WING-COMMANDER DICKIE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 2, 3 January 1931, Page 3 (Supplement)

WING-COMMANDER DICKIE.

(B.- SHEILA QL"INN.)

Dick Fleming, his eyes shining, his lean sunburnt face almost glowing with excitement, shaded his eyes from the sun and gazed eagerly at the little squadron of silver planes returning to earth. He saw them land—lightly and gracefully as birds; saw the. young airmen crowd round the captain as he smilingly congratulated them- '"Jove! old PhU was' popular," Dick thought, and waited eagerly as his brother walked thoughtfully towards him. "Well Dick." Captain Phil Fleming, chief instructor in the London school of flying, gazed at his brother, '"your first day, eh! and how do you think you're going to like it?" "Great —jove Phil, you're marvellous. I—l only hope I follow your footsteps in flying." Phil patted his shoulder kindly. "You will Dick—l'll teach you, old chap. Listen lad, ever since our mother died my one ambition, has been to get you on. I worked at the flying school until I understood every inch of the machines. Dick, you cannot understand the feeling—to know you arc handling one of those great machine birds—to feel the wind shrieking past your face and see the great vast space beneath; Listen boy, some day you will feel like, that and when you do —" He paused and pushed back his helmet — "when you do I'll be satisfied you're on the right road —you'll be a success." He waved a friendly farewell and passed on to the clubhouse, leaving the brown, lean-faced Australian boy gazing after him. He had always been his liero —this big, broad-shouldered brother and wuardian who was ten years his senior. For eleven years he had pictured aim while at school in far-off Australiapictured him a popular captain in, this great flying school in London, and now at 1G he had made the long journey from Australia to England and joined him —now he was Captain Phil Fleming's youngest flying pupil. ,He clenched his fist and his eyes shone with excitenicnt. "By jove I'll make him proud of me. I'll be a success," and the faint lazy drone of the machines seemed 'ike friendly music to the young boy's ears. The days dragged by into weeks, the weeks into months, until the time came when Dick Fleming had been six months at the flying school. It was evening and the usual noisy uproar came from the clubrooms. Dick, standing alone in the pavilion, gazed moodily towards the aerodrome, thinking rather bitterly of the last few months. It seemed from the very first that things had gone wrong. He nad tried —perhaps no one realised how the lonely young lad from Australia had tried —and he had failed. He dug his heel moodily into the ground and scowled darkly. Almost he wished he had never left the boarding-j school in far-off Sydney—the school j that had been "home" to him during the !

long years Phil was in the Air Force in France, and later making their fortunes in London. A step sounded behind him and he turned to find his brother regarding him seriously. "Hullo Dick. I've been looking tor you. I've got something to say to you. Listen, I'm talking to you now as your captain mind, and not your brother. | Yonr work isn't satisfactory. You ; should have done your solo (light weeks | ago. You know the principles of flying ! perfectly. Go up. You've got it in you, Dick. Prove it." "I—l can't Phil. Somehow it makes | me afraid, the vast space below—the great roaring machines. I couldn't control it by myself. I—" "Afraid eh! Well, I'll knock that out of you if it's the last thing I do. You're only a youngster, but there's a future ahead of you if you're given a helping hand, and I'm the one to help you. From now on Dick you tome up with me every day in my monoplane. Now clear off to the club-rooms' and enjoy yourself with the lads. Oh, I know—" he interrupted, and gazed quizzically at the Soy, "I know they think you're a 'shirker.' Well—well, Dick, you prove that nickname they've given you — 'Wing Commander Dickie'." "O.K. Phil,'' Dick said with a wry smile. "I'd do anything for you, old chap," and he walked off in the gloom towards the gayly lighted clubrooms. I The following day dawned in all the sunshiny radiance of an English spring morning. The "Fleetwiug" droned lazily along, like a great silver moth with a. deep blue background, and inside sat Phil, grimly piloting, constantly explaining tiny points to the eager observant Dick at his side. "You are not afraid now, Dick." It was more a. statement than a question. Phil kept his eyas glued ahead. i"Xo —no. not with you, but alone. Phil—somehow, I feel I could not control this giant 'plane. I —" "Kubbish," 'Phil snapped. "Xow to these dual controls—" The morning flew by. Noon found the "Fleetwing" on the return trip to the aerodrome. Dick sat silent in the tiny cabin, feeling as miserable as any boy could be. Bad enough, purely, to know that every boy in the flying school thought him a coward, but somehow it hurt to knowthat he had disappointed Phil—Phil, who did not know the meaning of the word fear. Sometimes— He felt Phil beside him give a shuddering gasp, turned in time to see-him sway uncertainly over the controls and grip the edge of his seat for support. "Phil—Phil, I say, what is it?" There was alarm, almost terror in Dick's voice. "Attack—heart —take over, Dick." Even as Dick leapt forward to obey he saw Phil crumble up and sprawl limply on the ground. The 'plane had spiralled roughly about six hundred feet. There was no time for thought. All the months of careful teaching came rushing back to him. He handled the controls—at first nervously, then with increasing confidence, until the "Fleetwing" was sailing smoothly on once more like some great bird in flight. And Dick seated at the controls felt the blood tingling in his veins: a new joy surged" within him: he was master of this great plane, he — "I can fly," he shouted. There was a joyful triumphant ring in his voice.

Phil opened his eyes wearily and moved slightly in pain. '"Go ahead—lad." Somehow Dick could i#ot remember much of the following hour. He knew he landed —in one of the Fresh green fields surrounding the aerodrome, knew that again he felt a great exhilaration —his first landing—and perfect. There followed the boys' friendly congratulations: the instructors' words of approval: perhaps beet of all a minute's conversation at Phil's bedside. "I'm proud of you, kid," Phil said, and they gripped hands heartily, '"I knew vou had it in vou —'Wing Commander Dickie.' 5 ' Hours later Captain Phil Fleming lay awake in his rather comfortable bed in the sanatorium and gazed pensively through the window at the moon. "A mighty good ruse," he murmured. There was a twinkle of humour in'his grey cyep, "and—yes, by jove, it succeeded. Dickie's all right." The moon, as if sharing the joke, winked solemnly down, and the breeze chuckled in glee through the willows outside.