All aboard for Ajaccio
Mr. Orsi asked us to give him an hour whilst he made "certain preparations ". We ,jokingly , said amongst ourselves, that his tearful Wife had insisted upon him making his will, then off we went to the aerodrome but this time in his car with his red eyed wife and followed by three more black Citroens, traction avant, filled with relatives, following behind. We had warned him that there was not much comfort in the Oxford but he had brought a large wicker basket on which he perched himself behind me with the mechanic sitting in the right hand seat. Our Radio Officer had a canvas chair with the radio on a small bench in front.
The Oxford hadn't the performance or the equipment to overfly the Alps so I flew all the way down the Rhone Valley and then along the coast to Nice before setting course to Ajaccio. We had lost all radio contact wirh anyone so I flew low in front of the Control Tower to show them our registration , waggled the wings and set course towards Corsica.
As we flew, very low, over the Mediterranean there was a loud bang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mr.Orsi had opened his wicker basket and had popped one of the bottles of Champagne that he had brought, together with the roast chicken, pate de foie gras, truffles, crisp baguettes with farm butter.. you name it. It was there. We sat there with the sun shining, the sea sparkling, having a feast fit for Royalty.
When the coast of Corsica came into sight, Mr. Orsi's eyes filled with tears and I fully expected him to kiss the ground when we landed there on a lovely afternoon with the scent of mimosa everywhere.
Mr.Orsi was very quickly on the telephone and in no time at all there were cars all around filled with the fiercest looking Brigands you would wish to meet. They proceeded to hug and kiss him and then, after explanations it was our turn to be embraced. He explained that there were no longer any Brigands on the Island but they had been replaced by Hoteliers and we were staying at his Brother in Law's Hotel and would be treated like that other well known Corsican, Napoleon. And we were.
The repairs went very speedily, too speedily for our passenger and we were ready to leave the very next day. That night we were regally wined and dined and introduced to the deadly drink, absinthe, which had long been banned in France but was the local tipple in Corsica
At breakfast, next morning, the whole fish with glassy eye staring at me proved too much and I beat a hasty retreat to my room (and bathroom) where I stayed untl it was time to leave. Once again a large entourage of black Citroens accompanied us to the aerodrome where the relatives literally filled the plane with huge sacks of tangerines, thousands of bunches of mimosa and cases of liqueures of various sorts. Mr, Orsi now beaming from ear to ear , was carried on board by about fifty of his relatives and off we went.
There was no question of doing anything but staying the night at Lyons. The Restaurant was declared closed to the public but was full with relatives, friends and also his now smiling ,much relieved and a little surprised Madame Orsi smothered me with kisses and led us to the places of honour next to her husband at a table surrounded by at least ten more tables where the rest of his guests where seated. The ambience was fantastic ! Mr. Orsi was beaming all the time and kept patting me on the shoulder "Mon Commandant" he would say proudly.
Moules Mariniere as an h'ors d'oeuvres followed by Steak
Lyonnaise , of course and then course after course followed accompanied by some of the finest wine I have ever tasted and then the awful coffee but the lovely Cognacs with the cheeses.
The flight back to England was rather an anti climax but the mimosa and the tangerines were gratefully received by the Customs at Croydon and the staff at Rochester. Years afterwards and now speaking better French I tried to find the Restaurant whilst on holiday with the family in the south of France but Mr. Orsi had gone and nobody knew where but I shall never forget that trip as long as I live.