The giant quartz clock in the foyer of the museum read 09:30: the time when the Spitfire pilot simulator opened. 'Must...Not... Get...Hyper...Or...Faint', muttered James to himself. Shaking himself out of day-dreaminess. Click clack, click clack, went the sound of a tour guide's boots on the pale marble floor.

"Hello, you must be Jenna Grink," said the guide sweetly. 'Uh,' thought James. He hated people who thought they were know-it-alls.(Although he was sort of one himself when it came to aeroplanes). "we will walk to the cloakroom, if you will follow me please". They started off along the corridor that stretched from the main entrance to the grand, sweeping stairwell. They went up the stairs and stopped to let another school group pass. After that they followed on to the cloakroom After that they followed up to the cloakroom and put down their bags. Over the general din of the room, their tour guide announced that they would shortly be walking to the main display section of the museum. James filled up with sense of exultation and joy. They were going to see the planes, some as old as one-hundred years, meaning that they had been in service during The First World War.

What looked like a massive under-side of a boat was really a plane. Huge steel cables suspended them and it seemed like they would snap like string any second :the weight they were suspending was immense. The camouflage was like a jungle canopy on the side of the spitfires and the Luftwaffe planes grey with their trademark landing codes.