Chapter One: Peter Newkirk
May 17, 1940
The alarm rang throughout the base. Every man left what they were doing and scurried out to the airfield. There, several bombers were returning from their mission in France. A few of them were wavering dangerously as they came in for the landing, since they had been strafed so badly. The ground crew stormed around each plane as she landed.
Junior Technician Peter Newkirk (1) ran from one if the hangars with four other men dragging the water hose to a plane that had a fire in the tail and gun turret. He yelled for them to pull it harder, and then when they were close enough, he gave the signal for the water. The man left at the spigot turned the water on. As they watered down the plane, men jumped out of it. The first man who jumped out was screaming for a medic.
Sergeant Dales, who was in charge of the ground crew from Peter's hangar, yelled for Peter to go get the medical team. Peter handed the top of the hose to Dales, and then started running to where one medical team was already working on getting another airman out of another bomber. He grabbed one idle medic by the arm, and hollered over the roar of engines for him to come to the other plane. The medic called for another ambulance and they rushed back to the burning plane. Six should have come out healthy enough. Only five did, and two of them were bloody.
Peter ran to the pilot, who he now recognized to be Flying Officer Murray. Murray seemed to be for the most part okay, if not worn out and worried for his men.
"Where's the sixth man," Peter cried.
Murray wearily pointed to the tail of the plane, where the gun turret was still engulfed in flames. Peter sighed, knowing that that man was already dead. Peter patted Murray's shoulder, and then ran back to the hose.
It was Peter and his men's job to keep the planes well and the airfield clean. When planes came back from a mission, this was when they were most active. Frequently, this was how they started their job. They would need to clear wreckage before they could clean the planes. It was getting worse and worse for the men who flew the missions. The forces of Britain and France were being pushed back more every day, and their seemed to be less hope for keeping France from the Nazis.
Peter told the men on the hose to keep it at the gun turret. Another hose came, and he directed it there as well. Dales pulled him aside.
"There's a man in there," he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Peter. "Or was. The body won't be much to look at now, but I don't want to 'ave it reduced to ashes. 'E deserves better than that."
Dales nodded solemnly. "Keep it up. I'll go get another hose." He patted Peter's shoulder.
Peter turned back to his men to keep them going at the fire. He watched the men from the planes being led away, back to the buildings where the airmen were housed. But some left in ambulances, which would rush to the airfield's hospital or to a hospital off the base.
Peter was one of the few Cockneys on the base. Most of the men there came from higher and middle class families, or neighborhoods rather, that did not include East End. To be in the RAF was like being in higher class almost, because only officers flew. But the activity on the ground was just as important. Some men found it odd to have a Cockney amongst them, because it was a belief that all Cockneys were lowly educated and off the streets; not RAF material. Peter usually straightened anyone on the myth, arguing that he could have gone to school and studied well and moved on to better places if he had really wanted to. Things had just come up. Some officers who came from distinguished families thought it was a mistake altogether that anyone who had not completed secondary school (2) should not even be in the RAF. It was little known, but there was sometimes discrimination against, not just Cockneys, but of anyone that came from lower class homes. But really, it was not a problem at Sudbury Airfield. Peter got teased a few times, but he had been in the RAF a year and a half, and had now gained respect, especially since he was in charge of a team of men. The military had tamed his wild attitude some as well. He was regarded as a good man and now had quite a few buddies on the base, and some in the nearby towns. Most people knew he good pick their pockets clean and they wouldn't know the difference, but it was all play, and few had trouble with him.
It was not until an hour later that Dale's crew was able to pull the dead man from the wreckage. Peter and one of his men, Leading Aircraftman Whittle, pulled a horribly burned body from the gun turret, and laid it in a body bag. The body bag was placed on a stretcher, and another two men carried the stretcher away. Peter clutched the dog tags of the burned man. They were still warm to the touch.
Dales walked over to him.
"I need to make a report about the plane," said Dale. "I was looking it over, and I would say ten days at the most.
Peter looked back at the plane, noting all the damage he could. "I'd say seven. This is the only plane from our 'angar, sir. We'll be able to devote all o' our time to it."
