20,000 Feet, Wing on Fire

First to my Old Bold Pilots, an apology that I have been absent many weeks due
to business trips and did not have an opportunity to say good bye before coming
to England. Of course I have missed all of you terribly lately.

Yesterday, barely having had time to pack and arrange everything, I eventually
had to accept that no more could be accomplished and so officially abandoned
myself to the first leg of my fate by boarding an American Airlines plane for
Dallas.

There my WWII historian friend George Cone showed me more of his collection of
historical items for a few short hours. Normally I’d be throwing in loads of
details and adjectives about some of his possessions by now. George, however, is
rather modest about these very personal mementos often received as gifts from
the veterans he has interviewed, lest someone of less scrupulous morals take an
inappropriate interest. George is a proud son of Texas, and while I was there
was demonstrating to his son how to avoid having fingers caught in the spring
loading mechanism of an M1 rifle. It’s clear that messing with him or his
collection would be a mighty unhealthy undertaking. Still, perhaps the less said
the better.

Last night I boarded the 777 for London, dreading the upcoming all night flight.
Contrary to all expectations, it couldn’t have been better. I had an ideal
neighbor who fit within the confines of his seat, was not too talkative, and
didn’t snore.  As a result, I slept the vast majority of the flight, waking just
in time to see us start letting down towards the solid undercast. Of course I
thought of Old Bolds  who had to pilot their B-17’s, B-24 and C-47 with far
less sophisticated instruments through this type of weather nearly every time
they returned from a mission. It’s such a surprise more were not lost to mid-air
collisions and fuel tanks drained dry while looking for a landing field. Obviously,
their great skill as superior pilots and a little bit of luck must have been on their side.

Once in London itself it became quite clear that my first goal of dragging 60
pounds of luggage and recording equipment to the Imperial War Museum Archives,
through tube stations with no elevators or escalators, in the rain (not all of
the Underground is underground), was not an easily-achievable plan. Hailing a
taxi, I soon arrived at my hotel, dropped my bags, and walked to the Museum.

They had my requested documents – memoirs from two British naval veterans who
regularly carried out clandestine operations to enemy-occupied coasts rescuing
evading and escaping airmen – ready and waiting for me. However, since I could
not make copies myself, my day opened up for other pursuits. That is,  once I
had turned in the documents to be copied inhouse (to the tune of nearly $.75 per
page!).

Wandering about the exhibits I was pleased to see not only a Spitfire but also a
couple of German fighter planes hanging from the ceiling, including a jet.

In the lower level where the WWII exhibit was attracting busloads of
schoolchildren (you will be happy to know), I saw the sign:

20,000 Ft. Wing on fire. How Brave are you?

Since I know several men who have survived this scenario, whose stories I have
had the greatest honor and pleasure of recording, I can only respectfully wish
that in the same situation I could be as brave as they were.

Tomorrow: York, for the Escape Line Memorial Society gathering in honor of WWII
escapers and evaders of German-occupied territory and those who helped them
escape