Read Online (11/20) Farther Afield by Miss Read - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Miss Read
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, England, Country Life, Country Life - England, Pastoral Fiction, Crete (Greece), Villages - England
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boot, and checked, yet again, passports and other documents. 'But I look like a culture-vulture from the mid-west in it, and am too vain to wear it, although it does keep one's hair tidy.'
I said I had a silk scarf if the wind became too boisterous, but I looked more like little Mother Russia in my headgear.
'Besides,' I said, 'it grieves me to pay a pound to have my hair fluffed out and then to see it flattened in five minutes.'
Rain began to fall as we approached the airport.
'Won't it be marvellous to leave all this murk behind?' crowed Amy. 'Just think of the blue skies waiting for us, and all that lovely sunshine.'
Our spirits rose, and remained high throughout the leaving of the car, the taxi ride through the tunnel, and the slow shuffle through to the departure lounge.
We found a seat, disposed our hand luggage around us, and settled down to watch our fellow travellers, and to look at the magazines we had bought to pass the time.
It was while we were thus engaged, that it suddenly dawned upon me that Amy was looking uncommonly nervous. It was the first inkling I had that she might suffer from the fear of flying.
'Do you mind flying?' I ventured.
'I loathe it,' replied Amy with some of her old energy. 'In the first place, it's dead against nature to have that great lump of metal suspended in mid-air, and no amount of sweet reasoning is going to budge that basic fact from my suspicious mind.'
'But think of the thousands and thousands of people who fly all over the place daily.'
'Lucky to be alive,' said Amy firmly. 'And think of all the hundreds who died in air crashes. I always do.'
'You shouldn't dwell on such things.'
'If you hate flying you can't help dwelling on such things! Then think of all the thousands of screws and bolts and rivets and so on, supposed to keep the bits together. How can you be sure every one of them is reliable? And what about all-over metal fatigue? Not to mention having so little time, or enough mechanics, to service the thing properly between flights.'
Amy, warming to her theme, was much more her usual forthright self, and I was pleased to see that, for a time anyway, James was forgotten.
'And then there's fire. I don't feel at all happy about all that petrol being pumped into the thing before you start off.'
'Better than forgetting it,' I pointed out. Amy ignored me.
'How does one know that there is not some ass with a cigarette drifting about nearby, and we won't all be burnt to a cinder on the tarmac?'
'There are fire tenders.'
'I daresay. With the crews in the canteen swilling coffee, and you frizzled before they can stick their axes in their belts.'
At this point, a confused noise came from the loud speakers. Someone with his head in a blanket was evidently honking down a drain-pipe. The message was quite incomprehensible to my ears, but an alert young man nearby spoke to us.
'Gate Nine, evidently.'
We collected our baggage and joined the queue.
'Well, here we go,' said Amy resignedly. 'I wonder if the pilot is a dipsomaniac?'
We settled into our seats, Amy insisting that I took the one by the window. Through it I had a view of the rear side of the wing, and beyond that the grey expanse of the airport, with only the brightly coloured tankers and aeroplanes to enliven the scene.
'Thank heaven it's daylight,' said Amy, 'and we shan't be able to see the flames shooting out of the exhausts! I face death every time I get into a blasted plane.'
'It's a quick one, I believe.'
'I wonder. I always imagine twirling round and round like a sycamore key, with one wing off.'
'Caught in the enemy's search-lights, I suppose? Amy, you've been watching too many old war films on television. Have a barley sugar, and think of Crete.'
The engines began to roar, and the aeroplane began its interminable trundling round the airport, bumping and bumbling along like some clumsy half-blind creature looking for its home.
Amy had closed her eyes, and both hands were clenched in her lap,
I said I had a silk scarf if the wind became too boisterous, but I looked more like little Mother Russia in my headgear.
'Besides,' I said, 'it grieves me to pay a pound to have my hair fluffed out and then to see it flattened in five minutes.'
Rain began to fall as we approached the airport.
'Won't it be marvellous to leave all this murk behind?' crowed Amy. 'Just think of the blue skies waiting for us, and all that lovely sunshine.'
Our spirits rose, and remained high throughout the leaving of the car, the taxi ride through the tunnel, and the slow shuffle through to the departure lounge.
We found a seat, disposed our hand luggage around us, and settled down to watch our fellow travellers, and to look at the magazines we had bought to pass the time.
It was while we were thus engaged, that it suddenly dawned upon me that Amy was looking uncommonly nervous. It was the first inkling I had that she might suffer from the fear of flying.
'Do you mind flying?' I ventured.
'I loathe it,' replied Amy with some of her old energy. 'In the first place, it's dead against nature to have that great lump of metal suspended in mid-air, and no amount of sweet reasoning is going to budge that basic fact from my suspicious mind.'
'But think of the thousands and thousands of people who fly all over the place daily.'
'Lucky to be alive,' said Amy firmly. 'And think of all the hundreds who died in air crashes. I always do.'
'You shouldn't dwell on such things.'
'If you hate flying you can't help dwelling on such things! Then think of all the thousands of screws and bolts and rivets and so on, supposed to keep the bits together. How can you be sure every one of them is reliable? And what about all-over metal fatigue? Not to mention having so little time, or enough mechanics, to service the thing properly between flights.'
Amy, warming to her theme, was much more her usual forthright self, and I was pleased to see that, for a time anyway, James was forgotten.
'And then there's fire. I don't feel at all happy about all that petrol being pumped into the thing before you start off.'
'Better than forgetting it,' I pointed out. Amy ignored me.
'How does one know that there is not some ass with a cigarette drifting about nearby, and we won't all be burnt to a cinder on the tarmac?'
'There are fire tenders.'
'I daresay. With the crews in the canteen swilling coffee, and you frizzled before they can stick their axes in their belts.'
At this point, a confused noise came from the loud speakers. Someone with his head in a blanket was evidently honking down a drain-pipe. The message was quite incomprehensible to my ears, but an alert young man nearby spoke to us.
'Gate Nine, evidently.'
We collected our baggage and joined the queue.
'Well, here we go,' said Amy resignedly. 'I wonder if the pilot is a dipsomaniac?'
We settled into our seats, Amy insisting that I took the one by the window. Through it I had a view of the rear side of the wing, and beyond that the grey expanse of the airport, with only the brightly coloured tankers and aeroplanes to enliven the scene.
'Thank heaven it's daylight,' said Amy, 'and we shan't be able to see the flames shooting out of the exhausts! I face death every time I get into a blasted plane.'
'It's a quick one, I believe.'
'I wonder. I always imagine twirling round and round like a sycamore key, with one wing off.'
'Caught in the enemy's search-lights, I suppose? Amy, you've been watching too many old war films on television. Have a barley sugar, and think of Crete.'
The engines began to roar, and the aeroplane began its interminable trundling round the airport, bumping and bumbling along like some clumsy half-blind creature looking for its home.
Amy had closed her eyes, and both hands were clenched in her lap,
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