Dale nodded. "I'll put down eight, in case we run into some trouble." He looked at the turret. "Shame. I wouldn't want to be stuck in there. You're a sitting duck for Jerry."
"That's when I don't mind bein' so low on the chain," said Peter. He turned to Whittle. "Get started on the tail first. That's where most o' the damage is. I need to take these to Squadron Leader Murray." He held up the dog tags.
Whittle nodded and began to get the men in order. Everyone knew their job, and got to it. Peter walked with Dales towards the airfield buildings.
"You sure you don't want me to do it," asked Dales.
Peter shook his head. "No. You know the routine, sir."
The routine was that the highest ranked man who pulled the dead out of the wreckage was the one who gave the dog tags to that man's commanding officer. Sometimes it was hard, especially if you knew the man. This applied to Peter. Sergeant Taylor Matthews and Peter had enlisted at the same time, gone through basic training together, and had been assigned to Sudbury Airfield together. Since Matthews had had all of his schooling, he had risen through the ranks more quickly than Peter. He had become a tail gunner just in time for Jerry to attack France. Now, he was dead.
Peter walked into the officers' building, where officers bunked and ate. Peter always felt out of place here, but after a mission like this, the place was so dismal, barely anyone even noticed him. He found Murray's sleeping quarters and knocked on the door. A soft "come in" answered him and he opened the door.
He stepped in and came to attention.
"Oh, hey Newkirk," said Murray.
His tone told Peter that he need not be at attention. Peter went to ease, and looked down at Murray. Murray was seated on his bed, still in his battle wear. There was a half-drunk liquor bottle on his bedside table. Peter looked to the other bed in the room, wondering where Murray's roommate, Flying Officer Turner, was. Then he remembered that that plane had not come back.
"Need something," asked Murray, his tone of annoyance now.
"Oh," said Peter, shaking his head. "I just came to bring you Sergeant Matthew's tags, sir."
He stepped up to Murray and handed him the dog tags.
"Thanks," said Murray. He fingered them and Peter stepped back.
"I'll go now, sir," said Peter. "And I'm sorry, about Matthews and Turner, sir."
He gave the officer a salute and then turned back to the door.
"Technician," said Murray.
Peter turned back. "Sir?"
"I'm sorry for your loss too," said Murray. He gestured to the tags.
Peter nodded. "Thank you, sir."
With that, he left.
()()()()()()
That evening, after a nice shower, Peter enjoyed his meal with the other ground crews of the base. They were talking and laughing, most of them untouched by this afternoon's events. They all felt it when planes did not return, because they took care of those planes, and saw the men off in them almost every day. They were around the pilots and men a lot, because they were always concerned for the welfare of their planes. Still, they enjoyed not having to fly to a fight with a Jerry. Most of them were quite comfortable with being on base. If you wanted to be in a plane, you were crazy.
Peter was rather quiet tonight, because of Matthews's death. He had known the man well enough. At a night like this, they would have been talking over some ale in town. Matthews would be telling him about the mission. He always teased Peter, telling him that one day he would be up there.
Peter always said, "No thank you, mate. Me feet were made for the ground."
Now, there was no one to tell him about this mission. Not that he wanted to hear much about it. Too many people had not come back.
While listening to the other men talk, Sergeant Dales walked up. They fell silent.
"Carry on, chaps," said Dales. "I just need to have a word with JT Newkirk."
Peter nodded to them, for them to excuse him, and got up. He walked with Dales out of the building.
"Sir," asked Peter.
"I'm to bring you to Group Captain Lloyd," said Dales.
Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"I have an idea," said Dales. "But I can't say for sure. Come on."
They began walking from the mess hall to the office building across the compound.
"May I ask wot your idea is, sir," asked Peter.
"I think it's a promotion," said Dales.
"A promotion," echoed Peter. "But I only got promoted to Junior Technician two months ago. Doncha think it's a wee tad early for a promotion?"
"I normal times, yes," said Dales. "But the war is speeding some of these promotions of us enlisted men up. We lost a lot of men today, and we need men to replace them. As for people replacing you, there are more and more men enlisting every day."
"Oh," said Peter. "I guess I'll take a promotion. More money."
