Grandpa’s Great Escape. David Walliams
sitting on top of the spire. He was perfectly framed by the glow of a low silvery moon.
From the moment Jack saw his grandfather he knew exactly what the old man thought he was doing. Flying his Spitfire.
At the foot of the tall church was the short vicar.
Reverend Hogg had a rather obvious comb-over. What hair he had left was dyed so black it was blue. His eyes were as small as penny coins, hidden behind black-framed glasses. The vicar’s glasses rested on his upturned piggy nose, which he was forever sticking in the air so he could look down it at people.
Jack’s family did not go to church regularly, so the boy had only seen the vicar out and about in the local town. But once he had seen Reverend Hogg carrying a crate of expensive-looking champagne from the off-licence. On another occasion, Jack could have sworn he saw the man cruising past in a brand-new Lotus Esprit sports car, puffing on a big fat cigar. Weren’t vicars meant to help the poor, Jack couldn’t help wondering, not lavish money on themselves?
This being the middle of the night, Reverend Hogg was still wearing his bedclothes. The vicar’s pyjamas and dressing gown were made of the finest silk, and he was sporting a pair of red velvet slippers which were monogrammed ‘C of E’ (for Church of England). Around his wrist was curled a chunky diamond-encrusted gold watch. He was clearly a man who had a taste for the high life.
“GET DOWN FROM THERE!” barked Reverend Hogg at the old man, just as the family ran through the graveyard.
“IT’S MY GRANDPA!” shouted Jack, once again breathless from having pedalled so hard on his trike. Reverend Hogg reeked of cigars, a smell the boy could not stomach and instantly he felt a little queasy.
“Well, what on earth is he doing on MY church roof?!”
“I am sorry, vicar!” yelled Dad. “It’s my father. He gets confused…”
“Then he should be under lock and key! He has already dislodged some of the lead off MY roof!”
From behind the gravestones, a gang of tough-looking men appeared. They all had shaved heads, tattoos and teeth missing. From their overalls and spades, Jack assumed they must be gravediggers. Though it seemed strange that they were digging graves in the dead of night.
One of the gravediggers handed the vicar a torch, which he shone straight into the old man’s eyes.
“COME DOWN THIS INSTANT!”
Yet still Grandpa did not respond. As usual he was in a world of his own.
“Rudder steady. Holding on course, over?” he said instead. It was clear he did indeed believe he was high up in the skies piloting his beloved Spitfire.
“Wing Commander to base, over?” he went on.
“What on earth is he on about?” demanded Reverend Hogg, before muttering under his breath, “The man is a complete loon.”
One of the gravediggers, a big, burly man with a skinhead and a tattoo of a spider’s web on his neck spoke up. “Shall I fetch your air rifle, Reverend? A few shots should scare him down in no time!”
His fellow gravediggers snickered at the thought.
Air rifle! The boy needed to think fast if his grandfather was going to make it down to earth safely. “No! Let me try!” Jack had an idea. “This is base, over?” he called up.
All the grown-ups looked at him in disbelief.
“Wing Commander Bunting reading you loud and clear,” replied Grandpa. “Current cruising altitude is 2,000 feet, ground speed of 320 miles per hour. Have been circling all night but no sign of enemy aircraft, over.”
“Then your mission is accomplished, sir, return to base, over,” said Jack.
“Roger that!”
From the foot of the church the group below looked up in incredulity as the old man – still sat on the church spire – made an imaginary landing. Grandpa was completely convinced he was behind the controls of his fighter plane; he even mimed turning the engine off. Next he slid open the invisible canopy, and climbed out.
Dad closed his eyes. He was so scared his father was going to fall, he couldn’t watch a moment longer. Jack’s eyes were wide open in terror. He didn’t dare blink.
The old man clambered down the spire on to the roof. For a moment he stood still on the narrow peak, then without a care in the world he walked along it. But the piece of lead he had dislodged on his way up had left a dent in the roof so after just a few paces…
…Grandpa went flying through the air.
“Nooo!” cried Jack.
“DAD!” shouted Dad.
“ARGH!” screamed Mum. The vicar and gravediggers looked on with grim fascination.
The old man slid down the roof, dislodging some more of the vicar’s precious lead tiles along the way.
SMASH! SMASH!
As they crashed on the ground, Grandpa hurtled over the roof edge.
But at that moment, without making a fuss, the old man managed to grab on to the guttering and came to a stop. His thin legs swayed in the night air, his slippers bumping against the stained-glass window of the church.
“Careful of MY window!” shouted the vicar.
“Hold on, Dad!” called out Jack’s father.
“I told you we should have called the police,” added Mum unhelpfully.
“I have a christening at the church first thing tomorrow!” exclaimed Reverend Hogg. “We can’t be scrubbing bits of your grandfather off the ground all morning!”
“Dad? DAD?” called out Jack’s father.
Jack thought for a moment. If he didn’t act fast, his poor grandpa was sure to plummet to his death.
“He won’t respond to being called that,” said the boy. “Let me.” Jack then projected his voice once more. “Wing Commander? This is Squadron Leader!”
“Ah, there you are, old boy!” Grandpa called down from the guttering. Jack’s pretend name had now become real to the old man. Grandpa believed the boy was a fellow airman.
“Just make your way along the aircraft’s wing to your right,” called up Jack.
Grandpa paused for a moment, before answering, “Roger that.” A moment later he started shimmying his hands along the guttering.
Jack’s approach was utterly unexpected. Yet it worked. You had to enter Grandpa’s world if you wanted to get through to him.
Jack spotted a drainpipe running down the side