Chapter 1

I thought Faith might cry when I presented the engagement ring to her and she did. Why is it women must make a puddle of everything? It was official now and after having our photograph taken together the announcement of our engagement would hit the papers. I took her to dinner at the Savoy. It was a special night for both of us. She spent the night at Beck’s tucked up in a guest room down the hall from me. Beck was genuinely happy for both of us. He’d lost his snobbish attitude toward the Holcombes with his brother married to her sister.

The next morning I returned with Faith to Holcombe House  and after a luncheon I took the four o’clock train to London. I was hard put to leave her. The next day I had things to attend prior to my leaving for Dover. I’d had  a new uniform tailored along with other things that needed replacing. I was ready once again for the fray.

Beck went with me to the train station and we said good-bye. I felt for him being left alone in London. He seemed so alone there at the station. I told him I’d write and he said I’d better.

We hadn’t much of a spring that year and not what you might think as summer. Dover was rain and gale force winds but our time at Dover was short lived. Once the squadron assembled we were sent to Netheravon in Whiltshire. There followed six weeks of training without the planes we were to fly. They didn’t arrive until November. I now had a Bristol Scout outfitted with a 7.7mm Lewis machine gun. It was a different animal from the Sopwith Tabloid and I had to learn to fly all over again. Once I got it I loved it. The maneuverability of the plane was excellent. The Biff as it was called, was originally built as a racer and so I had speed on my side now along with a gun.

Of course I had to qualify when I joined up but I have an aversion to guns especially hand guns. I’d never fired mine at anything other than a target. I soon became friends with my machine gun. It and my ability as a pilot was my life preserver. I was now a fighter pilot and I had obtained the rank of Lieutenant. Our Captain was a jolly fellow who had 10 kills to his credit. He was an Ace.  He set an example for us to follow I suppose

Our squadron was made up of different types of planes including heavy bombers. My job was to protect the bombers. When we finally went aloft we headed for Germany. It was do or die time now and so I did…do. I shot a plane down. My first kill. I’d killed a plane and I tried not to think of the pilot. That was the first one after that I just shot him out of the sky and didn’t think at all. You couldn’t and you knew if you didn’t shoot him he’d shoot you.

I’d become a predator flying high and swooping down in my little plane picking off the enemy’s planes. I was quick and sure and soon the black marks on my plane began to add up. My mechanic kept up with it and one day I borrowed his brush and painted  “Blackstone”  on the side of the cockpit.

“What’s Blackstone?” He asked.

“The name of my home, “ I answered handing him back his brush.

“Oh I see. Taking a bit of it with you, eh?”

It reminded me what I was fighting for.

I should say here that escorting bombers over Germany was not as simple as swooping and killing. They fought back and sometimes a chase would ensue until somebody fell. Fortunately it wasn’t me. We did lose a plane and more came home limping and trailing smoke. It was war after all.

The RFC provided good facilities for its flyers. We had a little recreation hut where you could play pool or darts. We had decent food and dry bunks. We were better off than the soldiers on the ground.

I got a letter from Beth.

Hello there Sweets,

Sorry I haven’t written but I’ve been kind of busy here. I hope you’re still alive I think somebody would let me know if you weren’t. I know you’re flying. Better up there than down here in the muck. I’m working all the time and barely get a moment.

The roads here are worse than Blackstone’s, ha, ha. I’m still driving an ambulance hauling the poor fellows back to the field hospital. Don’t know if anybody told you but I’m at Verdun now. You know me I just follow the crowd.

I hear it’s a new year now but it looks like the old one. Kisses to you.

Beth

I had no idea she was at the front. Verdun…good Lord. A new year brought back memories of the last one we shared. I had a special affection for Beth.

Of Cutty I heard little. I knew he was under Commander Trenchard in France, as I was, whose new edit was to take the fight to the enemy across the lines into their territory. I already knew how dangerous that was. In my now obsolete little Bristol Scout I’d been doing that almost daily.

He was a terrible letter writer and what news of him I got came through Faith via Hope.  I sent him a message that I had a German pen for him. He sent back that he had the ink. We were okay.

