The handsome made its way through the muddy streets of York, Canada to the Royal Airfield on a chilly but bright March morning. Henry pulled his furs a bit tighter against the wind and reigned in the team as they approached the gate. A cane rapping sharply against the roof and he suppressed a grimace.
“Henry are we finally arrived?’ He took a breath and contrived to keep his tone light, and subservient.
“Nearly there, Mum. But there is a queue at the gate, I’m afraid.”
“Well just go through them, that’s a good lad.” The driver sighed, and waited.