My son and I took the cameras out to play at the weekend for a few hours to Waddesdon Manor. The weather was pretty much perfect and the beautiful wooded gardens are lovely to wander in for a while. The trees open out, giving wide swathes of sky across which the red kites wheel gracefully, and our eyes were often raised skywards… as is my camera in the vain pursuit of that photo. Which is why I was able to snap the Lancaster as it flew over, visible for a couple of seconds in the patch of blue, attended by the Spitfire. To be fair, we heard them coming. The sound of a Merlin engine is unmistakeable. And it gets me every time.

I was recently at the Derwent valley where there is a memorial to the men who flew the Lancasters in the Dambusters raid… they practiced within the narrow valley of the dams. It brings it home to you seeing the very real landscape, the steep valley, green life around and the precision that meant life or death for the crews of these planes. Yet these planes were weapons. They brought death. The ugliness is in the purpose for which they were used. Yet, like a sword, in themselves they are things of beauty; there is something in the sound of the engine itself… a note, perhaps, some arcane harmonic, that goes straight to my emotions. There is something in the lines of the Spitfire that make it a thing of beauty in the air… and of course, there is the knowledge of what these planes represent in terms of a very human history.

To glorify war, its death, destruction and gore would be insane. Violence is never the answer… but neither is complacency and when the people of a country are called to war the individual courage and heroism of the men and women who serve is a different matter. For me the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight is a tangible symbol of those stories… stories of real people. I grew up the child of a generation whose grandparents and great-grandparents had fought the two world wars. It wasn’t the ‘history’ of a long forgotten past; for us the stories wore the faces of the people we loved.

So I cannot hear their engines and not know the sound. I cannot watch these planes fly over without tears. Their story is deeply bound with a pride in people and courage, at a very personal level. And on a more recent one too.

When my sons were young they loved the old aircraft. Model planes hung from their bedroom ceilings, they drew them learned about them and daydreamed of flying them. We took them to the museums where they could see them on the ground and they really wished to see them fly. My partner promised that they would. He would take them to an air show. He kept that promise, discharging himself from hospital two days after surgery for terminal cancer to do so. These planes seem to elicit that kind of stubborn, foolhardy courage.

Since that day they were hooked. Nick joined the Air Training Corps and flew with them, Alex saved his pocket money to pay for a flight in the Dragon Rapide, and we went to every air show we could.

Now, although the planes are less beautiful and more modern, my sons are about to fly together in another act of reckless courage. No doubt I may feel a little anxious on the day as they take off, but pride will probably be the most vivid emotion as they skydive in August, raising funds and awareness for the Make a Wish Foundation, a charity that makes dreams come true for children facing life-threatening conditions. They have a fundraising page for anyone who can help: http://www.doitforcharity.com/nickv

As I watched the Lancaster and Spitfire fly over at the weekend, all this went through my mind in those few seconds, and as always the tears came. The motto of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight is, ‘Lest we forget’. While ever there is the sound of a Merlin engine overhead, I for one, will not.