Read the book: «Grandpa’s Great Escape»

1
Spam à la Custard

Jack was a child who was happiest alone in his bedroom. A naturally shy boy, he didn’t have many friends. Instead of spending his days playing football in the park with all the other kids from school, he would stay inside assembling his prized collection of model aeroplanes. His favourites were from World War II – the Lancaster bomber, the Hurricane and of course his grandfather’s old plane, the now legendary Spitfire. On the Nazi side, he had models of the Dornier bomber, the Junkers and the Spitfire’s deadly nemesis, the Messerschmitt.

With great care Jack would paint his model planes, then fix them to the ceiling with fishing wire. Suspended in the air, they looked like they were in the middle of a dramatic dogfight. At night, he would stare up at them from his bunk bed and drift off to sleep dreaming he was an RAF flying ace, just like his grandfather once was. The boy kept a picture of Grandpa by his bed. He was a young man in the old black and white photograph. It was taken sometime in 1940 at the height of the Battle of Britain. Grandpa was standing proudly in his RAF uniform.

In his dreams, Jack would go Up, up and away, just like his grandfather had. The boy would have given everything he had, all of his past and all of his future, for one moment behind the controls of Grandpa’s legendary Spitfire.

In his dreams he would be a hero.

In his life he felt like a zero.

The problem was that each day was exactly the same. He would go to school every morning, do his homework every afternoon, and eat his dinner in front of the television every night. If only he wasn’t so shy. If only he had lots of friends. If only he could break free from his boring life.

The highlight of Jack’s week was Sunday. That was the day his parents would leave him with his grandfather. Before the old man had become too confused, he would take his grandson on the most magical days out. The Imperial War Museum was the place they loved to visit the most. It was not too far away, in London, and was a treasure trove of all things military. Together the pair would marvel at the old warplanes hanging from the ceiling of the Great Room. The legendary Spitfire was, of course, their absolute favourite. Seeing her always brought Grandpa’s memories of the war flooding back. He would share these stories with his grandson, who devoured every word. On the long bus journey home, Jack would bombard the old man with hundreds and hundreds of questions…

“What’s the fastest speed you ever went in your Spitfire?”

“Did you ever have to parachute out?”

“Which is the better fighter plane, the Spitfire or the Messerschmitt?”

Grandpa loved answering him. Often a crowd of children would gather around the old man on the top deck of the bus home to listen to these incredible tales.

“It was the summer of 1940,” Grandpa would begin. “The height of the Battle of Britain. One night I was flying my Spitfire over the English Channel. I had become separated from my squadron. My fighter plane had taken a pounding in a dogfight. Now I was limping back to base. Then just behind me I heard machine guns. RAT TAT TAT! It was a Nazi Messerschmitt. Right on my tail! Again. RAT TAT TAT! It was just the two of us alone over the sea. That night would be an epic fight to the death…”

Grandpa enjoyed nothing more than sharing stories of his World War II adventures. Jack would listen intently; every little detail fascinated him. Over time the boy became something of an expert on these old fighter planes. Grandpa would tell his grandson that he would make “an excellent pilot one day”. This always made the boy burst with pride.

Then later in the day, if ever an old black and white war film was on the television, the pair would snuggle up on the sofa together in Grandpa’s house and watch it. Reach for the Sky was one they watched over and over again. This classic told the story of a pilot who lost both his legs in a horrific accident before World War II. Despite this, Douglas Bader went on to become a legendary flying ace. Rainy Saturday afternoons were made for Reach for the Sky, or One of Our Aircraft is Missing, or The Way to the Stars or A Matter of Life and Death. For Jack there was nothing better.

Sadly the food at Grandpa’s home was always diabolical. He called it “rations”, as he had during the war. The old man only ever ate food from tins. For dinner he would select a couple at complete random from his larder and empty them into a pan together.

The use of the French words gave it an air of poshness it did not deserve. Fortunately the boy didn’t come for the food.

World War II was the most important time in Grandpa’s life. It was a time when brave Royal Air Force pilots like him fought for their country in the Battle of Britain. The Nazis were planning an invasion, a plot they called ‘Operation Sea Lion’. However, without being able to secure power over the skies to protect their troops on the ground, the Nazis were never able to put their plan into action. Day after day, night after night, RAF pilots like Grandpa risked their lives to keep the people of Britain free from being captured by the Nazis.

So instead of reading a book to his grandson at bedtime, the old man would tell the boy of his real-life adventures during the war. His stories were more thrilling than any you could find in a book.

“One more tale, Grandpa! Please!” the boy begged on one such night. “I want to hear about when you were shot down by the Luftwaffe and had to crash-land into the English Channel!”

