Foyle Style

An unexpected morning to myself last weekend turned into a perfect (and rare!) opportunity for some "me time", especially as Storm Amy laid waste to my plans to mow the lawn (so unfortunate!)  Instead I sojourned back to 1942 to watch an American "invasion" take place on the streets of Sussex, courtesy of Foyle's War.  

Yes, Mum will like this blog.

Now Foyle's War is exceptional autumn viewing, a flavourful mix of history and drama, with its intriguing plots that often land somewhere in the grey area, testing the viewers' sense of morality, of right-and-wrong.  To give a couple of examples from previous episodes, should a Nazi sympathiser be allowed to voice his opinion in a free and democratic society?  Is it ok that a murderer is allowed to go free, because his role is essential to the war effort?  This is a programme that runs deeper than a period murder mystery - it challenges us to clarify our feelings and confront our contradictions, and it exposes the truth - that right-and-wrong is never as clear-cut as black-and-white.

I digress slightly, but I think my point is that the lessons of Foyle's War are incredibly pertinent today, as our social media ages rushes to draw clear distinctions on any topic, without consideration of differing viewpoints or lived experiences.  Have a quick browse on X (the artist formerly known as Twitter) and you'll probably agree with me that we could all learn a bit from Foyle's War.

There's something else going on with Foyle, though, and beneath the complexities of the writing, there sits a central character who epitomises standards, and embodies the idea of a role model.  Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle is thoughtful, eloquent, determined, and has a strong moral compass which he uses to govern his behaviour, upholding the law and challenging corruption, often from above and in situations where it would be easier - and personally safer - to leave well alone.  He is loyal, but not to the point where he wouldn't take a friend to task if necessary, and he is thorough and tenacious, whilst simultaneously understanding the nuances of life, particularly in a time of war.  He speaks honestly to friends, truth to power, and doesn't compromise his integrity for anyone.

Then there's the clothes.  The three-piece, pure wool suit with the peak lapel jacket, most likely worn with a red silk tie (in reality probably toxic rayon, for silk was not widely available in wartime Britain, yet Foyle's ties are certainly not of knitted wool), and of course a camel wool overcoat and fedora (sometimes matching a blue suit, other times khaki). 

It is, in effect, the perfect outfit, but one I am unlikely to emulate, firstly because I am not Michael Kitchen; and secondly because, although I own suits, they are not day-to-day wear for me and my lifestyle.  So instead, I've created a couple of outfits inspired by Foyle and wartime style, but which give me scope to wear out and about in a modern way.

1. Foyle "Lite".  This is an outfit I can get on board with.  I've chosen my air force blue herringbone jacket and matching waistcoat here, a lovely two-piece that is amongst my favourites.  This sits over a plain white shirt and a tie that has some detailing, but hopefully not too loud.  For trousers, I've used navy cords, but would easily wear this with brown or biscuit; and on top, my trusty navy fedora.  I've also popped on my Grandad's Air Training Corps lapel pin.

2. The Airman.  I've been playing with this outfit for a while.  The jumper is reminiscent of the RAF cadets, but I've gone in a more comfortable direction below, again using my navy cords for the season.  Slung over the top is my Joe Brown's "military" jacket.  There's a relatively simple, almost austere feel to this look to this outfit that I quite like.  Finished off with this lovely RAF shoulder bag that only recently fell into my possession.

3. The Flying Tiger.  The biscuit button-down Oxford shirt is a classic piece in a men's wardrobe, paired with khaki cords.  On top, I've gone for this inexpensive olive chore shirt, onto which I have ironed a couple of patches to make this really individual.  There's the US Air Force star on the sleeve, and on the left breast pocket a little tribute to the Flying Tigers, an incredible group of American volunteer pilots who, under the command of Claire Lee Chennault, defended the skies of China from the Empire of Japan, in one of the war's most extraordinary stories.  Worth looking that man up, if you get a moment.

So, a little bit of the wartime spirit coming through here, but with enough style - I think - to wear out in the everyday.  Hopefully the man below would approve... or is he simply laughing at me?

My Grandad, the airman

Look what I recently found in Torquay's TK Maxx!

