Story - Mr Banks

 

Simon had expected the next instruction from Control would be telling him to taxi to the runway, but he was disappointed.

"Lima Tango 325, please hold position until further notice, incoming emergency means all take offs delayed indefinitely.  Will update you on estimated time when things become clearer."

"Roger Control."  There wasn't much else he could say.  Whatever the emergency might be, they'd be too busy dealing with it for unnecessary questions from him, and he'd probably see it soon enough.  Sounded like a flight with a problem needed a runway urgently.  He informed the passengers about the situation, answered their unanswerable questions as best he could, and settled to wait.

Which gave him another chance to ponder on what he was about to do, and how he'd come to this point.  This was it, his first solo flight in charge of a commercial passenger aircraft.  There were only six other people on board, the flight time was just forty minutes, and he'd be back in Inverness in plenty time for dinner.  But it was all his.  After a couple of years of co-piloting he'd now be solely responsible for the safety and comfort, and confidence, of everyone on board, trusted by the airline to do the job to the standards they demanded.  It was a place he thought he'd never be in, a chance that so nearly fell away from him, but for one man.

Fourteen year old Simon had only one ambition in life. He would become an airline pilot, surely the natural outcome of the absorbing fascination with aviation he'd had for eight years.   It was time to choose the subjects he'd take next year, the ones he'd go on to take O-grades in, from which he'd select the Highers he'd sit, which would shape the degree course he'd be able to take, which would be his passport to flying school.  Maths and Physics were top of his list, the essentials for his future.

At the parents evening McCartney, the Maths teacher, had made encouraging noises, confident in Simon's abilities to progress.  English, French, Chemistry, the same, no problems foreseen if he kept up to the same standards he'd met so far.  Their final stop was with Harrison, the Physics man, and the one teacher Simon found hard to get on with.  He knew he hadn't excelled in Harrison's class, but felt it was down to the teaching as much as his own ability.  Harrison thought otherwise, and explained to his disappointed parents that Simon stood little chance of passing the lower level exam two hears hence, never mind the far more important one the year after.  His father put up a half hearted defence, emphasising how important this was to the boy's career aspirations, but he was no match, in intellect or authority, for the teacher.  Telling Simon to leave it, they'd work something else out, they shepherded him towards the way out.

The evening was coming to a close and Banks, Simon's French teacher and form master, was shuffling his papers into order, stuffing them into his bag.  He looked up to see a  boy who'd been smiling eagerly thirtty minutes before, but now looked like one heading for the scaffold, morosely shuffling along between his stoic parents.  

"Simon."  

He looked across blankly, a weight around his neck.

"Can we have a chat before you go home?"

Simon looked at his parents.  They, used to giving way on educational matters, urged obedience, and moved with him towards the trestle table.

"Just Simon on his own if you don't mind please, if you could wait outside we'll only be a few minutes."  

Simon wondered what was coming, but didn't much care.

"So who's given you some bad news?"  

"Mr Harrison doesn't think I can get my Physics O so I shouldn't take it next year."

Banks understood the implications immediately.  He shared some of Simon's interest in the world of aircraft, so he knew exactly what an obstacle had been dropped into the boy's life plans.

"And what do you think?"

Simon stood open mouthed.  This wasn't a question he was prepared for, for his opinion was so rarely sought by anyone.

"Come on, you can tell me.  I know how much of a blow that would be to you and everything you want to be.  So what do you think - could you get your Physics or not?"

"Mr Harrison says no."

"I'm not asking Mr Harrison, I'm asking you.  Do YOU think you'd get it?  How much do you want it?"

Simon struggled between the his maternally-inculcated humility and an adolescent desire to realise his dreams.  He looked at Banks, a concerned, encouraging expression on his face, and decided to take a chance and see where it took him.  He couldn't be any worse off than he was already.

"I'm sure I can sir, but I seem to have problems with the way Mr Harrison explains things."

"Have you been to any of Mrs Baker's classes, or Mr Cheam's?"

"We had some lessons from Mrs Baker, and I found her a lot easier to understand.  Not that I mean Mr Harrison doesn't know stuff or anything, but..."  Banks stopped him.  

"Leave it with me Simon, let's see what can be done.  No promises, but I'll see if we can get a second opinion, OK?"

Simon nodded, not able to trust the lifeline being thrown his way, and went off outside.

"What was that about?" his mother asked.

"He wants me to do some extra reading." he lied.

Simon never really did understand what Banks had done.  But two days later he was summoned to see Baker, questioned intently for an hour and, feeling like he'd been under interrogation, left none the wiser.  Two days later a letter arrived at home, telling his parents that there had been a revised verdict on Simon's Physics capabilities, and if it was still one of his preferred subjects he'd be in Mrs Baker's class next year.  And that was that.

"Lima Tango 325, please taxi to standpoint A and prepare for takeoff."

Simon's instincts threw him from his reverie.  "Roger Control."  He went through his procedures and set the plane in motion, to a desultory cheer from the impatient sextet behind him.  As the lift took hold off the wings and hauled them skywards Simon's inner voice said "Thank you Mr Banks."