Weighing roughly 4.6 grams, the solidus became a popular gold coin, struck en-masse across the empire, at mints from London to Antioch.  The solidus, and its 1/3 denomination, the tremissis, became the standard gold coinages for centuries to come.  The Byzantine Empire used the solidus as its primary gold coin until the 9th century, and the tremissis, popular in the West, became the model for coin series struck by the Merovingians in Gaul, and, eventually, the Saxon Gold Thrymsa or Shilling.  

We have seven solidi and one tremissis from the Late Roman and Byzantine periods, all surviving in at least extremely fine condition, and many with most of their original mint lustre surviving.

Constantius II (337-361) AV Solidus 4.6gm., Nicomedia 340-350. Diademed and draped bust of emperor facing right, FL IVL CONSTAN-TIVS PERP AVG. Rev: Helmeted Roma seated to left and Constantinople to right of shield inscribed VOT XX MVLT XXX, Constantinople resting on prow of ship, GLORIA – REI – PVBLICAE, SMNT in exergue. (RIC 33). Extremely Fine, some remaining lustre in protected areas of the field.         £4,100

Click here to view the coin

  Trajan was present during the disaster, and rushed to the relative safety of the city’s hippodrome, where he waited for several days.  This spectacular issue of AD 114-5, depicts Trajan (left) standing beneath a much larger Jupiter (left) whom holds his arm out, protecting the emperor.  The coin is likely to have been struck to celebrate divine intervention from Jupiter, who kept Trajan safe during the earthquake and tsunami which claimed the lives of so many civilians.

Trajan (98-117) AV Aureus 7.19gm., Rome 114/115. Laureate, cuirassed and draped bust right, IMP CAES NER TRAIANO OPTIMO AVG GER DAC.  Rev: Jupiter standing left, naked except for cloak draped from shoulders, holding sceptre in left hand, and thunderbolt in right, protecting Trajan, togate, standing to lower left, holding laurel branch in right hand,  P M TR P COS VI P P SPQR.  (RIC 336 var. (bust not cuirassed); Woytek 512f; Strack 229; Calicó 1065; BMCRE 533; BN 814-6 var. (pellets in rev. legend); Biaggi 515).  Extremely Fine, very high relief.                             £28,000

Ex NAC 2016; Ex Raunch 2010

 Click here to view coin                                

Early Greek coinage, which had its origins on the coast of Asia Minor, had been produced from the alloy electrum, but was abandoned by most city-states when silver became the preferred metal for the majority of coinage. Some city-states did however continue to produce coinage in electrum and the issues of Kyzikos are perhaps the most famous and spectacular of these.

Kyzikos was a rich trading city-state, due to its location between the Aegean and the Black Sea. Its coinage of electrum staters, a clear expression of its wealth, were produced between about 550-350 B.C. The coins always possess an impressive obverse type, the reverses bearing a quadripartite incuse square, and the flans are invariably thick and, at times, exist in a variety of shapes.

Mysia, Kyzikos. EL Stater 16.01gm., c.500-450 BC.  Naked male kneeling left, tunny fish in each hand. Rev:  Quatrapartite incuse square. (Von Fritze 70; Baston 1478) Very Fine.       £6,750

With the UK General Election looming, it’s an excellent opportunity to look back on democracy in history.  It might be a surprise that the Romans embraced a democracy of sorts.  It had restrictions, and only a small fraction of people living under Roman control could actually vote, but during the Roman Republic, citizens of Rome had the opportunity to cast their vote for various administrative positions in government.

From 509 BC, with the overthrow of the Roman Kingdom, Rome was ruled as a Republic. But it wasn’t until the 3^rd Century BC that the civilisation rose to become dominant power in the Mediterranean. The Senate was made up of the most powerful people in the Roman world, and oversaw military campaigns and political structure. Citizens could vote for officials in up to 44 public offices.  But public voting didn’t offer the people a chance for a true choice. 

