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A Modest Superhero

I can’t remember the moment when I decided to allow Biggles some space in my new novel, but I imagine he just turned up one day, demanding attention. An ingrained loyalty to past escapism meant that I had to take him seriously. There’s an inner store in my mind, a bag of glittery details that I’ve accumulated over the years. Biggles was probably sitting waiting for the opportunity and jumped out when I was rummaging around for something else.

His presence in the novel has been the subject of intense debate with everyone who has read it in its embryonic state. How prominent a role should he have, or should he be there at all? Every time we discuss this in my writing group, we end up laughing. So, because I believe in humour, because I think it opens your mind, sets you up for suspension of disbelief, heightens your emotions, Biggles still has a walk-on part.

In fact, more people become excited by references to Biggles than I had anticipated. He evokes a nostalgia for a childhood world of heroes, goodies and baddies, right and wrong, that is immensely reassuring in these troubled times. Times were troubled then as well, of course, but you knew who the enemy was. He had a name, a nationality and a language – usually German.

The first Biggles book – The Camels Are Coming – was written by Captain W. E. Johns in 1932. It was a collection of short stories based on the author’s own experiences as a pilot during the First World War. He wasn’t really a Captain, only a Flying Officer, but he thought the title would appeal to children. He and his protagonist, James Bigglesworth, were members of the Royal Flying Corps, which amalgamated with the Royal Naval Air Service in 1918 to become the Royal Air Force. Apparently, Biggles was the inspiration for hundreds of young men who applied to train as pilots during the Second World War, and many of the books were updated for that purpose. Camels became Spitfires. After that war, Biggles joined the Air Police and embarked on a whole new career as a detective. The scene was set for dozens of books with that heady combination of aeroplanes and adventure.

I’m not sure how the Biggles books

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I can’t remember the moment when I decided to allow Biggles some space in my new novel, but I imagine he just turned up one day, demanding attention. An ingrained loyalty to past escapism meant that I had to take him seriously. There’s an inner store in my mind, a bag of glittery details that I’ve accumulated over the years. Biggles was probably sitting waiting for the opportunity and jumped out when I was rummaging around for something else.

