When Robbie Robertson picked up a newspaper and read about the capitulation of Sudetenland to Hitler he understood conflict was coming. It was September 1938. His mind raced over the possibilities and the desire to escape the tedium of life as a poorly paid London insurance broker.1 He saw the smooth lines of a Spitfire in a recruiting poster. That has to be the most beautiful aircraft in the world, he thought. Robertson’s future was decided. He would become a fighter pilot and get as far as possible from the dreariness of the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Company. He applied for the RAF
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