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“My leg is fine, mum—no, no more biscuits, thanks. I’m stuffed to the gills—won’t be able to fit into my uniform if you keep feeding me like this. Now come sit down. I’ve got the photos to show you. The ones I took right before we went on leave.
No, that’s not Arthur. Don’t you remember what I told you about Arthur? How he’s a bit of a stuck-up prat? But this man—look at his grin—could charm the whiskers off a cat. Nah, this is our tail gunner, Gwaine.
Yes, he’s the reason I had a black eye when I came home for Christmas. He got into a brawl at the pub, and I had to help a mate out, didn’t I? Wasn’t our fault, but Arthur was furious.
He’s a good-hearted bloke, though, Gwaine—you’d like him. Worst spot, too, being Tail End Charlie. But he reckons he’s got enough luck to see him through a few more missions.
You will? I’ll tell him—he’ll like that, knowing someone out there is praying for him. He and Elyan—this is Elyan, our other gunner—anyway, they’re always up to some prank or other. Drives Arthur mad. Gwaine is stuck in the fuselage, but we’ve the radio, and he and Elyan try to outdo each other, coming up with jokes and crazy stories.
Gwaine went to visit Elyan’s family for Christmas, ‘cause he hasn’t got anyone himself, see. And on the way there, the train got stuck. Took them ten hours to get moving again. Arthur asked Elyan how he could stand it, being shut up with Gwaine for that long, but Elyan said he just gave him the funny papers to read, and that kept him occupied.
Oh, this is Percival—I know, it’s a wonder he can fit inside the plane. He’s our navigator, keeps us from flying off over the Atlantic instead of towards the Jerries. Lost his whole family during the Blitz, Percy did. Doesn’t talk much about it, though. Well, maybe to Lance. They met in flight training—I think Percy was in a bad way, but Lance pulled him out of it.
He’s a bit of a saint, our Lancelot. He operates the wireless, but he has some medical training, too. Looked after my leg, he did. Yes, mum, I’ll make sure to give him the jar of preserves that you set aside.
Lance and Gwaine, when they’ve had a few drinks, sometimes we can coax them into singing a few songs. “Tipperary,” “I’ll Get By”—some naughtier ones I can’t let on to you about.
Mum! I won’t be able to look Aunt Nora in the face now, without blushing. I know you and she used to go to dances, but I don’t need the details, mum, please.
Now this is Leon; he’s our bombardier. A steady hand and a good eye. He knows Arthur from before the war; they went to school together. Leon’s got a sweetheart, back home. Always writing to her—and then Gwaine gets a hold of the letters and reads them out to the whole squadron while we’re waiting to go up. Leon gets back at him for it later, though. The other night, coming back from the pub, he and Percy picked Gwaine up and dunked him in a pond. ‘Course, then they all got chased by this mad lot of geese. Arthur could barely stand up, for laughing.
Yep, this is her—our Excalibur. Gorgeous, isn’t she? A Lancaster, and the best of the batch to boot. I look after her—know her tricks and fancies like the back of my hand. She’s seen us through a tight spot or two, that’s for sure.
I know, mum. Here—give me your hand. But you don’t have to worry about us. She hasn’t let me down yet, and with Arthur at the helm—we’re a match for anything in the sky.
And this…this is Arthur.
Well, he’s not entirely awful. Can be a right dollop-head when we’re on the ground, but once he’s in the air… There’s not a finer pilot in the force, mum. And not just with the flying, although Excalibur sings when he’s at the helm. He holds us together. He’d give his life for any one of us. Wouldn’t hesitate. Whatever it takes to keep us safe.
No—no, I’m—I’m all right. I just…I just think stuff sometimes. Silly stuff—not worth mentioning.
I’ll bring Arthur by, once all this is over. I have to, ‘cause he still won’t believe me about Mrs. Morrow’s purple chicken coop. And he’s always stealing the biscuits you send me and claims they’re the best ones he’s ever had—which is true, by the way, they are the best. So you’ll get on.
He didn’t have to pick me for his flight engineer, you know. There was another bloke—did far better in his exams than I did. But Arthur chose me. He said he thought our girl would like me. And that I’d keep him awake with my endless chatter when we’re flying over the Channel. See, I told you he can be a prat at times.
A scarf? He’d love that. He never knew his own mum, so he never had anyone to make him things. His birthday is in May, I think, but I’ll check and write to you. Plenty of time for you to knit it, though. What color? Maybe red—yes, red. That’s how I always think of him, see, because the first time I saw him was when he pulled up to the base in this showy red car of his.
Nah, he doesn’t have it anymore. Although he promised me that after…well, we just want to do a few things afterwards, that’s all. Celebrate the war being over.
I can’t believe it sometimes either. But we’ll pull through, you’ll see. And some of it—some of it will be good to remember. Gwaine’s jokes, and Lance singing, and Arthur…
Well, I better put the kettle on, mum. And you cut us a few pieces of cake. I know, I said I couldn’t eat another bite, but I can’t resist a little something sweet, although you shouldn’t have used up your sugar on my account.
I’ll leave these photos here. So you can think of them—think of us—while I’m away.
Yes. Yes, mum, I promise. I promise I’ll come back.”