I’m including this for no other reason than I had a camera handy when it appeared on BBC One’s Breakfast programme.
Anyone care to submit a Have I Got News For You type caption? All mine are too obvious.
Leave a reply…
Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category
The following from Ray Palin who last month, my website visitors will recall, was pictured in front of the Shackleton ‘gate guardian’ at St Mawgan. Ray writes:
Dear Frank,
I was amused to see my photo…on your blog. For the ‘rivet counters’ among your fans the Shackleton in question is an MR2, WL795.
The Shackleton in various marques served for some forty years in the Royal Air Force in (mainly) maritime and early warning roles, retiring in 1991. My squadron (201), formerly equipped with Sunderland flying boats, had just received the MR3 version with tricycle undercarriage when I joined in 1958. And by the way, I was a flesh and blood Air Electronics Officer, feeling the pain of flying for hours over the ocean at 1,000-feet behind four twelve-cylinder Griffons with eight contra-rotating three-bladed props…not an ‘electronic officer’.
Shackleton history may be read at www.thegrowler.org.uk or in the just published book ‘Growling over the Oceans’ by Deborah Lake (Souvenir Press),
Ray.
Footnote from FB: Oops, sorry about that missing ‘s’. As a footnote I worked for Ray when I first joined Burson-Marsteller. He always was good at spotting literals dammit.
Good Day Frank,
I have just visited your website to see if you had any more books with Kit and Ossie in as I have thoroughly enjoyed all three. I wanted to offer my services if you require any info for a book on the following:
- Old biplanes and flying them
- Artificial legs as I wear one
- Ships engineering as that is my profession
- Racing sidecars, as I used to (I still own a Ducati)
Also I would like to offer you a flight in the Stampe biplane I co-own for all the pleasure your books have given me. It’s based at Headcorn, which is near you, and I realise I have flown over your house many times,
Regards,
Tony Calvey
FB: I intend to take Tony up on his generous offer. It’s a matter of making the diary fit. When I mentioned the possibility of not managing it before the weather closed in Tony sent me another photograph proving that it’s business as usual for biplane pilots, even in winter
Well, not my garden exactly but a few hundred yards from it and, naturally, not when I owned the property. But this rather fuzzy photograph from Monday 30 September 1940 shows 4/JG27 Messerschmitt Bf109E (work number 6306) after force-landing in a paddock next to the cricket pitch at Pelsham House near Rye.
It had been engaged on escort duties but suffered radiator damage in combat and its pilot, Unteroffizier R.Hammer, obviously put it down where he could, apparently tearing off both wings when he passed between two oak trees. He was captured by members of the Home Guard and removed to Benenden Hospital, only slightly injured. The 109, serial number 7, was declared a write-off but who shot it down, I have been unable to discover.
This is positively the last entry relating to the Battle of Britain during this memorable month but I thought it worth logging as a contrast to some of the painstaking excavations of downed fighter aircraft where fragments of gun-buttons or canopy handles are turned over and marvelled at.
I wonder what became of this largely intact machine? The small shed in the background, by the way, used to contain the groundsman’s mower for tending the cricket pitch before the war. It still exists today and looks exactly the same from our sitting room window.
Someone asked me the other day if I’d fought in the Battle of Britain.
Flattering in one way but not in another; that would put me in my late eighties. But it made me realise that I’ve got to an age where you can claim pretty well anything and nobody will contradict you. 
Take this photograph for example. Does it:
a) show the youthful student pilot after going solo on a Tiger Moth during World War Two (note the authentic Sidcot suit, helmet and Mk VIII goggles)
b) ditto during National Service in the 1950s before progressing to Hawker Hunters and taking on MIGs in Korea
c) shooting a line at Rochester Airport in 1957?
The answer is c). I was nineteen at the time, the age of many pilots who fought the Luftwaffe in 1940. A newspaper reporter named Gordon Anckorn, who worked for the Sevenoaks Chronicle (I was on the Kent Messenger), was a qualified pilot and took me up several times in the Tiger. Stunts over the Thames Estuary, ‘you have control’ and so on. But somehow (and ironically as it turned out) I never took it up. I didn’t fly again for years, and then in commercial airlines.
