Summer holiday

Today seemed a propitious date to book a summer camping holiday to Northern France. I have been in touch with the excellent people at Plummet Airways, who are based at Barton Aerodrome, near Manchester, and they are to arrange the whole trip.

On the day of my choice, I will arrive at the airport in time for a hearty lunch, following which I will embark on one of their fleet of de Havilland Rapide aircraft, for the long flight to Kent. Boiled sweets will be provided for the take-off, and a paper bag, should I be unfortunate enough to need one. They assure me that, while the experience is not a comfortable one, few people are actually sick.

Upon my arrival at a private airfield near Herne Bay, I will have ample time to stretch my legs before sitting down to a sumptuous dinner. Following this, I will transfer to a Westland Lysander aircraft for the night flight to France, and the landing in a field of my choice.

My natural fears about this final leg of my journey were quickly allayed. Lysanders have been carrying out these night-time drops to France since the early 1940s, I was assured, and their safety record is second to none. For a few extra pounds I have doubled my luggage weight allowance to 10kg, enough to include a discreet tent and a simple paraffin stove, both essential items, in my view.

I have a choice of dates, two days either side of July 10th, when the moon is full. I return at the next full moon, early August, arrangements to be made via a discreet radio, which is included in the price. I have already availed myself of a French phrase book. I flip it open at random.

Où sont les soldats allemands?

 Whatever that means. I have much learning to do. The handsome Lysander is my main photograph, with the de Havilland Rapide as the 'extra'.