My Mother, the Spy Pt. 02

My Mother the Spy. Part 2 (James's story)

WW2 drama.

I cannot emphasize this enough, you need to read part one or you will have no idea what this is about. it is not a stand alone story. It cross references parts of part one quite a lot.

It is more of a love story but has cuckold references in it, very little sex though.

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"C'mon you orrible bunch of worthless smelly shitbags, get over that wall!"

"Sarge I can't, I am trying." Fat Samuels was almost crying.

"That is Flight Sargent you orrible little scrote!"

Samuels was trying his hardest to keep up to the rest of us but he was just too overweight. Myself and Collins were perched on the top reaching down to get him offering our outstretched hands.

"Get the fuck up that wall Samuels, NOW or you will feel my toecap up your fat arse." The F/Sgt screamed at the poor lad who was trying his best to grab our hands.

We managed to get a wrist each but couldn't even get him off the ground. F/Sgt Green started to throw rocks and stones at us screaming for us to leave him and complete the course. We had to abandon him and catch the rest of our colleagues.

Those eight weeks were the hardest of my young life, I was not used to the constant barrage of abuse and hard exercise. For a scrawny 17 year old used to his mum, this was a total shock to me. Up at dawn every day to run, march and be screamed at. It was hell on earth. It was such a relief when it was finally over and we could start the real training, to be pilots.

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In my youth my uncle Jock had a Gypsy Moth biplane to fly post between the smaller Islands up in Western Scotland. Whenever we managed to visit him before the war broke out he used to take me up. My mother used to panic every time her brother suggested that I help him but my father always talked her around, that's where I got the flying bug. I had all the basics before I signed up so it was a huge advantage.

My father had got to know a lot of high powered people in the government through his job. He had risen to the rank of Wing Commander before his accident, now he worked for some government department or other. So when I told him I wanted to be a pilot and help in the upcoming war effort if there was to be one, he understood. He was happy to help by pulling a few strings getting me straight into the RAF as a flying officer.

My dear mother was not happy the day I told her I was going to sign up, she broke down into tears.

"Oh James, how could you! You know your brother was sent to Sudan three months ago. We have no idea if he is alive or dead, I cannot bear to think of losing you too!"

This was different, I would be based at home. Not abroad.

Three weeks later I was thrown into an intense physical course then onto pilot training. As luck would have it we got to train on aircraft very similar to my uncles, so I was familiar with all the controls and passed out with 180 hours under my belt.

It was late June 1938, when I got my first posting. Debden in Essex, not too far from home. I was allowed passes to travel home most weekends with help from my father and within a few months I was flying Hurricanes across the Thames Estuary. In those days the landmarks to pick out were far and few between but St Paul's and Parliament always took my breath away from the air, they were stunning.

There were lots of rumours of war on the horizon and my mother was getting herself into a frenzy about her youngest boy being a pilot. My dad tried his best to comfort and console her but she had it in head that I would come to harm.

News came from my elder brother Brian that he was fine and had been promoted to Major, my father was very happy but secretly wished he had been a flyer. The news tempered my mothers anguish over me slightly which was good.

That summer was beautiful in Essex, flying into the clouds seeing splashes of the green fields below and bright sunshine above it was almost spiritual. But the winter was harsh on those airfields, for some reason it always felt twenty degrees colder the minute you set foot back on base. The wind cut through like rusty nails being fired from a shotgun, my face and fingers lost all feeling on the walk from barracks to my aircraft.

It was late December when I saw my first spitfire up close, it was a thing of beauty. Three were delivered by female pilots with the promise of ten more to follow. It was rather novel to be instructed by these ladies on the maneuverability of these machines, but we all hung avidly on every word they said.

I will never forget the day I got my first flight in one, 10.45am. January, 17th, 1939. Up until that day I felt my whole life had been leading towards this specific moment. I sat in the cockpit waiting to hear that Merlin engine kick in, I had goosebumps and felt incredibly proud. I followed all of my training procedures, but more importantly took note of the WAFS that had delivered them for the little idiosyncrasies that these planes had.

