Our Father's War Read online

  And in the spring of 1943 Stalin and Churchill agreed to a lend-lease of a limited number of Spitfires to the Soviets to bolster their air defences. Two squadrons received deliveries of the Spitfire Mk Vb and Dad was one of the pilots who delivered them.

  His operational record of military flying was 1170 hours and 10 minutes and over forty patrols over France.

  Auckland, November 10th 1942 (from Grandpa Thomas)

  In these stirring days it is difficult to know just where to being, but your recent letters, one to myself and the other to Bruce in which you gave details for our private ears of your experience in surviving two crashes within four days, comes first to mind. I can only say that it is quite beyond me, belonging as I do to another generation, to understand how it would be possible to remain in one piece, as you put it. I can only congratulate you on what appears to be not only a slice of very good luck, but I should imagine, also a piece of very good piloting. By the way, it is usual, as you know, for your letters to be passed around in the family circle and as that addressed to Bruce arrived while he happened to be home on furlough, it got into Mother's hands before he realised what had happened, so that she now knows the whole story. However, I honestly believe it was rather a relief to me, as I had been experiencing a feeling of guilty secrecy in the matter. Let me also congratulate you on your recent promotion, which I take it, indicates your level of active service.

  The latest news we have received from you was dated August 9th and you spoke of having had a run in to Tobruk. Your pen picture of a band of good companions wallowing in sunshine and all good things is very cheering for those at home. My own common sense and small experience of active service, coupled with the reports we get of the intensity of the air war in your area, make it easy for me to realise that there is another, and very grim, side to your present existence. All that only makes your attitude to the whole show all the more commendable. In short I find myself with all sincerity and humility able to say that you’re a better man than I am and as any decent parent would be, I'm proud to be in second position.

  At the moment of writing we are anxiously awaiting cable advice of your present whereabouts and condition as the air war in Egypt is going full blast. However we all feel fully confident, in view of your record to date, that you will come through with colours flying!

  Auckland, July 10th 1943

  You must be getting rather weary of the apology with which I seem to begin my rather rare effort at letter writing but where apologies are due they should be forthcoming - and mine are certainly more than due. The fact is that at the rather advanced age of 52 (this month) and surrounded as I am these days with a multiplicity of duties and responsibilities, I find it increasingly difficult to collect my thoughts and set them down on paper. However if I just let the pen run along on something of a family ramble something may come out of it on which you will be able to spend a few spare minutes.

  I just hate to speak of casualties but in case you don't know through any other medium I must mention that bad news has come along to the effect that Raymond Moses is missing. He was flying from England and of course there is quite a good chance that he will come out of it alright, but just at present it is frightfully hard on his unfortunate mother, after losing Fenton just a year ago. Arthur Hyams, yet another from your course, is also reported missing in the Pacific after being out of NZ for only a few days and after surviving the war in Europe. I'm sure you've heard that Pip has been injured, but although in hospital, it doesn’t appear to be life threatening.

  You will probably have heard of the upheaval here in NZ whereby some hundreds of surplus officers have been invited to hand in their commissions and proceed overseas as reinforcements. Bruce is one of them and is naturally a very disappointed young fellow after three years of keen and enthusiastic study and work. But he is 'taking it' like all the rest as part of the game and the disappointment in his case is tempered somewhat by the hope that somehow, someday you may run across each other. That would be a reunion I would like to attend myself. No doubt you will have heard from Dorothy - our official correspondent - about her activities as a Red Cross driver. She is very busy and very happy in her work. A lovely girl as you will see for yourself some day. And so you see time marches on and let me say that as each mile post is passed the "old people" grow more and more appreciative of the quality of our family - long may they live to enjoy the good things they are earning so well and truly. The old home runs along and while we have had no help now for more than a year life is very comfortable for us all, as for others in this fortunate and favoured land. Business conditions are a complex mixture of irritating restrictions and shortages, coupled with free spending and brisk demand, a strange situation but on the whole quite as satisfactory as we have any right to expect, possibly a bit better than most of us deserve. For my part, my own fixed policy is to keep the ship afloat and in good repair in the hope that when we reach port I will be able to hand over to younger and more competent hands in good order and condition. I warned you that the pen would be allowed to go its own way and that is just about what has happened. You will realise I know that there is much left unsaid by us all, and particularly by you, these days, but believe me we are all more than proud of our own representative in the air. All the best of good luck, yours ever, Dad.

  This is a letter to Dad from Sgt Pilot Irwin Bailey, C/- R.A.F. H/Q Middle East 18th Feb 1942

  Dear Hal,

  Well you old roué, how did the leave go? Pretty good but rather tiring I expect. I nearly had occasion to use the flat that last night but my higher instincts prevailed. I'm enclosing that quid I owe you in the form of a postal order. Hope you don’t have any trouble changing it. I'm still trying hard to get out of this bloody place but circumstances i.e. weather etc., are against me. No more news so will say cheerio

  You pal, Irwin.

  On February 9th 1943 Irwin Bailey died during operations and he is buried at the El Alamein Memorial in Egypt. Dad saw him die.

  From: R.N.Z.A.F Liaison Office

  R.A.F. Headquarters

  Middle East

  To: NZ39I850 F/L Harold Thomas

  123 Squadron, R.A.F.

  Middle East Forces

  Date: 21st August, 1943

  Ref: NZLO/ME/6

  This letter is to advise you, Harold, that this Command has received instructions to have you repatriated to New Zealand as soon as possible. I am forwarding your Squadron under separate cover the usual document request form asking for all your available documents which are in the Unit to be forwarded to B.P.S.O immediately. Maybe, if you receive this letter in time, you could see that this action is taken immediately, as these documents have to travel to A.H.Q Wellington per the same ship as yourself.

  I hope these arrangements meet with your approval. Looking forward to seeing you soon. Cheerio, Lindsay Gray, Flight Lieutenant R.N.Z.A.F Liaison Officer

  Dad's Favourite poem was written by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr. who died on December 11th 1941 as the result of a mid-air collision over Lincolnshire. He wrote "High Flight" in August 1941 when, during his seventh flight in a Spitfire, he took it up to 33,000ft and was inspired to write the poem. I read it out at Dad's funeral and it sums up the way he felt about flying:

  High Flight

  Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

  And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings

  Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

  Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things

  You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung

  High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there

  I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

  My eager craft through footless halls of air.

  Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

  I've topped the wind swept heights with easy grace

  Where never lark, or even eagle flew

  And while with silent lifting mind I have trod

  The hi
gh untresspassed sanctity of space

  Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

  * * * * *

  Thank you for reading my ebook tribute to my Dad, I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to read further work of mine you will find it at my Amazon Author Page.

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