I’ve been thinking about this again, I really really would like a Spitfire the only trouble is I don’t want to fly it around the TMA at 2400’ in an inversion layer.
I want to jump into it after the fitter has warmed the engine, and with my mates go roaring off into the dawn sky. I would be wearing one of those cool leather helmets with the goggles atop my Forehead. I would also have a Mae-West, a parachute, and Irvine boots. We would be vectored to somewhere over Tunbridge Wells at Angels 18 and would be having our eyes skinned for enemy A/C.
“Tallyho” would shout the S/L and we would dive into the melee below.
After landing from the last sortie, we would jump into my ageing jalopy and head of to the White Horse in Brasted where I would chalk my name on the blackboard.
On days off we would go up to London and I would have my top button undone…….
I think I had better stop there, actually all of the above is why I started flying in the first place. As I get older I realise that the horror of War is so unlike the romance I have described above, but I guess I am still a bit of a romantic at heart.