"Not too much," said Dales with a smile.
"No, sir, but more," said Peter. "That's wot counts."
Dales smiled as they reached the door to the offices. Peter opened the door, letting the Sergeant in first. Dales waited for him to step in, and they walked to the front desk together.
"How may I help you," asked the lady Corporal at the front desk.
"Could you point us in the direction of Group Captain Lloyd's office," asked Dales.
"Go down this hallway and up the first flight of stairs. When you reach the first floor, go down the hallway to your right, and it will be the third door on the left."
"Thank you," said Dales with a pleasant smile.
He started walking toward the stairs, and Peter leaned against the desk casually.
"You wouldn't 'appen to be free tomorrow night, pet, now would you," asked Peter.
The receptionist looked at him with batting eyelashes.
"Sorry, Junior Technician," she said. "But I'm already taken, by a Pilot Officer." She smiled. "Third door on the left."
Dales laughed, and grabbed Peter's arm, leading him away from the front desk. He led the rejected airman onto the stairwell.
"Nice try, you charmer," said Dales. "But remember that the Group Captain is waiting for us."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they came to his door, they opened it and went inside. There in the front room was the secretary.
"I have JT Newkirk to see Group Captain Lloyd," said Dales.
"Oh, yes," said the secretary. "You may go right in."
Dales and Peter nodded. They walked to the door but the secretary stopped them.
"Only JT Newkirk," said the secretary. "Sorry Sergeant."
"Sorry to 'im," said Peter. "Sir, I can't go see this ruddy officer by meself. The 'ighest ranked man I've ever seen face to face was a Flight Lieutenant!"
"Keep your voice down, straighten your uniform, and get in there," ordered Dales.
Peter scowled and did as he was told. He knocked softly on the door, and stepped in. In the office, Group Captain Lloyd was bent over some paper work. He was a graying man in his forties, with round little spectacles. He was in good shape, though, with wide shoulders. He looked rather odd sitting there at the desk. Peter shut the door behind him and came to attention with a sharp salute.
Lloyd looked up. "Ah, JT Newkirk. Please, at ease."
"Thank you, sir," said Peter, going to ease.
"I am sure you are wondering why you are here," said Lloyd. "So I will get straight to the point." He sat back. "You are getting a promotion."
"Thank you sir," said Peter. "But if I may ask you somethin'?"
"Certainly," said Lloyd.
"Well, sir," said Peter. "I don't mean any respect by this question, but why I am I 'earin' the news from you? If I'm just goin' from Junior Technician to Corporal to, well, that isn't so big. Not big enough for the Group Captain to tell me…in my opinion, sir."
"It is because of your opinions that I chose to tell you myself," replied Lloyd with a knowing smile.
"Sir?"
"You have a reputation with some of the officers," explained Lloyd.
Peter mentally winced. Had his big mouth got him in trouble? Sure, he was a bit hotheaded at times, but he did his job well. He never thought he would get punished for it.
"Before you worry too much," said Lloyd. "I want you to know that it is a good reputation. A lot of the officers like the way you treat their planes and their men, with respect and thoughtfulness."
"Me," blurted out Peter. He added quickly: "Sir?"
Lloyd chuckled. "Does it surprise you?"
"Well, sir," said Peter. "I just…I mean…I just do my job. Those planes need to fly, an' well we repair them. An' it ain't just me, sir. I mean, there's Sergeant Dales who's right outside, an' all the other Technicians an' Aircraftmen an' airmen I work wif. Sir, I'd just like to ask you again, wot makes this promotion so special?"
"You have been here a long time," said Lloyd. "Longer than most of the airman that are still in the ground crew. That is for the unfortunate reason that you just never received the schooling. But it is obvious that you are intelligent enough to do a well job. This promotion is different because you are not going just going to become a Corporal."
"I'm not, sir," asked Peter, confused.
"No," said Lloyd. "Because of our need for more men like you higher up, you will be trained for specific jobs in the planes."
Peter's mouth fell open. "Cor blimey! Do wot? You mental Guv?"
Lloyd started to laugh, and Peter blushed, realizing that he had just gone off on an officer. He bowed his head.