Bit of a lark one day. We were flying our mission and I spotted a plane and took off after it. I soon found he had friends with him. There were three of them. I hopped around like a bee stinging one then another and chased them home. I spotted their airdrome and alerted one of our bombers. They fly no more.

I spent a little time on the ground whilst my Bristol Scout was fitted with a new gun. A forward mounted machine gun. I should have been using that time to grow a third arm. My plane is a weapon. The fighting grew more intense. There were days I spent ten hours in the air only coming down to refuel and then back up again into the clouds.

I received word from Beck that Rhys-Carlton had died of wounds received at Ypres.  He was the first of our group to go. The next was even more heart rendering. Beth succumbed to gas at Verdun. It upset me so that after an emotional bout with myself in my quarters I went up. I went up high above it all.

I thought myself alone up there until something went sparking by my head. We played cat and mouse for awhile but there was no doubt in my mind but that he was going down that day. I put my plane at risk using some spectacular maneuvers  and I got shot up a bit but that German Fokker went down.

I’d heard many times from flyers that if you meet up with a Fokker plane you’d better have back up or high tail it home. It wasn’t true. They could be killed. I had been unaware that the fight was observed by a recon plane. I was credited with the kill. I was considered an Ace but was in no mood to celebrate.

It just kept coming. Our Captain went down and we lost a bomber. Too many green pilots in the air making foolish moves and getting themselves killed. I was promoted to Captain. I began running my hand over Blackstone before I climbed into my cockpit. I needed reassurance; a touchstone for luck. My men must have picked up on it they painted black wings on their planes and Blackstone. A few of them were still with me from our days in recon and again they were Blackstone’s Wing.

Chapter 2

In the midst battle I was called to my Commander’s quarters and given leave. I couldn’t believe it. At a time when every experienced pilot was gold I was given leave. I protested and yes I was overdue, way overdue for leave but now…why now? He had no answers for me and so I flew to Dover and took a train to London.

The streets were full of horses and carriages. I took a cab to Beck’s. At first I didn’t think anyone was home until a maid opened the door and without a word led me to Beck.

He turned from his meager fire. “I called you home…it’s…Cutty.”

I staggered and moved to the back of a chair. “No.”

“I’m sorry…John.” He came apart and I soon followed. We held each other in grief.

“I’ve been home with Mother and Father and only just came back. There’s…there isn’t …a body.”

“Oh, God.” I moved to a sofa and sat down. I couldn’t’ believe it. It wouldn’t sink in. I expected to see him come in the doorway with that silly crooked smile of his. “I can’t grasp it.”

“It’s an ugly fact. Father got a telegram a week Monday and a letter came a few days later from his Commander. John he’s to be awarded the Victoria Cross…posthumously.  He’s had a heroic go of it.”

“Where’s Hope?”

“At Holcombe House. I took her home with me and brought her back yesterday. She’s, ah, doing as well as she can.  I hope you don’t mind me pulling a few strings to get you home. I couldn’t send that kind of news in a telegram.”

“No, no, Beck…it’s…thank you.”

“There was a service for him held on Sunday at our church. I’d hoped you’d get back in time. It was well done. I’m just so very , very sorry.”

“He was the best friend I’ll ever have besides you. A brother. I don’t think…I’ll never forget him. He was a special man.”

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do. If you want to go to Holcombe House I’ll go with you. There were some things here of Cutty’s that I thought Hope might want. Photographs and…I put one aside for you.”

It was then I noticed the gaiters he was wearing and looked over his attire.

“Beck…what have you done?”

“Oh, the uniform. It’s not recent, John. I didn’t run out and join up because of Cutty. I’ve been in uniform for some time. I’ll probably never see field action I’m attached to General Hochkiss.”

“Don’t ever let them send you to the field of action. The Army is the worst…you won’t come back.”

We looked at one another for a moment.

“I know about Beth.”

“It’s a dirty sickening wretched place.” I cried.

“I remember the day we wanted to go to France. A whim…we almost did.”

“If we could have driven across the channel we probably would have. It was only Peter’s sea sickness that kept us feet up in my study.” I rose and paced around for a bit. “Of course I want to go to Holcombe House.”