It's a tin model of a bi-plane that made my heart leap when I saw it sitting, all alone, on the shelf.  Everybody knows I like an aeroplane, but I can usually walk away from these delightful objects, because I already have a collection of more accurate scale models.  Not today though; I grabbed this one with both hands, and took it straight to the tills.  You see, the first thing I thought of when I saw this plane was my Grandad, the airman.

Grandad in his uniform.  The white flash on the hat indicates a volunteer

Grandad volunteered for the Royal Air Force at the latter part of the Second World War, and undertook training in the iconic yellow biplane, the de Havilland Tiger Moth.  The war drew to a close before he was ready for combat flying, but being able to fly the aircraft solo was one of Grandad's proudest achievements for the rest of his life.  This is his flying log sheet, detailing his training in the DH82A model.  He achieved his first solo flight on 8 March 1945, in the aircraft N9441.

An actual Tiger Moth

Grandad passed away in 2013, but he is always fresh in our memories, and now that I have this little plane sitting on my bookshelf, I'll remember him every time I see it.  If he was still alive today, it would have been his Christmas present - I'm sure he would have loved it.

The goodness of people

Many months ago, I logged on to the Find a Grave website as part of family history research, to see if I could find the war grave of my Grandad’s cousin, Wilfred Roy Major, who was shot down in a bomber over Germany in the Second World War.  I knew from the excellent Commonwealth War Graves Commission that he was buried at Durnback War Cemetery, Bavaria, and so put the details in, and lodged a request – more in hope than expectation –that should any photographers be passing, they might see his grave and send on a picture.

I forgot all about this service until last week, when an email popped up in my inbox, to tell me that my request has been fulfilled – somebody called “BobP” had actually taken the time, whilst at the cemetery, to find Wilfred Roy’s grave, and to upload a photograph for me.  I don’t know BobP - I don’t know who he is or where he comes from - but his act of kindness in helping to locate this important family monument will not be forgotten.  It reminds me that, in the age of the selfish, there is still goodness in people and a desire to help for nothing more than the sake of helping.

Seen around Lincolnshire - The Waddington Air Show 2014

Typhoon FGR4, Waddington Air Show, July 2014

"The Blades" Aerobatic Display Team

Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress

Douglas C-47 Dakota

Typhoon FGR4

Avro Lancaster

Apache AH1

Avro Vulcan

The Red Arrows

Battle of Britain Memorial Flight (Avro Lancaster and two Supermarine Spitfires - the Hawker Hurricane was out of action) 

Family War Heroes - Wilfred Roy Major (141709)

February 1943, and wintery Europe finds itself in the grip of a cruel war's fourth year.  The continent has endured perhaps its bleakest ever period, but in the last month, there is a glimmer of hope, and a feeling that the tide of the Second World War is turning – British forces have captured Tripoli from the Nazis, whilst in the east, the Red Army has scored a decisive victory in one of history’s bloodiest battles, Stalingrad.  It is 25 February, and at RAF Ridgewell, Essex, a young RAF pilot officer, attached to 90 Squadron from the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, catches up with the war latest in the newspaper.  Wilfred Roy Major, better known as Roy, has just earned his wings, and has flown his first mission over Germany with Bomber Command.  Tonight he flies his second mission, a dangerous bombing raid on the German city of Nuremberg.  It is the first night of a new ‘round-the-clock’ Allied air offensive that will see American aircraft pound German cities by day, with British bombers attacking them by night.  It is a devastating bombing tactic, which will claim thousands of civilian lives, as the war reaches its most terrible of conclusions.

Short Stirlings in flight (Source: WW II Vehicles)

It is 8.39pm, and Roy Major’s Short Stirling, BF410 WP-E, taxis across the runway and takes off, along with 337 other aeroplanes from airfields in the southeast – 169 Lancasters, 104 Halifaxes, and 64 Stirlings.  The 1000-mile round-trip will take five hours, during which they will encounter anti-aircraft flak and, even more menacing, German Messerschmitt fighters. If the bomber and its crew survives, they can expect to land back on British soil at around five o’clock in the morning.

Approaching Nuremburg at 15,000 feet, the crew spot the fires already blazing in the north of the city, and in the neighbouring town of Furth.  These fires were started by the flares of the 'pathfinders', dropped to mark out the target, so it could be more easily identified by the main bombers.  On this occasion, poor weather has led to some inaccuracy, and the northern fringes of the city, along with the aforementioned Furth, are bearing the brunt, along with the surrounding countryside. 

