The Sandbag Times Issue No:56

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Mrs Fox Goes To War The Chronicles of Little Hope 1939 - 1945 Villager of the Month Victoria Cross, SOE agent. A master (or indeed mistress) of disguise, Ms Cross resigned from her post as the librarian of Little Hope (there was only so much you could do with six books) in early 1941 and headed for 64 Baker Street. Although Churchill’s habit of referring to her as ‘That funny fellow, Bunny’ was a bit annoying, it did prove that the young pilot officer with the nomadic moustache didn’t stand out too much at Church Parade... https://www.mrsfoxgoestowar.co.uk/victoria-cross Hilda Ffinch The Bird with all the answers Hilda Ffinch, Little Hope’s very own Agony Aunt (page 5 of the Little Hope Herald) was easily bored and terribly rich. She loved nothing better than taking on the problems of others and either sorting them out or claiming that she’d never heard of them if it all went tits up and they had to leave the district under cover of darkness having followed her sage advice. | 40 www.sandbagtimes.co.uk
Mrs Fox Goes to War 5th June 1942 Nora from the NAAFI RAF ‘Somewhere in England’ Mrs Hilda Ffinch Ffinch Hall Little Hope Yorkshire Dear Mrs Ffinch 8th June 1942 Dear ‘Nora’ Firstly, let me congratulate you on the sterling war work which you have undertaken in volunteering to staff the RAF NAAFI. An army may march on its stomach (as that bounder Napoleon once said) but the Royal Air Force flies on fried egg sandwiches (as mentioned by W E Johns in his rip-roaring novel ‘Biggles Flies Undone’). And whilst you may not be beavering away at a top secret government installation cracking codes and saving lives, your efforts at cracking eggs and saving the RAF’s bacon are equally commendable. I’m not local to your village but came across your problem page whilst travelling from A to B on the Great Western Railway (during the course of which journey we stopped three times on account of dodgy signals, twice while the guard shooed cows off the line and once on account of a very annoying Fokker who just wouldn’t give up and go home, as it were. Fortunately, he was seen off by a nippy little Spitfire which appeared out of nowhere, took care of the business and then and did two victory rolls, a heart stopping side slip, a slightly antiquated yet nonetheless perfect Immelmann Turn and a wing-wiggle-waggle before disappearing into the clouds again. Now, with regard to your mysterious flying ace. I do, as you know, have connections with most branches of the Armed Forces, and I’m fairly sure that from the description of the aeronautical display you give that the pilot of the Fokker-off-er is none other than Group Captain Rupert “Blinkers” Blenkinsop, who used to fag for my brother Charles at Eton. He was a fine, upstanding and well-connected lad with a talent for polishing boots, ironing cricketing whites and - crucially - making the finest paper airoplanes in captivity (a turn of phrase there, don’t take that too literally, Charles was a very liberal Fag-Master and gave Blinkers the run of the place). Young Blinkers, even then, had such an understanding of aerodynamics that he was able to launch a quick The thing is, Mrs Ffinch, I think I may have fallen in love with the pilot, but how ever will I find one knight of the air amongst so many? I do hope you can help, I’d hate to pine away over my tea urn and Malted Milk biscuits. Yours hopefully one off the wrist at such a trajectory that it would fly twice round the quad and buzz the sundial before invariably coming to rest on the headmaster’s windowsill. Of course he was often to be found in detention after such a stunt but no matter, the seed of greatness had already been sown. After Eton and Cambridge and a brief spell in The City - where paper planes were banned on the grounds that far too many compromising missives were floating out of windows and landing on the hats and in the baskets of old ladies sitting on the steps of St Paul’s badgering passers by to feed the birds (tuppence a bag) - Blinkers followed his heart’s desire and joined the Royal Air Force, where he took to the skies like a great big swallow and was finally able to unleash his pent up aeronautical prowess. ‘Nora’ The ‘two victory rolls, heart stopping side slip, slightly antiquated yet nonetheless perfect Immelmann Turn and wing-wiggle-waggle’ which you mention in your letter, Nora, comprise what is without doubt the aerial signature of dear Blinkers Blenkinsop. It is a routine he perfected along the boulevards and grandes rues of Paris prior to the occupation, when a chap might still swoop low enough in his Spit to snatch two French sticks, la plume de ma tante and a bottle of Bollinger from the table of an unsuspecting madamoiselle and leave her with a packet of Players Navy Cut and a lightly smoked kipper by way of recompense. Your Fokker foiling hero, my dear, is one of Blighty’s most renown defenders and is, as such, rather high on the hit list of both Herman Goering and every female under the age of 70 in the Home Counties. My advice to you therefore - should he come into your NAAFI, so to speak - is to act fast lest another get her equally keen talons into him first, Nora! With this in mind, why not throw on a nice gay pinny and proceed to ask if he’d like a bit of crumpet or a little hot pudding for supper, or perhaps look him in the eye and whisper “Meat and two veg, sir?” in your most seductive voice? Should Blinkers still prove difficult to snare after that (and he shouldn’t, I’ve known him to go weak at the knees at the very mention of toad in the hole), then perhaps hint that a little tossed salad might be on the menu later, or that you yourself would kill for a decent finger roll or some slightly salty (but not stale) nuts. Avoid mentioning chocolate fingers at all costs, but a raised eyebrow and a breathy “Chocs away, Group Captain?” accompanied by a quick flash of your Kit-Kats might be just the ticket. Similarly, asking whether he’d like you to hold his Bertie Bassett’s whilst he reaches for a napkin may prove to be felicitous. Should he still fail to twig then I can only suggest that it’s probably time to get your dumplings out and hope for the best, dear, as even the best of fellows can be a little dense at times. Rest assured, that should I run into Blinkers at The Savoy Spitfire Ball on Saturday next, I’ll mention your name to him. Tally Ho for now, Nora! God save the King and bless our Boys in Blue! Yours confidently, Hilda Ffinch, The Bird With All The Answers You can catch more of Mrs Fox and Friends at www.mrsfoxgoestowar.co.uk or on Twitter @mrslaviniafox www.sandbagtimes.co.uk 41 |
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