大象传媒

My friend Patrick, lived next door to me during the early war years. We watched the Battle of Britain being fought out over our heads as the Germans tried to reach London, and the RAF did their best to stop them. Being only seven, the true significance of what was going on was lost on us, but we could appreciate the spectacle and the excitement. One day, Patrick and I were playing in my garden when we heard a low flying aircraft approaching from behind the houses. Next thing a Spitfire burst into sight, flying very low and with the canopy open. The pilot was clearly visible and waved to us as he flew overhead. It is something that I shall never forget, and I often wonder what happened to him.
Just down the road, in Robinia Avenue, there was often a big sports car parked outside one of the houses, and with which I was fascinated (I now know it was a 2ltr Lagonda of the early thirties). Often a young man in Airforce uniform would come out of the house, grin at me and drive off. He must have wondered who this strange kid was!
On the main road, in one of the big houses, a light blue Morgan sports car was often to be seen. The driver of this car also wore an Airforce uniform. His face was badly disfigured and not until I was a lot older did the significance of this sink in.

I am not one for hero worship. I admired Mike Hawthorn, Jack Kennedy and Winston Churchill, among others of similar metal, but the Fighter Pilots of the Royal Air Force will always be my Heroes.

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