A Raucous Time

  *

   

  They risked a bus ride into Denman village. Rhyllann had never been there before; the cadets’ mini-bus had taken a different route to the aerodrome, a mainly private affair just outside the affluent village. Two or three, sometimes four small planes circled above them. They walked in the general direction of the planes’ take offs and landings.

  Wren’s misgivings faded in the bright sunshine. He walked with only the slightest limp through country lanes, pointing out kestrels, damselflies and rabbits until Rhyllann told him to shut up. Not that he didn’t appreciate nature; it just seemed a bit girly to go into raptures over a butterfly.

   

  Three ponies hung their heads over a gate, Wren stopped to chat and stroke them. Yet another girly thing Wren enjoyed. Every weekend he traipsed out to Epping common to muck out stables just for the chance to bounce around on some old nag’s back. Gran and Rhyllann were united in their disapproval of this activity.

  ‘You should get danger money brawd.’ Rhyllann advised one weekend, watching his cousin schooling yet another bolshy overfed under-worked pony. But Wren just smiled and carried on travelling out to Epping.

   

  Rhyllann’s stomach fluttered as Denman Aerodrome came into view. Wren ducked as a plane droned over them, dropping out the skies to skim the perimeter hedge. They watched it landing gracefully, then lurch along the runway.

  ‘Oh my god. It’s much bigger than I expected.’ Wren sounded awestruck. Rhyllann grinned – nothing prepared you for the first time. The noise, the controlled power, the nonchalant way the planes swung into the air to leave the ground behind. And the amazing part was, it was like this every time. He kept waiting for the excitement to fade, but it never did. Every atom of his being tingled at the closeness of the gravity defying machines. They watched as another plane taxied round the main field, which could have held forty rugby pitches easily. As it trundled along it seemed impossible it would ever leave the ground. Turning into the long tarmac stretch, with an increase of engine noise it picked up speed. The air billowed under the fixed wings, the front strained upwards, the aircraft seemed to judder; then bounce, and suddenly it was airborne. Wren’s head tilted right back as the plane curled a semi circle, then soared away. Turning a shining face to Rhyllann he said

  ‘And you think you can do that?’

  Rhyllann nodded. ‘I know I can!’

   

  Finding a vantage point, they spent the afternoon watching planes take off and land. Rhyllann pointed out the windsock, hanger, and behind that the control tower. As a raw recruit to the air cadets he had won the yearly cup awarded to the “Most Zealous Cadet”, much to his embarrassment and his friends’ amusement. He seemed to make friends easier at the cadets too, friends who listened to what he had to say, and even looked to him for advice. He was the youngest sergeant in the history of his squadron, and cadets two years senior in age to Rhyllann accepted orders from him. Over the past two years he’d attended every camp, and flown in just about every single and twin prop light aircraft imaginable. He named each plane as it passed overhead, adding its specification. Soon Wren recognised them too.

  I should have brought him here before, Rhyllann thought. Or made him join the Air Cadets anyway. Wren’s enthusiasm matched his own, he asked endless questions, thrilled for some reason to discover that speed was measured in knots. Rhyllann knew this subject inside out, and answered patiently, enjoying his new role as teacher. Studying the map, they plotted their route into Cornwall, Wren making a list of landmarks they should pass over on their journey. With Rhyllann’s input he calculated the time scale, and devised a respectable itinerary.

  Eventually the sun began to set, shimmering reds and golds lingered on the horizon, promising another perfect day tomorrow. Helicopter blades whipped over head as the air ambulance landed. The flurry of activity slowed. Car headlights gleamed as staff headed home for the night.

  ‘What now – do we break in?’

  Rhyllann stretched; feeling joints in his arm popping. ‘Starving aren’t you? No. I can’t fly at night. We’ll need those landmarks. Cornwall’s what – three hundred miles South West? If I’m only a few degrees off course god knows where we’ll end up. We’ll break in just before sunrise, we need to wheel out one of those babies, fuel up – then upwards and onwards!’

  ‘We can’t do anything till tomorrow? Where are we going to sleep?’ Wren massaged his lower calf, just above his damaged foot as he spoke.

  Rhyllann shrugged. ‘Here.’

  ‘Oh no. I’m not sleeping out in the open. At least let’s get back to those stables we passed. There’s bound to be a barn or shed.’

   

  So they trudged back towards Denman village. Curious ponies rushed over to surround them as they vaulted into the field, following them up to the stable yard.

  ‘Why aren’t the horses in the stables?’ Rhyllann asked, scrunching his shoulder against a whiskery muzzle nuzzling his neck.

  ‘Ponies. Not horses. It’s a warm enough night. Ponies are pretty hardy – if they were going to a show or something tomorrow they’d bring them in – but otherwise they’re better off outside. In fact …’

  Rhyllann told him to can the lecture. He wasn’t that interested.