David Walliams - Grandpa’s Great Escape

“Oh no,” said an enraptured girl at the front.

“Oh yes!” continued Grandpa. “The whole airfield would have gone up in flames. My squadron was the first to be scrambled, and as Wing Commander I was to lead the charge. Within seconds we were all in the air. Up, up and away. I pushed my Spitfire to 300 miles an hour…”

“Wow!” said a boy at the back, looking up from his football magazine. “300 miles an hour!”

“The Air Chief Marshal radioed me to tell me we would be outnumbered. He said four to one. So I had to think fast. We needed an element of surprise. I ordered my squadron to hide up above the clouds. The plan was we would wait until the enemy were so close we could smell them, and then ATTACK!”

“So what date was this exactly, Mr Bunting?” interrupted the teacher. “I need to put it up on the blackboard in red chalk. Red chalk is for dates only.”

Miss Verity used strict colour-coding on her blackboard –

Grandpa thought for a moment. Jack’s tummy twisted. He knew dates were not the old man’s strong suit.

But eventually Grandpa replied confidently, “July the third, eleven hundred hours. I remember it well!”

The teacher wrote these facts, facts, factsup on the blackboard, the red chalk squeaking as Grandpa continued.

“So I waited until the very last moment. As soon as I saw the first Messerschmitt emerge from under the clouds, I gave the order.

“What year was this?”

“Pardon me, madam?”

“What year was this?” Miss Verity pressed.

Then disaster. The old man’s face went blanker than blank.

From the back of the classroom, Jack dived in to defend his grandfather. “Miss, it’s best you don’t keep on interrupting by asking questions…”

“But this is a history lesson! We need facts! facts! facts!”replied Miss Verity.

“Just please let the Wing Commander finish his story, Miss, and we can get to all those later.”

“Very well,” muttered the history teacher, grasping her red chalk in readiness. “Please carry on, Mr Bunting.”

“Thank you, madam,” said Grandpa. “Now, where was I?”

It was clear the poor old man had lost his thread. It was a good job that his grandson knew this story so well. He had heard this particular tale of derring-do hundreds of times but never tired of it. Jack prompted his grandfather. “You saw the first Messerschmitt, and gave the order to—”

“DIVE! That’s right, man! As soon as my squadron of Spitfires descended through the clouds, we realised that this would be the fight of our lives.” Grandpa’s eyes lit up. He was back in the moment as if it was yesterday. “The radar had estimated a hundred planes in total. This looked more like two hundred! One hundred Junkers, and as many Messerschmitts. As for us, we had just twenty-seven Spitfires.”

The children were enraptured. Miss Verity was busy scribbling up her precious facts facts factson the blackboard – like how many aircraft on each side – in an array of multicoloured chalks. As soon as she had finished, she switched back to red chalk (for dates only) and opened her mouth as if she were about to speak. But before she could say a word, the entire class went, “SHUSH!”

Grandpa was on a roll now. All the children were eating out of his hand. “I pressed on my machine guns and the battle commenced. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. The sky was filled with bullets, smoke and fire.

Bang!

I hit my first Messerschmitt. The Luftwaffe pilot parachuted out.

Bang!

And another!

“Our mission that day was to take down the Junkers. They were the deadly ones. Each one of those bombers was carrying tonnes of explosives. If we didn’t stop them, their bombs would be raining down on the men, women and children of London. Up in the skies, the battle raged for what seemed like hours. The RAF must have shot down fifty enemy aircraft that day,” continued Grandpa. “Many of the other Luftwaffe planes were so badly damaged, they had to retreat back across the Channel quick smart. My squadron returned to base that day as heroes.”

All the children in the class burst into wild applause.

“HOORAY!”

As the applause died down in the classroom, Grandpa began again. “But this was no time for celebration. We knew the enemy would be back, and soon. In even greater numbers than before. The Battle of Britain had well and truly begun. As for my squadron, I lost four brave pilots that day.”

The old man’s eyes glistened with tears.

The entire class sat in stunned silence. So this was what a history lesson could be!

The boy sitting next to Jack turned to him and whispered, “Your grandpa is a legend!”

“I know,” replied Jack and smiled.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr Bunting,” said Miss Verity loudly, breaking the spell. “We are nearing the end of the lesson now. I have my red chalk poised at the ready. We need to note down all those facts, facts, facts!So please could you tell us all the year this happened?”

“The year?” replied Grandpa.

“Yes. I need to put it up on the board. If my pupils are to have any hope of passing their exam next term, we need to know facts, facts, facts!And yet more facts.”

The old man looked at the teacher, confused. “It’s this year.”

“What do you mean this year?” asked the teacher.

“This year, madam. 1940.”

The class chuckled uncertainly. Surely the old man was joking? Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Miss Verity gave everyone another of her famous death stares and they were silent once more. “You seriously think this is 1940?”

“Yes, of course it’s 1940! King George VI is on the throne. And Mr Churchill is the Prime Minister.”

“No no no, Mr Bunting. This is 1983!”

“It can’t be!”

“Yes yes yes. Queen Elizabeth II is on the throne. And the wonderful Mrs Thatcher is the Prime Minister.”

Grandpa did not look at all convinced. In fact, he stared at the teacher as if she was BONKERS!“Mrs?! A lady Prime Minister?! You must have a screw loose, madam!”

“I think it is you who has the screw loose, Mr Bunting! Well, thank you so much for your oh-so-informative visit,” said the teacher sarcastically. “Now, goodbye.” As if shooing a pigeon, Miss Verity ushered the old man out of his chair. Under her breath she muttered to the class, “No need to write down a thing the old man said, after all! He doesn’t know what year it is and he is still wearing his slippers!”