'SO YOU LOT WANT TO BE PILOTS? BLOODY HELL, STALIN'S HAD IT NOW!' Such were the withering words of the corporal as he eyed his raw National Service recruits. When young James Stevenson was called up in 1952, he knew exactly how he wished to serve his country - flying in the RAF. From his very first flight in a Tiger Moth ('Excuse me, sir, where are the brakes?') to mock dogfights with his fellow trainees (strictly forbidden), square-bashing and Brasso-ing in England to spinning aerobatics over the snowy prairies of Canada, this is the story of James's quest for his coveted wings
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