When the Airlift started in June 1948, Berlin had just two receiving airfields, no concrete runway and only one obsolete power plant. Before the Airlift ended, concrete runways had been built at both Gatow and Tempelhof, a completely new airfield had been built at Tegel, and a modern power plant had gone up as well. These represented astonishing feats of engineering under the circumstances so including an engineer among my cast of characters seemed appropriate. The character of Lt. Colonel Graham Russel, CRE, was born.
Historically, the genius from the RCE responsible for improvising in the absence of nearly everything was a certain Lt. Col. R. Graham, but I knew nothing about him and so chose to create a fictional character Graham Russel. My character has found a home in the army after a childhood that left him stunted and deformed. Ugly of face and body, he has thrown himself into his work, finding friendship and satisfaction in the job he does. Fear of rejection has stopped him from seeking female companionship, and in the absence of family he takes his solace in gardening. He has over the years found it therapeutic.
An excerpt featuring Lt. Col. Graham Russel:
“So, sorry!” the cook called. “Wing Commander is on water!” She gestured toward the still-visible sailboat.
“That’s all right,” Graham assured her. “I came to do some gardening. Wing Commander Priestman said that I should talk to you about that. I thought I might do some weeding for you.” He pointed to a bed of vegetables that looked in need of such service. Then remembering his manners, he held out his hand to her. “My name’s Russel. Graham Russel. Please call me Graham.”
She was momentarily taken aback but then broke into a wide smile which made her look much younger than he had thought her to be. She shook his hand exclaiming, “Hello, Mr Graham. I’m Jasha. I see you before, no?”
Because of his misshapen body, people tended to remember Graham, so he was used to being recognised. “Yes, I was here for dinner earlier in the week, which was when I saw and admired your garden. You wouldn’t mind me helping you with it, would you?”
“No, no,” she agreed, but continued to look puzzled. Pointing to the garden, she asked hesitantly, “You want to work in garden?”
“Not for pay, just for the sake of doing it.”
She smiled at that. She was a pretty woman when she smiled, Graham thought, but she shook her head in protest too, “You are important man. Not gardener.”
“I’m only important when I’m dressed up,” Graham answered. “Now, I’m just a gardener — if you’ll let me.” Although Jasha nodded vigorously, Graham had the feeling she still didn’t fully understand him. So, he tried a different tack. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve planted?”
“Yes, yes!” She lit up at that and started on the tour at once. They progressed slowly through the extensive garden with Jasha pointing things out and explaining when each crop would ripen or if there were problems. She often reverted to German or Polish, but it didn’t matter because Graham was more interested in winning her trust than the details of what she said. He nodded, asked sparse questions, commiserated over the problem of slugs, and praised what she had done. When they got the henhouse, Jasha waxed very eloquent – in Polish. Abruptly, she realised what she was doing and broke off to laugh at herself. Graham laughed with her. When the laughter died, he pushed at one of the walls, causing it to sag and tilt. “The earth’s too wet here. We should move it to drier ground and shore it up a bit more.”
Jasha shook her head. “Wing Commander not want chickens near house.”
Graham looked back toward the elegant house with its wide terrace and French windows and had to agree. “Well, in that case, I could find some cinder blocks or bricks to use as piers to lift it off the wet ground.” She looked confused, so he explained with gestures and his patchy German until she nodded vigorously and smiled widely again.
As they walked back up the slope of the lawn, the dog came bounding up to shake himself beside them and then kept them company back to the house. At the top of the garden, the dog separated himself to dry himself on the warm flagstones of the terrace, while Graham again asked if he could do some weeding, bending down to demonstrate his intent. This time, Jasha agreed, and Graham set to work.
Gradually, the day turned hot and muggy. From the Havel came the sound of lapping water and the deep-throated chugging of barges carrying goods from Gatow into the city or returning empty. The chickens clucked contentedly in their yard and now and again a crow called from the tall trees on the fringe of the property. The Dakotas droned overhead incessantly, and one of the Sunderlands put down with a great splash as well. Graham watched all the fuss for a few minutes before resuming his weeding. Now and then, Jasha checked up on him. They found it surprisingly easy to communicate because of their shared interest in making things grow.
Graham had learned to love gardening when he was a schoolboy. Because of his stunted legs, he was not able to take part in school sports, so his housemaster had suggested that he help the school gardener when the other boys were playing games. That way he was not entirely sedentary or lonely. He also got some fresh air and sunshine. The gardener had been Indian. He’d come to England decades earlier with some former headmaster and had remained at the school after his benefactor had died. He was wise, patient, and gentle, and he had filled Graham’s head with a thousand Indian tales that made him want to see the world. He might have joined the merchant navy if the war hadn’t come along.
Graham had been fourteen when the Great War broke out. His father returned to active service. His older brother had volunteered at once and been killed in ’15. Graham had volunteered as soon as he turned 17, but they turned him down on medical grounds. He was not infantry material. Six months later, they weren’t so picky. He’d been accepted and assigned to the sappers. He’d earned his commission by early ’18 and spent the rest of the war building roads and airfields. In the process, he became addicted to the comradeship he’d found.
When the war ended, he did not want to leave the army, so he took a permanent commission. In the interwar years, he’d served across the Empire: Palestine, Sudan, India, Singapore. He loved it all and had never felt lonely because he made friends everywhere he went. His friends welcomed him into their homes, included him in their Christenings, birthday parties, weddings, and funerals. Occasionally, he’d allowed himself sentimental affections for girls who never returned his feelings, and he’d learned to dismiss such lapses in sanity as unimportant. He went on to new assignments, made new friends, laughed, partied, and tended the odd plant or two.
This last war had been harder, however. He’d served primarily in Burma with the “forgotten army.” The murky political situation, the climate, the terrain, the undeniable sense of being forgotten indeed by a government obsessed with fighting Germany, and the brutality of the enemy had all taken their toll. It was in Burma that Graham had discovered gardening as therapy.
This garden, however, reminded him more of growing up than battling the Japanese. The smell of the earth was different, and the insects were less aggressive. Graham found himself thinking of retirement and a garden of his own. He’d been in the army for 31 years, and he’d built an awful lot of airfields. The thrill of going to new places and facing new challenges was fading. Many of his friends had already retired. Some to “warm climates” — Oman, Kenya and Cape Town. Or, more commonly, to homes in the suburbs near “the grandchildren.” It was odd, Graham reflected; he had never missed having children as much as he missed having grandchildren. If nothing else, Berlin was turning into a tale to tell them about. Uncomfortably, he realized that for the first time in his service life, he felt lonely. He was completely free, and that was rather sad.
Graham does not feature as a major character until "Cold War."
The photo at the top of the page shows George More, MC. (It was the best photo of a RCE officer I could find in the public domain.)
Berlin is under siege. More than two million civilians must be supplied by air -- or surrender to Stalin's oppression.
USAF Captain J.B. Baronowsky and RAF Flight
Lieutenant Kit Moran once risked their lives to drop high explosives on Berlin.
They are about to deliver milk, flour and children’s shoes instead. Meanwhile,
two women pilots are flying an air ambulance that carries malnourished and
abandoned children to freedom in the West. Until General Winter deploys on the
side of Russia. Buy now!
Based on historical events, award-winning and best-selling novelist Helena P. Schrader delivers an insightful, exciting and moving tale about how former enemies became friends in the face of Russian aggression — and how close the Berlin Airlift came to failing.
Winning a war with milk, coal and candy!
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