This was the Luftwaffe’s dreaded Focke-Wulf. To reach it, the boy had to make a jump.
Once again he took a deep breath and sprang through the air.
THUNK!
He landed on the wing of the Focke-Wulf. Now Jack was just one plane away from the Spitfire. The boy was so close the snoring coming from the cockpit was extremely loud.
ZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzZZZZZZZZZzz ZZZZZZZZZZZzz!
Unless it really was a bull elephant asleep up there, he knew that snoring only too well…
21
Jungle Roar
“OI! YOU!” The shout rang through the Great Room.
Jack gulped and looked down from the wing of the Luftwaffe Focke-Wulf. He had never really been in trouble before. Now here he was in the Imperial War Museum, leaping from wing to wing of priceless antique fighter planes.
An extremely large security guard was looking up at him. It was like the museum had captured the biggest gorilla in the jungle, stuffed it into a uniform and placed a peaked cap on its head. Thick tufts of black hair sprouted from his nose, neck and ears.
“ME?” asked the boy innocently, as if it was perfectly normal to be crouched on the wing of a World War II fighter plane hanging from the ceiling of the Imperial War Museum.
“YES! YOU! GET DOWN FROM THERE!”
“Now?” said Jack, still pretending he didn’t know what all the fuss could be about.
“YES!” The man was becoming angry, his voice morphing into something of a jungle roar.
This roar was so loud that it drew all the museum’s other visitors back into the room. Soon the children from Jack’s school were looking up at their classmate in disbelief. The boy’s face turned scarlet with embarrassment. Finally Miss Verity herself stormed in, her long flowing skirt swishing along the floor.
“Jack Bunting!” she fumed. You knew you were in trouble when a teacher used your full name. “Come down from there this instant. You are bringing disgrace on the school!”
The school had a very poor reputation, so Jack wasn’t sure he could bring further disgrace upon it. However, this was not the time or place to argue.
What’s more, the boy had more important things on his mind. “I just need to jump on to this Spitfire, Miss, then I promise I’ll come straight down!” he said.
There was a ripple of laughter from all the kids. The towering Security Guard did not find it funny. He bounded up on to the walkway. Not only did he look like a gorilla, he seemed to have the skills of one too. Soon he had leaped on to the wing of the Sopwith Camel. But also like a gorilla, he must have been ten times heavier than the boy. The biplane swung violently from side to side, its wing smashing into the next plane.
CRASH!
This made the Focke-Wulf Jack was crouched on sway dramatically to the side.
SWING!
The poor boy lost his balance completely now. He stumbled, dropped and was left hanging from the Focke-Wulf’s wing by his fingertips.
“Argh!”
Jack cried in fear.
“Hold on, Jack!” cried Miss Verity from below. The Great Room at the Imperial War Museum had never seen such drama. “It would reflect badly on me if a pupil was to lose their life on a school trip.”
Jack could feel his fingers slipping off the cold shiny metal of the Focke-Wulf’s wing, one by one.
“STAY RIGHT THERE!” growled the security guard.
What else am I going to do? thought the boy.
It was an awfully
long
way
d
o
w
n.
22
Forty Winks
Just at that moment, Jack spied the cockpit of the Spitfire sliding open.
“What’s all this noise? Can’t a pilot catch forty winks in peace?!”
“Grandpa!” shouted the boy in joy that he had found him at last.
“Who’s this ‘Grandpa’?” asked Grandpa. These days he never answered to that name, but sometimes it was easy to forget.
“Wing Commander!” Jack corrected himself.
“That’s better!” said the old man as he climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the wing of the Spitfire. Grandpa looked down and saw he was suspended high above the ground. “Silly me! I must still be flying!” he muttered to himself, before turning to go back into the cockpit.
“No, you’re not still flying, sir!” corrected the boy.
Jack’s grandfather peered down at the growing crowd below. “This is most queer.”
“Erm? Wing Commander?” said the boy, desperately trying to get his grandfather’s attention.
Grandpa looked in the direction of Jack’s voice. The boy was hanging by the tips of his fingers. “Squadron Leader, what on earth are you doing down there? Let me help you, old boy.”
Grandpa shuffled along the Spitfire’s wing to where Jack was dangling from the Focke-Wulf. The old man grabbed his grandson’s hand. Despite being elderly, he was surprisingly strong. On the other hand, sport was not Jack’s strong suit, so he was grateful for the help.
In one go, Grandpa heaved the boy up on to the Spitfire’s wing.
Whoops, cheers and applause broke out among all the children on the ground.
Without thinking, Jack wrapped his arms around his grandfather and gave him a big hug. The old man had gone missing over a week ago, and Jack had thought he might never see him again.
“Remember there’s a war on, Squadron Leader!” said Grandpa. Gently he unpeeled the boy’s hands from around his waist, and they stood opposite each other and saluted.
Suddenly from behind them came a growl. “YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE!” It was the security guard.
Just at that moment the half-man/half-gorilla took a running jump from the Focke-Wulf on to the Spitfire’s wing. The weight of all three of them caused the cable above them to tighten and stretch.
