Run her up.’

I lifted my hand to the rigger and he disappeared. I pulled the stick back into my stomach and gradually opened the throttle, automatically checking engine revs., oil pressure, and temperature. The engine burst forth from a stutter to a great even roar of sound, hurling a scream of defiance into the night. I throttled back, waved away the chocks from under the wheels, and let the machine roll gently forward to the taxi-ing post.

Across about a hundred yards from us lay the flare path, a straight line of dimly glowing light. The officer in charge of night flying and a sergeant with the Aldis lamp sat huddled in their greatcoats at the near end. There was no landing beacon. I tapped out my letter on the Morse key, had it returned in green by the lamp, and swung the machine into wind. I pushed the throttle wide open and eased the stick forward. As we gathered speed and the flickering lights of the flare path tore past in a confused blur, I knew that I was too tense. I could feel my hand hard-clenched on the control stick. I was swinging into the flare path and I felt White give a slight push on the rudder. The tail came up and then with one slight bump we were off the ground.

Reassuringly came White’s voice: ‘Climb up to a thousand feet and do a normal circuit. Watch your speed.’

Automatically as we climbed I hauled up the undercarriage, and pushed the pitch lever into coarse. I straightened out at a thousand feet, and, with my eyes fixed on the turn-and-bank indicator, pushed rudder and stick together to do a gentle turn to the left. Then I looked round me. Below lay the flare path, a thin snake of light, while ahead the sea was shot with silver beneath a sky of studded jewels. I could just make out the horizon and it gave me a feeling of confidence. I relaxed back into my seat, lifted my head from the cockpit, and took a lighter hold of the stick. Behind me I could hear White humming softly. I tapped out my letter and a flash of green answered from the ground. I banked again, and flying down-wind, released the undercarriage: another turn and I changed into fine pitch, throttling back slowly. In the silence that followed turning into the flare path, I saw the lights rushing up to meet us and could feel myself tensing up again.

‘Watch your speed now.’

‘O.K.’

We were up to the first flare and I started to ease the stick back.

‘Not yet, you’re too high.’

I felt the pressure on the stick as White continued to hold it forward. We were up to the second flare and still not down. I had a moment of panic. I was going to stall, we were going too fast, couldn’t possibly get down, I was making a fool of myself. Then a slight bump, the wheels rumbling along the runway, and White’s voice, ‘Hold her straight, man.’ We were down.

Twice more we went round before White climbed out and poked his head into the front cockpit: ‘Think you can take her round yourself, now?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well, off you go then, and for God’s sake don’t make a mess of it. I want some sleep tonight.’

For the first few minutes I few automatically, but with a subdued feeling of excitement. Then again I lifted my eyes from the instrument panel and looked for the horizon. I could not see it. Heavy clouds obscured the stars, and outside the dimly lighted cockpit lay pitch darkness.