We took the train and as we moved through London I could see burned out shells of houses and businesses. “I didn’t realize it was so bad here.”

“It’s mostly fire bombs but still they do the job. I’d say all the people we knew have left London.”

“Any word about Davies?”

“No and I take that as good news. He’s in the navy you know.”

“One of their little Bristol’s took out a Zeppelin over the Channel.”

“You haven’t been wounded or anything have you?”

“No nothing serious. A few cuts and burns. I got a cut right up here next to my hairline. Went right through my helmet. Blood started pouring down and I had no idea how bad it was. I couldn’t very well stop and check it. When I finally got on the ground again I was taken right to a medical team. My face was covered in dried blood. Very carefully they removed my helmet to find a two inch cut that didn’t even require stitches but they put in a couple just for show. All I needed was a good wash.”

“You’d better be careful, John.”

“I try to be. Look there is that Holcombe’s church?”

“Three weeks ago it was hit…errant bomb.”

“But you can see it from the house…Beck?”

He only looked at me.

At the station we got a ride on a farm wagon to Holcombe House. I looked as we got off the wagon and yes you could see the remains of the church. It was too damned close.

Hope appeared to be numb. We shed a few tears over Cutty. She talked with Beck and then she left us with Charity comforting her as best she could. Faith had waited patiently but now she was in my arms. It was rather awkward with an audience but I was beyond that now. Her mother and aunt were there and Beck, of course.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the church?” I asked.

“Oh, I…it wasn’t…”

“Yes it was don’t you know that this house sits right beneath a flight route to London? It does.”

“We’ve cellars that go on forever…”

“I don’t care where they go.” I took her hands in mine. “I want you to go to Blackstone. You’ll be safe there.”

“Oh…no, John, I couldn’t …I can’t  leave Mother and Hope and…”

“Yes you can, Faith, I can’t fight this war knowing you are not safe. I couldn’t possibly do what I have to. If something happened to you I’d simply fall from the sky.”

“Oh, John.” I held her closely for a moment.

“I want you to pack what you need. The rest can come later.”

“I can’t-“

“You’d better do as he says, Faith.” Her mother spoke and looked into my eyes. She understood.

“It’ll be all right, Mrs. Holcombe, there’s Peter to see to things and she’ll have company. There are other people in the house as well.”

“Well…go along girl and get your  things.” Her mother sent her off. “It will do her good, Sir, to get away from here. She’s been arm in arm with Hope and while we all feel Hope’s pain, Faith will dwell on it and imagine you will be next. We pray that doesn’t happen.”

“What sort of cellars have you got here, Mrs. Holcombe?” Beck asked.

While he and Mrs. Holcombe discussed the cellars, I roamed around the room impatient now to get on to Blackstone.

Her aunt stood up, “I think we might do better than a farm wagon.” She took herself off through the house.

“It’s awfully quiet here have you still got your women and children?” I asked.

“Oh yes but we don’t hear them over here. I’ve got five families now all good people. Hope’s been spelling Faith in the school room and now it will give her something to do. Charity is down for a few days. The wounded, Sir, I’ve never seen the like.”

“Neither have I, Mrs. Holcombe, and I hope never to see it again in my lifetime.”

But I did see it as we waited at the station for our train a hospital train went by and it seemed to stretch for miles. The old gentleman waiting with us removed his hat and held it over his heart.

We were driven to the station in Holcombe’s old carriage by a young woman who was living at the house. It was a grand looking carriage and quite old. The mules that pulled it must have felt very special.

I held on to Faith’s hand. She still couldn’t believe she was going to Blackstone with me. Beck saw her luggage onto the train and we were off to London for the night.

Will you be coming with us, Beck?”

“No, Faith, I’ve got to go back to work. I wish I could…I really do wish it.”

I wished it too. He was so alone and needed Maddie with him. We all needed Cutty and would for a long time. I remembered the scar he had over his eye the last time I saw him. He never told us about  his heroic feats. I supposed a write up would be in the paper when the Victoria Cross was awarded.