The sound of that first spitfire nearly brought me to tears, it often does now when I think back to those times. Takeoff was a touch more bumpy than my old Hurricane but once airborne they were chalk and cheese. If it ever did come to war, Jerry would not stand a chance against these.

By April 1939 I had amassed over 350 hours in spitfires so was quite proficient in them. Rumours were rife now about war, it was on everyone's lips in local shops and pubs. It was becoming more and more obvious that we would be called upon to fly our machines in anger.

19th May 1939. I was transferred nearer to home, Biggin Hill in Kent to train new young pilots in the ways of spitfires. I was promoted to Flight Lieutenant to enable me to teach these new raw recruits. I remember laughing to myself as I was barely 19 years of age at the time and I was to be a teacher. When I arrived it was like the Ritz compared to our little base. Tea urns, sandwiches, even a Sunday roast for the pilots.

I was in charge of 18 young officers, English, Polish and French. It was sometimes quite hard with communications but as pilots we all knew which were the right switches and buttons as and when they were pointed out.

It was ok but I had this horrible feeling that these young fella's would be the ones called upon to fight if war came, not me. More and more young flyers were arriving every day, us older pilots were being used to teach these young upstarts. Promotions were being issued on a regular basis as more men arrived. I was made up to Squadron Leader within months and my unit grew to 27 men. I remember that entire month was manic, we crammed a years-worth of flight training into 40 days. It was very obvious now that the people in the know, knew war was on the immediate horizon.

I managed to get 4 days leave with my dad's help to spend time with my parents at home. My mother was beside herself with worry now, but seeing one of her boys around the dinner table calmed her. My father took me aside telling me how much they both loved me and to be extra careful over the coming months, it was obvious now that he was very worried too. I received a call from base on the evening of my third day home telling me to get back the next day, I was to hear all the details from a man from Whitehall on base.

I asked dad if he knew anything and he made a few calls.

"Sorry James, I couldn't find out a thing. It is all very hush, hush."

I arrived back on site late June 1939 to be told of three new recruits that were here and to keep them separate from everyone on base. I was to accompany them at all times, they were not to be left alone and no more flight duties until further notice.

"What of my squadron, my men?" I asked.

"They will be disbanded and dispersed across five other squadrons." was the reply.

I was distraught, I had invested so much time training my men. Made relationships and it was all taken away at the stroke of a pen.

I resented these people and I had not even met them yet.

All I was told was they were on a top secret mission from HQ London and to give them all and every assistance they required. I remember going off base to the local pub that night to drown my sorrows, it resulted in a severe headache the next morning.

I made my way down to their assigned barrack to find my old friend Tony Wilson, or should I say Sargent Tony Wilson now,

"Army, what's army doing on here?" I said.

He looked up to see me smiling at him. He hadn't changed a bit from our old school days, just a little larger around the midriff.

"James. Hello mate, long time no see."

"It's been 3-4 years I since I saw you Tony, down at the Kings head with your brother."

He looked to the floor, his face changed from happy to sad in an instant.

"Tony?" I asked, sensing something was wrong.

"Richard is dead. He was in Berlin for the home office, Nazis killed him we think."

"Oh shit mate, I am so sorry."

At that moment another man dressed in a long trench-coat and a trilby hat came out of the barracks. He looked past Tony giving me a steely ice cold stare.

"Aha, Squadron Leader Johnstone I presume?"

He held out a huge hand and took mine in it, his shake was like a vice. I am sure he tried to break my fingers, I took an instant dislike to him.

"Squadron Leader now is it?" Tony muttered smiling at me.

The man glared at my friend. "Sargent! Speak when you are spoken to, is that understood!"

The man had a voice as cold as ice too.

Tony snapped to attention, "Sir, yes sir." Saluting as he did.

I glared at Tony and the new mystery man trying to copy his ice cold stare but I was a million miles away from matching it.