Candidates for office were selected by the Senate, and were voted for by various different assemblies of citizens, stratified by social class. There were two candidates for each governmental position, such as Consuls, Quaestors, Censors and Tribunes, and voting was essentially a first-past-the-post system, one we still embrace in Britain today, during our General Elections. 

In the early years, candidates were actually banned from speaking or even appearing in public.The Senate claimed that candidates should be voted on the merit of their arguments and policies, rather than through rhetoric, public appearance and personality.

A remarkable coin depicts the Roman democratic process in action – possibly as a means of legitimising its ‘success’.  The silver denarius, struck by the moneyer Publius Licinius Nerva in around 113 BC, shows three figures.  The figure, on the left, is picking a ballot paper from the attendant standing in the centre, the man on the right is depositing his ballot into the cista (ballot box).  The detail is such that the ballots themselves are depicted by small pellets.  The coin is a textbook example of how the Roman democratic system was supposed to work.  It is popular with academics and collectors alike.

Unlike today, democracy in the Roman Republic was very much controlled by the select few who held seats in the Senate.  They essentially held all of the power, having been born into wealthy patriarchal families.  Most inhabitants of the Roman world were not allowed to vote, including women, slaves, and the lowest ranking Roman citizens.  It was a democracy of sorts, but a very loaded one. 

The Romans lost what little democracy they had, with the advent of the Roman Empire, and its first emperor, Augustus Caesar (27BC – 14AD). Augustus claimed voting was too rigged by the Senate. His solution? To abolish voting altogether.     

Finally, the brand new £1 coin is in circulation.  Whether you think it’s a twelve-sided, bimetallic monstrosity, or a curious breath of fresh air; it has certainly made an impact in the media and in our wallets.  With everybody talking about the new coin and its unique security features, the history of counterfeiting, particularly in Britain, came to mind.  For as long as there have been coins, there have been counterfeits.  They are a nightmare for the state, which throughout history has sought to punish those responsible for polluting their currency, but they continue to be the scourge of modern money.

The earliest coins, struck in modern day Turkey, were minted in precious electrum, a naturally occurring alloy of gold and silver.  As soon as they started to circulate, it only took a handful of cunning individuals to realise that if they were to create base-metal copies of the valuable coins, they could coat them in the precious metal, trade them, and end up far better off – as long as the recipient didn’t notice.  While early counterfeits are scarce (likely because the coins were strictly weighed) they show the eagerness of the individual to ‘do over’ their fellow citizen and make a quick buck.

As production of coinage exploded across the ancient world, so did counterfeits; most notably imitating the coinages of Attica.  Athenian ‘Owl’ Tetradrachms are perhaps the most famous coins of the ancient world and were some of the most faked.   To counter this, traders would often chop into the coins with a chisel, to check for silver throughout.  As a result, most tetradrachms of Athens suffer from these test cuts (often, heartbreakingly, struck straight through the portrait of Athena), which tend to devalue the coin.

But back to Britain.  Whilst rummaging through stock a few weeks ago, eight unusual objects emerged.  These small, round pieces of clay were imprinted with Roman coins from the 4th Century AD, and were used in the production of counterfeits.  Britain was part of the Roman Empire from AD 43 until around AD 410, and coins flowed to province, making them a prime target for counterfeiting. Iron Age Britons had a habit of faking their own gold ‘staters’, and forging would continue into the Roman period.

During the 1^st and 2^nd centuries AD, aside from large quantities of imitation copper asses of the emperor Claudius made immediately after the invasion of Britain (which are considered to have been struck for necessity rather than to deceive anyone), counterfeiting seems to have been relatively rare.  By the time of the Severan rulers and the 3^rd Century, however, large quantities of coin moulds begin to appear, as well as an increase in counterfeit coins – mainly higher value silver denominations.

