He was the same shy, awkward man Carson had met a few days earlier, but the difference became apparent as soon as he began to talk. In these surroundings he had a sort of diffident, but very real, authority.As they walked out to the aircraft he called Carson ‘Mr Carson’ and, with some vague idea that the other’s confidence needed boosting and to show that outside of working hours they were equals, Carson called him Mr Pebbles. As a result the conversation was painfully formal.Carson’s introduction to G-ARTZ was equally formal. Pebbles walked around the aircraft, explaining the necessity for checking for external damage which might have been sustained to the prop, flying surfaces, landing gear and tyres since the last flight check. Then he looked at Carson with the anxious air of a father watching his favourite daughter go off with a boy-friend of dubious character, and finally indicated the wing walkway and the open cockpit canopy.‘B-before you strap in, Mr Carson,’ he said, ‘You’ll f-feel much better without your jacket...’Despite the bright sunshine the wind blowing across the wet airfield cut like a knife.
