The racket from the Beardmore was deafening. Communication of any sort was only possible if the pilot leaned forward with his mouth close to Phillip’s ear and shouted at the top of his voice. For this
cute boys gay reason, most exchanges were made with standard hand-signals. Phillip turned in his seat as the pilot tapped his shoulder. The man then pointed upwards and circled his hand, indicating they were going to climb. Phillip nodded vigorously. He turned back and smoothed his maps out over his knee then hung over the cockpit coaming, attempting, without much success, to identify landmarks
cute boys gay. The aircraft’s instruments were basic in the extreme. There was an oil pressure gauge, a bubble variometer, which indicated whether the machine was climbing or diving, and a rev counter. Phillip threw out one of his weighted streamers to judge the wind direction. There was no compass fitted so he made do with a hand-held model he’d purchased in a Boy Scout Shop in Oxford.
He slowly began to make sense of the map and relate it to the landscape he could see below. He picked up the course of the main Oxford to London railway line, assisted in no small measure by the plume of smoke sent up by a
cute boys gay speeding express. The forward nacelle rattled and shook as the pilot tried to squeeze every last ounce of power from the complaining Beardmore. Phillip found it almost impossible to focus and was relieved when at last the pilot eased back the throttle and the plane levelled out.
They made their way across the clear
cute boys gay sky at a stately sixty miles per hour. The
cute boys gay De H 1A had an absolute top
cute boys gay speed of a fraction less than 80 mph but even those modest speeds were now beyond this tired example of the breed. Phillip didn’t care. He was scarcely even aware now of the droning engine. He put up his head and was buffeted by the wind and laughed out loud in pure delight. This was how things should be, clean, pure, somehow. He was detached from the earth, hanging between the heavens and the baser elements like a cloud. The pilot was tapping his shoulder again and gave the signal for
cute boys gay directions. Phillip hurriedly gathered his wits and indicated a quarter turn to the right. The plane banked into the turn and Phillip’s heart sang with the joy of it.
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