Then finally…
The Spitfire’s wing swung down towards the ground; the plane now hung there with just one cable supporting it.
The three figures slid down the wing as the crowd below gasped.
Grandpa just managed to seize hold of the plane’s propeller. Jack just managed to grab on to the old man’s slippers. In turn the security guard grabbed on to the boy’s ankles and they all swung from side to side like a trapeze act.
“Hold on, Squadron Leader!” Grandpa called down from the top.
“You hold on, Wing Commander!” the boy called up.
Below them they could hear someone sobbing.
“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” blubbed the security guard, choking back a river of tears.
“Look down!” said Miss Verity calmly.
“I’M TOO SCARED!” he wailed, his voice cracking with terror. The security guard screwed up his eyes as tight as they could go.
“For goodness’ sake, you are about an inch off the ground,” sighed the teacher.
Slowly the guard opened his eyes and looked down. Being at the bottom of the human chain his boots were all but scuffing the ground.
“Oh!” he said, suddenly rather embarrassed that a large group of school children had seen him reduced to a blubbering mess. He counted to three, then let go of Jack’s ankles. He dropped down the smallest distance to the floor.
The man turned to the teacher. “You saved my life,” he choked, as he gave Miss Verity the most enormous bear hug and lifted her clean off the ground.
“My spectacles are getting squashed!” she protested. The whole situation made her look distinctly uncomfortable. This was especially true when she caught the eyes of the school kids, all giggling at their rather proper teacher in an embrace with a man.
“What about us?” Jack called down, still holding on to his grandfather’s ankles.
“I will catch you!” said the security guard, in an attempt to regain his macho image. “Let go in three. One, two, three…”
“Righty ho!” said Grandpa.
Before the security guard could say anything, the old
man had let go too.
Within the blink of an eye, Jack and then his grandfather landed on top of the guard, his huge body providing a perfect crash mat.
Having two people fall on top of him knocked him out. The security guard was now lying flat on his back on the floor of the museum.
“Stand back, everyone!” ordered the teacher. “I need to give him the kiss of life!”
With that Miss Verity bent down to breathe air into the security guard’s lungs. The man was just dazed, and soon came to.
“Thank you, Miss…?” said the security guard.
“Verity. But you can call me Veronica.”
“Thank you, Veronica.” The pair smiled at each other.
Then looking up, Miss Verity recognised Grandpa. “Oh, it’s you again, Mr Bunting! I should have known!”
With the security guard lying on the floor and a priceless antique Spitfire swinging from the ceiling, Jack thought it best to act as if absolutely nothing had happened.
“So that’s the Battle of Britain covered, Miss Verity,” said the boy in a jolly tone. “What’s next?”
“Next…” fumed the history teacher, “I am calling the police!”
23
Nuts and Berries
Like most children, Jack had always wanted a ride in a police car. However, he had always imagined he would be sitting up front, chasing baddies. Not in the back with a close family member who had just been put under arrest.
The police car raced through London with its siren BLARiNG. They were being taken to Scotland Yard for questioning, although Grandpa seemed to think he had been captured by ‘the enemy’. The charge against the old man was ‘criminal damage’. The boy had tried to explain to the policeman that if the security guard had not been quite so heavy, the cable suspending the Spitfire would never have snapped. Needless to say, this did not get his grandfather off the hook. The policeman was a very serious-looking character. He sat at the steering wheel not uttering a word for the entire journey to police headquarters.
As they were seated side by side in the back seat of the police car, Jack turned to his grandfather.
“Gran—I mean Wing Commander?”
“Yes, old boy?”
“How did you come to be asleep in the cockpit of your plane?” In all the excitement, Jack had quite forgotten to ask.
Grandpa looked stumped for a moment. He had been missing for a week. The Imperial War Museum was many miles away from home.
“It all started when I parachuted behind enemy lines…” began Grandpa eventually. It was clear that the old man was mightily confused and trying to bind together the events of the past week.
That must be his memory of jumping out of the bedroom window at home, thought the boy.
“I walked for many days and nights,” Grandpa continued. “I kept off the main roads, stuck to the fields and woodland as much as I could. Just as we RAF pilots are trained to do if we are in occupied territory.”
That’s why no one saw him, thought Jack. The boy looked down at his grandfather’s slippers; they were caked with mud and looked soaked through. “But how did you survive?” asked Jack.
“I ate nuts and berries, and drank rain water.”
“And you slept under the stars?”
“The only way to sleep, Squadron Leader! Surely you have during your time in the RAF?” asked the old man.
Jack felt ashamed to reply, “No. Never.” His grandfather’s life had been a hundred times more exciting than his would ever be. “But how did you know where you were going?”
“I must have crossed the border into Allied territory, because from a field I saw this giant sign on a main road.”
“What was on the sign?” asked Jack.
“A great big picture of a Spitfire! With directions no less! Most queer.”
A billboard for the Imperial War Museum! realised the boy.