During my two years in the RAF the only aircraft I saw were the dummy fighters at the station gates. But looking at this image, that unlined face, this kid quite prepared to experience the most violent aerobatics Gordon could perform without a thought for personal safety makes you realise (if it needs saying again) how tragically young many of those pilots were seventy years ago, before they’d barely got a grasp on life. Everything seems a cliche at the moment, given the exhaustive programming about the Few but, like all cliches, there is of course an essential truth that should not, must not be forgotten.
By the way, I met Gordon at the Farnborough Air Show years later and he asked: ‘ Do you remember that time in the Tiger when we got lost in fog over the Thames Estuary and we were running low on fuel?’ I did not because he had neglected to tell me at the time, unaware and snug in the forward cockpit thinking I was Biggles. How close we can come to disaster without realising it; a sobering reflection on how it was for too many young pilots who never knew what hit them…
Good question when related to work in progress. I’m prompted to attempt an answer thanks to an email from a reader in Cambridge, one Meint (sic), who asks: ‘Any more updates on the new book? Do you already have a release date and any more hints on plot/characters? Have really enjoyed your first three efforts, hope there are many more to follow.’
On the last point, Meint, so do I but approaching 73 you can’t promise. To complete the current novel is the prime objective.
As to release date, late 2011 at the present rate of progress. I was chased by Headline Review, ‘my’ publisher within the Hachette empire, to deliver the already overdue MS by early December but I’ve only completed 65,000-words so far with a similar amount remaining. The only reassurance I could give my patient and supportive editor Martin Fletcher is that I believe the work is pretty good. The reasons for the delay: a period of ill-health and a projected house-move followed by a dispute with a neighbouring land-owner over boundaries and a right-of-way that may well end up in court; costly in time and money.
Hints on plot and characters? Well, its’ central figure is emerging as something of a monster, most interesting to write; perceived by the world in general as an aviation hero (as indeed he is) but gradually revealed as a predatory and unprincipled swine with unfortunate political ambitions. The effects of said swine on those around him, particularly a son, provide the motive power of the plot.
It’s been enjoyable to deal with real locations in Kent, Sussex and France, particularly Alfriston and Rye. I said jokingly to Martin that, on publication, I hoped signs would appear along the roads: You Are Now Entering Barnard Country. But weaving in historical fact as the fictional plot progresses is a fascinating exercise. This morning for example I’m focussing on the Flying Village that existed at Brooklands before the Great War, where my aviator is about to begin his flying career, in flashback I might add because the chapters not only develop the story from the perspective of different characters but also at different dates, back and forth in time.
I’m wary of revealing too much because this is new territory for me and I hope my readers will follow me there. Martin thought it might be ‘the
breakthrough novel’; the first three having sold very well but not up there with the mega best-sellers. Who knows? All you can do is plug on, write as carefully and as interestingly as you can and hope it meets, eventually, with approval and enjoyment.
Meanwhile, many thanks to Meint for getting in touch.
From: Chris Howells to Frank Barnard
Ian Edwards warned us on the RAF site that he was commenting on your mistakes in what he describes as ‘excellently researched novels.’ My late father had a brief tour on Sunderlands in the 1950s at Pembroke Dock. He also had a tour on Operations and Luqa in Malta 1946-67 so I have a good knowledge of the island from my school days. The people of that island are wonderful and after all they suffered in World War Two more than deserved the George Cross and British citizenship.
I love your books so more power to your elbow, typing fingers and, hopefully, your Apple Mac.
I’ve never been much concerned by Father’s Day viewing it, in my no doubt mean-spirited way, as a ruse concocted by greetings card manufacturers.
However, now I am strongly in favour because Tesco have bought 4,000 copies of To Play The Fox for their special promotion at the beginning on June. What an excellent idea, much to be recommended to those keen to demonstrate their affection for the Old Man and what better gift could be imagined than this thrilling yarn?
