David Murphy

In a faraway corner of the farm, I stumbled across the small cairn of rocks, with the little brass plaque, and the memories came flooding back. The propellor had long since rotted, that had long gone, but my mind was very much alive, and as my nostalgic look traversed the land, her words came slowly to me….........
They were an eccentric couple, for war-torn England, dashing about the countryside, thrilling the crowds with their stunts and aerial magic, the ancient Tiger Moth never letting them down. With their flowing scarves and leather flying gear, the romantic lives they lead was the envy of all. But what was most obvious, to all and sundry, was the deep affection each held for the other…...always, the loving embraces, the eye contacts, were prevalent, and everyone was touched by the camaderie and the connection between the two daredevils. They owned the skies, and the hearts and minds of those who watched.
It seems so odd now, reminiscing, that they would choose to embark on the dangerous stunt that had such fatal consequences. Why, was the never-ending question. They had it all, and risked everything, all for nought. And who would have contemplated flying a wooden plane across the Channel, she strapped to the wing, to fly over Calais, with the strongest concentration of flak and Messerschmidts in France, and then to turn around and return to the adoring English crowds? Why did they think that?
Well, they did. And one cold and bleak September evening, bedecked in their leathers, they warmed up the Moth and flew into the night, joyfully waving to the awed crowd as he waggled the wings with her in place, and every single person prayed to the heavens they would return. ......Everyone…...
All went well, the crossing smooth, but, as luck would have it, a bomber flight had passed earlier over Calais, and the dreaded flak crews were still at their posts…....waiting for stragglers. And who knows what they thought when a lone, wooden Moth, a woman on one wing, flew slowly into range…...perhaps they couldn’t see, perhaps they suspected a ploy, who knows…....but they let forth with a terrible enfilade, the deadly shrapnel, super-heated and menacing, becoming a wall of hot death….....and like moths to a flame, the foolhardy lovers pressed on. Miraculously, they were not instantly obliterated, but alas, a nearby bursting shell sprayed the little flying machine, puncturing the flimsy wing fabric, and holing the timber frame…..and the Moth wheeled around and dove for the English coast, aflame. Flying skill prevented them from plunging into the cold, dark sea, as he wrestled with the shattered controls. Unbeknownst to her, he was mortally wounded, and, unbeknown to him, she had hot metal embedded in her thigh. And on they flew, mouthing words of encouragement, as their craft burnt all around them…..
........the coast!! They had made it, the White Cliffs resplendent in the moonlight as the stricken Moth approached. The farms paddock, just beyond the cliffs, was the nearest point for the crashlanding, and he skillfully brought the blazing Moth down as gently as he could, his beloved clasping the struts on the shattered wing, the aircraft aflame, himself nearing death…...the dying Moth bellied onto the ground, sliding, grinding, smoke and dust and flames everywhere…......the wooden propellor sheared off and bounded to god knows where, she was flung head first into a gorse thicket…....and all the while, he rode the Moth to her, and his, eventual resting place….....a firey inferno, for both.
I saw it all, I was the first there, I didn’t know where to run to….....the plane, to him, or to her, unmoving, in the cushioning gorse. She moaned, and i chose her, and as I neared, I could see she was terribly injured….....fatally so. She looked at me, with the fire in her eyes, tears forming, knowing…....and grasped my hand, a grip of iron. Her eyes said everything, she knew her fate…......I watched as her life flashed before her, an amazing existence, full of fun and pleasure….....the lids started to close, the grip weakened…...
.......and then, for an instant, her eyes flared open, and she gazed at me, full and true, her last effort was to pull me close, and then whisper into my trembling ear …...

............”thankyou…...for holding my hand…...”“