The night was warm and scented as I opened the leaded mullioned windows and settled down in the large four poster with it's luxurious overstuffed mattress and pillows. I do not remember dropping off but later the the dreams with disembodied voices gradually presented themselves again and I awoke with a start just after 2 a.m. The pub had long fallen silent after the departure of my erstwhile companions. Looking towards the window, the lace curtains wafted slightly in the balmy nocturnal air and I slowly rose from the bed. Leaning on the window ledge I opened one of the windows fully and took in the glorious panorama before me. Under the wan light of a full moon at this time of the year, the English countryside is a place all of it's own. The rolling fields, trees and hedgerows lay as though on a ghostly carpet under the moonlight, and in the distance only one or two dull orange lights bore testimony to a few people still being abroad. Almost imperceptably, a movement caught my eye several fields away. Something like a dark patch.....was it moving? Yes!.....there it is again gradually traversing the field and becoming elongated, then contracting, spreading out then linking into a circular motion. In this manner the dark amorphous shapes performed and as they did so, came closer, field after field. This uncanny undulating progress caused me to edge back uneasily and eventually, being quite unable to take my eyes from it, the entire mass became strung out into a mad, cavorting and gyrating procession of hares as they rushed by below the window. Off they went on their way in that thrilling nocturnal dance with a zestful freedom and vitality that I could only stand and envy. I laughed over my nervousness and returned to my bed. There I spent the rest of the night in dream filled sleep, disturbed by the constant procession of long forgotten events.
The morning was fresh and beautiful, and after breakfasting well, I set off from the Plough and up the gradually sloping lane towards the site of the old airfield. As I progressed, many features stood out with great familiarity. Each bend, each hedgerow, fence and topographical undulation still as clear as it had been in 1940. The banks beneath the hedge, smothered in wild flowers and grasses were a constant reminder of the many pleasant off-duty walks we had enjoyed all those years ago. Off to the right now, and just over there was where Proudlove came in, flushed with success, and has he cleared the boundary fence, never even saw the 110 that got him. We had to watch with barely suppressed rage as the Jerry cleared the trees and waggled his wings mockingly like a schoolboy leaving somebody's orchard with his pockets stuffed with apples. Then he was gone, leaving a funeral pyre at the west end of the airfield. So died 'Prodder' Proudlove. This farm gate, with the track paved with compacted flint and pebbles, leads to the farm over the rise. From here, the chimney can be discerned. Here is where our shooting party came across the flock of grey partridge feeding on the track and this is where we killed them all before they even had a chance to get airborne. That night in the mess, there was a bad-tempered and prolonged argument over the ethics of sportsmanship versus the necessities of war. At this point, the lane levels out and reveals most of the site of the airfield - but now I am beginning to feel the gathering warmth of the day and regret bringing my old tweed jacket which I throw over my shoulder. During a brief spell of night flying patrols we lost Pritchard just around here. Perhaps that slight depression near the edge of the wood is where he struck the ground. The Hurricane night fighter indeed! I know we had our successes but I would have liked a word with the cretin who dreamed that one up........
TBC...
[This message has been edited by Old Dux (edited 03-11-2002).]
'Find your enemy and shoot him down - everything else is unimportant.'
