Cleaning Out The Birdhouse

It was the job the Airmen hated, but they only got to do it if the pilot had been lucky. The landing strip was still buzzing with activity and roaring with returning air craft when Andy Fromer jogged out a hanger and headed toward a recently landed bomber that had only just been led in by the first crew.

Blackpool Air Field was situated on the west coast of Great Britain. Where there wasn't sea to the front of the strip of houses and piers, there was marsh and meadow behind. Andy loved to watch all the wildlife that seemed to thrive in this part of the land, but he hated the practicality of having it so close to the Air Field.

These flight crews came here to be dispatched on all sorts of missions into dangerous enemy action. If they survived the worst the Germans could throw at them, they still had the struggle of safely reaching the landing strip without Mother Nature intervening.

Only last week, the base had lost a pilot, navigator and a rear gunner when their plane had hit a flock of Canadian Geese. They were big birds and acted better than any payload could have in blowing up an engine on take off. Poor lads.

Here he was now helping an angry pilot out of his bird broken wings and he just wanted to yell at him to be grateful for the flock being small and consisting of the lighter framed swallows that had nested near by. He didn't have a chance though, as the crew stomped heavily toward the debriefing he was reminded it was his turn to check the engines.

"Aw, c'mon!" Andy motioned over the roar of other traffic to Bill Otely who came over. "I just got all my tools ready for a re-glaze on the cockpit."

"Go on then - but you owe me." Otely chided, and the two got set to work.

Andy finished up in less than half an hour and whistled to the ever present sound of the Air Field roar. It was as he climbed down on to the port wing that he froze, intently staring at a long wound of red that blossomed like rainy paint splashed against the concrete Air Field. Nervously, he glanced around the underbelly desperate for a sight of Otely. There was none. Then his eyes were drawn to the gaping maw of the engine. Its huge fans were blurred with use. They hadn't turned them off and Bill must have put his arm in to free the blocked bird corpses and been sucked in. It was a horrible thought. And then Andy had another one - it could have been him.

It was past six when he reached the boarding house on Whitegate Drive. A life time seemed to have passed since he last lay down here but he couldn't rest. Bill Otely's face kept beaming at him from behind his closed eyes, "Go on then - but you owe me."

Andy started. Yes he did. He owed Otely everything including a thank you for helping realise just what the really important things to hold on to in this war were. He swung his legs from the bed and purposefully strode down the corridors and into the dinning room of the house where he knew Hazel would be setting the tables for the late dinner. She jumped at his brisk entrance, but relaxed when she recognised him.

"Tea won't be ready for another half an hour, Andy."

"I know." he said, moving closer to her before kneeling. "Hazel Cooper, will you marry me? Please."

(603 wds)