Remembering Michael Rico Sharun DFC

I found Michael Rico Sharun’s name on this post I wrote about Paul Piché a few years ago.

The post was titled Paul Piché Killed.

The original post follows…

I had never noticed this before on these two pages sent by Arthur Horrell’s grandniece Nicole…

One picture is missing from this page of Art Sager’s pictures of the men under his command.


In fact two pictures are missing.


I wonder who was Chuck Charlesworth?

Is it him mentioned on this Website?

Weather clear and warm, visibility very good. Squadron took part in front line patrols again today without incident. This airfield was subjected to an attack by enemy anti-personnel bombs at approximately 1100 hrs. It is likely that only one large container of these bombs was dropped; there were two casualties among our pilots, W/O Gaudet received a slight cut on one arm which was treated immediately and this pilot cleared as fit; F/L H. C. Charlesworth was injured in the left arm and has been transferred to Casualty Clearing Station at Eindhoven for X-Ray to determine the extent of his injuries which at present are considered only slight. There were two other attacks later in the day but not in our immediate vicinity. P/O P.C. Bookman returned this evening with a replacement Spitfire for the Squadron. Personnel busily engaged in “digging-in” around their living quarters as only protection against enemy attack by missiles from the air.


buzzing the airfield

Two Spitfires of 443 Squadron take off
at radio-mast height of flying control van in Holland.


Is it just another name popping out also on this Website…?

Course 17: January 4 – March 7, 1941

Group Captain Frank McGill presented wings and addressed the graduates.

“The army, navy and air force all have an equal job to do in winning the war and no service alone will achieve the victory.”

(J/4554) Douglas Bruce Annan (DFC, AFC), (J/4556) John Wylie Wood, Shawness, Alberta; (J/4557) Cyril Victor Mark – AFC, +(J/4560) Arthur Williams – 74 Sqn.; (J/4561) Roderick Illingsworth Alpine Smith – DFC & Bar – 126 Sqn.; (J/4562) John Eric Hockey – POW 434 Sqn.; +(J/4563) George Ketchen Graham, Belleville; +(J/4566) Warren Ainsley Roberts – 405 Sqn.; (J/4567) James Weir Clarke; (R/60421) Robert Clarence Pearson, (R/60522) Louis Rolston Babb, (R/74146) Robert Kennedy Storie, John ‘Jack’ Robertson, Hammond, Indiana; Arthur Pratt Harrison, Owen Sound; George L. Sprague, Ottawa; (R/71258) Francis Hugh Belcher – POW; Chuck McLean, Brockville;

Harold Clinton Charlesworth – 412/601/443 Sqns., Chemainus, B.C.,

+(R/74596 – J/15097) Thomas Douglas Holden – 411 Sqn., Chilliwack, B.C., Charles A. Rainsforth – 198 Sqn., Edmonton; (J/18793) Michael Rico Sharun – DFC 416 Sqn., St. Paul, Alberta; J.G.K. Barrie, Edmonton; James Weir Clark, Hezenmore, Alberta; +(R/54314) William George Pavely – 615 Sqn., Ottawa; R.G. Smith, Chatham; James Cartwright Uniacke Bayly – 402 Sqn., Toronto; E. Heid, Toronto; Herbert Hugh Hinton, Streetsville; J.D. Marsh, Ft. William; J.W. Munro, Madoc; +(J/13467) William Robert Widdess – 198 Sqn., Peterborough; (R77007 – J/15970) William Frank Kenwood – 411 Sqn., POW 92 Sqn., Westmount, Que.; L.B. Madden, St. Laurent; +(J/23021) Walter Gerard O’Hagan – 402 Sqn., Montreal; +(J/13996) Arnold Ridgway, Outremont; M.A.C. Smith, Rougemont Station; (J/15056) Richard Attwill Ellis – DFC 412 Sqn., Montreal West; J.C. Marshall, Montreal; (R/74035) Joseph Bernard Marius Vilandre – POW 111 Sqn., Montreal; R.S. Bowker, Granby; (J/21668) Bernard Bryce Miller – DFC 428 Sqn., Carman, Manitoba

Not much information, but at least I know he did not get killed.


After writing this article, I found more information about F/L Charlesworth on this Website.

F/L Don Gordon Registers Ninth Kill Supporting Canadians
in West Front Drive

9 Feb. 1945 – F/L Don C. Gordon, D.F.C., shot down two German Stukas Thursday, shared in downing a third, and brought his score to nine planes destroyed, at least four probables and at least nine damaged.

Son of Mr. and Mrs. R. D. Gordon, of 3812 West Sixteenth, he was flying in support of the Canadian offensive. The “kills” were made over the front southeast of Wesel.

Two other B.C. flyers, F/L Phil Blades, Victoria, and F/L H. C. Charlesworth, Chemainus, took part in the destruction of two locomotives and damaged two more southwest of Hamm.

