WG CDR T.G. JEFFERSON DSO AFC AE By an odd set of circumstances, Tom Jefferson's biography is the last one to be written. In January 1996, I included the current version at that time in my submission to a local publisher. Clearly, I considered it one of my finest efforts! When I was informed that a book about the raid itself may merit consideration, but regretfully I would have to drop the biographies, I naturally declined to accept the offer. The typescript remained on the shelf for another 18 years. In early 2014, I had an attack of conscience, and recalled what Richard Passmore (real name, Roger Peacock) had told me many years ago, after reading my typescript. He had advised me that what I had written was not commercially viable, but the RAF Museum would dearly like to get their hands on it! As author of Blenheim Boy (1981) and Moving Tent (1982), this former Blenheim WOp/AG was in a position to offer me sound advice. As I approached my mid-70s, I thought that it was high time to peruse the typescript for 358 Mast High Over Rotterdam, and see if it was of an acceptable standard to be offered to the RAF Museum. Imagine my horror when I discovered that the biography of Tom Jefferson was missing! For some strange reason, I had sent my top copy to the publishers, and they had not returned it! However, I had given a complete copy of my book to my second cousin, in Australia (David Mynott is the son of my cousin Len's brother), and he kindly emailed me the missing biography. My heart sank when I read the notes that I had appended to this: Superseded by entirely new version! I had been reasonably happy with this effort, as I had gleaned much first-hand information from Tom's Blenheim WOp/AG, 'Scotty' Scotney. Other 18 Sqn members had filled in some of the gaps. In September 1990, I had decided to pay a visit to the Oxfordshire village where the Jeffersons had lived in the late 40s: I wondered why it had taken so long to try this avenue of research! A quick word with the local postmistress, and I was directed to a lady who had lived in the village from the year dot. Had she known the Jeffersons, when they lived in Tudor Cottage? Mrs H. replied that not only had she known the family very well, but it was she who had lived in Tudor Cottage, while the Jeffersons had lived in nearby End Cottage! She remembered 'Thomas' as having a big moustache, plump and very much overweight - in fact, a good candidate for a heart attack! She recalled that Mrs Jefferson had visited the village about 15 years ago, but that she had now lost contact with the family. This biography finished with the words: 'I got no further, but the lines of communication remain open...' Once again, I had been slow off the mark, and almost certainly thwarted by the Grim Reaper. What a pity! I would have loved to have met Tom, and discover what sort of person can go from sergeant to squadron leader in only ten weeks. Of course, the wastage rate in No 2 Group led to some spectacularly rapid promotions. To survive just a few weeks on a Blenheim squadron usually resulted in that person becoming one of its most senior members. However, my interviews with Tom's surviving 18 Sqn colleagues convinced me that he was a born leader, and someone who richly deserved his rapid promotion. In April 1993, my enquiries in that Oxfordshire village finally rewarded me - someone had tracked down Tom Jefferson! He was alive and well, and living in Guernsey. I wasted no time, and rang Tom on the afternoon of Good Friday, 9th April. My contemporaneous notes state: 'Wg Cdr Jefferson answered the phone. He was bowled over to be talking about something which had taken place over 50 years ago. Very good long-term memory - once I started the ball rolling, the memories really came flooding out.' Over several visits and hours and hours of taped interviews, I built up a complete picture of Tom's illustrious career. The amended biography proved the best of all those I had written, hence my submission of it to the publishers. But it was now lost! The only answer was to transcribe from tape all the interviews I had had with Tom (surely I had done this many years ago, but they also had disappeared!). This proved a bad luck/good luck situation. Firstly, it was wonderful hearing Tom's voice again and secondly, it has given me a chance to write an even better biography of Tom. Finally, it has encouraged me to transfer my hard copy of Mast High Over Rotterdam into Microsoft Word - something not available when I wrote it. I approached this task with some trepidation. I needed to précis 88 foolscap pages into a concise biography, but still convey to readers the outstanding and impressive career of Wg Cdr Tom Jefferson. It is a privilege to be in a position to place on record the memories of a pilot who joined the RAFVR before the outbreak of the Second World War, and flew continuously throughout all hostilities (except for the period in 1942 when he was convalescing after his right knee was shot up). 359 Throughout the interviews, I kept asking myself if I could have done all this! In all honesty, I reached the conclusion that I was glad that I was born in 1940 and not 1920! I wasted no time in arranging a meeting with Tom. At 5.30pm on 15th April 1993, just six days after my phone call, I was standing outside the airport building in Guernsey, courtesy of MAFF, who had decided that they would like the Channel Islands Fisheries inspected. On arrival, I had phoned Tom, who kindly offered to pick me up. He told me to look out for 'a metallic gold car with a brown roof'. Imagine my surprise and delight when a magnificent Rolls Royce appeared! I quickly formed the impression that Tom's post-war business had been rather successful, which came as no real surprise when considering his dynamic personality and motivation. Before I had had sufficient time to savour the delights of my first ride in a Rolls Royce, we arrived at Tom's home - Adolphus House, Fort George - a sumptuous villa perched high up on the southeast corner of Guernsey, with extensive views of Herm, Sark, and beyond to the French coast. It was quite breathtaking! I was introduced to Tom's charming wife, Audrey. Tom's first wife, Elsie, had died about 22 years previously. They were natural hosts and made me extremely welcome. Tom was vastly overweight and told me that he was no longer bothered about what he ate, because it did not seem to matter - a philosophy with which I could readily identify! Unfortunately, the bullet wound in his right knee, which he sustained in January 1942, had developed into arthritis, and Tom could now move only with great difficulty, and with the aid of two walking sticks. I quickly assessed him as a very nice person, and extremely modest. He reciprocated by telling me that he was finding it hard to believe where I got all my information! I thanked him for his kind observation, but reminded him that he was there, and I was not, and I would be delighted to record any of his memories that I hoped to probe and unlock. One of Tom's recurring statements during our many interviews was 'And we had a right old session!' Most aircrew would identify with this, both in war and peace. In fact, Tom conducted all his post-war commercial transactions during a 'session' - I wonder how commonplace this is nowadays? Of course, Tom had a wonderfully equipped bar in his house, probably better than many pubs! I gasped when he showed me his collection of whiskies: from floor to ceiling there was the greatest array one could ever imagine, except, perhaps, when reading Whisky Galore. Bell's whisky was his clear favourite. I made a mental note that if I were to survive this evening, I would have to seriously pace myself! My notes state that I started with four or five Waddington's beers, before moving onto the hard stuff. 'What would you like, Rusty?' I dot-crossed as I gazed at his huge selection. I think he was expecting me to choose a nice Bell's, but my eyes fell on a bottle of 'Chivas Regal'. I told Tom that I had never tried this before, so could I start with this? I was most impressed and judged this excellent blended Scotch whisky as good as any of my single-malt whiskies, even 'Jura'. Tom, of course, was the barman, and Audrey and myself were his customers. Or was it more a case of the Commanding Officer being convivial with his squadron pilots? I was surprised how quickly we both slipped back into this modus operandi! The evening flashed by. It was suddenly 1.30am, and too late for taxies, so Tom and Audrey kindly put me up for the night. It was a wonderful first meeting, the first of several, and Tom and Audrey soon became close friends. Between 4th and 7th June of that year, my wife Carol and I were invited to stay with the Jeffersons. Guernsey is a delightful island, and the Jefferson villa is as good as it gets, but I was mostly looking forward to interviewing Tom over the four days, and extracting every memory I could! I armed myself with a goodly supply of mini- 360 tapes.