His voice softened as he spoke to me,

"Please, come in Squadron Leader. Let me introduce myself and my people inside over a cup of tea."

He introduced himself as Brigadier Thomas Jenkins. He led me into a small room and briefed me on my new recruits.

Two teenage girls and a young man, I was to give them anything they required. He emphasized the word anything. The orders were direct from the very top.

"The very top?" I enquired with a smirk.

"From the VERY top." He replied seriously.

He took me into a small barrack room, inside was a medium height young man with thick black hair. He was introduced as Charles, I was waiting for his surname when the Brigadier said "Just Charles."

Two young ladies stood behind him, they came to his side and one introduced herself as Alice holding her soft white hand for me to shake.

I took it gratefully as she said, "And this is my friend Edith."

She was beautiful with the voice of an angel.

The Brigadier told them I would be their pilot and immediate commander while on base

Brigadier Jenkins told me my mission would become clearer over the coming weeks and bade me good luck and goodbye.

My Friend Tony would stay on base as a liaison and P.T. trainer for the three. They were to undergo intensive parachute training and surveillance techniques.

I made an immediate connection with Alice, her eyes sparkled when she spoke. She was from north Kent like me and we had a lot in common. I was a bit forward and asked to take her to dinner after a couple of days, to my delight she accepted. All thoughts of my men dissipated from my mind, all I could think about was Alice. She had taken over my entire world. I had never even had a girlfriend before and I wanted her to be mine, I was smitten.

I know I had only known her a couple of days and asked her if she felt the same way, she said she did. Because all three were in my charge I could see her whenever I liked but it had to stay our secret.

Their training was much more severe than anything I went through as a raw recruit. Charles broke both his legs on one of the jumps and was replaced by another young lady, Amy. The three of them gained a lot of attention from the pilots on base, part of my job was to make sure it went no further than looks and cat calls. It made me jealous as hell hearing some of the calls aimed at Alice.

Over the next 3-4 months they were taken off base to go on secret manoeuvres, during this time I had leave to come and go as I wished. I missed her terribly but it gave me time with my parents. I told my mother about her and that when she came back I will bring her home to meet them.

I snuck Alice into my room last night, we made love. She was my first and it was all I could've hoped for. She was wonderful, she said I was her first which made me happy. I should have told her I had been a virgin too but I didn't. We held each other tightly for hours through the night.

A week or two after that I took her home to meet my parents, I had arranged a few days rest for my charges and they too went home for a few days. They had all met the targets set so the brass were happy for a bit of R&R.

My father loved her from the off but mum was more wary, she came around eventually.

After a much deserved break it was time to go back to base, we had been there no longer than a day when on a fresh September morning all huddled around the fire with hot tea in hand, the radio announcer spoke the dreaded words we didn't want to hear.

"We are at war with Germany."

We could hear the Polish flyers from the neighbouring barack cheering loudly. We were deathly silent, just staring at each other over our steaming mugs. It had all suddenly become very real.

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Soon after the news of war with Germany my girls, (I considered them my girls now) were sent to a mission to north Wales. I didn't know until after they returned but they were told to infiltrate an army base just outside of Carmel. They had to somehow get the home phone number of the commanding officer and a contact list of 20 officers in the camp. They had one month to complete that task. They succeeded on all fronts apart from Edith.

Edith was caught but later freed by ministry officials but the other two got away with the lists. It caused much embarrassment to the commanding officer but it proved the girls were ready.

My best mate on camp was downed over Folkstone during a training exercise, his machine was seen to explode upon hitting the water. There was no chance of survival, I had gone through training with him and he helped me through, I felt sick. Alice was away and I was so alone. I felt I needed to be the one to tell his folks. It was the worst day of my life telling his mother that her only son had perished.

We learned more about the main missions for the girls throughout that winter, they were each learning foreign languages. Alice practiced her French on me most evenings, our relationship was known now and our secret was out. The brass were not happy but the mission came first and I had been on the inside too long to dismiss.

