Free We Joined The Navy by John Winton Page A

treble voices: “What did you do during the war, Grandaddy?” and I shall say: “Say thank you now to Grandaddy for not being a pilot during the war else you wouldn’t be here to ask that”.’
    The Bodger paused and regarded his audience. The Beattys stared back solemnly. It was impossible to tell from their expressions whether they were contemplating the life of an aviator or merely imagining one of The Bodger’s grandchildren.
    ‘Whether you like the idea of flying or not,’ continued The Bodger, ‘there isn’t one of you here who won’t be directly concerned with the Fleet Air Arm some time during your service career. Some of you will actually be pilots or observers. Some of you will serve on air stations. Most of you will go to carriers when you go to sea. You will all be concerned in some way. Flying now is the main armament of the Navy. It’s here to stay in a big way and you’d better get used to it.’
    The Bodger need not have used such emphasis. He was addressing members of a generation who had never known a world without aircraft, to whom the most refined techniques of aerial warfare, up to and including the nuclear bomb, were commonplace. They had been in their cradles when Kingsford-Smith flew the Pacific and Byrd flew over the South Pole, toddlers when Amy Johnson reached Australia, and they were starting kindergarten when the Luftwaffe were trying their wings over Spain. They had been the first generation in the history of the world to look out of a class-room window on a summer afternoon and see a fleet of heavy bombers in the sky. Their lessons were learnt to the running undertone, like distant gunfire, of the great deeds of Taranto, Ark Royal , the hunt for the Bismarck , the bursting of the dams, Midway and the Battle of the Coral Sea. They had collected pieces of shrapnel and the tailfins of incendiary bombs as assiduously as they had earlier collected sea-shells and pebbles and they had all wanted to be pilots when they grew up with as fierce a desire as they had previously wanted to be engine-drivers. The techniques of survival had become as familiar to them as the school time-table. They marched by classes down to the shelters, in dressing-gowns and carrying their cocoa-cups, as unconcernedly as though they were filing into morning prayers. They enjoyed air raids and a boy who was fortunate enough to have his home bombed became a school celebrity and was pointed out as such to visiting parents.
    Although the Beattys had forgotten details, traces of their knowledge, like the last instinctive remnants of an ancient lore, still remained and taken as an average the Beattys knew more about aircraft than The Bodger--a small ship man on his own admission--knew himself.
    The question of whether or not to be a pilot caused sharp differences of opinion amongst the Beattys. Although The Bodger’s speech could hardly qualify as a recruiting talk, it reminded the Beattys that sooner or later in the Navy they would be called upon to choose the particular specialisation, within their present branch, in which they wished to serve.
    Tom Bowles was the leader of the faction who wanted to be pilots. He was supported by Isaiah Nine Smith.
    ‘What attracts you so much about it, Tom?’ asked Michael.
    ‘I don’t know. It’s exciting, and it needs a lot of skill. It gives you a chance to be independent and act on your own a bit. I just know I want to do it.’
    ‘You get paid more, too,’ said Isaiah Nine Smith.
    ‘Judging by what The Bodger said, I imagine they pay you more because they don’t have to pay you for so long,’ said Paul.
    ‘Oh, go and get knotted,’ said Tom.
     
    The aircraft carrier anchored off Dartmouth in the early morning and the cadets were taken off to her by drifter. They were met on board by midshipmen who split the Beattys up into parties of ten and guided them up to the island to watch the flight deck being prepared for flying.
    The midshipman looking after Paul and Michael