On the way to Blackstone on the train I took Faith’s hand and said,  “What I’m doing is highly irregular. I mean we aren’t married…yet. I once told your mother that my intentions were honorable and with you it couldn’t be anything but marriage. Remember that if I get too close. Push me back and put me in my place because that’s the way I want it to be. I love you and I respect you and I want to do what is right.”

“I’ll try and remember.” She kissed my hand and smiled. I hoped she had a good memory.

Chapter 3

Peter met us at the station and this time he was upset about the telegram coming as it did from Beck. It hadn’t been that long he’d gotten one from him about Cutty. He said how sorry he was about Cutty and asked about me and my condition. He was awfully glad to see Faith and extended his welcome to Blackstone.

He gave a running account of Blackstone before we arrived. “I’ve closed off the main reception rooms and the dining room. We use the library and the small parlor. The ladies and Mrs. Monckton have their meals upstairs in their sitting room. We’ve moved furniture about , John, and are using a smaller round table in the parlor for meals. It’s easier to heat the smaller rooms.”

“And how is Mrs. Dillon?” I asked.

“Jean is doing well. We’ve got past the Mr. and Mrs., John. “Little Bobby’s had his 6^th birthday now.

“We’ve cut the electricity off and have gone back to candles. I know it’s an inconvenience but gas is out of the question and petrol is…”

“Nonexistent. I know, Peter. At least the air here is clean. London smells of horse and acrid smoke from burnt out houses.”

“I’m glad you’ve come if only for a while but I’m very sorry for the reason.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” Faith exclaimed as I set her down from the car.

“It’s beautiful because you’re here.” I grabbed a quick kiss before Mr. Makewell opened the door.

“Ah Mr. Makewell, how are you?”

“Fine, Sir, and you all together are we?”

“All together. Miss Holcombe has luggage.”

“Thank you , Sir.”

“I told them to get the pink room ready, John, I hope that was the thing to do?”

“Pink room? I didn’t know we had one. Shall we go find it while tea is being made ready?” I took her arm and we went up stairs and began opening doors like children. The pink room was open already as Mr. Makewell had brought her bags up. I suppose it was pink although only the bed hangings were pink.

“What do you think will this do m’lady or would a green or blue room?”

“John,” she laughed lightly. “This is lovely…thank you.”

“I won’t let you leave now. I hope you know that. When I come home, Faith…” Her arms went around my neck and I kissed her soundly.

A sound from the open doorway and we parted to see Masie, one of the two maids left at Blackstone standing ready with a slight blush.

“You may as well get used to that, Masie.” I took Faith’s hand and we went back downstairs for tea.

“Mr. Makewell?” He paused in the hall with a tea tray. I began calling him Mr. Makewell when I first became Lord of Blackstone. My father called him Makewell  and though I know he never gave it a thought as a butler he wouldn’t have expected any other form of address. I respected him and the way he kept things going behind the scenes.

“I wonder if you might find Miss Holcombe a maid. I know it’s hard nowadays to find anyone as they’re all off working for the war but if you might  have a look?”

“Yes, Sir, may I ask who might be interviewing?”

I looked at Faith, “Miss Holcombe.”

“John, I-“

“You are to be mistress of Blackstone so you might as well get used to it.”

I had calls to make. I called on the Beckinsdales to offer my condolences and received theirs in return. Cutty was like a brother to me. It still didn’t seem real that were talking about him in the past tense. Lord Beckinsdale had aged considerably since I’d last seen him in London. His face was flushed and he didn’t stand while we were there. I took Faith with me. We also received congratulations on our engagement.

We also paid a call to Beth’s parents. When I said I’d received one letter from her, her father handed me three they’d received and I read through them hearing her voice. When I handed them back my face was wet and I didn’t know how it got that way.

I took the car since it was only a few miles from one to the other. Faith said to me once we were in the car after leaving Beth’s, “You cared for her a great deal didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. She was a good friend to me. She didn’t care for men, you know? I may have been an exception. I think you should know that.”

She put her hand on my arm, “I’m glad. She was a fun girl at the May party.”

“Yes…well.” I put the car in gear and we left for Blackstone.

I wrote to Rhys-Carlton’s family as they were too far away in Oxford for me to take the car.