Nuremberg (Source: German Tragedy of Destiny)

Wilfred Roy Major’s bomber has dropped its load, and the crew is looking forward to returning home.  A cup of tea.  A soft bed.  English soil.  But then there is a stutter, an almighty jolt that throws the crew violently around their tin can.  The engines cut out.  Have they been hit by flak on their return journey?  Have they suffered the attack of an enemy fighter?  We don’t know the cause, but Short Stirling BF410 WP-E is falling frighteningly out of the sky.  Sergeant J. Carrick is the first to bail out of the aircraft.  He is also the last, parachuting to the ground whilst the machine nose-dives into the countryside, taking the seven other crew members to their deaths.  Sergeant Francis John Miles, the pilot, Sgt Arthur Vivian Derrick Hines, the flight engineer, Sgt George Pettinger, the navigator, Sgt John Henry Dyer, the bomb-aimer, Sgt William Hughes Bevan, the wireless operator, Sgt Eric Howeth Holmes, the air gunner, Sgt Wilfred Roy Major.  Aged 21.  On only his second mission.  A volunteer.  One of nine aircraft that did not return home on that terrible night.

Memorial to 90 Squadron at RAF Tuddenham (Source: War Memorials Online)

Sergeant J. Carrick was picked up by the German authorities, and spent the rest of the war interned in Stalag 8B (later 344) Lamsdorf prisoner of war camp.  He had the Prisoner of War Number 27633.  Wilfred Roy Major and the rest of the crew are buried at Durnbach War Cemetery, Bad Tolz, south of Munich.  The vast majority of those buried here are airmen shot down over Bavaria, Wurtemburg, Austria, Hassen and Thuringia, brought from their scattered graves by the Army Graves Service, as well as those killed whilst escaping from prisoner of war camps, or who died towards the end of the War on forced marches.  Wilfred Roy is buried close to the cemetery’s Stone of Remembrance, in Coll. Grave 11, H 1-7.  His connection to me is through my grandfather, who was Wilfred Roy's cousin.  

  

Wilfred Roy Major's Forces Record

First name:  Wilfred Roy

Initials:  W R

Surname: Major

DOB: Circa 1922

Age: 21

Nationality: British

Date of Death: 26/02/1943

Information: SON OF WILFRED DOUGLAS AND IVY MAY MAJOR OF EARLEY, READING, BERKSHIRE

Rank: Pilot Officer

Service Number: 141709

Campaign Medals: War Medal 1939-1945, 1939-45 Star

Service: Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve

Regiment: Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve

Battalion: 90 Squadron
Commemorated: Germany

Summer's Fond Farewell

September is here, conjuring up images of blackberry picking, falling leaves, and fond farewells to our feathery summer visitors.  The tourists will soon begin to leave, the sun's rays will be less powerful, the weather will slowly turn and, in only three weeks the night will be longer than the day.  I always find a distinctive atmosphere in autumn; it's melancholy, a time to plan and prepare for the cold winter ahead, and to reflect on the beautiful summer now passed.  

Our summer this year has really been focussed on home, exploring the best that the area has to offer under almost perpetually sunny skies.  It should come as no great surprise, then, that our final outing of August took us to Daddyhole Plain in Torquay, to watch the RAF's fantastic Red Arrows.

Now, a red arrow pilot was just about the first thing I wanted to be when I was small, and I remember having a collection of pictures, stickers and books all about the aerobatic team.  Many times in my childhood I had been taken down to Torbay (and occasionally Dawlish) to watch this thrilling spectacle, which never got boring or dulled in my mind.  Even this week, seeing the performance for the first time in four or five years, I could feel those childhood pangs of excitement bubbling inside me.  For Lizzie, meanwhile, this was her first real Red Arrow experience, and one that I'm pretty sure she was impressed by, as the jets looped over the bay, flying upside-down,  both over our heads and beneath us as we stood on the edge of our promontory and strained for a sight of the aeroplanes, flitting in and out of view from every direction.  What a show, well up to the usual standard and every bit as good as I always remembered.