We went to see her parents and mine over the Christmas period, she is the image of her mother. I liked them, I hoped they liked me.

Her dad took me to meet his pals and got drunk as a skunk. I had to get him home on an old market trolley, I dare not tell Alice or her mother. I got him as sober as I could so he could walk up their garden path virtually unaided.

After dinner Alice took me for a walk along the river path and into the woods. The setting was perfect and I took to my knee and proposed, she looked shocked but after catching her breath jumped at me screaming yes. At least one good thing was coming out of this war, I was getting married.

We married in a little chapel on Romney Marsh with a few friends in attendance. Because of the war we didn't get much time as a couple and Alice was to be whisked away again for another month. I was to be deployed in France to teach young Polish airmen the ways of Hurricanes. It felt unfair to lose each other after so little time as man and wife.

Alice saw me off at Lydd airfield on my way to France, I might be there for months. We both held each other crying like babies.

I watched from my window as she got smaller and further away, hoping I would be back soon but secretly knowing it would not be likely.

The Polish boys were harder to train than I was expecting, very little English words amongst the 20 of them. A basic yes, no, please, thank you. We did our best to muddle through and it was thought prudent to get a couple of twin seater Gypsy Moths sent over. They arrived within a week and it was much easier on basic training aircraft.

We had a telegraph so I could get messages back to home but I missed her and that angelic voice. A few weeks into our flight lessons it was apparent we were pushing too hard, we lost one of the hurricanes and both Moths. We were down to four hurricanes and only one had a twin seat. Myself and the other instructor Barry Gold took it in turns to take the worst flyers up, we could trust only 6 or 7 to actually fly solo so we took the lead while the others followed and took instruction.

It was on one of these occasions my war nearly came to an abrupt ending. We were climbing to 7000 ft when for some unknown reason my co-pilot put us into a dive, I struggled for what seemed like an eternity to get us under control but he was fighting the stick too. The last thing I remember was shutting my eyes at 400 ft.

My co-pilot died on impact and I was dragged from the burning wreck. Seven days later I was lying in a hospital bed in East Grinstead with my leg in plaster along with both hands, Alice was by my bedside. She had been there two days not willing to leave until I awoke.

She burst into tears as I opened my eyes for the first time in a week, she leapt from her chair and hugged me. I remember squealing in pain and she jumped back, a nurse rushed in with all the commotion and pushed Alice aside.

"Mrs. Johnstone, you do realise your husband is very poorly don't you! a collapsed lung, four broken ribs plus what you can plainly see on the outside! Please go careful."

She stood back, well and truly scolded but as soon as the nurse was back outside the door came and gave me the most wonderful kiss.

"I thought I had lost you, I love you so, so much."

She smothered me in more wonderful kisses as she held my sore bandaged hands.

A week later I was taken home to my parents to recover.

"Well young lad, I think your war is over." My dad said.

"Not the way your mother wanted but at least she has you home now."

I spent the next few months recovering at my parents, Alice got to me on every opportunity she could get. But they were few and far between because her mission was getting closer.

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The day had come, the day we were both dreading. Alice was to be taken to Belgium in two days. We spent the next day making love, kissing and hugging as if our lives depended on it. She gave me a note saying not to open it until she was gone. I respected her wishes and put it away in our sideboard to read on Sunday.

Alice was taken back to base Friday afternoon while I frantically made as many calls as I could to get permission to be there when she flew out.

Again my dad came to my rescue and at 5am Saturday morning a car pulled up in our driveway, it was the Brigadier.

He was actually smiling, "Hello George, its been too long old chap."

My father walked down the path and they both shook hands and hugged like old friends.

"Tom, its lovely to see you my friend. Yes, it's been far too long you must bring Marjory up one day for dinner like the old days."

It felt like I wasn't in on a bad joke, these two knew each other. And really well it seemed, I stood back puzzled.

"James this is Brigadier Thomas Arnold Jenkins, one of my oldest and dearest friends. But then you have already made each-others acquaintance I gather."

With that they both burst into laughter.