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‘Very well. I’ll have you out of your job by midday,’ said Sneum with all the authority he could muster.

The porter looked alarmed. ‘No, wait a minute, sir. Perhaps I was hasty. Please accept my apology.’

Sneum suppressed a smile. ‘Very well, since it’s late, let’s have an end to this. We’ll take one room between us to save you any further trouble.’

‘That’ll be forty kroner,’ said the porter.

Pedersen had just enough money to pay for the twin-bedded room, so while German troops launched exercises all around Elseminde, the two Danes took baths and then sank into a deep sleep until late morning.

When they woke, they devoured bacon and eggs in bed. Tommy phoned his brother Harald for a final weather report, which turned out to be favorable. The escape attempt was on for that night.

Sneum and Pedersen left the hotel with enough money to buy a packet of biscuits for the flight, some Tuborg squash, Carlsberg grape tonic, and two tickets for the Odense open-air swimming pool. They spent the afternoon splashing about in the sunshine in an attempt to wash away their fear. Somewhere in the back of their minds, however, they both entertained the thought that these might be the last hours of their short lives. The pilots treated themselves to some good coffee and Danish wienerbroed in the poolside cafeteria before heading back to Elseminde with only a five-krone coin left between them. Now they had to succeed: they were too broke to stay in Denmark.

Later that afternoon, having arrived at the farm, Sneum slipped out of the barn to post a message through Poul Andersen’s letterbox. He returned without confirmation that his note had been received. Finally, at 7.00 p.m., the farmer cycled over to the hangar. He greeted Tommy and Kjeld more warmly than before, as though he too suspected that he might be the last person they were ever likely to see. The three men sat outside in the evening sunshine and enjoyed a cigarette together, having safely distanced themselves from all the fuel in the hangar. They were alarmed to notice the large number of people out for a weekend walk in the countryside; but there was nothing they could do to change the longstanding customs of the locals.

As if the cumulative cost was already causing him pain, Andersen explained that he was about to take his entire family to an Odense restaurant called Skoven for the second evening in succession. He would have to come up with another reason for celebration, though he remained confident his alibi would put him beyond suspicion the next time the Germans came calling. Andersen would again ensure that his family were unusually noisy in Skoven to guarantee that their presence registered clearly with the staff. He would also insist that they all stay until very late. They all agreed that a second evening like this would infuriate the waiters enough for them to remember the entire family vividly.

As he shook hands with Tommy and Kjeld, something in Andersen’s eyes seemed to acknowledge the pilots’ bravery. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘It would be such a waste.’

‘I agree,’ said Sneum. ‘But we don’t intend to die.’

‘I’m not talking about you,’ said Andersen with a smile. ‘I’m talking about the plane. I’d quite like to have her back when this is all over.’ With that, the farmer waved one last farewell and cycled away.

Sneum and Pedersen loaded the last of their equipment into the plane and went over everything one last time. For two hours they turned the propeller to make sure no oil had been left in the cylinders. Then they prayed, but also put on their life jackets in case those prayers weren’t answered while they were over the North Sea.

At 11.00 p.m. they opened the hangar doors and pushed the plane to the entrance. But even in their folded position flush with the body of the plane, the wings would not fit through the narrow hangar doors.

Tommy explained later: ‘The barn had originally been adapted to house a German Klemm, Andersen’s first plane, which was even smaller than a Hornet Moth. Andersen