1935: The Year a Top RAF Officer Saw the Future

The year is 1935. A respected Royal Air Force officer, Wing Commander Robert Victor Goddard, is on a routine flight over the Scottish countryside. He’s a man of logic, a pilot whose life depends on precision and fact. But what he’s about to experience will defy every logical explanation, leaving him – and us – questioning the very fabric of time.

A Storm, a Slip, and a Strange Vision Goddard was flying from Andover to Edinburgh, and during his journey, he decided to pass over an old, disused airfield near Drem. He knew it well: overgrown, crumbling, home only to grazing cattle. A relic of World War I, long forgotten.

But on his return flight, something extraordinary happened. A sudden, violent storm erupted, engulfing his biplane in a bizarre, brownish-yellow haze. He was tossed about, fighting for control, plummeting through the turbulent air. Then, as quickly as it began, the storm vanished. The sun shone brightly.

Goddard looked down, expecting to see the familiar, decaying airfield. What he saw instead made his blood run cold.

The Unthinkable Sight The Drem airfield was no longer derelict. It was bustling, alive with activity. The hangars, once crumbling, now stood freshly painted and new. There were planes on the runways, not the drab military green he was used to, but a striking, vibrant yellow. He even spotted a type of monoplane he’d never seen before, sleek and unfamiliar. And the mechanics moving about? They weren’t in the standard brown RAF overalls, but crisp blue.

It was as if he’d flown into a different world, a parallel reality where Drem was a thriving, modern air base. The storm returned as abruptly as it left, tossing him back into the familiar, dilapidated 1935 landscape. Goddard, shaken but certain of what he’d seen, tried to make sense of it. He kept his silence, knowing how unbelievable his story would sound.

The Big Reveal: Four Years Later… Fast forward to 1939. World War II looms, and airfields across Britain are being rapidly reactivated. Drem is among them.

As Goddard watched the preparations unfold, a chilling realization dawned on him. The RAF began painting their training aircraft yellow. A new, advanced monoplane was introduced. And the mechanics? Their uniforms were changed to blue overalls.

Every detail, every uncanny premonition Goddard had witnessed in that fleeting moment in 1935, had come true.

Was Sir Victor Goddard’s experience a vivid hallucination, a bizarre coincidence, or did he, for a fleeting moment, truly slip through the veil of time? And if so, what does that mean for our understanding of reality itself?