They were part of a group of Canadian Typhoons and Spitfires who flew more than 300 sorties from dawn to dusk Thursday, striking German rail and road systems and border towns.

F/L Gordon, 25, flying with the Caribou Spitfire squadron, adopted by New Westminster, is a veteran of Channel dogfights, El Alamein and Ceylon.

His Distinguished Flying Cross award, mentioned in a report from London, is a surprise to his mother. She heard some time ago, however, that he had been recommended for the award.

F/L Gordon was born in Vancouver and educated at Kitchener, Point Grey Junior High and Lord Byng High schools. He enlisted in June 1940; went overseas in the summer of 1941. He was home on three weeks’ leave last summer after completing two tours of operations in three different theatres of war. He is now on his third tour.
A brother, F/O Merritt Gordon, is stationed at Dauphin, Man., and his sister, F/Sgt. Margaret Gordon, is with the R.C.A.F. overseas.

F/L Blades and F/L Charlesworth are both flying with the Red Indian Spitfire squadron. F/L Charlesworth is also a veteran of the North African campaign.

More here.

Waterdown Flyer Mentioned
Green, recently appointed flight commander, also saw fragments fly off the aircraft he attacked but lost sight of it later and could only claim it as “damaged.”

Other Canadians from the squadron who helped repel the Nazi attackers included Flight-Lieut. John P. McColl, Waterdown, Ont.; Pilot-Officers R.I. Alpine Smith, Regina; Jack Brookhouse, Montreal; Lloyd Stewart, Fair Hills, Sask.; Harold Charlesworth, Chemainis, Vancouver Island; Richard A. Ellis, Montreal; Warrant Officer J.D. Stevenson, Winnipeg; Flight-Sgt .Stewart Pearce, Toronto, and Sgt. W.F. Aldcorn, Gouverneur, Sask. Warrant Officers Francis MacRae, Montreal navigator, and Sgt. Pilot Albert Attwell, of Toronto, both agree “you’re safer in the air than on the ground.”

MacRae came back from a hazardous bombing trip to a French arms center. After reporting to the intelligence officer, he went to the officers’ mess for a hot drink before retiring. The mess floor had been freshly polished and as he walked in the door he slipped and fell and fractured his left knee.

Attwell also came through the perils of a bombing attack across the channel. Returning from St. Nazaire, his aircraft crashed into a hill in England and he suffered a fracture of the left leg.

The two Canadians share neighboring beds in the same hospital.

I have a feeling someday a relative of Chuck Charlesworth will write a comment or contact me like Paul Piché’s granddaughter did this week.


Now what about Michael Rico Sharun from Alberta?

This group picture on the left was once shared by Buck McNair’s son. 

This picture is from Gordon McKenzie Hill’s collection.

This colorised version I did to thank Gordon Hill for sharing his collection of pictures…

More on “Mush” Sharun…

Michael Rico Sharun DFC

SHARUN, F/O Michael Rico (J18793) – Distinguished Flying Cross – No.416 Squadron – Award effective 23 March as per London Gazette dated 3 April 1945 and AFRO 765/45 dated 4 May 1945.

Born 19 April 1915 in Mundare, Alberta; home in St.Paul, Alberta (clerk). Enlisted in Edmonton. Posted to No.2 ITS, 14 October 1940; graduated and promoted LAC, 15 November 1941; posted next day to No.2 EFTS; to No.2 SFTS, 4 January 1941. Graduated and promoted Sergeant, 17 March 1941. To Embarkation Depot, 18 March 1941; to RAF overseas, 29 March 1941.

Promoted Flight Sergeant, 1 October 1941; commissioned 2 August 1943. Promoted Flying Officer, 2 February 1944. Repatriated 6 February 1945. To Station Edmonton, 14 February 1945; to Northwest Air Command, 7 June 1945; to Release Centre, 11 June 1945; retired 14 June 1945.

RCAF photo PL-2713 shows Sergeants M.R. Sharun (St. Paul, Alberta), H.V. Peterson (Calgary), L. Smitten (Edmonton) and L. Bolli (Jasper, Alberta). Photo PL-7161 shows him inspecting tail of Spitfire.

Credited with the following aerial victories:

14 July 1944, one Bf.109 destroyed north of Lisieux;
28 July 1944, one Bf.109 destroyed near Caen;
28 August 1944, one Bf.109 destroyed near Forges.

This officer has now completed his second tour of operations. During his first tour he was engaged in fighter operations from Malta, proving himself to be a gallant and courageous pilot and leader. Since June 1944 he has served with his squadron from bases in France, Belgium and Holland and during the German retreat.

In August 1944 he destroyed more than 60 transport vehicles and nine locomotives. He has also destroyed three enemy aircraft.