Coin moulds are discs of fired clay, with coins pressed between them.  Once dry, the coins were removed, and when stacked, one on top of the other, formed a row of moulds.  These quick, simple and cheap coin moulds removed the need for time-consuming die-engraving, and allowed multiple coins to be cast at once.  After the molten base metal had cooled, the coins could be removed, dressed, coated in silver and spent, and the moulds perhaps reused.  This method seems to have been effective across the empire, with large quantities of coin moulds found in Switzerland, Rome, and Britain. With a denarius being roughly a day’s wage for a soldier during this period, it certainly made economic sense to counterfeit using such cheap and simple methods.

Thousands of coin moulds have been discovered in the South-West of England, specifically the Somerset Levels, where large numbers of Severan-dated moulds have been discovered in areas of salt production. Brunning suggests the flatness of the levels would have made the evidence of illegal counterfeiting easy to hide, with potential visitors visible for miles.  The Shapwick Hoard of 9262 Roman silver denarii, discovered in 1998, contained several cast and plated forgeries which are believed to have come from the same moulds found nearby.  Punishments for forgery in the ancient world were strict and this was likely a risky business, but one perhaps overlooked to an extent.  Hundreds of coin moulds have been discovered in the ditch around Roman London, the seat of provincial government, where it is hard to imagine forging being discrete.

By the late 3^rd Century, so called ‘barbarous’ coins were common in Britain.  These were often struck using engraved dies and were very crude.  It is thought these were produced, as the Claudian copies were 300 years earlier, as a response to a lack of money in the economy.  Thus, these are not considered ‘counterfeits’ as such.  With such poor craftsmanship, they are unlikely to have fooled anyone, and may actually have helped the economy of Roman Britain flourish in the fourth Century AD, a time when more Roman villas were thrown up than ever before.  Coin moulds, however, did see use in the early decades of the 4^th Century, as can be seen by the examples I’ve shown here.

In the present, coin moulds rarely emerge on the market.  This is probably because they are not made of metal, thus rarely found by metal detectorists.  They remain a fascinating insight into forging in the ancient world, and demonstrate just how easily it could be done.

This is merely scratching the surface of faking in Roman Britain.  Along with engraving, transfer dies and metal moulds, clay coin moulds were just another weapon in the ancient counterfeiter’s arsenal.  Today, it is thought that one in thirty £1 coins is counterfeit. Hopefully, the new coin will change this frightening statistic, but the counterfeiters will try their hardest.  The question is, will the cost of forging the new £1 coin, with all its advanced security features, make counterfeiting unprofitable?  We can hope, but only time will tell.

The 35th annual Token Congress was held this weekend at the Hilton Hotel in Northampton.

Delegates travelled from all over the world to contribute to a fantastic weekend celebrating all things token. Over 100 token enthusiasts attended this year’s event, engaging in three days of lectures, auctions, dealing, and beer….

Delegates gathering at the start of the three-day event….

The lectures were given on some fascinating token-related subjects, such as the Lusitania tokens by Goetz, and a wonderful ressurrection of the old 18th Century Sentimental Magazine and a study of the Regency Medals that were given away by the publication in the 1790’s.

Throughout the weekend, the passion and the dedication of the attendees shines through, especially when you consider the sheer volume of research that the speakers accumulate to engage their audience. Many of the talks were fascinating studies of singular items that uncovered reams of historical facts and figures, with histories traced back to origin and beyond (in some cases right to the other side of the world).

‘To celebrate the end of a life’: not as funereal as you might think, but rather Andrew Wager’s fascinating lecture on the historical significance of engraved coins and love tokens. Other highlights included Gary Oddie’s amazingly comprehensive research into a certain Gilbert Gilpin; and David Young’s study of Dorset Tickets and Passes, taking us on a beautiful tour of 18th Century Dorset (which is never a bad thing in any time period).

As well as the series of lectures, there is also a focus on the social side of token collecting. With all delegates obviously sharing a mutual interest, there is never a dull moment around the hotel, as people swap stories, research and plans.