Faith was introduced to Mrs. Dillon and they immediately became Faith and Jean. Faith asked if she might tutor Bobby. Jean laughed at the thought of a lady tutoring her son but Faith was serious and explained what she’d been doing at Holcombe House. I could see they would get on fine.

I had a week of this and it was enough to see what my life might be like when the war was over and we could be married.

I went by the church yard. Maddie said a stone had been placed in the family plot for Cutty. I knew his body wasn’t there but his spirit had to be back here. “Good-bye, Cutty.”

Peter took me to the station and waited around with me for the train. “May be picking you up on horseback next time you come.”

Peter had been playing a game with the home farm. They got a petrol allowance since they were providing produce for the war. He halved the petrol with the farm and when they ran out they plowed with horses and complained the allowance wasn’t enough.

I smiled, “Have  a look out for a carriage on the property somewhere. I’ll bet you’ll find one. I rode in a very fine carriage pulled by two nice mannered mules from Holcombe House to the station.”

“If I do find it it’ll be a come down for you…we don’t have mules.”

“Take care of it all for me, Peter, and especially Faith. I’ve got all my eggs in one basket now.”

“Don’t worry, John.”

“Right.” I hugged him and looked down the track for the train I could hear approaching.

I spent the night at Beck’s although he wasn’t there. He’d gone to wherever his military quarters were. Funny he never said he’d joined up but that was Beck he went quietly about his life. He left me a note.

John, I wanted to thank you for your support of me and my family in our time of sorrow. I want you to know I will be there to support you and yours in happier times – Beck.

I left him a good bottle of whiskey from Blackstone.

The train ride back to Dover was rather bleak. It was taking me away from everything I loved and back to hell.

I climbed into my newly fitted Bristol Scout and crossed the channel.

Chapter 4

The battlefield had now moved to the Somme. The French commander and British had joined forces flying their squadrons together. I now had 10 in my wing. British guns launched the battle of the Somme at the end of June. It was a battle so intense that the air hung with explosives over the enemy lines. Trenches were flattened and the ground pocked and anything standing obliterated.

For nine days we never let up. We bombed their airdromes, supply lines, trucks anything moving or standing still. In one day 15 of their observation balloons were taken down. Anything that could fly was sent up in squadron rotation. German planes were denied airspace over the Somme.

With the inferno in the air a plane would fly low with a klaxon horn signaling the artillery barrage to move forward toward the advancing infantry. However on July 1 after a bombardment by 66,000 tommies the klaxon flew low to signal but few answered. The Germans cannoneers and machine gunners  had burrowed deep under cover and mowed down the British infantry. By the end of the day 60,000 casualties lay on the torn earth. The British fell in larger numbers than ever before in history. It had been a successful day in the air but a disaster on the ground.

I fell into my cot totally exhausted but soon my bat man woke me to say an Army Captain wished to speak with me. I wearily pulled on my clothes and  went out to meet with him.

“You are Blackstone?” he asked.

“Blackwell, Blackstone is the name of my estate. How can I help you?”

“Is there a place we might sit for a moment?”

I invited him to my quarters. I could tell he was about to impart some bad news to me.

“I’m very sorry to report that Robert Dillon was killed today.”

My mind went blank.

“Dillon…Oh, oh.” It dawned on me that it was Jean’s husband. I explained the situation with Jean and her son. He was relieved that it wasn’t one of my people.

“I saw the name Blackstone as the address and I thought…well it’s sad all the same. I’m writing letters.”

“Yes it is sad. Do you have many letters to write?”

“105, today. And you?”

“None, thank God.” I did thank God and I thanked Cutty too for introducing me to the air otherwise I might have been on the ground today. After he left I thought about Jean and about Peter. Without doubt  Peter would be consoling Jean.

The Captain wasn’t the first to mistake me for Blackstone and I was aware that my fliers when not calling me Captain or Sir referred to me as Blackstone. I didn’t mind it at all.

The summer slogged on we seemed to be winning the air war and had them on the run. In September 370 German troops surrendered to a machine gunning British plane by waving a white handkerchief.  A party of Leicester infantry took over.