Well, there’s a flight in a two-seater Spitfire or a crate of Scotch or a weekend for two at The Crillon in Paris or news that you might never again have to see Gordon Brown as Prime Minister on television but let’s be realistic…
Someone once asked me, when they learned I was a published author: ‘ How’s it feel to be rich and famous?’ I remembered this when two things happened on the same day; the announcement that Barclays Bank is paying out £1.5 billion in cash bonuses as their profits soar by 92% to £11.6 billion, and a letter in the post box (or rather, old waste bin) from NatWest about a currency exchange matter involving me. This last sounds impressive until you learn that it related to a payment of 37.75 Euros by the Irish Libraries people who, like their UK counterparts, pay about 5p every time one of your books is taken out.
We were quite pleased, Jan and I, because this Gallic windfall just about covered a pub lunch, that is until we learned that NatWest were charging me £5.00 to change euros into sterling. Apparently this is quite reasonable. My local branch thought it might have been £10.00, almost 25%. But it does perhaps go some way to explaining why the bankers seem to be doing so particularly well at the moment. All this on top of hearing that some MPs charge £5,000 a day for lobbying which is almost the same as the annual state pension I receive aged 72. Of course I must remember my income from writing which was, now let me see, oh dear. So what am I saying? ‘Rats’ might cover it.
In 1959 on this date, 3 February, I reported to RAF Cardington to start National Service. For some reason, while I have a very faulty memory about many things that have happened to me over the past 72 years, I possess almost photographic recall about what occurred that day, and right through square-bashing at Bridgnorth.
Eventually I was posted back to Cardington as ‘Mr 1085′, where I was responsible for processing recruits who had been turned down on medical grounds, an excellent job with my own office and plenty of time to polish my snooker skills in the NAAFI between intakes. I wonder, did anyone out there arrive at my desk, no doubt jumping up and down with glee despite the revelation that they suffered from flat feet?
This is turning into something of a Me-Me-Me episode but the Sunday Times of Malta ran a thoughtful piece about my visit there, interesting (I hope) to anyone visiting the island who may be curious about the Maltese attitude to Brits, which is still favourable despite my fears that they might be getting thoroughly fed-up with hearing about past history.
I’m told that Band Of Eagles is currently Number One fiction title in Malta, out-selling Dan Brown’s latest. If anyone’s seeking a Christmas present I have copies of the first-edition hard-cover available, that can be personally dedicated (email me). This offer has also been posted on eBay.
Now I have a vague idea of what being a celebrity entails, thanks to a incredibly busy visit to Malta promoting the island’s special edition of Band Of Eagles. I was invited there by Miller Distributors, the leading distributors of newspapers, magazines and books, along with much else ranging from press services to consumer electronics. In the space of two days I signed copies of Band Of Eagles Over Malta at no fewer than six Agenda bookshops, all owned by Miller, as well as meeting the press at a reception at the Phoenicia Hotel and being interviewed by journalists from Times of Malta, Malta Independent and Sunday Circle, required reading for anyone interested in what’s going on generally. Interest in the novel had also been boosted by the Times of Malta serialising it in three parts the previous week, another coup for Miller.
The Malta Independent (click to see large version)
The Malta Independent (click to see large version)
At the reception Miller director Caroline Wirth uttered those dreaded words: ‘Now a brief introduction before Frank Barnard gives his speech.’ Which I hadn’t been expecting but got through nonetheless, and probably better for it not having had time to get the jitters. Other memorable moments included responding to questions from a reporter from One News, the main TV news channel, in the Agenda outlet adjoining the Auchan supermarket, watched by curious shoppers. In what might be termed ‘a whistlestop tour’, I signed books for many interesting people, among them a Austrian commercial pilot flying an executive jet for a Russian billionaire, a high-ranking US naval officer based at the American Embassy, a senior official with the Maltese Foreign Office about to be posted to the state of Victoria, Australia and numbers of people with memories of the war; for example a Brit whose uncle died in a Hurricane at Takali and a now-elderly Maltese gentleman who as a ten-year-old recalled seeing many dogfights between Spitfires and Messerschmitt 109s.
