I maintained my curiosity about the war and especially the part the aircraft played in the Battle of Britain, and the effect bombing had on the length of the war. Little did I think I'd ever actually be involved!
My main interest involved researching the Battle of Britain and in 1972, I published a book – an historical account – dealing with the action of the summer and autumn of 1940.’
Todd was following Jim closely.
‘So I'm talking to an expert?’
‘I suppose so. And it's this knowledge of the Battle that I wish to discuss with you – in private. I do not wish to alarm any of the other personnel from 1992.’
Todd was now becoming mildly alarmed himself.
‘What's the problem, Jim?’
The Met Man took a deep breath and continued.
‘There's something not quite right about the historical data concerning this timeframe.’
‘What specifically do you mean, Jim?’
‘Well, sir, the dates are wrong. Everything seems to be how we think it should be, but it's all just a little bit out of synch.’
Todd was now impatiently waiting for the punchline.
‘Specifically, Jim?’
‘For instance, take the information we have about the new German jet fighter. It will become known as the Me 262 – you may have heard of it – but the fact that it shot down Wg Cdr Hunt the other night is not right.’
‘I'm waiting, Jim?’
‘Well, for a start, todays date is the fifth of July 1940. In our timeframe the Nazi Me 262 prototype did not even have its first flight until the twenty-fifth of March 1942, and it was April of 1943 before the German High Command – Adolf Galland himself – flew and approved the design. What's more, the night fighter variant didn’t even get off the ground until November 1944 – or even later for ops – so I ask myself one simple question – and so should you!
What shot down Wg Cdr Barclay the other night? In our universe, in our time, the German Me 262 that I know of could not have possibly achieved the kill.
Something is horribly out of kilter!’
29
Methwold, Norfolk
10 July 1940
Philip Andrews was twelve years-old and like many boys of his age, he loved to strike out on his bicycle and find adventure. He lived in a big old house at Methwold, and since his family had no near- neighbours he often set out cycling on his own. This was especially so during the summer holidays, when home from his boarding school in Dorset.
On this particular morning in July, Philip had been provided with a packed lunch of spam sandwiches, an apple, biscuits and a flask of orange squash. Cook waved him on his way as he cycled off down the main drive towards the gated entrance to the house. She didn’t expect to see him again until after tea time, knowing that a very tired little boy would return hungrily from the adventures of the day.
***
It was two weeks after the time slip and transfer of the 1992 aircraft into 1940. Constance Morrissey, nee Andrews, wife of the AVM, had been busy. She wasn’t remotely interested in the ongoing battle for survival raging in the skies over Britain. She let her husband and son deal with the day-to-day organisation and liaison with the Churchill administration.
Her personal agenda was quite, quite different.
Yes, she had conspired with her father since 1956, when she first met her future husband – Henry Morrissey - at an Officers Mess dinner at RAF Marham. He had been a twenty-three year old pilot and was building his career in the Royal Air Force. What he was totally unaware of at the time was that Constance had specifically sought Henry out, using her father’s contacts in the government to identify Morrissey and find out where he was posted. In fact, the posting to Marham was part of the conspiracy. She attached herself to the young pilot, who was immensely flattered by the attention of a beautiful young debutante. The courtship was brief and when Sir Peter Andrews enthusiastically consented, the couple were wed at the local church when Henry was just twenty-four years old. This was unusual in itself as marriage for under thirty’s was not encouraged in those days. However, his guardian angels were carefully constructing his career.
***
Young Philip Andrews turned right out of the driveway and cycled about half a mile until he came to a break in the fence which revealed a bridleway. The path was well trodden and was almost dry again after the bad weather during recent days. He skidded past the odd puddle as he struck north towards Hutch’s Farm. He knew Willie Hutch quite well, and often planned his cycle rides to arrive there either at elevenses or at tea-time, when he knew that Mrs Hutch would furnish him with a cool drink and a piece of fruitcake. He would spend an hour or two on the farm and then continue his ride towards home – but always by a new route. He had an in-built sense of direction and hardly ever got lost. He knew this area very well indeed, and always seemed to find a stream to paddle in whilst he ate his lunch.
This day was no different to most. He left Hutch’s farm at about 12.30pm and rode off northwest towards the village of Nordelph. He knew it was too far to reach today, but he also knew of a path which would take him due south past Little Fleckney, and then on home to Methwold. He stopped for lunch at about 2.00pm at a large copse on the top of a rise. The view was limited but he could see the hangars at Middle Fleckney. Aeroplanes had always fascinated him – but he knew that Fleckney was closed and no planes would be flying about today. So he lay back and enjoyed the warm summer sunshine, and as he did so he saw the condensation trail of two fighters jousting high in the sky. He followed their progress for a couple of minutes until they disappeared out of site. The time was now almost 3.30pm and he reckoned that he had a good two hours riding if he were to make it back home by tea-time. He stood up, repacked his saddle-bag with the remnants of his lunch, checked around to make sure that he had left no trace of his stay, swung his leg over the crossbar and sat in the saddle.