His presence in the novel has been the subject of intense debate with everyone who has read it in its embryonic state. How prominent a role should he have, or should he be there at all? Every time we discuss this in my writing group, we end up laughing. So, because I believe in humour, because I think it opens your mind, sets you up for suspension of disbelief, heightens your emotions, Biggles still has a walk-on part. In fact, more people become excited by references to Biggles than I had anticipated. He evokes a nostalgia for a childhood world of heroes, goodies and baddies, right and wrong, that is immensely reassuring in these troubled times. Times were troubled then as well, of course, but you knew who the enemy was. He had a name, a nationality and a language – usually German. The first Biggles book – The Camels Are Coming – was written by Captain W. E. Johns in 1932. It was a collection of short stories based on the author’s own experiences as a pilot during the First World War. He wasn’t really a Captain, only a Flying Officer, but he thought the title would appeal to children. He and his protagonist, James Bigglesworth, were members of the Royal Flying Corps, which amalgamated with the Royal Naval Air Service in 1918 to become the Royal Air Force. Apparently, Biggles was the inspiration for hundreds of young men who applied to train as pilots during the Second World War, and many of the books were updated for that purpose. Camels became Spitfires. After that war, Biggles joined the Air Police and embarked on a whole new career as a detective. The scene was set for dozens of books with that heady combination of aeroplanes and adventure. I’m not sure how the Biggles books found their way into our house, but they must have come from jumble sales or second-hand shops, or been passed on by other people. They had hard covers but had lost their dust jackets, and they were well-thumbed by the time they reached me. The ones I borrowed from the library were the same – they hadn’t yet invented that useful see- through plastic that preserves dust covers for ever. I loved the ready-to-read smell of those thick, slightly yellowed pages, squashed up together on a library shelf. I didn’t care about, or even consider, any previous readers, but they must have been present in the musty aroma of the books, eager hands and the exhalation of thrilled breath leaving their mark. The covers were dark, usually blue, sometimes green or maroon, with plain black lettering: Biggles Flies East; Biggles Goes to War; Biggles Fails to Return. Oh, the heart-fluttering anticipation of that last one. Would he get hurt? Would he show some vulnerability – so much more moving in an all-action, all-achieving hero? Captain W. E. Johns was born in 1893 and died in 1968, halfway through Biggles Does Some Homework. There is some debate about how many Biggles books there are. Estimates range from 98 to 104, complicated by the fact that many stories first appeared in magazines and annuals, and were later compiled into volumes. (At the same time, he was producing plenty of other books. The Worralls series, for example, was about a member of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, and was requested by the War Office as a recruiting incentive.) There can’t be many authors with that kind of output. If Enid Blyton and Barbara Cartland head a list of prolific writers, Captain W. E. Johns isn’t far behind. My knowledge of First World War aircraft is extensive, because Johns provides detailed footnotes. There are accurate, first-hand descriptions of Sopwith Camels, Bristol Fighters, SE5s and all the other British and German aircraft in use at the time. The Camel had a reputation for being a difficult aircraft to fly, but it was the aeroplane flown by real heroes, the equivalent of the Spitfire in the next war. However, many of the books come from between the wars and later, when Biggles travels the world with his companions, Algy, Ginger and Bertie. They solve crimes, catch villains, save the planet from evil plots. Biggles is a kind of modest superhero. He has no magic powers, but he does have plenty of pluck and luck, and brains. Ginger seems to have been Johns’ favourite auxiliary character. Indeed, there were several times in the later books when I became irritated by his escapades, when what I really wanted to know was, is Biggles doing all right? The focus had shifted, and Biggles was no longer the slight, fair-haired, good-looking lad with deep-set hazel eyes that were never still. In the early books, people were concerned about him. I liked that. It meant I could be concerned too. Of course, he couldn’t go on being young for ever. Although he doesn’t age hugely in the later years, he has to be a bit more mature. He becomes an Air Commodore, for goodness’ sake. You can’t be pale and delicate with that kind of responsibility. I thought that Ginger had replaced Biggles in Johns’ affection and I was jealous for Biggles. Ginger went on being the headstrong young man, brave, needing guidance, but capable of the occasional flash of inspiration. Then there was Algy. He was significant in the early books, but he had to grow up a bit when Ginger arrived. He had a poor deal in the later books, assigned to stay behind at base, to phone the authorities, to be the back-up. Ginger had all the fun. The third of Biggles’s companions was Bertie, who wore a monocle and said things like: ‘Let’s toddle along, old boy’ – straight out of P. G. Wodehouse. He was only there for the humour. He never actually did anything. He’s the one everyone remembers, however, because he is a stereotype, and people like stereotypes. You know where you are with them. In my novel, where Biggles makes his appearance, I had most fun with the language. I have been to writing classes. I know all about style. You write: he said, she said, they said. Never: he averred, he opined, he expostulated. Johns doesn’t seem to know this. ‘“Lucky!” ejaculated Biggles sarcastically.’ Wonderful stuff. I wonder why these words exist if no one’s allowed to use them. Is it fashion? Did it all change at some point, and I only found out twenty years ago? But Virginia Woolf and D. H. Lawrence don’t use them, and they come from the same period. Who was right, them or Captain W. E. Johns? Like me, Johns believes that humour is important. All the short stories from the First World War end with a light-hearted bit of banter to show that everyone would survive, that they weren’t going to break under the pressure – the MASH principle on a rather more basic level. Sadly, there are racial stereotypes which we would not tolerate today. The baddie is frequently a German, epitomized by Von Stalheim, Biggles’s arch enemy, who crops up in the oddest places, long after the war. He leads a charmed life, like Moriarty, and always survives to come back in another book. But he and Biggles respect each other’s cunning, brilliance of mind and strategic thinking. They never make the mistake of underestimating their enemy. The air detectives often whizz off to exotic places – Borneo, China, South America and various mysterious Arab countries, where the Arabs are always baddies like the Germans. I’m not sure about the accuracy of the local habitat, but you need natives to grunt and use their muscles to do the dirty work. Some stories are set in Britain. I recently read one (in the interests of research) about a bull which disappeared and was found in a herd of cows, with white patches painted on to disguise it. I had the feeling this was written to fill in time during a few weeks in the summer while Johns planned Biggles’s next great expedition to Outer Mongolia. There are no women in the books. Nobody is married, has a girlfriend, or shows interest in anything female. There was an attempt in a First World War story – Affaire de Coeur, helpfully translated in a footnote – to depict an unhappy love affair between Biggles and a French spy, but it is very brief. She risks her life to tell him she has survived, and we never hear of her again. You can’t help thinking that Johns felt he ought to make a gesture but that his heart wasn’t in it. Who wants women in adventure stories? They just get in the way and scream all the time and want rescuing. And let’s face it, Ginger is pretty good at needing to be rescued. John Hamilton Ltd was the first publisher to produce Biggles, in 1932, followed by the Oxford University Press. From 1942 onwards, Hodder & Stoughton and Brockhampton Press seem to have published Biggles books at the same time. Maybe they were coming so thick and fast it needed two publishers to handle them. They were also popular abroad. Biggles is twenty-ninth on the list of the most translated books in the world. Even the French (who, according to my sister in France, don’t understand Boys’ Own stuff ) have accepted Biggles with enthusiasm. Red Fox have recently reprinted about twenty Biggles books, so they are available again for today’s children – or maybe just for nostalgic adults. There is still something pleasing about the simplicity of the stories in our cynical age – plenty of non-stop action with no worries about psychological damage or post-traumatic stress syndrome. There is no ambivalence. We know who should win, and we know that they will. Nothing is left in the air, as it were. Dated detective stories proliferate on the television and are hugely popular. People are nostalgic for a time that never was. Gentle escapism, and why not? There is no derring-do in Miss Marple or Poirot, of course, so perhaps Biggles is more in the Indiana Jones tradition – without the blood and gore. A cross between Miss Marple and Indiana Jones. James Bond without the sex. With a bit of MASH and Jeeves thrown in. That seems to sum it up. Oh, and let’s not forget the joy and romance of seeing a biplane taking to the air. In reality or in the imagination. What more could you want?

Extract from Slightly Foxed Issue 6 © Clare Morrall 2005


About the contributor

Clare Morrell’s next novel, Natural Flights of the Human Mind, is due out in January 2006. Her main success (until now her only success) has been Astonishing Splashes of Colour, which was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize in 2003.

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