The Last Flight

?Good morning, Karen.? I turned and saw the suave middle aged pilot approaching me, along with his co-pilot, strolling nonchalantly across the departure lounge. ?Ah, good morning Captain Anderson,? I replied, flashing him my sweetest smile. ?A beautiful morning.? ?Yes, it is indeed,? he agreed. ?Should be a good flight.? I had been a stewardess for six years and I loved every minute of it. Having been drafted to work in munitions factories throughout the war years it was like a new life. I was able to travel, and in style. I didn't get paid a great deal but at twenty-nine years old, single and carefree, it didn't matter. I was free! I had almost been refused the position at my interview. I looked okay. Five feet and ten inches tall, slim and not too bad looking I thought. Short dark, wavy hair, high cheek bones accentuating my large dark brown eyes but my long slender fingers ended in rather ragged nails and dry skin due to the ravishes of the munitions and chemicals I had spent so long working with. I was given a probationary period with the warning that if my hands didn't improve in that time I was out! I could never forget that first day in training school. I had arrived bright and early, dressed to kill. I had taken hours with my make-up and wore my very best clothes and when I looked in the mirror I was quite satisfied that I could do no more. When the other girls walked in I suddenly began to feel rather dowdy. They were all so beautiful and glamorous. We all greeted each other and introduced ourselves but little more was said before the door opened once again and in strolled the most beautiful mature woman I had ever seen. She was tall and slim, mid forties I guessed, blonde hair tied neatly behind her head with a bun clearly visible beneath her navy blue and red hat and showing off her flashing crystal blue eyes. The room fell silent as she walked directly to the desk at the front of the room and as she passed all eyes focussed on her immaculate uniform and confident walk. At her desk, she stopped, turned on her heel and faced us, looking for a moment at each one of the ten of us fortunate candidates. ?Good morning, Ladies.? She spoke without a single smile, her face blank and professional. ?I am Pamela Barnes, the chief stewardess at this training centre.? She paused for a moment whilst, like children at a new school, kaçak iddaa we recited,*?Good morning, Miss Barnes.? ?This is not school, ladies. I am married but you may call me Pamela.? Again she paused as she allowed this announcement to sink in. ?Now, first, you will introduce yourselves to me. I would like you all to stand in front of your desks and, as I come to each of you, you will hold yourselves erect with your hands outstretched, palms facing downwards.? I looked down at my dry, cracked skin and ragged nails and my heart dropped. I was the third girl that she inspected and I was determined that my hands would not hold me back and, as she stepped in front of me, I straightened my back and pushed out my breasts, such as they were, held out my hands, palms down and said, ?Karen Farmer, Pamela.?*I gave the broadest smile I possibly could. She stood expressionless and gazed at me.**"Hmm,? she said. ?A good effort but you have a lot to learn about make-up and presentation. That, of course, is why we are here.? The smile slipped very quickly away but I was not going to cave in at the first hurdle and I kept my face as expressionless as hers until she looked at my hands! ?Oh dear, oh dear. This will simply just not do. Tut tut tut.? She shook her head and turned away as the extremities of my lips began to take a definite southwards turn and I looked down at my hands. Extremely disheartened, I allowed my hands to droop back to my sides but kept my back straight and chin up. Moments later she was in front of me again and this time, she had in her hands, a pair of white cotton gloves with little lace cuffs. She handed them to me and I took them without a word. ?I cannot have my girls showing hands in such a terrible state,? she said, not angrily but not gently either. ?I had been informed that you were coming so I had these gloves brought in. You will wear them at all times when on duty and in uniform. If I see you without them there will be no second chances. We have an image to maintain.? I looked up at her and... did I really see... the feint sign of a smile at the edges of her eyes? I allowed a smile to return to my lips as I said, softly,*?Thank you, Pamela.? ?You are welcome,? she replied and moved on to the next girl. I was fortunate that my hands had already begun to soften with the careful use of moisturisers and keeping kaçak bahis my nails carefully trimmed. At the end of that six months, I stood proudly in line with the other girls to be presented with my 'wings', a large S attached to an outstretched wing woven from golden thread against a black background,by the airline's training director. Pamela Barnes complimented me on my appearance and how well I had done to reach the strict standard that the airline demanded. As she paused before me whilst the director presented the next girl's wings, Pamela leaned forwards and whispered,*?Congratulations and very well done. I knew you could do it.?