The Squadron Leader paused outside the door. His steely blue eyes threw a cursory glance across the newly painted sign announcing his presence as office incumbent.
Some joker had scrawled “back on ops – hurrah!” in chalk next to his name, and the square-jaw and chiselled-features relaxed into a smile.
He took a breath, and turned the newly-polished handle. Shards of light pierced the window as he entered and took in the features of his newly-decorated “operational” front-line office. From the window he could look out onto his own ORP (Operational Readiness Platform) where rested Greenhawk.
His attention now turned to the wall opposite his desk, where hung artwork by David Parker. “Ah! The Sirens!” exclaimed the Squadron Leader.
There was a knock at the door. Picking his deepest voice, the Squadron Leader called out “Come in!”
A young filly from Ops, head bowed, announced that hot coffee and current buns (the Squadron Leader’s favourite) were ready as she passed through the heavily-fortified door. “Nice picture you got there, Sir” she quipped nervously, looking for something to say.
Nonchalantly, he explained, “This artwork explores ‘The Phenomenal World’ by exploring the symbolic potential of particular geological landforms, especially natural arches. Variously seen by the different mythological and cultural traditions as bridges between worlds, portals of discovery, thresholds and even stone rainbows, these arches become metaphors between the temporal and eternal, the material and transcendent.”
“Ooh!” she exclaimed, lowering her gaze again.
“But do you like my new chair?” he questioned. Before she could answer, he continued, “this is a fine and rare early 19th century ash and elm cockpit chair (how appropriate, he thought) with a tall comb back with shaped cresting rail set with a brass plaque inscribed ‘Squadron Leader’s Chair’.” With hardly a pause he continued, “the plaque is set above plain spindles, the right arm terminating in a large balloon shaped rest with a raised circular centre, saddle seat, decoratively turned supports and legs united by turned stretchers.”
“I can see that”, she said smiling, “thank you, enjoy your coffee, Sir”. Smartly she turned and left the room, closing the heavily fortified door behind her with a clunk.
The Squadron Leader gazed proudly at his chair, gleaming in the light from the window. “No swivelly wheels for me when I’m addressing the Chaps!” he thought.
The Squadron Leader felt well satisfied as he eased his taut frame into the chair. “Now where is my gavel!” he wondered.