"Sorry, sir," he said. "I didn't mean that last bit o' wot I said. You really are fine China, I mean—" he shook his head, and Lloyd raised his hand for him to stop. Peter looked up at Lloyd worriedly.
"It's okay, old man," said Lloyd. "I would be surprised as well. And I am not insulted by whatever you said."
Peter was grateful that his slang had not been fully interpreted.
"Your effectiveness on the ground is well," said Lloyd. "You have a fine crew I learn, and so, you are now needed in the air."
Peter was now too surprised to say a word.
"This must appear to be a bit of a shock to you," continued Lloyd. "But I am moving you and a few others into the bombers, to get a feel of that atmosphere. For now, you will be trained as gunners. But my intention is for that to be temporary. Eventually, you will be trained for other jobs within our bombers: navigator, bomb aimer, wireless operator...the more technical jobs." Peter simply nodded. "You have been doing well, here, in Sudbury. (3) Now, you will not be so low on the totem pole."
Peter could only see the sight of the burning gun turret.
"Sir," asked Peter. "Doncha mean that if we live through being a gunner, we'll be trained for other jobs?"
Lloyd sadly nodded. "I know, that this may also sound like a death sentence, especially after a day like this. But this is a war. I trust that you, and the other men I have picked for this, will perform as well as an English airman would be expected to perform."
Peter straightened up to attention. "Don't worry, sir. I will do my duty."
"I thought so," said Lloyd. He got up and walked around the desk. He handed Peter two pins. They were the insignias that would be placed on his dress blues, informing all that saw him that he was a corporal. "Congratulations. And I would change those propellers to some stripes." (4) He patted the patch on Peter's arm.
Peter saluted. "Thank you, sir. Is that all?"
"Yes," said Lloyd. "Your orders will be sent down tomorrow morning. Sergeant Dales will tell you where to report. After then, you are no longer under his command, but the command of the pilot you will be flying with."
"Yes sir," said Peter.
"Well, good night," said Lloyd.
"Good night, sir," said Peter, and he exited the office.
When Peter stepped out of the office, Dales got up from the waiting bench.
"So," he asked.
"You were right," said Peter. "It was a promotion."
"Great," said Dales. "Well, Mr. Corporal, how about we go back down to the mess and celebrate."
Peter smiled. "Now, wait a bit, mate. There's more to it. I'm being put into those bombers!"
Dales' mouth fell open. "You're pulling my leg, old man!"
"No," said Peter. "Really!"
"Wow," said Dales. "Did he tell you why?"
"I'll explain on the way back to the mess," said Peter. "Come on."
On the way back, Peter told Dales what the Group Captain had said. Dales was just as shocked as Peter about the idea of being in the air. They stopped before re-entering the mess hall.
"I don't know if I should say congratulations or I'm sorry," said Dales.
Peter chuckled. "Say congratulations. I'd rather 'ave that. Besides, I know that from down 'ere I sure did a lot for everythin', but from the air, I can 'it Jerry 'arder."
"Well," said Dales. "That is true, but while you're up there, don't forget about us on the ground."
"I won't," promised Peter. "'Ow could I? I've been at it for a more than year."
()()()()()()
Peter retired to bed later than usual that night. Everyone had been happy for Peter about his promotion. When the other men that had also been selected returned from the Group Captain's office, a small celebration ensued at the mess. When they returned to their barracks, Peter could not go to sleep right away. He had one more person to tell. He began to write a letter to his sister, Mavis.
Mavis was eight years younger than Peter and had, as far back as she could remember, been taken care of by him. Peter had felt responsibility for his younger sister ever since their father had left them when he was twelve. This left the income to the family at something they could not survive on. Thus, Peter dropped out of school. His mother, Elain, hated to see her little boy leave school, not even making it to secondary, but she knew it was what had to happen if they did not want to end up on the streets. Peter had also known how much it had hurt his mum to see him drop out, because she considered it important that her children be educated. So, Peter promised himself that he would always bring in enough money to keep Mavis in school at least. It worked, because now Mavis was seventeen (5) and completing her last year of secondary school.
