Christopher Priest - The Separation

So odd behaviour was normal, nothing you would comment on. Unless, that is, it showed itself in a member of your own crew. Then you began to worry if your own safety in the air might be at risk.

This was what started to worry me about JL. I noticed that he often went off the airfield without telling us he was going, sometimes, as far as I could tell, without arranging official leave. He was secretive about these activities and other matters. Things came to a head when Kris Galasckja, our rear gunner, commented that he’d accidentally overheard JL on the telephone one morning and thought he’d heard him speaking German.

Lofty Skinner was the second most senior member of the crew, so I had a word with him first. It turned out that he too had been observing JL’s behaviour. We therefore cornered JL one evening in the bar and asked him straight out what was going on. He was surprised at first, then he looked relieved and admitted he was glad we had asked him. He said that there was something he had been trying to keep quiet, for all sorts of reasons. He asked us to keep it under our hats too.

He told us that he was married and that he had been since before the war. He knew that it didn’t create a special situation, but he said he and his wife had been trying for some time to start a family. Now she was pregnant, with the baby expected at the end of May.

‘The first two or three months were relatively trouble-free, but she’s been having a lot of problems recently Her blood pressure’s up and there are other symptoms. Because of the war, because of the difficulties of my being away from home, I’m going crazy with worry about her.’

‘Shouldn’t she be in hospital?’ I said.

‘Yes, of course. But we live close to Manchester and because of the bombing the hospitals are stretched to the limit. Pregnant women are being kept at home as much as possible.’

He explained how isolated their house was, in a village on the Cheshire side of the Pennines, no telephone, not much in the way of modern comforts. JL said that he was using a motorcycle borrowed from one of the other pilots. Whenever he saw the chance, he said, he hopped on the motorbike and rode home as quickly as possible. He always made sure he was back at the base in time and, like us, he treated the safety of the crew as a priority.

‘Skip, that’s not good enough,’ Lofty said. ‘Some of the other officers are married and several of them have brought their wives to live close to the airfield. Why can’t you do that? There are all the maternity facilities at Barnham Hospital she would ever need. And why haven’t you said anything about it before?’

‘I didn’t want to concern you.’

‘It is our concern, JL. If your mind is on something else while we’re on a raid, if you’re tired out from riding a motorbike half across England to be back in time, you won’t be up to the mark.’

‘Have you ever felt I have endangered you?’

‘No,’ Lofty said, and I had to agree with him.

‘Then can’t we leave it at that?’

‘I’m still not happy about it. Why do you have to be so secretive? Does the Wingco know what’s going on?’

‘No,’ JL said. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘Then why not?’

‘I haven’t got around to mentioning it.’

Lofty spoke again. ‘JL, do you speak German?’

‘Yes, what’s wrong with that?’

‘Sam, tell him.’

‘The other day, Kris overheard you on the phone. He said you were speaking German.’

‘I was probably making one of my regular calls to Adolf Hitler, tipping him off about the next raid.’ JL grinned at us, then took a deep swig of his beer. ‘All right, I’ll tell you the rest. My wife was born in Germany. I sometimes speak to her in her own language.’

‘Your wife is German?’ I said, amazed by the revelation.

‘No, she’s British, but she was born in Germany. She moved to Britain in 1936 and she was naturalized as soon as we were married. There’s a lot I could tell you about her, but since the war began I’ve felt that the less said about her background the better. We’re in a bit of a jam over it. You’ve heard the rumours about a fifth column. Because of the rumours the government is interning German nationals, or anyone with even a remote connection with the place. Well, my wife is on that list, I’m sorry to say. Only the fact that she’s pregnant and is married to a serving RAF officer is keeping her safe from internment. Or, at least, that’s what I suspect is the case.’

We sat in silence for a while. I for one was wishing we’d kept our fears to ourselves, but at least everything was out in the open now. Whenever I tipped up my glass to drink from it I used the movement to look at JL. Something about him appeared to have changed: he seemed smaller, more human and vulnerable. He’d exposed something of himself to Lofty and me and in the process he had lost some of the flair that had impressed me so much. I decided I wanted to hear no more about his private life. I was thinking ahead to the next time when we would need to pin our faith on his judgment and flying skills, be able to accept his orders without doubt or question. It would be risky to take this clumsy interrogation of him too far if it threatened to undermine the authority he enjoyed or the willing compliance we normally showed.

We went through that part of the war OK. There were a few nasty surprises: one night, over Gelsenkirchen, a flak shell took away part of our tailplane. Kris Galasckja in the rear turret swore for half an hour - after all, the part of the tail that was hit was only a few feet from his head but other than causing the plane to swoop with a stomach-heaving lurch whenever we made a turn, no real harm was done. On another night, returning from an otherwise incident-free trip to Kiel, our Wellington was attacked by a German intruder fighter as we tried to land at the airfield. JL managed to keep control, aborted the landing and by the time we had circled round before making our second attempt the intruder had been frightened away by our ground fire.

Gradually the nights were getting shorter and the weather, at least on the ground, was becoming warmer. Shorter nights were good news for us. They meant that we were sent to targets that required less time flying over Germany itself: we went instead to the North Sea ports, military bases in the occupied countries or the industrial towns in north-east Germany.

JL’s odd behaviour continued, but now it took a slightly different form.

One afternoon, for example, I hitched a lift into Barnham, the nearest town to the airfield. I’d finally grown fed up with suffering cold feet during our long flights. The standard-issue socks were too thin. Even if you put on several pairs under your flying boots you still weren’t warm enough. I was looking around the shops, hoping to find some woollen socks. They’d been in short supply throughout the winter - shortages of just about everything was something we had to put up with. I saw JL walking along the road on the other side, coming towards me. We were too far apart to speak to each other, but it was certainly him and because he was looking around our eyes briefly met. I raised my hand in greeting. He made no response and walked on.

This encounter struck me as odd for a couple of reasons. We were due to be on an op that night, which was incidentally why I’d picked that afternoon to try to buy some warm socks. JL was on the base with the rest of the crew. I’d eaten lunch with him in the canteen and in fact I’d been talking to him by the main gate before I hopped on the truck for a lift into town. He hadn’t travelled with me, so I was surprised to see him again so soon. Finally, and this was what made an impression: he was out of uniform, wearing civvy clothes.