Over A Spitfire
Prologue
Midlands
October 1965
The young man on the couch in a trance like state speaks in a soporific voice in response to the hypnotist’s question for this regression. “I can see planes.”
“What sort of planes?”
The young man hesitates and his eyelids flicker. “Spitfires, Hurricanes, Lancaster bombers.”
The hypnotist regards him intently. “Do you know what year it is?”
“I think it’s 1941.”
“What is your name?”
“Will”
“Where are you?”
“I am at an airfield walking towards the planes.”
“Are you alone?”
Again the young man is hesitant and the hypnotist is patient, allowing the thoughts to develop.
“There are others. I walk away from them.”
“Where are you going when you leave them?”
“I am walking towards the Spitfire.”
“How do you feel?”
“I am happy, I love this plane. I fly them: I fly Spitfires, Hurricanes, Lancasters, but the Spitfire and the Lancaster are my favourites.”
“Are you flying now?”
“I am climbing into the cockpit. I am checking the instrument panel and starting the plane. ‘Thrum’ goes its engine and a thrill runs through me as it always does.”
“Are you in the RAF?”
The young man is silent, his brow wrinkling, then, “No, I don’t fight in battle.” His voice becomes a little unsure. “I don’t know why I fly but I know it’s important. I fly lots of planes, often, and I feel different. I um… it’s some kind of delivery service.”
“Are you flying the Spitfire now?”
“Yes I’m taxiing ready for take off. I can feel the bumps as the wheels go over the terrain. Up, up, now I am airborne among the clouds. It is a clear day with just a few fluffy white clouds like puffballs in the sky, I almost feel I want to reach out my hand and touch them. I’m looking down and a river runs like a silver ribbon beneath me. I am delivering the plane.” His face takes on a look of fear as the hypnotist observes him almost impassively. “Cloud has built up. There’s a plane. It’s coming right at me. Out of the clouds” His voice becomes distressed. “What shall I do?” His voice rises in panic. “I swerve, tilt my aircraft but it’s too late. It’s hit me. I hear the smashing of metal on metal. The engine is screaming. I’m losing height. I’m trying to pull the nose up. Why won’t it come up? Come up! Come up! I’m falling. Falling, falling, spinning…”
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