There is also an auction held on the Friday evening, a magnificent gala dinner on the Saturday, and a bourse, where some of the most respected and foremost token specialists from around the globe have tables.

Deals, deals and more deals – some of the premier token dealers in the world display their wares….

As always, what stands out most from the weekend is the commaraderie of the delegates. Newcomers are welcomed with open arms and brought into a world that might seem at first glance to be extremely niche, but is as intellectually fascinating as any area of numismatics.

And this year, Baldwin’s were proud to sponsor the beer, which turned out to be a little bit too much for one delegate in particular…..

!!!!!

All token enthusiasts are welcome, and if you’re interested in attending next years event, to be held at the Hilton Hotel in Warwick 6th-8th October 2017. you can get more information on the Token Corresponding Society’s website: http://thetokensociety.org.uk/

Or you can email the organiser directly – contact Dave Smith on daveksmith@blueyonder.co.uk

The Commemorative Medal is one of numismatics most interesting areas. A Commemorative Medal will hold much of the lustre and aesthetic beauty of a coin (often much more so), and they can also be comparatively inexpensive. The appeal can go further than that too – a coin, of course, will speak of history: what happened in the year or geographical region that it was minted; the reign of a particular Monarch; the dominance and fall of an Empire.

With coins, each singular item points to a significant historical age or a period of importance to the individual collector. And of course that can be anything from the Ancient Greek Civilisation to the reign of Charles II of England.

In the case of the commemorative medal, that historical period is vastly refined; all extraneous events whittled away so that the item itself points not to a war or a civilisation or an age, but to just one event, one  moment in time, one commemoration.

If coins are the movie, then the commemorative medal is a photograph.

In 1904, at Cambridge University, John Fraser, the Jesus Professor of Celtic was awarded the William Browne Prize for Classical Odes and Epigrams. This one moment in time may have seemed not all that significant in the greater scheme of things. Respectfully, it was news unlikely to be of much regard for those without a vested interest in Classical Odes and Epigrams, and unlikely to get to the front page of any newspaper outside of Trinity College. It would, however, be the precursor to the recipient becoming involved in truly earth-shattering news. News for which the press are still writing headlines even today.

Lot 3653 in Baldwin’s London Auction 101 – 28 September 2016
Cambridge University, William Browne Prize for Classical Odes and Epigrams, Gold Medal by Lewis Pingo, first struck 1755 and later awarded to John Fraser in 1904. Upon receiving his award, John Fraser joined a famous alumni – it was awarded to Samuel Taylor Colleridge in 1792, and latterly to Enoch Powell in 1932.
Estimate: £800-1,000

It was some years later that John Fraser would work, during WWII, at Bletchley Park with over 10,000 others (including this chronographer’s Great Aunt), surrounded by a blanket of secrecy so complete that were it not for a book published by a former employee in 1974, we may not have known about it at all. Indeed, Churchill called it “the goose that laid the golden egg and never cackled”, and upon cessation of the war ordered all records be destroyed.

The work that was done in Bletchley Park was, of course, to decipher the codes used by the German Enigma Machine – recently brought to life with the film The Imitation Game, with Benedict Cumberbatch as Alan Turing, the gifted but troubled genius.

And if a coin is a movie, then the medal is the photograph – that one moment in time. And it was the moment that Jon Fraser received the William Browne Medal for Classical Odes and Epigrams that made him stand out as one of the country’s finest linguists. It was arguably, these skills that merited his inclusion in one of the most celebrated teams of all time.

And what exactly did John Fraser actually do at Bletchley Park? We may never really know. It has itself become an enigma, the mystery that solved a mystery. It was not until 2009 that the surviving members (John Fraser died in 1945) were honoured for the work they had done, and then only with commemorative badges (because civilians are not allowed to be given military honours).

What we do know is that the staff at Bletchley Park were selected for their linguistic and mathematical prowess. What we can surmise is that attempting to decipher the German transmissions, and working with one of this country’s finest mathematicians was probably a deal more exciting that writing classical odes and epigrams.