One coincidence is worth recounting: an English couple told me they were from Frinton-on-Sea. It was one of those shot-in-the-dark moments. ‘You don’t happen to know (and I gave the name of an old PR colleage of mine who lived there) do you?’ They not only knew him but were good friends…
Frank Barnard at the Phoenicia Hotel in Malta
At some point in my impromptu speech at the Phoenicia Hotel reception, watched by Miller's Caroline Wirth
A busy trip, then, but hugely enjoyable. Alan Bennett once said: ‘There’s writing and being a writer.’ This was the fun bit, being a writer, no longer shut away in that small room in a fantasy world, fun also of course but in a different way.
My sincere thanks to Caroline Wirth and, particuarly, to the indefatigable Mike Vella de Fremeaux, Manager-Trade Books, who created the programme with great efficiency and guided me through the packed schedule with easy assurance.
On the eve of flying to Malta for the promotional tour for Band Of Eagles Over Malta I thought it might be helpful to give brief details of the programme in case anyone checking this website happens to be out there. In which case I’d be delighted to say hello.
Much of the activity is based around the five-star Phoenicia Hotel, Valletta and Valletta itself so no great hardship there, particularly as I stayed in a £10-a-night B&B on my last visit, when I was researching Eagles on my own money. The schedule occupies a couple of days, 2-3 November, and kicks off with signings at various bookshops in Valletta and Mellieha, as well as media interviews including TV appearances on the national network.
This fleeting taste of fame reminds me that one of my granddaughters saw my name on a billboard once, outside our local supermarket, and asked: ‘ Are you famous in Peasmarsh, Grandpa?’ Today Peasmarsh, tomorrow Malta, but entirely thanks to the enthusiastic and highly professional sales and marketing initiative created by Miller Distributors, Luqa, who look after Headline Publishing’s interests in the region. So, off to Gatwick tomorrow morning. As one of my characters might say: ‘ Tally-ho.’
I thought I’d made it at last when my publisher, Headline Review, announced that they were flying me out at Malta at the beginning of November on a promotional tour, geared round the publication of a special local edition of Band Of Eagles, re-titled Band Of Eagles Over Malta. When I got the itinerary the first appointment was listed as ‘ 10.00 a.m-11.30 a.m Embassy’. I thought it was a bit early for a posh do, rather regretting that I would not be announced by a flunky at the top of the sweeping staircase. ‘ Lord and Lady Blinks, the Honourable Percy Phipps, Elmer T.Hockenbasher…and our guest of honour, Lords, Ladies and gentleman, Mr Frank Barnard.’
At which point I would descend into a glittering world where candlelight glinted on medals, picked out diamonds on tiaras, and from every point came the sound of light applause accompanied by the raising of flutes of champagne. Pity that, sounded rather good. But still, a morning affair was something of a compliment so I ‘phoned Headline publicity. ‘ This bash at the Embassy,’ I said. ‘ Can you advise on what I should wear?’
‘ Oh I don’t know, the usual I suppose. Whatever you feel comfortable in.’
‘ Well, how formal it it?’
‘ Not at all, I shouldn’t think. They’ll sit you at a table and you’ll just sign books if people buy any.’
‘ Sounds a bit casual doesn’t it?’ A seed of doubt began to grow. ‘ Will our Ambassador be there?’
‘ The Ambassador?’
‘ The British Ambassador.’
‘ I shouldn’t think so, no. Why should he be?’
‘ Well, being the Embassy I rather thought…’
‘ Oh I see. No, it’s not that Embassy. It’s the Embassy shopping mall.’
I do not plan to wear medals. Lucky really, because I haven’t got any.
So, the serious work has started. I’m five thousand words into a story that will probably take 180,000 to tell, encouraged by a positive reaction to the lengthy synopsis from Martin Fletcher, my editor at Headline. I’ve never worked to such a detailed, self-created brief before and it certainly helps, though other stuff happens along the way. My only concern at the moment is to do with health.