I nearly shot myself out of the air once.  I shot my machine gun and the synchronizer jammed and took out half a propeller. Fortunately I was near our lines and glided safely to ground. I was given a French Nieuport 16 to fly. It’s a fast little plane  and climbs beautifully. Our top ace is a young man  of 19 years. I feel an old man at 27.

Our air campaign came at a cost. 211 casualties by the end of October. I lost one, an American. We were all nationalities in France. Americans were flying with the French and British. We were glad for all the help we could get. The Americans were great fun and often we would migrate to their quarters for a drink or a game of cards.  They had a gramophone and a cook taken from the Ritz in Paris. We ate well at their table. I considered myself British though at times my accent gave me away and explanations of some sort would follow.

In September I was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for my work. Photographed and interviewed I imagine Peter will have something to cut out of the newspapers. I am so weary of it all. So weary.

By the end of the year Germany was coming back strong in the air. They had a new breed of Albatross planes and new pilots.  An ace was emerging who painted his plane blood red. Manfred Von Richthofen. The French called him the Red Devil. They flew in tight formation. They were hunters and deadly.

The casualty numbers were staggering by the time the year came to an end. It was reported that over 2 million men lost their lives on both sides. One can hardly imagine two million men. Over a third of a million French lost their lives at Verdun alone. We’d pushed them back but a new line was forming called the Hindenburg Line. As the Germans retreated they put torch to anything that might be useful. They were fortifying their new position and the air was guarded by the new breed.

Following the edit of taking the fight to the enemy we flew into them. Inexperienced  pilots were fodder for their propellers. Even experienced ones like myself often came back trailing smoke praying you got across the line before the damned thing caught fire. I’ve had many near misses but it does not do to dwell on them. I’m an aggressive fighter and if I get caught unawares it is my fault and mine to correct. We were still flying formation but some days it was every man for himself. Those were dangerous days. My heart always skipped a beat when I saw a pilot peel off and go after the enemy on his own.

We were losing aces, men we couldn’t afford to lose. They were taking back the skies we’d fought so hard to hold. We needed more pilots and better planes. This Von Richthofen has 33 kills to his credit…33.

The United States declared war on Germany 6 April, 1917.

By mid April our nemesis, the Red Devil, had 45 kills.  We launched a terrific barrage on Arras to cover an assault on the Hindenburg line. They pushed us back, cut up our infantry and killed our planes. I managed to get mine to safety before it crashed and came away with a broken arm. I had a wearing dogfight with Lothar, the Red Devil’s brother. I know I sent him down leaking fuel but I have since heard he survived. Pity. We lost 152 planes in April of 1917. It has hence been called Bloody April.

It wasn’t a bad beak but enough to keep me from flying. I suppose living on adrenalin takes its toll after awhile. I sank deep in to my cot for days only coming up to map out the orders we were given and then going back down. There were others unfit to fly from injuries and we spent some time together. There is a tight brotherhood amongst our wing. Not a day went by that someone didn’t stop by to inquire, bring me reading material or something special from the American’s cook.

I had not been home in a year. I longed for it and for Faith. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get there. All leave had been cancelled and I knew better than to inquire if I might pop home for a bit. I wrote letters with my good right hand. I usually told Peter what was going on in my battlefield but I didn’t tell Faith. The broken arm wasn’t written.

Cutty had been gone for a year. It still wasn’t real to me. When I thought of him he was out here with me. Flying with his squadron taking out those observation balloons and any fighter that got in his way. I had the pen and he had the ink…we were okay then. I hated the war.

By June I was considered fit for duty and introduced to another new plane. It was another Sopwith. A Sopwith Camel. I thought the factories were finally getting it right. Since I began in a similar plane I soon had it under control and was ready for business.

We got the most shocking news. Fourteen German long range bombers circled above London at high noon unmolested dropping bombs and inflicted 600 casualties. Commander Trenchard was forced to send two  squadrons to England as they were recalled by the government and new planes were diverted to home defense. I envied the pilots who left for England. However we at the frontline were dangerously thin in the air now with little reserves.

