The Mists of Time

The Mists of Time(Faith Tyler) The Mists of Time


“Time Gentlemen Please“ shouted Martin, the landlord of the Ox and Plough. The smoke laden air was full of ribald comments about places the Landlord could visit but it was all in good fun. Everyone had had a good evening, with the domino match being won by the home team and a copious amount of beer and sandwiches consumed.

“Come on you lot, haven’t you got any homes to go to?” the Landlord shouted again and pint glasses were raised and emptied as if by magic. “Good Night all” he said as the last customer left the bar, and with a sigh he bolted and locked the front door. Now perhaps I can take the poor old dog for a walk he thought. He put the dog into the car, started it up and off they went up to Old Buckenham airfield. He parked at the bottom of the lane, let the dog out and locked the car. “Come on old boy, don’t hang about it's too cold” he said to the dog and with that he strode off into the darkness. They reached the clubhouse which was used in the daytime by people who flew light aircraft, but in its heyday the airfield would have been full of GI’s helping fight a long forgotten war. Then there would have been airmen waiting for their mates to return from missions over Germany, hoping that there would be no casualties or loss of aircraft. Maybe there would be Liberators warming up to take off on new sorties, young airmen full of anticipation and apprehension climbing up into those great planes, but now the airfield was just full of ghosts of a long time past.

The wind was getting up and Martin pulled his collar up to keep out the cold. They must have been almost to the old main runway when Martin called the dog to him. “Quiet boy” he said, “I’m sure I can hear voices”. He listened but all he could hear was the wind. ”I must be imagining things”, he thought as he stepped out onto the runway. He hadn’t gone more than a few paces when the dog started to howl, sat down and refused to move. By now a mist had risen and Martin was sure he could see people as well as hear them. He went back to where the dog had taken root and rubbed its ears to try and stop it howling. “Shh old boy, shouldn’t be anyone up here this time of night, wonder what’s going on”. He stood and watched and sure enough he could see figures, but what they were doing he could not make out as they seemed a bit hazy. The hairs on his neck stood up as the runway lights came on. This didn’t make any sense, there was no flying this time of night. He thought he could hear the sound of an engine and it certainly was not a Stearman or any other light plane, as he knew the sounds of all of them. This was a steady drone of a four-engine plane and a heavy one at that. As it came closer the drone was broken by a splutter as an engine cut out. Martin looked skyward and out of the darkness came the huge shape of a Liberator with its landing lights on. Martin grabbed the dog and jumped into the ditch at the side of the runway as the plane came in to land, so close that Martin could see the pilot. It touched down and as it disappeared into the darkness Martin could feel the wind from its engines blowing across the top of him. Some sort of vehicle raced past him, following the Liberator into the night. Martin lay there for a few minutes, which seemed an eternity, trying to get straight in his mind what was happening. “I must be going mad”, he thought to himself. He finally plucked up courage to stand up and as he brushed himself off he looked around. There was nothing, nothing at all, no lights, no people, and no plane. He put the dog on the lead and ran as fast as he could down the lane and back to the car. He put the dog in and jumped in himself, started the engine and drove as fast as he could back to the pub. He stopped the engine, jumped out of the car and raced in the back door, shutting and bolting it all in one movement. Sweat ran down his face and he went into the bar and poured himself a brandy trying to take in what he had just seen.

He slept fitfully that night and all the next day he had a job not to confide in anyone as he went about running the pub. That evening there was a pool match so he was kept busy organising food. He was not married so had to do it all himself, which he enjoyed. The bar was full that evening, the regulars and the visitors laughing and joking with one another, but not Martin, he was quiet and withdrawn, hardly speaking to anyone. He was waiting for closing time. He was going back up to the airfield on his own. After he had locked up he got the car out and drove all the way up the lane to the main runway. He turned the car round so it faced back down the lane in case he felt the need of a quick getaway. Leaving the car unlocked he walked briskly across the airfield toward the clubhouse. It had been in darkness when he arrived but was now lit with a pale yellow glow. He crept around the side and was about to look in the window when a voice in his ear said “Hands up”, and what felt like a gun was shoved into his back. He was marched across the tarmac to a Liberator, with its engines running, up into the aircraft and into a seat. He finally plucked up courage to look round when the pain in his chest hit him like a sledgehammer. They found him in the middle of the runway the next day, dead from a massive heart attack.

Faith Tyler