It had been a tough job to do, though. Elain worked during the day cleaning an office building, and then at night in a classy restaurant where the tips were good. Peter worked during the day at Kingsley Warren's pub. He got off when he was supposed to pick up Mavis from school. At the pub, he learned different talents like performing magic. Alfie the Artist was a regular visitor to the pub, and when he first saw Peter and realized he had some good fingers, he taught him some other less honest talents and more challenging magic. Peter put them to use daily by pick-pocketing people as he went to bring Mavis home.
About the time Mavis was eight, she could walk herself home, so Peter worked later, until he had to go home and perform the house chores, and watch over Mavis. But soon after that, Elain worked at the restaurant all day and only partly into the night. That meant that Peter did not have to come home until much later. It was in these days, while he was in his late teens, that Peter was at his worst. He had a free reign with Mavis able to manage herself until Elain came home, and Elain having no idea what Peter was up to. Well, in the beginning at least. His escapades of criminality were becoming much more than just pick-pocketing. It was in these two to three years that he was a part of the most brutal aspects of what took place in the slums of East End.
There were many ways to make an extra pound, none more decent than the other. But Peter was not without the memory of his dear mum teaching him when he was younger to be a decent man; that most likely saved him from doing more atrocious deeds. There were men who kept order amongst thieves, and Peter answered to a couple. He stole for others, and then received a percentage of the value of the item that he had stolen. There were also times when a name or reputation needed to be defended. Gambling and boxing were not an uncommon mix. More than once on occasion he came home battered; and sometimes with more money to spare.
The saying that there is no such thing as a good thief was true; even though Peter made himself believe it not to be. After some time of leading this life, he did become greedier and acted more dangerously towards any obstacles that lie in his path to a valuable item. He was also climbing through the ranks of respect amongst other thieves, despite his age. It was his determination to impress them that made him valuable to them.
There was, of course, a personal downside. Life at home was getting harder. Elain was now no longer clueless about the extra money that was finding its way into their home. Peter's appearance and his coming home extremely late at times told her exactly what was going on. She didn't hold back either. She let Peter know exactly what she thought about it. Peter loved his mother more than anyone else he had ever known, and it really was a blow to hear how disappointed she was in him. But when she told him that he was beginning to resemble his father he felt like he had been betrayed. That was it; he made up his mind to do what he wanted to do anyway.
Deep inside, though, he knew she was right. He had blown her off casually, but really feared the path he was going down. What he feared more, though, was that he believed that there was no turning back. The only people Peter opened up to about his fears were Kingsley Warren, Alfie the Artist, and Thomas Mackey, a good friend he had known since his early childhood. The two elder men, even though they had seen much criminal action, agreed with Elain. Kingsley wanted Peter to stay at the pub and work for him full-time. Alfie offered him some spots performing in other places around London. Both did not want to see Peter lose any chance of success elsewhere because his days were destroyed by stealing for others. Thomas was impartial, because he was on the same path as Peter.
Then the wake-up call came. At nineteen, he was caught in a bank with four other men after hours, midway through a robbery of someone's box. The man who had hired them for the job abandoned them in bailing them out. They were sentenced to a year in Scotland Yard. Peter was devastated. He had never imagined that he would be caught. And he could not imagine what was going on at home. There would be less money coming in, but also one less mouth to feed. He could hardly imagine his mother's reaction without feeling terribly guilty.
The year went by without incident, and with Peter only reforming himself. He was able to write home, but only Mavis answered, and that was only after several unanswered letters. Young Mavis was very timid about it all. Having her older brother in prison was not something she had ever expected. She rarely spoke about Elain in the letters, and never said anything about how she was taking it or if she ever said anything about Peter. When he was finally released and came home, Elain barely looked at him. Mavis kept her distance and Peter felt like he was an outcast. He knew he deserved it though. Mavis eventually came around, because she had missed her brother. When she realized that his brotherly love for her and protectiveness had never diminished but had actually grown, she was comforted. But Elain took longer. The way she saw it, her son was becoming his father. Peter knew this was what she believed and was determined to prove to her that he was not. He went back to the pub and got his job back for the night. During the day, he worked in a factory.
