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imagining himself astride a speeding horse on a racecourse; he’d found it was the best way to steel himself for such a leap into the unknown.
    Hislop had refused the tot of rum that had been passed around the aircraft – on the basis that most jockeys ride best sober, and parachuting couldn’t be greatly different. Born in Quetta, India, in 1911, at thirty-three years of age Hislop was very much the ‘old man’ of the stick. His father, Major Arthur Hislop, served in India with the 35th Scinde Horse, but his son’s interests had proved to lie more with the racing fraternity. Over the ten years of his racing career, John Hislop had proved himself one of the finest amateur jockeys of all time.
    At the outbreak of war he had, by his own admission, tried to wangle himself a position that would enable him to carry on with the main business of the day: race riding. Citing a ‘regrettable lack of military aptitude’, Hislop’s commander at the 21st Anti-Tank Regiment had asked him to find another posting. Unsuited to the regimented constraints of the regular military, Hislop confessed that he had ‘faced the prospect of the future with some misgiving’.
    It was the ‘freemasonry of the Turf’ that had come to his rescue. Upon hearing of his predicament, a jockey friend had invited Hislop to join the Phantoms, a little-known unit that would prove to be the making of him. The GHQ (General Head Quarters) Liaison Regiment, as the Phantoms were more formally known, was a small, secretive outfit tasked with embedding themselves amongst the most forward-fighting troops, relaying vital reports about the state of front-line operations direct to GHQ, via wireless.
    As with the SAS, officially the Phantoms remained posted to their parent unit and wore its regimental insignia. The only thing that marked them out as anything different was a distinctive shoulder flash – a white ‘P’ over a square of black. Hislop had been posted to the Phantoms’ A Squadron, which was populated by several high-profile racing acquaintances, including Maurice Macmillan, son of the future British prime minister, and John ‘Jackie’ Astor, of the super-wealthy and titled Anglo-American Astor clan.
    Somehow fittingly, the squadron was commanded by the actor David Niven, who was fast becoming a household name. Niven had been in America when war broke out, working on a clutch of movies. At that stage, America was two years away from joining the conflict, but even so he had returned to England forthwith and signed up with the Phantoms.
    Shortly thereafter he’d been dining with a party that had included Winston Churchill. Churchill had placed a companionable hand on the famous actor’s shoulder. ‘We are all, I am sure, very pleased and proud that this young man should throw up a brilliant and lucrative career in Hollywood to come back to fight for his country – but wouldn’t have thought much of him if he hadn’t!’
    For Hislop, his posting to the Phantoms proved doubly fortunate. The squadron had its ‘country headquarters’ at the glorious Stourhead House, in Mere, Somerset, then owned by Sir Henry Hoare and his wife. Somehow, the privations of the war seemed to have passed Stourhead by; imperial peacocks strolled the grounds, and lithesome hunters graced the stables. Hislop was soon riding out over the glorious Somerset countryside.
    By the spring of 1942 he found himself back in the racing saddle, riding Overseas in a chase at Cheltenham. He coaxed his horse into the lead, only to fall at one of the final fences. Hislop was thrown, badly breaking his leg. Nine months on crutches followed, after which he was invalided out of the Army. But Hislop refused to go quietly. Instead, he fought his way back to physical fitness and rejoined the unit that he was coming to love.
    Hislop was taken into F Squadron, commanded by his friend and long-time racing buddy, Jackie Astor. Astor ran a ‘happy Squadron’, Hislop remarked, one ‘devoid of