And then the noise started. It sounded like a frenetic buzzing coming from the sun. I looked at my sister in sheer amazement. She looked back. We were used to the American air force jets buzzing about overhead. The local air force base often used the surrounding countryside as a mock war-zone. They flew particularly low. No one complained any more. It was part of the way of life that went with living on the largest aircraft carrier in the world. The American war-machine had used the English countryside as a launch-pad for nearly a hundred years and the low-flying aircraft was some sort of “tax we paid for America to police the rest of the world”, or something like that. Dad certainly wasn’t the one to ask controversial questions on that subject, but he was proud about paying the tax. Yet this noise wasn’t like an aircraft. It was much closer. It was more overwhelming in its intensity. It was gentler. It was a frenetic buzzing noise and not a roaring jet engine. And it came at the same time as the dimming of late afternoon sun.