There was a long week in which Peter and his mother did not exchange a word. Peter was waiting for her to speak first, to accept him back into the household officially. But he saw that the silence was hurting Mavis, had knew it was unfair for her to suffer more. So, he finally spoke to Elain expressing to his mother how sorry he was and how guilty he felt.
He could remember it as if it had happened yesterday.
He had come home, late one evening. Kingsley sent him home never too late, to assure Elain he was up to no mischief, but it was still well into the night, Mavis already in bed. Peter had expected to find his mother asleep as well. But when he walked into the little apartment with that first room the kitchen and den, she was still up, ironing the clothes for the next day. Peter locked the door, and took his coat and hat off, hanging them on the rack. He went into the kitchen and warmed up some of the tea. As he sat at the table, sipping his warm cup, he could hear the sizzling of the iron. That was the only noise.
"Mum," he finally said. "I…I know you must think I'm the worst son a woman like yourself could ever 'ave. An' I deserve to be thrown out on the street. I don't 'ave to be 'ere iffen you don't want me to be. I came back, not only 'cause I 'ad nowhere else to go, but because I love you, an' Mavis, an' I never meant any 'arm to either o' you. You both deserve more than this, an' that's why I always wanted to bring 'ome more. I just went at it the wrong way. I learned me lesson, though. I shoulda listened to you, when you warned me about it all. You're the best mum a bloke could ask for. I always knew you loved me. Now, I just 'ope you still will. I mean, I was never the first to admit anythin' like this, but I do need you Mum. I don't know wot I'd do without you."
Elain had continued to iron throughout his confession. She never looked up at him or even hinted that she was listening. Peter watched her tentatively, hoping for any sort of response. After a bit, and there being no response, he got up and headed to bed.
"Peter," Elain called softly.
Peter turned around quickly. "Yes?"
"Come 'ere, boy," she said.
He came obediently. She stepped away from the iron and met him in the den. He stood before her patiently. He had grown to be much taller than her. She had always been a rather short woman. She looked up at him, studying him. She took his hands into hers.
"You will always be my son," she said. "Nothin' you ever do in your life is goin' to change the fact that I love you. I raised you, an' nothin' will ever change that. I only fear for you. But I 'urt meself when I told you that you were growin' up to be your father. That's wot I'd always feared 'appenin'. But I should've known that you couldn't be sheltered forever, 'specially when you started workin' at such a young age. You deserve better, Peter, because you're young. It just didn't 'appen that way. But you are years better than your father 'cause 'e would've never done wot you did. If it's anyone's fault that you ended up where you did, it's mine. I expected too much from you."
"Mum, no," said Peter quickly. "I didn't care about school anyway. I just wanted to 'ang around them pubs all the time, listenin' to people perform, an' watch other performances at the Palladium." He smiled. "Mum, we both wanted one thing: somethin' better for each other. It just makes me glad that we weren't really fightin' one another. Now, I just wanna start over. I wanna make sure Mavis gets a good life, and I'll work 'ard an' 'onest just for 'er."
Elain smiled as if she had just seen an angel.
"Thank you, Peter," she said. "For everything."
And she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly, with tears in her eyes. Peter returned the hug, picking her right up from the floor and spinning her around. She laughed, and it was music to Peter's ears.
The next few years were simple; still hard, but Peter had never been happier. He was working constantly, but in better places. He was able to give up the job at the factory when Alfie secured him a good spot at the Palladium. Sometimes he performed by himself, sometimes with others, and sometimes as just an assistant to others. When he wasn't performing he worked there just earn more money. He was able to keep his job at Kingsley's as well. Anyone who he had been a criminal with before, now regarded him as a traitor almost, but he could care less. He was now happy with himself and had come to terms with his life.
Things seemed to be getting better too. There was more income coming in due to his work at the Palladium. Mavis was excelling in her school work, proving to be a bright young girl, seeing as she was learning a lot of it on her own. During the summer, she began to work, also at Kingsley's pub, but tucked away in the kitchen. That was Peter's decision. There were some things that went on in that pub that he did not want his younger sister to know of. Alfie was delighted to see another young Newkirk, but Peter gave him strict orders to never teach her anything dishonest. So, the cheeky safecracker stuck to magic tricks, which Peter was still unsure about. But Mavis was growing up, and becoming her own little individual. She graduated out of elementary school, and was the only one in her class who didn't have her mother to greet her in the end. Instead, there was Peter, rushing to greet her after a show at the Palladium, and then treating her to a little dinner in a quiet restaurant.
