‘Now can you start by telling me the events of the day, up to the convoy leaving here?’
Lewis took another puff on his cigarette and dabbed the ash into an ashtray. ‘Well sir, I collected the trailer from the yard at 11am after breakfast in the canteen, and parked it outside the assembly shed.’
‘Was anyone with you at this time?’
‘Aye, there were Harry Jones and Leo Kostowyz.’
‘And who might they be?’
‘Harry’s a technician and Leo is a mechanic.’
Stratton recorded the names into his notebook. ‘Have they been at Brinton long?’
Lewis paused to think. ‘Harry’s been here since he was an apprentice, back in fifty-two, and Leo started here just after the war. He was an armourer in the Polish Air Force, and then after fleeing from the Nazis, joined the RAF.’
Stratton wrote this down. ‘Okay, back to the incident. So what happened next?’
Lewis started to recall the events. ‘The second prototype fuselage was lifted off the support jig inside the hangar and transported to the trailer. It took a long time to set it down, with Harry working one end and Leo on the other side. HB came out to us at this point to oversee the work, and a few other technicians came out from the assembly hangar to help stabilise the fuselage onto the trailer as the crane lowered it.’
At this point Stratton interrupted. ‘Who were the other technicians, and who was the crane driver?’
Lewis continued. ‘Pete Dawson was the crane driver, and Gerald Thomas and Jim Farley were the other technicians.’
Stratton also recorded this in the notebook. ‘Okay, what happened next?’
‘Well, we set it down on trailer, and then Pete and Jim got on top of it and secured the load with the straps. We all then worked together to put the tarpaulin over her and then we lashed her down. As I was the driver, I was responsible to make sure she was good and tight for the journey, which I satisfied myself by checking every tie around the trailer. I think HB did the same before we drove off. Then, she was ready for the road and we all went to the canteen to get some dinner inside us for our night trip down to Pembridge.’
Stratton nodded and wrote this into his book. So the trailer was left unattended, while you all went to have dinner?’
‘Nay, we couldn’t leave the trailer until Bill Wright had come out and watched it while we were all in canteen.’
Stratton wrote down the name. ‘So, you had dinner, then you all returned to the trailer. So what happened then?’
Lewis continued his account. ‘I had a chat with HB outside the cab and then he left me and went to talk to the Americans, who were behind the trailer having a cigarette.’
Stratton raised a brow. ‘Aha, the infamous Yanks that are here,’ he said excitedly. ‘Sorry Mr Lewis, please continue.’
‘Well sir, that’s just about it. I climbed into the cab and we waited for the outriders to take up position, then we were off through the gates and onto the road. I took the planned route to avoid the Lakes, and then it was onto Pembridge using the west coast road to pick up the A6.’
‘So, when you were going through Shobdon, you made your turn towards Pembridge, and then what happened?’
‘I came to cross roads and took a wide berth to get the trailer around the stone cross war memorial in the centre of the road. Just as I was straightening up after the turn, I heard a loud crack, then the trailer began to list to the left and turned over, taking my cab with it. Next thing I knew, I was upside down on the cab’s ceiling and one of the RAF Police outriders opened the door and pulled me free. I looked at the trailer on its side, with the fuselage still attached to it.’ Recalling the incident, Lewis began to shake and lit another cigarette to calm himself.
Stratton continued with his questions. ‘This crack sound before the trailer went over, how loud would you say it was?’
‘It was fairly loud, sounded like one of those gas powered bird scare guns you get in crop fields.’
Stratton recorded this in the notebook. ‘Okay Mr Lewis, I think this wraps this up for now. I may need to speak to you again over the time I’m here, but thank you for now. You have been most helpful.’
Stratton stood and shook the hand of the driver, then picked up his briefcase and left the hangar.
At Carlisle City General Hospital, David Barnett sat beside the bed of his father and drank some orange squash from the clear plastic cup. On his lap was a small die cast model of the Rapier, given to him by the helicopter pilot when he had been collected from his school. He held it up and looked at the model closely. His thoughts were suddenly of his father leaning over the plans of the aircraft on the dining room table at home and explaining them to him. He recalled the evenings during the school holidays when he had sat in his pyjamas next to his father at the table, as he watched him work out calculations on a notepad. His father had explained every sum and how it was important to get them right and double check them accurately. He also recalled some of the terms that his father had used, such as ‘thrust to weight ratios’ and ‘centre of gravity’ which he was told were crucial to the design.
David was alerted to his mother re-entering the room as the bleeping of the monitors attached to the motionless Howard Barnett created a monotonous background beat to the room’s atmosphere. Heidi then noticed the model in her son’s hands.
‘Your father is a good aircraft designer, David.’
The boy held the model to his eye-level and smiled to her. ‘I know, Mother. He is the best. This is the best warplane in the world and my father created it.’
A nurse entered the room and walked over to her patient. She took the limp wrist of Barnett and checked the watch on the breast pocket of her pressed blue uniform. Turning to the monitor, she stared at the reading for a few minutes then gave Heidi and David a comforting smile. ‘The doctor is on his way round,’ she announced.
David then watched as she left the room. ‘Matron said that somebody was asking about me yesterday, Mother. They said that Father was in the area of my school was going to visit me.’
Heidi turned to her son. ‘Who was that, David?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, but Matron said that they were two American gentlemen.’
‘How strange,’ remarked Heidi, thinking out aloud. ‘I don’t understand. He’s been here. Why would they say that?’
‘No idea, Mother. Do you think they were perhaps friends of Father?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, but was puzzled by the matter.
Heidi was suddenly distracted from this thought as the doctor entered the room and introduced himself. ‘Good afternoon, I’m Dr Westerham.’ He shook Heidi’s hand first, then David’s, then quickly moved over to the unconscious Barnett; his loose long white coat swished as he walked. ‘Well, we have some good news. We have run some tests and his heart is fine, no damage. His breathing has improved, and his blood pressure is down to almost normal. My biggest concern is that we found a bruise on the front of his neck. I was wondering, Mrs Barnett, if you knew anything about how he could have got this? We also found that one of his fingers on his left hand is broken, and the rest are bruised. To the trained eye, this is most definitely a punch injury. Now we need to establish if these two things are related in some way. I thought I would ask you first, before I called the Police in on this matter.’
Heidi looked at her husband and shook her head in shock ‘Are you saying, doctor, that my husband was in some sort of fight?’
Westerham nodded. ‘That’s precisely what I am saying, Mrs Barnett.’
Stratton met up with his team in the Brinton Aviation staff canteen, ordered a cup of coffee, and brought it to the table and joined them. He then got out his notebook and ripped out the page, then handed it to a thin-faced member of the team. ‘Alan, I have some names that need some background checks done on them. I would like you to access the personnel files and give these men the once over. Anything you find that looks a bit suspect, then inform me. I am especially interested in this man, Leo Kostowyz, a Polish refugee from the war, now a full UK citizen.’