大象传媒

By mid May 1944, we people living at Reigate were being made aware that D Day wasn't far away. Countless vehicles were on the move in convoys, and mostly on a daily basis. Although most of the transport drove past our hotel where I worked (as a boy waiter for three years) in a quiet, purposeful manner, this wasn't true of some troop transports. The Americans in particular always made their passage in good voice - as if told they were taking a European holiday. They were 'happy-go-lucky' Yanks, untried in war and seemingly bullet proof in their attitude towards the ultimate destination. Perhaps Eisenhower hadn't by then addressed them, and told them that invading France would be no picnic; something to tell their grandchildren about, yes, - but certainly nothing to sing about.

Sometimes the strings of vehicles were going westwards while at other times it was eastwards. I never found out why that should be, but when the noisy Yanks were coming down the hill from the Redhill direction they kept up a barrage of exhaust backfiring as they switched the ignition on and off. Equal to the bang of large bore shotgun blasts - it wa deafening. The other very noticeable factors were that all the drivers were blacks and that all hung a leg dangling outside the cab door window. One could think they wre going on a jamboree for apart from singing, others would be shouting rude invitation to those 'natives' wearing skirts - regardless of shape, size, or age, or resort to other gestures. It all seemed a real eye-opener for their brothers were daily flying in large formations of bombers to blast German fortifications and losing thousands of crew members as they paved he way for their invading land forces.
One couldn't help but compare the complete contrast between those already committed to daily bloody war and those who had yet to taste it. No doubt they would learn the hard way soon for it made military sense that we should open a Western front within a few weeks - during the longest days.

About five miles away lay Nutfield/Redhill aerodrome, and being very air minded I was cycling there in my off duty hours to watch the war planes Airshow flying. Here were based several Spitfire and Mustang squadrons and as the great Day grew closer so these speedy raider escorts became increasingly active. I was not just 17 years old, could make balsa-wood flyhing models and was yearning for my turn to venture into the pilots' sky.

Overnight all aeroplanes suddenly acquired bold white painted bands on their wings and fuselage - even those fighters at Redhill. The D Day had arrived, and while winds wore white bands, tanks and lorries and jeeps displayed a big white star. Now there should be no confusion of who was friend or foe.
Things now got very busy at Redhill - with yet more Spits crowding into the small airfield. Several times a day these fighters had to set off to do escort work or harrass the enemy targets in Normandy. It was now I could see damaged airplanes returning and making the hairy landings. One day a deserted Boston bomber sat forlorn in the long perimeter grass after a forced landing, while from above a wing panel from one of a dozen Spitfires that I'd watched take off parted from the craft and flipped its way back to earth; someone's head would duly roll by nightfall, while the Spit broke formation to re-land. Another day a Mustang with its propeller stuck in very minimal pitch and one reluctant or damaged wheel, was looking very sorry for itself as it flew round the district till the pilot could resolve its difficulties. It was war wounded, presumably, and as it came across the airfield very low in another desperate slow pass so I had to leap from my bike to avoid a chopping haircut. The prop could barely keep the plane flying and, after close shaving me, its spinning propeller chewed the top off a bush alongside me before staggering onwards. However, matters were resolved successfully and the plane safely down.
At other times I was treated to fine airmanship as squadrons of the hefty American Thunderbolt fighters came storming across the airfield in show off fashion. - lovely stuff!! Next time it would be the turn of the twin-boomed twin-engined lightning fighters; great favourites of mine, they were a joy to watch as they twisted and turned like flying fish. Our pilots weren't allowed this sort of laxity due to 'stuffy' regulations. So Redhill aerodrome was well worth the pedal power, till eventually the fighters departed for forward airfields or those capture in France.

Somewhat despondent by the diminished action I decided it was time to put an end to my balsawood model of Flying Tiger Tomahawk. It was getting very delapidated due to a wall encounter and several bad landings. You couldn't buy a three bladed propeller so I had to make one from a tin can. It wasn't very professional. However, after blunting my scissors with the cutting I finally got the balance right with a heavier pair normally rserved for cutting the horse's toenails.
Slitting the fuselage paper I poked in some cotton wool soaked with paraffin, then wound up the normal rubber and motor. A lighted match quickly provoked the smoke and flame and I sent it on its climbing way. My word it looked very realistic took, till the collapsing fuselage sent the burning wreck into a plunging nose dive in the hotel car park; a true and noble end for a figher plane of great fame. (Car park always empty due to lack of WAR petrol).
I next tried making a helicopter, but such inventions were somewhat new and I had little realistic knowledge. The four blade rotor I made of wood, but gave no thought to tail end stabilising. Needless to say it had no idea how to fly. But then - with a few mods and an increase in rubber power, plus a helpful hand launch, it did in fact go upwards! But not for long. Due to no tail rotor, it began spinning wildly about its own axis, attempted a barrel roll after clipping a wall, then became totally mad.

The alarming arrival of the jet-pipe 'doodle bugs' then re-aligned my flying instincts to the normal configuration for in this deadly D Day dodging contraption with a ton of 'sting' were many lessons to be learned. Britain's new WAR was passing noisily overhead and it was time to look up and take notice.

The END had a new beginning.

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