“It’s late, young Jack,” Grandpa replied. “You go to sleep. I promise I will tell you that tale and plenty more in the morning.”

“But—”

“I’ll meet you in your dreams, Squadron Leader,” said the old man as he kissed Jack tenderly on the forehead. ‘Squadron Leader’ was his nickname for his grandson. “I’ll see you in the skies. Up, up and away.”

“Up, up and away!” the boy repeated before drifting off to sleep in Grandpa’s spare room dreaming he too was a fighter pilot. Time spent with Grandpa couldn’t have been more perfect.

But that was all about to change.

2
Slippers

Over time Grandpa’s mind began transporting him back to his days of glory more and more. By the time our story begins, the old man completely believed that it was still World War II. Even though the war had ended decades before.

Grandpa had become very confused, a condition that affects some elderly people. It was serious, and sadly there was no known cure. Instead it seemed likely it would worsen over time, until one day Grandpa might not even be able to remember his own name.

But as ever in life, wherever there is tragedy, you can often find comedy. In recent times the old man’s condition had led to some very funny moments. On Bonfire Night, Grandpa insisted everyone go down to the air-raid shelter at once when the next-door neighbours started letting off fireworks in the garden. Or there was the time when Grandpa cut a wafer-thin chocolate mint into four pieces with his penknife and shared it out with the family because of “rationing”.

Most memorable of all was the time Grandpa decided that a shopping trolley at the supermarket was really a Lancaster bomber. He hurtled down the aisles on a top-secret mission, hurling huge bags of flour. These ‘bombs’ exploded everywhere – over the food, over the tills, even covering the haughty supermarket manageress from head to toe.

She looked like a powdery ghost. The clean-up operation lasted many weeks. Grandpa was banned from the supermarket for life.

Sometimes Grandpa’s confusion could be more upsetting. Jack had never met his grandmother. This was because she had died nearly forty years ago. It had been one night towards the end of the war in a Nazi bombing raid over London. At the time Jack’s father was a newborn baby. However, when Jack stayed at his grandfather’s tiny flat, the old man would sometimes call for his ‘Darling Peggy’ as if she was in the next room. Tears would well in the boy’s eyes. It was heartbreaking.

Despite everything, Grandpa was an incredibly proud man. For him everything had to be ‘just so’.

He was always impeccably dressed in a uniform of double-breasted blazer, crisp white shirt and neatly pressed grey slacks. A maroon, silver and blue striped Royal Air Force tie was forever knotted neatly around his neck. As was the fashion with many World War II pilots, he favoured a dashing flying ace’s moustache. It was a thing of wonder. The moustache was so long it connected to his sideburns. It was like a beard but with the chin bit missing. Grandpa would twizzle the ends of his moustache for hours, until they stuck out at just the right angle.

The one thing that would give Grandpa’s confused state of mind away was his choice of footwear. Slippers. The old man no longer wore shoes. Now he always forgot to put them on. Whatever the weather, in rain, sleet and snow, he would be sporting his brown checked slippers.

Of course Grandpa’s eccentric behaviour made the grown-ups worry. Sometimes Jack would pretend to go to bed, but instead creep out of his bedroom and sit at the top of the stairs in his pyjamas. There he would listen to his mother and father downstairs in the kitchen, discussing Grandpa. They would use big words that Jack didn’t understand to describe the old man’s ‘condition’. Then Mum and Dad would argue about Grandpa being put in an old folk’s home. The boy hated hearing his grandfather talked about in this way, as if he was some sort of problem. However, being only twelve years old, Jack felt powerless to do anything.

But none of this stopped Jack adoring hearing stories about the old man’s wartime adventures, even though these tales had become so real to Grandpa now that the pair would act them out. They were Boy’s Own adventures, stories of derring-do.

Grandpa had an ancient wooden record player the size of a bath. On it he would play booming orchestral music, with the volume as high as it would go. Military bands were his favourite, and together Jack and his grandfather would listen to huge classical pieces like Rule, Britannia!, Land of Hope and Glory or the Pomp and Circumstance Marches way into the night. Two old armchairs would become their cockpits. As the music soared, so did they in their imaginary fighter planes. A Spitfire for Grandpa and a Hurricane for Jack. Up, up and away, they would go. Together they would fly high above the clouds, outwitting enemy aircraft. Every Sunday night the pair of flying aces would win the Battle of Britain, without even leaving the old man’s tiny flat.

Together Grandpa and Jack inhabited their own world and had countless imaginary adventures.

However, the night our story starts, a real-life adventure was about to begin.