So, in a final burst of exhilaration and energy, the Red Arrows have provided the final showpiece of the season, and it feels as though the curtain has come down on the summer.  Keats' Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness is ready to begin, but we move on with the memory of the most fantastic summer, a real celebration of life in our green and pleasant corner of the country.  I can't wait to see what autumn brings!

Come Fly With Me

Don't you think it's amazing when you find things that you thought you'd lost forever?  Recently I picked out my concise guide to British aircraft of World War II from the bookshelf, only for the following postcards to fall out from in between the pages.  They were issued by the Royal Mail in 1997, when I was 12 years old and right in the middle of a fascination with the aircraft of the Second World War.  The postcards once graced the page of an aviation scrap book I used to have, one that disappeared at some point in my teenage years.  Until now, I assumed these postcards had gone with it.

Last weekend I was prompted to delve into the storage space under my bed and pick out my Corgi Second World War aeroplane models that I started collecting when I was about 15.  They've been patiently waiting, boxed to avoid gathering too much dust, until I have the space to display them in a nice cabinet.  It's probably the first time I have got them all out together, and what a brilliant little collection I think they are!  The models range from good old British warbirds to their powerful American cousins, with a few Axis models thrown in for good measure.  Between them they represent air conflict in many theatres of the war - the Battle of Britain, the war in the Pacific, North Africa and D-Day.

So what is it about these aeroplanes that make them so fascinating compared to their modern counterparts?  It's a matter of opinion, of course, but to me this generation of fighters and bombers captures the intensity, danger, horror and beauty of man's venture into the sky.  In an age before computers dominated every move, these machines were doing their stuff in the clouds - determining mankind's future in the process.

This has got to be one of my most treasured collections, and I can't wait to get them out of their boxes for good.  Even now, so many years after I started my collection, I can see one or two gaps that I'd like to fill, a few notable absences that will make this warbirds collection complete.  In the meantime, how many of the planes can you name?

Up, up and away!

What a scorching couple of weeks we've had here in the United Kingdom!  Under stunning blue skies we've had three weeks of soaring temperatures, the mercury rising to register a cool 34 degrees Celsius (that's 93.2 Fahrenheit for you imperial buffs) at one point over the weekend.  Fully slapped-up with suncream, Lizzie and I went to sample the delights of the Tiverton Balloon Festival, both on Friday evening and Sunday, where a whole host of hot air balloons were in town for a celebration of summer.

It is pretty fascinating stuff to sit and watch a hot air balloon inflate.  For a start, they're so much bigger than you would imagine, bearing down on the spectators with unnerving unpredictability.  Once fully inflated, you begin to realise the power that these balloons pack, and it takes the strength of several men to stop them floating off unattended into the heavens.  One balloon nearly did escape after its rope came loose, caught the front of a nearby Land Rover, and ripped the registration plate off in one!  Once up in the air, though, the true serenity of these oddities becomes clear - they float with majestic presence, silently drifting across the expanse of dusky blue sky.  And it wasn't just the typically spherical balloon making an appearance - a Panasonic battery and a beerglass were amongst the highlights, whilst the festival programme also lists a pair of green Paddy Power pants, a cube, and a lager bottle.

As well as the balloons, Tiverton Balloon Festival presented a sizeable music stage, a range of craft stalls, local foods, archery, falconry, BMX stunts and, on Sunday, vintage aircraft displays.  In the intensity of the lunchtime sun, we found ourselves back in the festival grounds, clinging to the hedgerows and a thin sliver of shade.  After what seemed like an eternity, we heard the sound of a motor from on high, and flying into view with a trail of white smoke came a Beechcraft biplane.  The pilot wowed the crowd with twists, turns and loop-the-loops, inspiring a round of applause from the onlookers.  No sooner had our Beechcraft zoomed off and out of view, the deeper and slower sound of a Tiger Moth biplane came wafting across the sky.  No loops from this piece of aviation history, but a fabulous display from an iconic British aeroplane that I could have happily watched for hours.  My grandad trained in a Tiger Moth during the Second World War, and whilst the RAF replaced the model in 1952, Tiger Moths are still occasionally used as training aircraft in trial flying lessons.  I can see why they've been so popular for so many years!

What a great, if perishingly hot, weekend at the Tiverton Balloon Festival!  A new one on both our lists, we'll be sure to visit again.  And who knows, maybe next time we'll even hitch a ride!