One of my young flyers came to me one day after he’d been up with a party of five planes and said he’d seen the Red Baron. I asked had he shot him and he allowed as how he was afraid to engage him. I told him fear is what would get him killed. I said the Baron could smell it and he’d come for you. He hadn’t come for me and I was mighty glad. I had 32 slash marks on my little Sopwith Camel and there would be more…many more.

I got a note from Beck, his house was still standing as he wrote. His father was ill but everyone else at Beckinsdale was okay. He’d been home on leave. Lucky devil. I was homesick in the worst kind of way.

Faith’s letters were something special. She’d start out telling me where she was and what she could see. She’d cut roses and put them in the red Chinese vase in the hall. She had a cup of tea and had learned to drink it without sugar. Cook made biscuits sweetened with honey. Chapman from the home farm had delivered another load of wood for the kitchen stove. He said he was down to limbs now and had cut some trees from the forest for the winter. Jean was quiet but good company. She accepted her widowhood and that Peter had been a great help to her. Bobby was reading very well now. They had adopted a dog found wandering on the lawn. Bobby named him Blackie though he was gray and white.

I would read and reread letters such as that until they were falling apart.

Chapter 5

By the end of the year of 400,000 British troops had fallen in the push for the Hindenburg Line and the survivors were exhausted and close to the point of refusing to go on. A last ditch effort by 380 English tanks was turned back by the German infantry and one third of our aircraft were destroyed by German fighters and anti aircraft fire. It seemed pointless to go on. Russia was out of it now and Germany sent more troops to drive a wedge between our British and French troops. Our line broke and they advanced 14 miles into our territory.

The push came on 27 March, 1918 and by April they brought down 1000 British planes.  One of those was mine. I at last had my meeting with the Red Baron. We were on our way home. Three of us left out of eight that set off. The red plane was spotted and Major Raymond-Barker’s plane was hit and went down. The other pilot went into the cloud disappearing and I stayed steady on. We gave it a good fight and I raked his right wing but it didn’t slow him down he came back. I was running low on fuel and fancy acrobatics were out of the question. I dodged him as best I could but he was a damn good pilot. He nicked my fuel line and I began drifting downward. He flew within a 100 feet of the ground and waved at me. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me he could have easily. I thought him a worthy opponent and perhaps he thought the same.

The ground came up quickly and I was shook up a bit but able to walk away from the plane.

The next day was Sunday, 21 April. A Canadian Captain by the name of A. Roy Brown shot down a red plane. He wasn’t to learn until later that it was Manfred Von Richthofen. There was dispute over the kill. Australian ground troops claimed they shot down the red triplane. Jointly they gave him a honorable funeral. I wish he’d been British.

We got the 94^th United States squadron in June. Some were pilots who had been flying with the French. They simply changed uniforms and led the green pilots by the hand until they got the hang of it. They were gutsy fighters and soon their own aces were emerging. It’s sad to say the only pilots still flying with more than 40 kills or more were flying with the RAC. So many had been lost. France gave her best.

The Royal Flying Corps was now the Royal Air Corps. The bickering between the navy and air corps had finally been settled. Trenchard was now Chief of Staff over all. England was churning out planes as fast as we could lose them. My mechanic said we were running out of black paint. He always repainted my new planes with my slashes and Blackstone. I now had 67 slashes. I wasn’t the top ace but probably the oldest.

I hadn’t been home in two years now. I got down time but not enough time to go home. I usually went into Paris with the other men. There was a bar there that the American’s frequented. Many a night I consoled myself with bad wine and cheap whiskey.

The German infantry was beginning to run out of equipment. I could only imagine a country that put together such a war machine was lacking in other areas. We bombed their factories out of steel. The next arena that opened up was back on the Somme. Their planes were still in the air and as dangerous as ever. Their infantry may have been pulling back and dragging their guns with them but the air cover was intense.

By mid September the Americans and other allied forces put together an armada of planes. Their fresh troops moved in with our British and French and begun attacking the Verdun stronghold. 500 fighters and two seaters swept over the German positions strafing and bombing. Another 500 hit their rear. They sent up 295 planes against us. 15,000 German troops surrendered.