But then, no-one ever gave John Fraser a medal for that.

It is a fact that Military History is illustrated with countless tales of heroism and bravery beyond the imaginings of those who have never seen action. Feats that challenge the roles of ‘everyday’ lives; exploits that amaze and inspire; deeds immortalised in book and in film.

We’ve all seen them – the major Hollywood Blockbuster. An intrepid hero in his military fatigues, defying all the odds to reach his lost colleague / capture the enemy’s outpost / find a lost love. We’ve all been enthralled at one time or another by these incredible (and often fantastical) tales. Movies they may be, but our investment within these stories is real. And why are we invested? Why are we captivated? It’s a subtle yet effective trick that Hollywood pulls – they present the hero or the heroine, and then they give them a choice.

The hero can decide. They can choose to trek across the continent to find Private Ryan. They can decide whether they want to join 617 Squadron even when they don’t know the actual mission. Of course, those of us watching from the comfort of our armchairs have zero control over the hero’s choice, but it is the fact that they have a choice at all that pulls us in. Because we can all identify with choice.

For most of us, those choices are more inane. Such as ‘shall I go to work today or award myself a lie-in?’ or ‘what shall I have for dinner?’. Of a lesser value they may be, but they are choices just the same. It is the presence of choice that gives us the identification with those on the screen. Just what would we do if faced with the same situation? Would we run away screaming, or would we jump on board that burning ship to rescue those trapped within?

In the real world, orders are issued in the military in order to eliminate (or at least reduce) choice, so that the soldier/pilot/seaman is less likely to make a mistake in a high-pressure situation that could lead to fatalities. The tales of heroism that Hollywood portrays almost always come when the lead character makes his or her own choices right there and then, on their own backs, based on nothing but an immediate evaluation of the situation.

The story of Captain GP Bevan reads just like that of a Hollywood plot, worthy of any silver screen. He was faced with an extraordinary situation, facing choices that had to be made on the spur of the moment, in the face of extreme adversity. The results of those choices saw him awarded the Rare ‘Archangel Command’ Albert Medal.

Lot 3998 in Baldwin’s Auction 101, 28 September 2016
The Superb C.M.G. ‘Gallipoli’ DSO and Rare ‘Archangel Command’ Albert Medal Group of 8 to Captain G.P> Bevan, Royal Navy. 
Presented in a glazed and hinged mahogany display case, with a large framed and glazed portrait photograph of the recipient in uniform.
Estimate: £25,000-30,000

George Parker Bevan was born in 1878 in Staines, the second son of sixteen children. A long and highly successful military career saw him, amongst other achievements, awarded the D.S.O. for his involvement in the evacuation of Gallipoli. He rose through the ranks of the Royal Navy, and was appointed PTMO to the staff of the Governor-General of the Province of Archangel in Northern Russia.

One of his roles was to orchestrate the landing and transportation munitions in that Russian port, and it was on November 8^th, 1916 that that role would present him with choices befitting the plot of any Hollywood blockbuster.

The day had started as any other – many ships were moored at Archangel, and others were coming and going throughout the morning. Bevan’s crews were busy unloading munitions that were to be transported to the Allies fighting on the Russian Front.

At precisely 1pm, the merchant ship SS Baron Driesen exploded.

There was no time to find the source of the explosion. Desperate and frantic attempts were made to move nearby ships away from the flames, the crews terrified that others (all carrying live ammunition) may catch a burning ember. At 1.40pm, the aft part of the SS Earl of Forfar, moored next to the Baron Driesen, also exploded.

The ship’s Master, Captain James Campbell Hurry, was adamant that he return to his burning vessel, panicked over the fate of his crew. The flames beat him back, and he joined Captain Bevan in attempting to move other ships away as burning embers fell around them. Many of those embers landed on the quay, and the crew’s task was made even harder by several small fires on the land.