Mavis was also growing up to realize more and more about the world she was growing up in. She learned that young Cockney girls were not given jobs out in West End. She came home crying one day after harshly being rejected and being called some derogatory names by employers. Peter almost considered contacting some old friends and going over to those employers and having a word or two with them in a side alley. But that was just his anger getting the better of him momentarily. Instead, he began to teach her how to speak with a proper English accent, like he had learned to do when working around West End. Going into secondary school that summer, she came with more confidence and a new accent. She would never let anyone know where she came from, though, because she was always afraid she would be rejected because of it.
Then, tragedy struck the Newkirk home. Elain became very ill. Peter and Mavis had the best doctor they could afford come over. She had a bad fever, and Peter knew it was bad. He came to the sad realization that it was unlikely she would come through it. During this time, he did less work, trying to be at home with Elain, to take care of her. The pals that he had had at the Palladium turned their backs on him, bitter that he would suddenly stop performing. Only Kingsley still paid him his usual salary, and Alfie came by with some food every now and then, always staying out of Elain's sight. Peter warned him not to come around, unsure of how his mum would react to the man who had taught him so much. But when Peter lost some of these supposed "friends" it hurt him, because now was when he needed someone to lean on most. Only Faithful Thomas Mackey was there for him. He cared for Elain as well.
He remained strong for Mavis, though. He never allowed her a day off from school while their mother was sick. Of course, the young girl thought he was the devil for that, and put up quite a fight. But Peter never gave an inch, and Mavis went to school every day. She soon realized that she was foolish for arguing because Peter had given a lot up for her. She was grateful for him, and could not put up much of fight towards him without feeling guilty.
Elain Laurie Newkirk passed away on a Sunday, and Peter was rather glad for that, because he and Mavis were both there. This was how Peter got into the RAF. On her death bed, Elain made Peter promise that he would get a good, honest job to support Mavis until she could support herself. Peter could never break a promise like that, and only a few days after his Elain's death, he was out looking for the right job. Working only at Kingsley's was not enough, and when he tried to go back to the Palladium, they no longer needed his acts, which were being surpassed by others. His absence had given them the idea that he no longer wanted to work there. Few restaurants could pay what he needed to be paid. And no one else would hire him because he did not have enough schooling.
Then, there were calls for people to enter the military, and a small draft. Peter knew he would be wanted, so before he could be taken into the infantry, and made some lowly foot soldier given the worst jobs, he volunteered for the RAF. At least there, in the military, all they wanted was his name and age: the military.
He had never, in all of his short life, thought that he would ever enlist. His father had been in the Great War, and after seeing what it did to him, he did not want to be anywhere nears the military. But it appeared to be his only option. Not to mention, things were getting tense in the European mainland. Peter knew that could very well mean that he may end up in battle. But, it was still unlikely, that if he put himself in the right branch, he would never see battle, because he had hardly been to school. That was why he had selected the RAF. He knew that pilots were officers, and you had to have gone to school to even be in a plane. Most likely, he would just be a clerk's man or something. Perfectly okay with him.
It was the perfect job for the situation. He would not need to support himself, because as long as he did his job, the RAF would support him. So, he would send his pay to Mavis, who would remain at home under the neighbors' eyes. Peter would not be able to see her as often, but would come home every chance he got. And he planned on not re-enlisting as soon as his term was up. The idea of him going into the military made a lot of the boys he had grown up with almost laugh at him. They could not see their ole Peter Newkirk following orders. But those who really did trust him; they sent him off with many good lucks.
Now, they were in a war. There was no retiring because every able-bodied man was needed. And now, even though Peter had thought he was safe, he was not. He was going into battle. He had a lot to tell Mavis. He had a lot to tell her, now that he realized that there was a higher chance that he might not see her again. The scene from that afternoon was burned into his mind.