Just then, he glanced down towards Middle Fleckney and was surprised to note that the hangar doors were in the process of opening. He got off the saddle and threw the bike to the floor. Yes, the doors were moving apart, and he could see quite clearly an aeroplane just inside the entrance to the hangar. He stood watching for about five minutes. He tried to identify the plane, but it was too far away and too dark inside the hangar to see clearly. Right, he thought, I’ll go down to the fence and take a closer look.
***
Constance and young Henry Morrissey had enjoyed a wonderful life in the RAF, travelling to Malta, the Far East and Germany. His promotions came thick and fast and by 1976 he was appointed Group Captain. He was involved with the Falklands War and commanded the Harrier Force on board HMS Ark Royal. In 1960, Todd had been born, followed by two sisters at regular intervals. Todd joined the RAF in 1981 and his father was by then manoeuvring his own career towards a post at RAF Upavon, where he could monitor and influence his son’s profession. By 1992, father was an AVM, and Todd a Squadron Leader at RAF Marham. Years of conspiracy, scheming and collusion had fashioned the crucial outcome.
***
Young Peter Andrews could see the airfield perimeter fence about three quarters of a mile away. It was about six feet high and had barbed wire on top. It would take about ten minutes to cross the field leading up to the edge of the airfield – and from there he would have an unobstructed view into the hangar.
This was turning out to be a special adventure. Wait until he told cook on his return to Methwold.
As he got back on his bike, unbeknown to him, a man in uniform brought a radio to his lips and transmitted a short message:
‘Alpha HQ, this is Alpha three-four. The boy is moving towards the perimeter fence. I think he can see that the door is open. Request instructions, over.’
The controller in Alpha HQ thought quickly. Alpha three-four had been tailing the boy for nearly three hours and as long as he didn’t stray too near to the airfield, he was happy to let the security guard just observe and report. However, the lad was now a problem. He
would have to get three-four to move him back towards the south and quickly.
‘Roger, Alpha three-four, this is Alpha HQ, approach the boy and move him on away from the airfield. Report when complete, over.’
Alpha three-four got to his feet and started off after Phillip. The boy had a head start of about two hundred yards and he also had his bike. As Phillip reached the middle of the field the uniformed man shouted a warning.
‘Oy, you lad, come here!’
***
Constance decided that she needed to confide in her husband shortly after Todd was born. As a nine year-old, she had overheard her parents talking about the strange goings-on at Middle Fleckney Aerodrome and remembered the war very clearly. She recalled her mother talking about the tragic death of her brother Phillip in the woods near Middle Fleckney and by the end of the war had understood enough to give birth to an extraordinary idea. She had discussed it with her father, who had been devastated by the death of his only son and heir. The fourteen year old girl proposed a plan of such daring and peril that her father was at first overwhelmed by the possibilities. However, after deep consideration he conceded that perhaps this was all ‘meant to be,’ and that if there was a chance of influencing events – as he already knew was possible – then they should try.
It was in this frame of mind that they hatched their forty-seven year stratagem.
They didn’t realise or remotely understand what they planned was called a ‘Causality Loop.’ – and the subject was far beyond anybody’s comprehension in those days.
***
Phillip stopped dead. He looked around and saw a soldier running towards him carrying a gun. Phillip panicked. He started off on his bike, turned through ninety degrees and made for a copse of trees about five hundred yards away. Maybe he could get away when he reached the cover of the woods. The man shouted again.
‘Hey, you boy. Stop where you are!’
Phillip didn’t look back but cycled as fast as his little legs could carry him. He reached the treeline first and had a lead of about eighty yards on the soldier. He didn’t know this wood, so he set off through the trees over the rough ground, dodging and ducking branches. The soldier was still shouting but obviously getting tired, having just run several hundred yards on a hot day and in full army rig. Phillip looked back and could just see the soldier through the leaves. He had stopped chasing, so Phillip breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to concentrate on the ride ahead.
As Phillip turned his head, something or someone stood up out of the undergrowth directly in front of him. He couldn’t make out what or who the figure was, and could only slam on his brakes in order to stop from hurtling headlong into this new enemy. Phillip’s front wheel locked, but the rear wheel came on a fraction later and started a skid towards the figure. The bike slid from underneath him and crashed to the floor with Phillip beneath it, sliding wheels first on a collision course towards the mysterious figure ahead.
Too late!
Phillip’s wheels crashed violently into the shape, knocking him to the ground. The figure cried out in pain and fell forwards as his feet were taken out from under him. One side of Phillips body was getting seriously grazed by the scraping of the undergrowth, and as he saw the man fall towards him he let go of his handle bars and put his hands to his head in an effort to protect himself. Nevertheless the man came crashing down onto the boy, rifle flailing and both slithered to a stop near the base of a tree.