“I must get the Air Chief Marshal on the blower about that. Massive giveaway to the enemy where the nearest RAF base is. If they do manage to land ground troops, they can follow the directions and march straight there!”
The boy couldn’t help but smile. Everyone else always saw Grandpa’s condition as a problem. For Jack, the way his grandfather’s mind worked was nothing short of magical.
“It was getting dark when I finally arrived at the air base,” continued the old man. “And there were a few little blighters looking around the aircraft hangar – they must have been evacuees…”
The Imperial War Museum was always full of children. This must be what he meant, thought Jack.
“…I needed to use the bathroom. I hadn’t been for a week. And all those nuts and berries make you go! But I was so tired, I must have fallen asleep on it. Just forty winks. When I woke up, someone had turned off all the lights. I wandered around in the dark for ages, but eventually managed to find my Spitfire. Had to clamber over some other planes to get to her, mind.”
Grandpa was lucky to be alive! Climbing over all those antique planes suspended high in the air was dangerous enough with the lights on.
“And then what happened, sir?” Jack asked, intrigued.
“Then I thought I would take her for a spin. Up, up and away and all that. Couldn’t start the old girl! Must have been out of fuel…” Grandpa’s voice trailed off, and a mystified look crossed his face. “Then… then… I suppose I must have fallen asleep again in the cockpit. Just another quick forty winks, you understand.”
“Yes, of course, Wing Commander.”
The pair sat in silence for a moment, before the boy broke it. A wave of love for his grandfather crashed over him. “You know everyone was really worried about you…”
Grandpa snorted at the thought. “No need to worry about me, old boy,” he chuckled. “The whole of Mr Hitler’s Luftwaffe can’t stop me. Oh no! This old pilot will always live to fight another day!”
24
A Wardrobe in a Suit
At Scotland Yard confusion reigned. None of the officers at the police headquarters had a clue what to do with this funny old man who had climbed into an aeroplane at the Imperial War Museum.
However, the charge was a serious one. Criminal damage. Because of the chaos at the museum earlier that day, three antique fighter planes were now in need of expensive repairs. So Grandpa was taken down into the basement of Scotland Yard to an interrogation room. Jack begged the officers to allow him to come too. The boy explained that his grandfather’s mind could get jumbled up and that the old man would need his help. He wondered what on earth was going to happen next to his grandfather. A trial? Prison? The boy knew Grandpa was in trouble. The question was, how deep?
The interrogation room was small and dark, and everything in it was grey. The walls. The table. The chairs. A bare light bulb hung down from the ceiling. There were no windows, just a small slit at the top of the door through which those outside could look in.
They had been sitting there alone for a while when four eyes appeared at the viewing slit.
Keys jangled and the huge metal door swung open.
Two plain-clothed police detectives stood in the doorway. It was time for the interrogation to begin.
One of the detectives was an unusually tall, broad man; a wardrobe in a suit. In contrast, his crime-fighting partner was stick thin. From a distance, you might have mistaken him for a snooker cue.
Down in the depths of Scotland Yard, both men tried to come through the doorway of the interview room at the same time. Needless to say, they became wedged in, their ill-fitting shiny grey suits rubbing up against each other.
“I am stuck!” called out the big man, Detective Beef.
“It’s not my fault, Kimberly,” said the thin man, Detective Bone.
“Don’t call me Kimberly in front of the suspect!” Beef whispered loudly.
“But Kimberly Beef, Kimberly’s your name!”
“Stop saying it!”
“Sorry, Kimberly! I won’t call you Kimberly ever again, Kimberly. That’s a promise,
Kimberly!”
“You keep saying it!”
It was obvious the bigger man hated having a girly name. No doubt he longed for something more butch like Chad or Kurt or Brad or Rock or Zeus or indeed Butch.
Eventually Kimberly managed to force himself through the doorway, squashing his counterpart in the process.
“You’re hurting me!” cried Bone.
“Sorry!” said Beef.
Jack had to suppress a giggle as the pair stumbled into the room. In all the rumpus, they left the door wide open with the chain of keys still stuck in it.
“Gestapo!” hissed Grandpa to his grandson. “Let me handle them!”
The Gestapo were Hitler’s feared secret police force, a world away from these two clowns. But when Grandpa became convinced of something, he would not let go, so Jack kept quiet.
Once the two detectives had brushed themselves off and straightened their ties, this un-dynamic duo took their seats opposite Jack and his grandfather.
There was an awkward silence for a long moment. Both detectives looked like they were waiting for the other to speak.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” whispered Beef eventually out of the corner of his wide mouth.
“I thought we agreed that you were going to speak first,” replied Bone.
“Oh yes, we did. Sorry.” There followed a pause. “But now I don’t know what to say.”
“Excuse us a moment,” apologised Bone. The two detectives gave Jack and his grandfather embarrassed smiles before stepping away from the table once more. Jack was finding this hilarious but didn’t dare show it, while Grandpa’s face was a picture of bemusement.
Grandpa's Great Escape Page 6