Wednesday 19th August 2015

Tuesday

As you may imagine, I like to take a photo or two, and so when a few months back I heard that there was to be a fly-past of vintage WW2 Spitfires over the town to mark the hardest day of the Battle of Britain, I marked in on my calendar.

And so when the week of the event rolls round, I go to the BBC website to check on the weather for the day, and it is grim. With added grim.

It couldn't really be that bad in August could it? Yes it could.

My initial plan had been to catch a bus into town, then another to Aycliffe before walking up Shakespeare Cliff and along to Capel where the Battle of Britain memorial is, and where the flypast was to be centered. However, with the weather the way it was going to be, I thought it likely that the planes would fly some distance down the coast, so if I walked to just shy of Dover, at Langdon, I would see the formation. No?

No.

But that was to come.

I did work as per normal until half eleven and then pulled on my walking boots, got out my rain coat and set off for the cliffs. Down Station Road into the village, through the churchyard and then out across the feilds to the lighthouse and cliffs beyond.

Initially, the rain was light and it was pleasant, once out of the village and crossing another field of dried beans still on the plants, turning black in the summer heat and then into the woods as the path climbed towards the lighthouse.

Rain turned a bit heavier, and as I was walking into the rain, I took off my glasses and stumbled along. People, many people were coming in the other direction but I was alone with my thoughts. The rain was hard enough to keep my camera covered, so not to get it wet.

I walked past the Fan Bay Shelter, with people looking out, I supposed in preparation for the fly by. Up the final climb and then the port was laid out before me. It was midday, and I thought I might have an hour to wait before the flyby, so sat down on what was a dry patch of ground, but as the rain got harder, all around me turned to mud, and the water-proofness of my coat was tested, and anyway, the rain ran of it onto my jeans, which were soon cold and soaking wet. I shivered.

Away to the south, over Shakespeare Cliff, the clouds hung low and were almost black as night, I doubted if the planes flew I would see anything. At a quarter to one as the planes were due to take off from Biggin Hill I put on the big boy lens on the camera, tried to cover it up with my jacket, but rain was getting through.

People passed giving me some odd looks, but then, hey, if I choose to spend my spare time standing on the edge of a cliff in a rainstorm staring at the sea and clouds, then that's my business.

At quarter past one, I heard the sound of several large engines, I was on the phone to a colleague at the time, but as I peered into the murkiness, I saw nothing. Powering up Faceache on the phone I saw a post on the local group and it confirmed that the planes had arrived, circled and headed back. Show over.

I packed away the camera and lens, and soaked to the skin, I turn to walk back home, an hour of trudging through mud and slithering down muddy slops and avoiding dog shit in the fields near the village.

I get back at half two, and I am freezing. I should have gone for a shower there and then, but thought that changing my jeans and a coffee would be anough. It wasn't. What the whole sorry adventure had been good for though was clearing my allergy attack that I had had since getting up. Seems like three hours of rain really washes the dust out of my pipes!

I close all the windows, the back door, and still I am freezing.

I egg and breadcrumb aubergine and am frying them when Jools comes home at half five. A pint of Old Craft Hen makes me warm, as does the food for sure. Then, I have a shower and am warmed up.

It is footy season, as I said yesterday, so I listen to Man U trying to progress in Europe, whilst hoping against hope they would fail. Not that I have anything against them, it would cause consternation at the Theatre of Revised Dreams, however, they ran out 3-1 winners and live to fight another day. Perhaps.

And we head to bed.