The first soldier, Alpha three-four, appeared on the scene almost immediately. The second soldier, who had been lying camouflaged in the wood, stood up and looked at the boy, motionless on the ground. He backed away as Alpha three-four knelt down at the boys side. Phillip was motionless as Alpha three-four felt for vital signs.
The Military Policeman stood up and reported back to Alpha HQ.
‘Alpha HQ, this is Alpha three-four. Boy apprehended. Request immediate medical assistance – I think he might be dead!’
***
Constance Morrissey had been waiting for this precise moment for nearly half a century.
She knew approximately where her brother had died in 1940, and had taken her own picnic and a bicycle into the fields near the airfield. She had been on the look-out for Phillip for about an hour when she spotted him cycling towards the perimeter fence.
Her heart jumped.
However, she also saw the armed soldier give chase and saw Phillip enter the woods in an attempt to escape.
She knew that she must move quickly now, or the chance would be lost. She jumped up and hurriedly followed the soldier to the edge of the wood, where he had stopped momentarily to recover his breath. It was a bright, hot and sunny day and the poor chap was dressed in full kit – and in those days the uniforms were made of barathea – a nasty, rough material totally unsuited for warm conditions.
She skipped into the wood and followed the soldier swiftly for a sixty-year old. After running another fifty paces she heard the crash of the bicycle, a loud scream, followed by the second soldier sending his radio report.
‘Oh dear God, I'm too late – after all these years – I'm too late.’
She rushed up to the crash site, pushed the camouflaged idiot out of the way and lifted the bicycle off of her brother. He was unconscious, so she turned him over and checked his pulse. Constance had trained and worked as a nurse for twenty-five years for this exact moment!
The boy was indeed still alive, but was turning blue.
He'd swallowed his tongue in the crash.
Of course, he hadn’t actually swallowed it, but it had collapsed back into his throat and was causing an obstruction. Untreated, the boy would suffocate in minutes.
Constance used her nursing skills to free the obstruction, turn the boy on his side and wait for him to start breathing normally – which he did almost immediately. Colour returned to his face and after a few minutes Phillip sat up. He was dazed and disoriented – but alive!
The two soldiers had just stood, mouths agape, staring at the scene unfolding before them. Constance smiled at the boy, hugged him gently and kissed his forehead. She then stood up and addressed the two men.
‘In future, I suggest you exercise a little restraint when dealing with young children. Now, get this boy back to Methwold. He is Sir Peter Andrew’s son, Phillip. Not a bloody German agent, for God’s sake.’
She kissed the boy again, who was now standing up, confused but fit and well, barring a few cuts and grazes.
Constance smiled and walked away. Over fifty years of grief, anxiety and self-doubt lifted from her shoulders, but the strain and stress of it all had drained her soul.
30
8 July 1940
The news of the boy’s close shave never reached the ears of the personnel at Middle Fleckney. They continued to work on the plan to beef up the British defence force without revealing their hand to the Germans. The groundcrew were still adapting to life in the 1940’s and demonstrated some incredible ingenuity when adapting 1992 equipment to marry up with 1940’s standards. The C-130 and VC10 were parked at the rear of the hangar and the plan was to reduce their fuel load to about sixty minutes flying endurance. This would allow them to get airborne on the eighth of September and loiter in the Wash area waiting to be zapped back to 1992.
The groundcrew had ingeniously developed a remarkable system of pipes enabling the Tornados to be refuelled directly from the VC10. Up until now the three Canberras had exhausted their own limited supply of fuel by transferring gas from jet to jet until it was all used up. The PR9s had enough engine starter cartridges to last at least a month, as the C-130 carried plenty. Although the fuel in the different aircraft was of differing specific gravities, they were basically interchangeable – however, crews would have to monitor performance closely and be aware of capacity indicator changes.
It was in this period of consolidation that Todd and his father needed to plan the proposed attack on the airfield in Denmark. It was decided that carpet bombing by Lincolns woul
d soften them up, followed by a bombing run across the airfield by two GR1A Tornados, and then a single reconnaissance Tornado to obtain imagery of the damage caused by the attack for interpretation and debriefing purposes. The attack was scheduled for the eleventh of July with a take-off time of 2100 hours. It would take the Lincolns two hours to reach the target and two hours to return. Of course the Tornados could do the trip in about thirty minutes and be back before the Lincolns got half way home. The time on target (TOT) was 2300 for the old bombers and 2310 for the 1992 jets. The Recce jet would overfly at 2312 precisely.
The big problem was the weather. A huge area of drizzle, fog, low cloud and electrical storms covered the channel. Although the Germans had attacked in several waves that day, both sides had suffered losses in the ensuing confusion. The Spitfires were at last beginning to earn their famous reputation and were having more luck against their adversaries. However, it was very difficult for both sides and it had been reported that the RAF had shot down one of their Naval colleagues by mistake. However, the met men promised good weather for the eleventh of July and it was on this advice that Todd planned the sortie.
JET LAG! Page 15