*For the first time, she smiled. So, here I was, six short years later, walking across the concrete apron with two very suave and handsome pilots towards a gleaming silver Douglas DC-3, flashing and glinting in the hot summer sun. The Airline's name was in red above the windows with two red parallel lines before and after, giving an impression of speed,*===Trans Europe Airways ===. This was not the first time I had crewed the DC-3, in fact, I spent most of my time with them. They were not as fast and as glamorous as the Comet which was just coming into service, nor as quiet as the viscounts but they were small, carried less passengers and I was the only stewardess on board so I felt as though I was in charge, which, technically I suppose, I was. I quickly built a rapport with the pilots. We tended to circulate in small groups and I soon got to know most of them but not many of the other stewardesses as*we more often worked alone. As I followed behind, I watched the pilots climb the short stair which was built into the back of the bottom hinged door. Once they were on board I followed them in and began my checks. There wasn't much to do, the aircraft had been cleaned and prepared by the ground staff so I walked up the steep aisle to the front, checking seat belts and antimacassars as I went. There were just twenty-four seats on this particular aeroplane, twin rows to the left and single to the right. Some of the later aircraft had thirty two seats, two either side, but this was one of the airlines premier flights and the larger, more comfortable seats had been retained. The door to the cockpit was open and I tapped on it before entering. The pilots were busy with their pre-flight checks. ?All is ready illegal bahis in the cabin, Captain. Are you ready to embark the passengers?? I asked. Captain Anderson answered without turning away from his checks. ?Thank you, Karen. Yes, you may bring them aboard now. I am just going to do the walk round outside and by that time we should be ready to leave.? I returned to the door and, after checking and straightening some of the window curtains, waved towards the terminal. Shortly afterwards the door opened and a stream of passengers filed out. I stood beside the bottom of the air-stair and greeted each one as they boarded. ?Good morning, Sir, Good morning, Madam,? I smiled warmly as I greeted them. The seats were clearly marked and it didn't take long for each of them to find their allocated seat, take off there outerwear, place their small bags, coats and jackets, in the rack above and settle down for the four hour flight to Marseilles. No sooner was everyone settled that captain Anderson re-entered the cabin having completed his checks and helped me to pull up the door and secure it. I followed him along the aisle, checking that all my passengers were comfortable and had their seat belts fastened then returned to my seat at the rear of the cabin, fastening my own belt. Moments later I heard the right engine wheeze once, twice, a crackle from the exhausts and a puff of smoke and the fourteen cylinder twin radial Pratt and Whitney engine burst into life, settling into a gentle growl whilst the left engine went through the same process. We sat for a moment and then the engine note increased to an even roar from either side and, with a slight jolt, Captain Anderson released the brakes and we began to move from the apron towards the taxiway and, ultimately, the runway. The taxiway was a little bumpy as we moved along it and, before the runway, the aeroplane came to a gentle halt. For a moment, the engines revved and the airframe vibrated. I knew from experience that the pilots were checking the engines before take-off and, once again as I expected, the brakes came off and we rolled forwards onto the long runway. Outside, the sun flashed on the fast spinning propellers as the engine roar reached a crescendo and we began to move. Faster and faster we went, the tail lifting and the cabin floor becoming level and finally we left the ground. An almost imperceptible whirr and clunk as the wheels retracted and we were up, flying, climbing towards the sun as it reflected off the gleaming silver wings. It didn't take long to reach cruising level.