The Atlantic Sky by Betty Beaty Read Free Book Online Page A

the layout of the Mark IV Astroliner. ‘No, ladies, not today. We have yet,’ he pointed o u t to them, ‘to do your practical cabin instruction in an Astroliner on the ground. Captain Prentice has kindly promised us an aeroplane and an engineering officer to instruct you in the very near future.’
    ‘But, Mr. Crosbie,’ they wailed at him, ‘when are we going to fly?’
    ‘Ladies, it is more difficult to arrange than you think. All the aeroplanes normally are either on the route or in the hangar under maintenance. Since the running cost of an Astroliner is one thousand pounds,’ and he paused dramatically, ‘an hour, to have one for ourselves alone is out of the question. So we must wait until Captain Prentice has some pilot training to do at the same time. Then he may be good enough to allow us to use the vacant cabin to begin our airborne syllabus.’
    So it all boiled down to Prentice again, Patsy thought bitterly. He would say when they would be allowed even to become familiarized with the cabin interior and layout. And he would say when they would fly.
    They did, however, see the inside of an Astroliner two days later. At Mr. Crosbie’s bidding, they followed him out of the classroom and on to the hangar tarmac, looking like a brood of mixed-breed hens amongst the smart dark uniformed and white-shirted magpies of the permanent staff.
    Thankfully, Mr. Crosbie handed the sixteen girls over to Mr. McWhirter, one of the assistant engineering officers. Doubtfully, Mr. McWhirter accepted them in his charge and led them (at last) up the steps and into an Astroliner.
    He was a taciturn man, Mr. McWhirter. He never spoke unless he had to, and when he did he explained things in the simplest, slowest manner, as one talking to foreigners. He showed them where the escape hatches were and how to work them, the location of the life-jackets and how to put them on. He watched speechlessly while Cynthia pirouetted round like a model at a fashion show in one of them inflated. He pulled out one of the twenty-seater dinghies in their neat packs, arid indicated the lever that would inflate them from the compressed air bottles. He undid a dinghy pack so they could see the rations of Horlicks tablets and boiled sweets, the chemical sets that made salt water into fresh. He made them crank the handle of the dinghy radio, tac tl essly mentioning that it was known as the Gibson Girl because of its beautiful shape. He let them practise adjusting the passenger seats and pulling out the beds that folded into the roof of the cabin. He swept them swiftly through the flight deck, where he plainly thought it was hopeless trying to explain things to them, for he merely indicated the two pilots’ seats, the navigator’s desk, the engineers’ panel, the radio officer’s position, and, just beyond, the pilots’ rest-compartment with its two bunks, before taking them back to what he obviously considered the proper place of the humblest crew member, the galley.
    There he explained the gleaming ovens and hot-plates, the water and heating systems. Then the fuses, where they were located and how to change them. Finally he led them to the heavy rear door, and explained how it had to be lifted upwards on its rollers before it could be opened. ‘Safety measure,’ he said.
    All this information he gave them in a competent, unsmiling manner. But at least he asked no questions to see if they knew anything, until suddenly he shot at Patsy the query, ‘How would you evacuate the cabin away from the apron?’
    Taken aback, she said, ‘You mean ... without passenger steps?’
    Mr. McWhirter nodded.
    ‘I suppose if they jumped—’ Patsy suggested.
    ‘Older people. Children. The sick.’ With a quick movement, Mr. McWhirter flung open the cabin door. Grouped round it, they all gazed down at the ground, eighteen feet below.
    ‘You mean they might—’ Patsy said.
    ‘Might?’ Mr. McWhirter grunted. ‘Would !’ He leaned out of the door, and gave a