My PSA is still being checked on a three-monthly basis and I’m waiting to hear the results of the latest. And just to help matters, I fell out of a sailing dinghy a few weeks ago and got whacked across the side of the head by the boom as the boat turned over. At first the injury seemed restricted to a deep gash on my right ear, but then I began to experience black blobs floating across the vision of my right eye. This grew worse after a long drive, so now I’m having that investigated too. Something to do with vitreous gel, the jelly-like fluid that fills the inside of the eye, pulling away from the back wall of the eye and casting shadows, an age thing but possibly worsened by the thump to the nut. I keep thinking the blobs are flies. When some actually turn out to be flies it’s confusing. But perhaps the most worrying moment came when the specialist asked: ‘ Have you had a blow to the head recently?’ Christ, you, think, he’s taking this seriously.
It’s been quite a year; a big crash at Silverstone, towed in from Rye Bay by the lifeboat and now a slapstick moment in a dinghy that could turn out to have more serious results than any motor-racing shunt I ever experienced. Amazing, when I pause to think about it, that I’ve reached 71.
On the positive side, the writing is as absorbing as ever and when I’m back in 1940, as I am at present, and preparing to take off from Manston to meet the Luftwaffe bomber fleets, what’s a few black blobs between friends? As long as they don’t turn out to be Messerschmitt Bf 109s…
The Barnard family doesn’t seem to have been blessed with an abundance of imagination when it comes to naming male offspring. My grandfather was Frank Barnard, my father is Frank Barnard and, well, you get the picture. In the past this has led to a certain confusion, notably when Dad wrote irate letters to MPs and the press demanding the return of the death penalty, the compulsory registration of dogs, withdrawal from the EEC and other contentious matters. Friends would ‘phone up asking if I’d gone mad…
Band of EaglesThe most recent example of what can happen came last week at the care home where my father now resides. One of the other residents is an ex-RAF man, Keith, and as Dad had a couple of my novels in his bookshelf I thought Keith might like a copy of Band Of Eagles as it deals with Malta, where he served during the war.
When I presented it to him he tapped the name on the cover, in rather large type it must be admitted, and said: ‘So your father wrote this, did he?’ ‘Uh, no, I did actually.’ He didn’t hear me, however, and turned to my photograph inside the dust-jacket. ‘ You look just like him,’ he said. ’ An amazing resemblance.’
Trouble is, I’ve bought this 1967 Citroen 2CV dubbed Growler, and the nickname fits, because growl it certainly does. Its growl is more fearsome than its grunt however, because the AZAM model can only muster 425cc and a top speed, on the level*, of about 55 mph. On hills? First gear at about 10 mph, depending on the severity of the incline.citroen-1967-new-car
Growler in action at Spa-Francorchamps racing circuit, Belgium, 2008
This didn’t prevent a previous owner competing in the Liege-Brescia-Liege road rally for so-called microcars that covered over 2,000-miles including Alpine passes (he came third in class by the way). Now, having given up circuit racing (adding the statutory ‘maybe’) I’m thinking of running said Growler in the 2010 event. But it (he?) certainly reminds you how spoiled modern motorists are, taking for granted such huge technical advances over the last fifty years. Driving Growler is more akin to sailing, all the time maintaining momentum, conscious of every corner, every slope, every junction that requires brakes, even every gust of wind or shower of rain.
Enormous fun, of course…
* As a tenuous postscript to the above it reminds me of a court case some years ago in which a police constable gave evidence against a motorist accused of having, amongst other things, a faulty handbrake. He told the maqistrate: ‘ When I pushed the vehicle with the handbrake applied it moved.’ ‘ On the level, constable?’ said the magistrate. ‘ Straight up, your honour,’ said the constable.
First, Blue Man Falling was likened to Derek Robinson’s Piece Of Cake, then To Play The Fox to Biggles Sweeps The Desert (see previous blog Admirable Chaps). 
Ingorious Bastards. Now, although no-one has pointed it out so far, Quentin Tarantino’s World War 2 fantasy Inglorious Bastards, featuring a unit of Jewish fighters operating behind the lines in Europe with the objective of assassinating Hitler, has a distinct similarity to ‘my’ group of Palestinian volunteers in To Play The Fox, except that in Fox the action takes place in North Africa at the time of the Battle of El Alamein and is much closer to the truth.
