepared for exactly how to have this conversation, seeing as how it had come so suddenly. They had come to know each other reasonably well, as well as they could under the circumstances.
“Your girl?” she asked, warmly. How is it that an Oxford-educated poet, who has faced death in the sky, could have trouble finding the right words for a conversation like this? Perhaps there is the boy inside the man.
“Ah, quite. What I mean to say is, would you consider becoming my wife?” asked Eric, and gulped, astonished, knowing that it was the right time, the right place, that it reflected where his heart was really at – and still it was a surprise.
“Now I don’t have a ring . . . “
And Edith wrapped her arms around him and gave him a long, languorous kiss, which gained a few whistles and even a few claps and “Here, here!” and “Huzzah!”. And Eric’s surprised expression softened as her returned the affection, and then collecting herself after the kiss, Edith was surprised to find herself blushing. Well, well, dearie, now that’s better as a scrap of life to be savored than a 100 hundred hours in a Spitfire, I’ll warrant.
Eric looked up in the sky as they walked hand in hand, thinking about the advice that he’d been given, about the risks of getting involved with someone on the ground that you started caring about, and how it could affect the amount of risk and caution you’d have in the air.
He looked at Edith, who was humming, their hands slightly swinging, as they walked the edges of the White Waltham airfield in the summer sun. Edith knows what’s at stake, and accepts it. Neither one of us can count on anything, but one thing we can do is to live each day as it comes, and live fully while we can. And if we survive this war, what stories we’ll have to tell! And what a legacy we’ll have to pass along. May it be so.