One can only imagine the sense of fear and the desire to keep a cool head in the face of such ruination, knowing that the choices you are making right there and right then will determine the fate of so many of those around you. Such bravery, however, pales into insignificance in the face of what happened next.

The framed portrait of Captain Bevan in full uniform, to be sold alongside his medals at the auction.

As Captain Bevan and his team were frantically trying to move other boats away from what was by now a huge conflagration, more explosions from the Earl of Forfar saw that ship almost completely engulfed. In the midst of these explosions, Captain Hurry was sure he heard voices, coming from the flames.

The call for volunteers went up (we all face choices, every single day. Sometimes those choices matter more than others).

Clambering aboard the burning ship, Captain Hurry rescued several men whilst having to lift live shells out of his path. Ten minutes after the survivors had been dragged to safety, the deck also blew up.

By now, dark had fallen (the Port of Archangel is located on the Northern coast of Russia, and in November, dark comes early) although it was unlikely to have been noticed by the survivors, lit by so many fires all around them. Between the burning Earl of Forfar and the quay (which was now almost completely on fire itself), was a one-hundred-tonne floating crane. Suddenly, cries went up amongst the men that voices had been heard coming from the crane.

The only way to reach it was to cross what remained of the Earl of Forfar. Step forward Captain Bevan and Lt Cdr Maurice McMahon. Selflessly, they darted into the flames in an attempt to reach the crane. No sooner had they stepped aboard when they heard another cry for help, coming from the smouldering remains of the forecastle.

They immediately set about extricating the casualty. As they attempted to sweep aside burning planks, boxes of small munitions were exploding all around them, filling the air with bullets moving as quickly as if they had been fired from a gun. Moving the wreckage, they found the mate of the Earl of Forfar, his arm, leg, and collarbone broken. Somehow, they managed to pass the man to a waiting tug, saving his life.

With the mate successfully rescued, Lt Cdr McMahon re-entered the flames, crossing to the crane on a single plank. Trapped beneath the crane were the ship’s carpenter along with two Russian members of his crew. All were saved.

All six of the volunteers, those fearless men who made the choice to rush onto a burning ship, whilst boxes of live ammunition exploded all around them to rescue their comrades were awarded Albert Medals, Captain Bevan amongst them.

Were this a Hollywood movie and not real life, the credits would probably roll right there. There is, however, an interesting (if macabre) footnote to the story – something perhaps for those who stayed in the cinema to the very end.

Bevan was recalled to London in February 1918, and appointed Naval Assistant Director of Transports. In January 1920, he was due to travel to Aden to take up a post as senior Naval Officer in the Persian Gulf. He had, however, been suffering from severe headaches for some time, and had been instructed by his doctor to rest. Duty prevailed, and he sailed anyway.

Upon arrival, despite feeling unwell, he went immediately ashore to greet the Governor. As the two men shook hands, Bevan removed his hat, fell to the ground and died.

George Parker Bevan died of a brain tumour, and is buried at Maala Cemetary in Yemen.

In real life, Hollywood endings rarely happen, no matter what choices we make.

To view all the entire Military Medals section from this auction, click here (pdf link – opens in new window).

It was one of the most memorable events of WWII. Not least because of the popular movie immortalisation, as well as Paul Brickhill’s best-selling historical account. It was May 1943, and the German dams at Mohne, Eder and Sorpe were well-defended: anti-torpedo nets hung from enormous boons; gunners on the dams themselves were armed with anti-aircraft fire. The risks were huge. The rewards proportionate.

The Allies knew that successful destruction of the dams would severely harm the German production of munitions and steel from the numerous factories that lay in the shadow of the dam. Getting the explosives close enough (not to mention the planes themselves) would prove a challenge on a par with some of the greatest military tactics ever conjured.

Step forward Squadron X. Latterly to be called Squadron 617. Later to be forever remembered as ‘The Dambuster Squadron’.

