Part 6.
The boys in blue
************
The cottage seemed empty without her, so as a distraction, he increased his exercise periods. Running or cycling twice a day, followed by the exercises Ted had shown him.
On Thursday, the letter arrived; he had to report to the Medical Board the following Monday in London, then, on the Wednesday, to RAF Renton reporting to Group Captain Carr.
He knew Alan would give him the result of the medical then.
He phoned Terry, later that evening, explaining that he would be in town to see the medical board on Monday.
Terry suggested that she would stay in town, and after he had seen the board, they could travel down on the train together. She gave him the address of her place in Chelsea.
The taxi dropped him off in a narrow lane, containing a terrace row of mews houses; he rang the bell at the number she had given him.
The door was flung open, and there she was, her face flushed with pleasure at the sight of him.
"So how did it go?" she asked once she had him seated in a small second floor lounge.
"They don't tell you, I'll find out on Wednesday at the squadron. Would you come with me?"
"Need me to hold your hand again," she laughed.
"Something like that," he replied with a chuckle.
He looked at his watch, "there's a train in forty five minutes if you are ready."
"Yes all packed," he'd noticed the suitcases down stairs.
On the train journey down, she told him of the work she had done on the album, and seemed quite pleased that they had managed to record three songs.
Robert was surprised, at how much time went into making an album.
"I thought you just stood in front of a mike and rattled of a few songs," he said.
"It's a little more complicated than that," amused at his lack of knowledge, of the record business, and went on to explain just what went into making a recording.
Aggie was waiting for them when they arrived at the cottage after giving her a big hug; Terry opened one of her cases and removed a presentation box of her CD's along with a photograph mounted in a case.
To Aggie and Archie, I love you both, Terry, had written on it. "For you Aggie," she said handing them over.
Then the pair were hugging and kissing again, tears flowing down Aggie's face.
"If we are going to the Archers tonight, I have set for Ruby and Jack," Terry announced. Noticing Robert was staring into the case she went on "the other set is for Sir Wilbur."
"What about me," he protested.
"Buy your own, I could use the money," she said laughing.
The following day, after dropping of the CD set, and photograph at the Manor.
He had to go into Salisbury, to pick up his medal ribbon, with the maroon tab, denoting his VC added to it.
Later they had a walk around the Cathedral and had tea by the river.
"You know, I should buy some of your CD's but I never know what classical singers, are singing about. Why does it have to be in a foreign language?"
Terry laughed, "Because most of the great classical numbers were written by foreigners. But I do have a CD of show numbers, Kismet, West side story, The King and I, and Brigadoon to name a few. Perhaps you would like that?"
"I'll buy it, but only if you will autograph it for me," he said.
"You really want your money's worth don't you," she replied laughing.
**************
Robert stopped the Celica, on the hatched marked area of road, twenty-five yards from the Guard Room.
Two RAF Regiment soldiers, armed with SA 90 rifles stood guard.
As he walked towards the Guardroom, to sign Terry in, six more soldiers followed by a Sergeant erupted from the room.
They quickly fell into line, on the Sergeants command, they came to the attention, shouldered arms and came to the present, the Sergeant about turned, to face Robert and gave him a sharp salute.
Robert stopped and returned the salute, "thank you Sergeant, carry on," passing into the guardroom.
A corporal was standing by the desk, with the visitor's book already turned round, to face Robert. He signed the book and was preparing to leave, when the Corporal said, "you forgot the VC sir," pointing to his name and rank.
Robert frowned, then realised that from now onwards; he would have to add the initials VC after his name, "sorry Corporal," he corrected the mistake, "is this what that's about," indicating the soldiers lined up at attention outside the door.
"Well, you're our VC Sir."
Outside the door, he paused by the Sergeant, "thank you Sergeant, and thank the men."
"No, thank you Sir," pride showing in his eyes.
Back in the car, he handed Terry the visitor's pass, which she clipped to her jacket.
"Is that normal?" She asked indicating the soldiers.
"No... normally only heads of State, or senior brass get that," he murmured.
He pulled up outside the Station building, a three-story brick structure, erected back in the early forties, which had the same standard design of all Station buildings of that time.
They walked along a corridor, finally stopping at a door with a brass plaque, with
Officers Mess engraved upon it.
The door opened, on to a large room filled with tables and chairs, some of them arm chairs. At the end of the room was a bar, with tall bar stools spread along it.
Seven or eight men in officer's uniform were clustered at the bar, laughing and seemingly all talking at once.
Suddenly some one noticed him, "Robbie," someone yelled, and in an instant he was surrounded by them, his back was pummelled, and his hand shook all seemingly at the same time.
Good-hearted banter concerning; Slacker sand Lazy bastard filled the air, and then he remembered Terry.
She was still standing in the doorway, with a look of amusement written all over her face.
He disentangled himself from them, and brought her into the room to introducing her, the men had fallen silent, at the sight of her.
They parted like the Red Sea, as he led her to the bar, where she perched herself onto a barstool.
He was shouldered aside, in the rush as the men, crowded round her, asking what she would like to drink, Robbie now forgotten.
A tall man, who had been standing by the bar, now detached himself, coming forward with his hand out stretched. Group Captain Alan Carr, Officer Commanding RAF Renton.
"Hello Robbie, I must say you look much better than you did the last time I saw you, at the Grange."
"I feel much better, thank you sir."
"Look, before we get you a drink, I have a Hawk outside, which needs a test flight, are you up for it?"
Robert had expected this; it was standard procedure for pilots, who had been badly injured, to see if they had lost any of their skill.
"Of course Sir."
Alan looked back at the bar. "I don't think your friend will miss us for a while."
Terry was lost to view, by the bodies surrounding her; each was vying for her attention.
Dressed in their flying suits, Robert signed for the Hawk, in the Flight Office.
After, carrying out the ground checks, they climbed into the cockpit; the ground crew buckled and plugged them in.
After lowering the canopy. Robert gave the signal to remove the chocks and then taxied to the end of the runway, where he lined up the Hawk and applied his brakes, lowering his flaps to take off setting.
Gaining permission from the tower, he slowly applied thrust releasing the brakes; the Hawk began to roll forward, he increased thrust, and the aircraft started to hurtle down the runway.
The vibration from the control column stopped, he raised the under carriage and climbed rapidly.
He was back in his element.
"Where too?" he asked over the intercom.
"Head west until you hit the coast," replied Alan.
Robert had over two hundred hours logged flying Hawks, first during his fast jet training, then later with the Red Arrows, until he had requested active service after the death of his parents.
The North Devon, coast, came into view, once over the sea Alan came in over the intercom.
"Okay, Robbie put her through her paces."
Robert needed no second invitation, the small, nimble jet, responded to his every movement. For the next thirty minutes, he rolled, looted, dived, banked all the manoeuvres he had ever been shown, plus a few that he put in for the hell of it, he was having fun.
Back at the Grange, he had despaired that he may never fly again, but now back in the cockpit, all the old thrill of flying came rushing back.
He flipped the Hawk, over onto its back and dived. Levelling out 300 feet above the waves, and rolled the nimble aircraft and then climbed.
He was almost disappointed, when Alan voice came in over the intercom.
"OK tiger, I think we can safely say you can fly, let's head back you have a guest waiting."
Once back, and changed into their uniforms, instead of entering the mess, Alan walked on, until he reached his office.
