When Roland Beamont turned twenty-one, he was already a veteran of the Battle for France and the Battle of Britain, had shot down a dozen enemy aircraft, and won a Distinguished Flying Cross. A year later he was a squadron leader with over sixty pilots and groundcrew under his command; before he was twenty-four, he was in charge of entire wing of three squadrons, operating a brand-new aircraft that he personally had played a significant role in developing. When I turned twenty-one, on June 27, 1991, I was in the very middle of one of the greatest summers of my life. I was in my second year at university, had plenty of friends, was doing little studying and had an enormous amount of time in which to have fun. That summer was a precious and golden time. A summer of playing sport, of long evenings in the pub, and of countless twenty-first birthday parties. I spent a month travelling around Europe with five of my greatest mates. I had little money, but I cannot think of a time when I laughed as much or cared as little about anything. At twenty-one we were old enough to be treated like adults and to appreciate adult things, yet we had absolutely no responsibility for anyone but ourselves. Like most of my friends, I was callow, not very worldly and my outlook narrow. But so what? There was plenty of time to grow up; I wanted to enjoy life while I could.
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