Once stepped into the school building, he felt a rush of thrill. In only a couple of hours he would be staring at the Spitfires and Hurricanes, Messerschmitts and Junkers. He could imagine soaring up in the sky with the rest of his squadron, which he was valiantly leading into battle against Hitler. Shaking off his day-dreaminess, James walked into his classroom and took his packed lunch and placed it on his desk.

"Hi," said James to his best friend, who sat next to him. "I can't wait for the trip: it's just a shame I won't be able to get to go in the Spitfire pilot simulator." James' best friend was called Jake, he was from America but lived in England all his life.

"Right is everyone ready to go?" asked Mrs Grinck, James' teacher.

"Yes, Mrs Grinck."

One by one, the students filed out of the class. Suddenly, James felt a painful nudge in his arm. Turning around, James knew at once who had done it: Roger, the person who always made fun of James for being interested in planes.

"Lay it off Roger," said Jake defensively. James was glad to have Jake as a friend, he always stood up to people no matter who they were.

"Thanks for what you did back there," muttered James, as the coach was pulling away from the school.

"It's fine, that's what friends are for."

"Yeah... Well without you Roger would have decreased me to a miserable loner."

"Well yeah, I kinda see your point," replied Jake.

About an hour later, the coach pulled up at a grand building with huge columns made from marble. A large sign at the top of the building read: 'The National Museum Of Flying Legends.' The building was surrounded by skyscrapers and office blocks (they were in Central London). Outside, the sounds of engines could be heard and the regular honking of horns. The museum stretched back a long way and it was clearly the oldest building in the area.