Researching the novel I learned of the Special Interrogation Group, the brainchild of Captain Herbert ‘Bertie’ Buck MC, who assembled a band of Palestinian Jews, all fluent in German, who dressed and trained as German soldiers and carried out clandestine missions in enemy territory, harrying the Afrika Korps in many ways, including attacks on airfields, and bringing back vital intelligence. The men of the SIG, correctly uniformed, even entered German camps to queue for food and, on one occasion, to demand pay. It ended tragically when an ambitious operation was betrayed by an ex-Wehrmacht member of the group who, having turned once, turned again.
However, in To Play The Fox, the Holly Force unit is not after Hitler but Rommel. In this they are unsuccessful because, when the Allies launched their assault at El Alamein, the so-called Desert Fox was in Berlin receiving promotion and medical attention. But his successor, the ill-fated General Georg Stumme, is targetted instead. He dies, but as he died in real life, victim of a heart attack, although my American wild-card Ossie Wolf, seconded to fly with Holly Force, comes close to putting a bullet in him. So, fiction woven more closely with fact.
I look forward to seeing Inglorious Bastards however, as a curious throwback to films like The Dirty Dozen, Guns Of Navarone and Where Eagles Dare. Meanwhile, though, I await the inevitable suggestion that, somehow, I got the idea for To Play The Fox from the mercurial Mr Tarantino. It’s a pity, actually, that it’s worked out this way. Given a year or two, he might have read Fox and thought: ‘ This would make a great movie!’
Extracts from a recent email exchange…
—– Original Message —–
From: Konstantin Ishimov
Sent: Tuesday, August 04, 2009 7:39 PM
Subject: Thank you for your book!
Dear Mr. Barnard
I am writing this letter to express my sincere interest to your books. I have read Blue Man Falling twice and it seems to me that I would do this once and once again.
One of my relatives fought in WW II as a fighter pilot of the Red Army. He first met Luftwaffe in the sky of Ukraine in July 1941. Unfortunately he was badly wounded in the late October 1942 and commissioned. He worked as an engineer on the air engine manufactory in the city of Ufa. I remember quit well his short stories about war in the air. Your story is so real and true that I easily can imagine you in a tight cockpit of a fighter.
I am a former military surgeon of Russian Army. I have ended my career this year. You are certainly right about human feelings during the war. The difference between war on land and battle in the sky is not very significant but some of my patients from Air Force, bombers, certainly told me that they were extremely alone in danger.
Thank you very much indeed for you excellent language which is so live and colorful!
I am looking forward to read your next books!
Yours sincerely,
Lt.colonel (Res) of medical service
Konstantin Ishimov
—– Response —–
Sent: Wednesday, August 05, 2009 1:12 PM
To: Konstantin Ishimov
Subject: Re: Thank you for your book!
Dear Lt.Colonel Ishimov,
My warm thanks for your most interesting communication, and also your comments about my novel. It is good to know that you think I have been successful to some degree in placing the reader in that ‘tight cockpit of a fighter’. That was certainly the objective, particularly for the younger readers to whom WWII is more remote by the year and becoming history. Attempting to summon up the ‘human feelings’ experienced in combat is a challenge, but a worthwhile one, although regrettably those feelings are still being experienced by young men today.
May I congratulate you on your retirement and wish that you enjoy much enjoyment in the years to come, including reading novels, but not all of them of course mine!
Finally, I wonder if you would permit me to add your remarks to my website, frankbarnard.com? I’m sure it would be of great interest to others,
Kind regards,
Frank Barnard
—– Response —–
Sent: Wednesday, August 05, 2009 8:42 PM
Subject: Thank you for your good wishes
Dear Mr. Barnard
Thank you very much to your kind answer. I have been surprised with your knowledge about my retirement which was signed only two month ago!
I would be happy to help your website with my little and rather awkward comment with your corrections if you find it possible.
Your language is so confident, colorful and correct that I find it as an example of true English. I really enjoy reading your books.
May I wish you to find more and more readers of your excellent novels not only in Europe but throughout the world. I believe that you do your work as an author and as peacekeeper too.
Thank you for good wishes!
Yours truly,
Lt.colonel (Res) of medical service
Konstantin Ishimov
