Calgary, August 2024
We live in politically correct time and must be careful what we say. A silly joke could offend somebody or worse, get us accused of sexual harassment. On the other hand, pornography is booming, and the popularity of sex clubs is growing. One could presume the swinging couples are some hippies from a commune, but that presumption would be wrong. Wife swapping started in the military environment of air bases during WW2. The casualty rate of combat pilots was very high, and to relieve the stress, pilots needed relaxation in the arms of a woman. Sometimes those relaxations turned into true love, but the pilot's death would leave his female companion stranded. Therefore, there was a common agreement that if a pilot didn’t return from a mission, the others would take care of his woman. The following story is about one such arrangement.
John Smith was a fighter pilot. He loved flying in general and his Spitfire in particular. He was young, confident in his skills, and flying high above the airport, hanging upside down in the straps, relaxed him. Unfortunately, he could seldom enjoy this type of relaxation. Most of the time he found himself in the unfriendly skies of the enemy airspace, where other young men who also loved flying tried to kill him. Then, after returning from the sortie, he could relax in the officer’s club, and, with a pint of beer in hand, discuss the details of the last mission with his fellow pilots. But what John really liked was his time with Amelia. She was a nurse, and they needed each other. In her arms John could forget, at least for a while, the horrors of seeing burning aircraft falling out of the sky. For Amelia John was a healthy young man who helped her, at least for a while, to forget about equally young, but crippled men she saw every day in the hospital. But their lovemaking wasn’t always relaxed.
“What will I do if you don’t come back from a sortie?” Amelia asked one rainy day when there was no flying.
“My friend Martin will take care of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have this agreement that if a pilot gets killed, others will take care of his woman.”
“But the others have their own women too, no?”
“Yes, they do, and in that case, the two women will have to share one man.”
“And the women agree to that?”
“Yes. It is better to share a man than to have no man at all. Therefore, if Martin gets killed, you will have to share me with Olivia, his girlfriend. Unless, of course, you want to drop me and find yourself somebody from a non-combat unit. Do you want to do that?”
“No.”
“In that case, you must accept the agreement. The good news is, there are eighteen of us in the squadron, so there always be somebody you could connect to.”
Amelia knew that John was right. It would be better to share a man with another woman than to stay alone. To validate the agreement, John introduced Amelia to the squadron pilots and then invited Martin, Olivia and Amelia for a drink. The two women looked at each other and wondered if one day they would be sharing one of those men. They hoped it would never happen, but it did. One night John didn’t return from a sortie.
That night, at the end of August 1944, the squadron's mission was to escort a bomber formation to a target over Germany. By that time Paris was already liberated, and it was obvious Germany would lose the war, but they weren’t defeated yet. Their air defence was still strong, and one young man in Me 109 sprayed John’s plane with bullets. John was franticly diving to escape, his airplane was still flying, but he knew he would not make it back to England. But he could fly to France, bail out, and hope that some good French citizen would help him to escape. Therefore, he flew southwest until the engine stopped, flipped the plane upside down, fell out, pulled the ripcord and enjoyed a gentle parachute descent to earth. Then, using a knife from his rescue kit, he dug a hole in the ground, buried the parachute and waited for the morning light. The night was dark, nobody could see him, but there will be the wreckage of his airplane with no pilot in it, and John knew they will be looking for him.
In the morning, he saw a farm building in the distance, but he didn’t dare to walk there during the day. It wasn't until the next night that he knocked on the door of the building. The light in the house came on, a woman opened and saw a man in RAF uniform. She pulled him in, closed the door and turned the light off. Before John could say anything in his non-existent French, she asked in good English:
“Are you American?”
“No, English.”
“You bailed out?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your parachute?”
“I hid it about two kilometres from your house.”
“Did somebody see you?”
“No. The night was dark.”
“But they will find your plane and will be looking for you.”
“I know. Will you hide me? The war will not last much longer.”
Without answering, the woman brought him to the basement.
“You stay here and don’t leave under any circumstances. The basement also has a storage space. If somebody comes, you will hide there.”
John was looking at the woman. “You are very courageous, thank you very much.”
“Maybe you will repay me after the war. My name is Marta.”
“John, pleased to meet you.” He really meant it, and then he added: “Your English is very good. Where did you learn it?”
“I have been teaching English in Paris, where I lived with my husband. But then came the war, he was drafted into the army and was killed in Ardennes. After the German occupation, I returned here to help my parents with the farm.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were involved in the black market and Germans sent them to a concentration camp. I don’t even know if they are still alive.”
“Is that why you live here alone?”
“Yes.”
This partly explained Marta’s willingness to hide an English pilot. She had good reason to hate the enemy.
For John, this was the beginning of a long wait. He didn’t suffer any real hardship; the basement was set up as a live-in space for a servant and hiding in the storage space was infrequent. Marta didn’t have many visitors. The best part were the nights when Marta brought down the dinner and they could talk.
“You said your parents were sent to a concentration camp because of the black market. Why didn’t they arrest you as well?” asked John one evening.
“I was nice to the commander of the unit which occupies this village.”
John wondered what being nice actually meant, but he didn’t ask. Marta was saving his life. Then, with time, the nights turned into more than just talk. They were both lonely and there was no reason why not to be lonely together. After all, Amelia was now with Martin, sharing him with Olivia.
One night, when they were lying in bed, Marta asked: “After the war, will you take me to England?”
“Is this the repayment you mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you want to leave the village?”
“I cannot stay here. They consider me a German whore and as soon as the Germans and your troops leave, they will kill me.”
“But you are a hero. You are hiding an English pilot.”
“That makes it even worse. It shows them I have a courage they don’t have. And they don't like anybody who is better than them.”
John was moved. The world seemed to conspire against Marta. “Yes, I will take you to England. Or at least, I will do anything possible to take you to England with me.”
Then, finally, came the day they all were waiting for. Germans left, the Allied troops arrived, and Jon showed up in his RAF uniform with Marta beside him. The villagers couldn’t believe their eyes. The German whore was with an RAF pilot. John introduced himself to the Allied commander, they verified his identity and prepared a transport to England for him.
“But the woman will come with me,” he told the commander.
“We cannot transport civilians.”
“She saved my life. I will not return without her.”
The commander saw John’s obvious attachment to the woman and remembered his own youth. “OK. I will write a request stating she needs urgent medical care.”
That is how Marta and John returned to England. There was a huge welcome party at John’s squadron, and Martin reluctantly returned Amelia to him. But it got complicated when John introduced Marta to the squadron. Suddenly there were three women for two men, and some sharing was again needed.
I don’t know how they finally resolved their dilemma. Perhaps Amelia and Olivia continued sharing Martin, or maybe Amelia returned to John and shared him with Marta. Or perhaps they all shared each other. I don’t know. But I would like to know how the characters of my story would be received today in our politically correct society.