It was the beginning of the end. The Hindenburg Line collapsed. We heard that the German Navy mutinied at Kiel. Turkey surrendered and the Kaiser abdicated. A German armistice commission was dispatched to France.

Still the Germans concentrated on small areas of the front and for a while their flyers controlled a very localized bit of air. On November the 10^th word came down that peace had been declared and would take effect at 11 am the next day.

Everything went silent for a moment and then pandemonium. Guns fired, rockets sent off into the air, oil drums set afire, machine guns blasted. We all went a little crazy. In the midst of complete joy I felt my face wet with tears. I was going home after four of the longest years I will ever live. I and several other aces were lifted up and carried around for a bit. “Blackstone,” they shouted.

Blackstone, I’m coming home.

We had no way of knowing how he would get home. The railway lines into London had been bombed. Peter thought perhaps a military vehicle or even a carriage. He’d sent a telegram from Netheravon. To his dismay he was to be paraded about in London before the actual dismissal.

Each day we rose in anticipation and as the day wore on to nightfall disappointment would set in. It was now six months after peace had been declared. Peter explained as how these things took time. We were just thankful he hadn’t been posted to Germany.

On that particular day I rose as usual and dressed. We had tea and boiled eggs for breakfast in the parlor. Peter went into the library and Bobby went outside with Blackie to make his rounds. Jean and I had a pile of dresses we were reworking according to a magazine Peter had gotten from one of the village girls.

Bobby came running in calling out and Jean admonished him for his actions.

“But mummy, there’s a plane over the house.”

We both ran outside. As April is, it was damp and cool with a fine mist hovering about. The plane came back and circled over the house and disappeared again. When it next came back it came in low and hit the lawn. I didn’t have to be told who it was. I set out on a run and met him moments after he’d climbed out of the cockpit.

I don’t think we said anything for a full five minutes or more we just held onto each other.

Back behind me I could hear Bobby’s high pitched squeals, Blackie’s barks and Jean’s voice and then Peter’s. Neither of us acknowledged them. The moment was ours. He was still in uniform and slimmer than I remembered him but oh, oh he felt good in my arms.

Finally we parted though we didn’t let go of each other. I stepped beside of him and he looked toward the house. I could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The dog broke the moment joining us in a boisterous greeting. He touched Bobby’s head who’d run down to the plane and then he shook hands with Peter who welcomed him home. I guess a handshake wasn’t enough they embraced for a moment.  He hugged Jean and said how sorry he was about her husband. She thanked him and even smiled a little.

He then reached for my hand and with that smile that I love so much lighting up his face we went into the house. Mr. Makewell, Cook, Masie and Berthe and Shully were all there at the door to greet him.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and he couldn’t let go of me. I can’t express how good it was to have him here at last and to know he wouldn’t be leaving again.

Within two weeks we were married at our church with our household and Beck and Maddie in attendance. Becks father had passed away not two weeks before. He was still in uniform and Maddie looked beautiful. I had hoped my mother and Hope might come but mother had the flu and Charity couldn’t be spared from the hospital.

Berthe, my maid, Jean and I fashioned a wedding dress out of two of my old gowns. It was quite lovely. I’m wearing John’s mother’s wedding ring and It’s set with diamonds and looks beautiful on my hand. I must be the happiest woman in England tonight.

Faith Blackwell

There’s not much more to say, really. I feel as though I’m beginning my third life today. I’ve married the woman I love. I somehow survived the war and so I think someone higher up than I can fly must have a plan for me. I hope I don’t disappoint Him.

The world will never be as it was before the war. Certainly our lives have changed. I talked to Peter and he’s thinking about teaching. He would make a wonderful teacher. As for myself, I have a degree in company law somewhere upstairs in the dusty attics. I may look into applying it here in England. Beck’s slated for government work and to be sure there is a lot of work to be done in that sector. His house in London was damaged but not to the point where it will have to be torn down. He said broken windows and roof. He also has the responsibility of his father’s estate now.

The fire’s going out in the grate. I’ve just tossed back the last of the champagne and I believe the rest will have to be left to your imagination. I’m closing the bedroom door firmly behind me tonight.

John Charles Blackwell - Blackstone

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