Read Online So Disdained by Nevil Shute - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nevil Shute
Tags: General Fiction
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easy enough on the way down to the barn. There would be no difficulty about getting her down the hill into seclusion. If ever she were needed again, it would even be possible to taxi her up the hill again under her own power till level ground was reached for her to take off. At that time I didn't think that there was the least chance of that ever happening, [Pg 47] but there was very little doubt that it could be done if necessary.
I had a bit of luck then. Spadden, the farmer, came out of the barn as I approached; a grizzled, uncommunicative man of fifty-odd. He had a couple of sheep in there with bad feet, he told me. He had had the vet. out to them from Leventer the day before, in a terrible fright that it was foot-and-mouth; the vet., it seemed, had laughed heartily, given him a poultice, drunk a stoup of ale, and departed. Spadden told me all this as he greeted me beside the barn and as he was showing me the beasts. He was a good sort, was Spadden. He'd always given me a square deal, and I knew he wouldn't talk.
I put it to him bluntly. "Been up on the down this morning?" I inquired. He hadn't. "Well, I've got an aeroplane up there."
He nodded slowly. "Nasty dangerous things," he said at last. "You don't want to go messing about with them no more. Thought you'd had your fill in the war."
I laughed. "It's nothing to do with me. I've not been flying it. But I know the pilot. He's an old friend of mine; he landed here late last night. He's had to go to London in a hurry; I said I'd look after it for him, and see that it was picketed down somewhere in shelter from the wind. He said he reckoned to leave it here a week."
It was a thin tale.
"Aye," said Spadden phlegmatically. "Where'll we put it?"
I thanked God for him. "Bring it down into the hollow here," I said, "and picket it under the lee of the barn. It's quiet enough down here."
"Aye," he said again. "It's quiet down here." He stared around. "Never a great wind down here. If you put it here the sheep'll be worrying it."
"They can't hurt it."
"Reckon they'll rub."
"Let 'em," I said. There was very little chance, I thought, that anyone would ever want to fly it again.
He went off and fetched one of his labourers, and then we [Pg 48] went trudging up to the top of the down. There we cut loose the lashings that held her, lifted the tail shoulder-high, and began to wheel her down to the barn. It was all downhill, or we'd never have got her there. We must have put her down a dozen times for a spell. She was a big machine, that Breguet, and a heavy one to handle on the ground. I know that by the time we got her down to the barn I—for one—was wishing most heartily that I'd never set eyes on her.
There was everything we needed in that barn, right on the spot. We drove stakes into the ground beneath the wing-tips with a wooden mallet, and lashed her to them loosely to enable her to ride a little in the wind. We lashed sacking down over the engine, the propeller, and the cockpit. I made a proper job of the controls. By the time I'd done with her she was a fixture, and fit to lie out there for a winter without taking any great harm. Apart from the sheep, that is.
I made a rough examination of her before I left. There was an oil pipe broken in the engine mounting; a bit of rubber piping that connected the oil tank to the engine, perhaps an inch in diameter, frayed and burst. There was a great slaver of oil all about that had come from this pipe. That was the trouble that had brought him down. Something must have made the pipe burst, I supposed; some stoppage in the circuit, but what it was I did not know.
I left her then. Spadden said he'd keep an eye on her and see that she didn't suffer too much from the sheep. I took the occasion to urge him not to talk about her. But there was little need for that. He didn't want a lot of sightseers wandering about all over his land.
I went back to Under for breakfast well satisfied with myself. The machine couldn't be seen
I had a bit of luck then. Spadden, the farmer, came out of the barn as I approached; a grizzled, uncommunicative man of fifty-odd. He had a couple of sheep in there with bad feet, he told me. He had had the vet. out to them from Leventer the day before, in a terrible fright that it was foot-and-mouth; the vet., it seemed, had laughed heartily, given him a poultice, drunk a stoup of ale, and departed. Spadden told me all this as he greeted me beside the barn and as he was showing me the beasts. He was a good sort, was Spadden. He'd always given me a square deal, and I knew he wouldn't talk.
I put it to him bluntly. "Been up on the down this morning?" I inquired. He hadn't. "Well, I've got an aeroplane up there."
He nodded slowly. "Nasty dangerous things," he said at last. "You don't want to go messing about with them no more. Thought you'd had your fill in the war."
I laughed. "It's nothing to do with me. I've not been flying it. But I know the pilot. He's an old friend of mine; he landed here late last night. He's had to go to London in a hurry; I said I'd look after it for him, and see that it was picketed down somewhere in shelter from the wind. He said he reckoned to leave it here a week."
It was a thin tale.
"Aye," said Spadden phlegmatically. "Where'll we put it?"
I thanked God for him. "Bring it down into the hollow here," I said, "and picket it under the lee of the barn. It's quiet enough down here."
"Aye," he said again. "It's quiet down here." He stared around. "Never a great wind down here. If you put it here the sheep'll be worrying it."
"They can't hurt it."
"Reckon they'll rub."
"Let 'em," I said. There was very little chance, I thought, that anyone would ever want to fly it again.
He went off and fetched one of his labourers, and then we [Pg 48] went trudging up to the top of the down. There we cut loose the lashings that held her, lifted the tail shoulder-high, and began to wheel her down to the barn. It was all downhill, or we'd never have got her there. We must have put her down a dozen times for a spell. She was a big machine, that Breguet, and a heavy one to handle on the ground. I know that by the time we got her down to the barn I—for one—was wishing most heartily that I'd never set eyes on her.
There was everything we needed in that barn, right on the spot. We drove stakes into the ground beneath the wing-tips with a wooden mallet, and lashed her to them loosely to enable her to ride a little in the wind. We lashed sacking down over the engine, the propeller, and the cockpit. I made a proper job of the controls. By the time I'd done with her she was a fixture, and fit to lie out there for a winter without taking any great harm. Apart from the sheep, that is.
I made a rough examination of her before I left. There was an oil pipe broken in the engine mounting; a bit of rubber piping that connected the oil tank to the engine, perhaps an inch in diameter, frayed and burst. There was a great slaver of oil all about that had come from this pipe. That was the trouble that had brought him down. Something must have made the pipe burst, I supposed; some stoppage in the circuit, but what it was I did not know.
I left her then. Spadden said he'd keep an eye on her and see that she didn't suffer too much from the sheep. I took the occasion to urge him not to talk about her. But there was little need for that. He didn't want a lot of sightseers wandering about all over his land.
I went back to Under for breakfast well satisfied with myself. The machine couldn't be seen
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