The selection of Squadron 617 was left to Wing Commander Guy Gibson: “it took me an hour to pick my crews. I wrote all the names down on a piece of paper…from my own personal knowledge, I believed them to be the best bomber pilots available.” An integral part of that squadron was Squadron leader Tommy Lloyd, who served as the Intelligence Officer at the squadron’s base at Woodhall Spa.

It was to be the crowning glory of a long and highly decorated military career. During WWI Thomas William Lloyd served with the 4^th Battalion, King’s Liverpool Regiment in France from 1915. In October of that year he was appointed Adjutant to a unit of The Royal Engineers – the unit that evacuated the Serbian Army from Albania. He then spent a year in Mesopotamia as personal assistant to General Grey, joining the British Forces fighting against the Ottoman Empire in what would become modern-day Iraq.

On the renewal of hostilities, Tommy Lloyd was commissioned to the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve and stationed at Woodhall Spa. According to Paul Brickhill’s superb account, Lloyd was a popular personality, and a vital part of the events of May 1943.

The Dambuster’s mission itself is well documented. Of course, we’ve all seen the wonderful film (and no doubt cringed at what they used as a codeword for a successful hit – those were different times!), but as is often the case in these instances the glory can overshadow the tragedy.

Eight of the Lancaster Bombers that set out on that night did not return. Fifty-three men of 617 Squadron lost their lives.

If fell to Squadron Leader Lloyd to debrief those that returned. One can only imagine the emotions that must have been experienced at that debriefing. On one hand, the mission was highly successful, with two of the three dams breached. On the other, so many of the Squadron’s friends and colleagues had paid the ultimate price.

It takes a special kind of courage, quite alien to us who live in peacetime, to be able to perform such a duty in such circumstances.

The Great War Distinguished Service Order group of 7 awarded to Sqaudron Leader TW ‘Tommy’ Lloyd, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, Intelligence Officer to 617 “Dambuster” Squadron. Lot 3987 in Baldwin’s London Auction 101, 28 September 2016. Estimate: £1,500-2,000

Less than a year after his greatest triumph, Tommy Lloyd was killed in a tragic accident in February 1944. On 12 February, eleven bombers had taken off from Royal Naval Air Station Ford to perform bombing raids on the Antheor Aqueduct in Southern France. Upon their return to RNAS Ford they were debriefed (again by Lloyd) and then due to return to Woodhall Spa. Lloyd was offered a lift by one of the pilots. Shortly after take-off in bad weather, the plane hit a tree and crashed into a hill. All of those on board lost their lives.

It was a tragic end. His medals, now for sale at our London Auctions on 28^th September, stand as a remembrance to one of Britain’s true war heroes – a man of impeccable standing, respected and admired by generations.

Perhaps the most fitting tribute, however, comes from Wing Commander Cheshire (then Commander of 617 Squadron), who had the unenviable task of writing to Lloyd’s widow:

“Dear Mrs Lloyd,

…Your husband was killed while flying from Ford, in Sussex, back to this Station. He had been down there with the Squadron, as was his usual custom, and having finished his work…was on his way back to us…the whole crew died instantly, except for (Captain) Suggit, who, although unconscious, remained alive for two days.

Your husband had been with this Squadron ever since it first formed, and wherever the Squadron went, he went too. He looked after us not only as an Intelligence Officer, but also as a friend, and I don’t think any loss could mean more to us than his. I know there is little I can say what will help you or ease your burden, but I would like to tell you something of the influence that Tommy had on all of us. He was somehow a man to whom you could always turn in trouble, and a man who always did so much to make our life happier and more comfortable.

Wherever I may go, I know that I shall meet no-one more tolerant or unselfish, and on behalf of everyone here, as well as myself, I would like to extend to you my great appreciation and gratefulness for all that he did for us, and for the personal sacrifices that he so often made. I would like to extend to you my deepest and most profound sympathy.

G.W. Cheshire

Wing Commander, Commanding No.617 Squadron”