RCAF Press Release No. 1495 dated 27April 1943, drafted by F/L Kenneth A. MacGillivray, Public Relations Officer, RCAF, Middle East. Malta

– Scrapping with a bunch of Me109s under ordinary conditions is a tricky enough business for any fighter pilot. But when he is trying to protect both himself and a pal floating in the sea below him in a rubber dinghy, it gets a bit complicated. Ask Sergeant Pilot M.R. “Mush” Sharun, of St. Paul, Alberta, one of a number of RCAF lads in a RAF fighter squadron in Malta. Sharun found himself in such a position a few weeks ago, after an English flying-mate had been shot down into the sea in a “dog-fight” off the island. “It was a bit tricky,” he recalls, “but it had its funny side –like a strange game of tag in the air. There were several of us trying to circle over the lad in the water, and the Runs kept attacking us, and then scooting off, as though they were trying to lure us away from the spot. But we didn’t fall for that, and soon our R.A.F. launch came out and picked up our pal. Then the Runs lost interest and went off.” Sharun, who, before the war worked at a mining job in the far northern Yellowknife District, has had 80 hours of fighter operations, of which he has put in 50 in Malta. In addition to fighter sweeps here, he has taken part in “train-busting” and straffing. Another Alberta lad flying fighters in Malta is Sergeant Pilot Gordon Cameron of 11010 – 87th Avenue, Edmonton, who by a coincidence also was in the Yellowknife District as a diamond driller before he joined the R.C.A.F. Furthermore, Cameron and Sharun both served on the same R.C.A.F. fighter squadron in Britain before coming to Malta. Cameron has had 60 hours of operations, including numerous sweeps and patrols, and finds Malta very much to his liking.

Larry Robillard

I should have been searching for more information about Larry Robillard.

I got this comment on him.

I knew Larry Robillard in Montreal in the 60s. Very sorry to hear he died in 2008. Had tried to find him for some time. He still had a book I lent him! Larry had a son who was probably in his 20’s at that time. Do you know where to contact him? Do you know if Larry lived in Montreal until his death? I know he loved Montreal and especially the Windsor Hotel, owned I think by his friend Lorne Webster?

Nice that you keep the memories alive.

So I went to look for more information.


The modest house shown above on Elm Street is typical for the neighborhood. West Side homes have seen many stories played out. But this story is far from typical.

This is the home Joseph Guillaume Laurent “Larry” Robillard and his brothers grew up in.

On November 8, 1941, 70 years ago, Sgt. Robillard of the Royal Canadian Air Force was awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal. He downed two enemy aircraft while protecting a descending parachutist. Then just 20 years old, the resident of 15 Elm Street had already shot down a Messerschmitt 109 on 22 June.

During a patrol over Lille, France, on 2 July 1941, then a novice pilot with less than a month’s flying under his belt, he saw a descending parachutist and moved down to protect him. Nine Nazi fighters moved in to kill them both. In the following firefight, Larry Robillard shot down two German fighters and drove off the others (the parachutist lived).

Unfortunately, he was shot down in the process. Would he become the 404th RCAF casualty of the war?

Within a few minutes of his crashing in occupied France, peasants came rushing up with civilian clothes. They removed his uniform and hid it. Dressed as a peasant, he was employed by the Germans to head up the search for himself.

With the assistance of the Resistance, aided by his fluent French, he walked across France, snuck through the Spanish border, and travelled at nights across Fascist Spain, and snuck across the border into British Gibraltar on 12 August 1941. He had travelled through 1724 km of enemy territory. By October, he was back in the UK where he got his DFM medal. He wasn’t promoted, however, until March 1942.

The New York Times reported on June 6, 1942 that a civic reception was held on Parliament Hill in honour of Larry Robillard and Paul Émile Morin. Over 10,000 people showed up on the lawn of Parliament Hill. By November of  1942, Robillard had eight enemy planes to his credit.

In November 1943, Larry’s little brother RJ, aged 19, who had been serving in the Wildcat Squadron patrolling over Alaska, flew cross country and then over the Atlantic to join the RCAF in Europe.

On June 29th, 1944 (just three weeks after the D Day Normandy invasion) Larry Robillard was part of a group of RCAF fighters than engaged 34 enemy aircraft in Normandy and shot down 26 of them in one day. Robillard was credited with one kill.

He retired as a Lieutenant Commander in 1955.

He was born in Ottawa on 17 November 1920, residing with his parents and brothers at 15 Elm Street. He learned to fly at the Ottawa Flying Club. Robillard died at his home in Montreal, Canada on 8th March 2006.

I would have liked to add a comment on that post, but the comment section is closed.

To be continued?


Good Day…

This is how sometimes this blog will evolve…

Good day. My father F/L John R Irwin flew with 443 Squadron during WWII. He passed away 20 years ago of complications from cardio-vascular disease. I’m curious and wonder if there’s some way to determine something I’ve been unable to clarify. That is…who was flying wing to S/L Wally McLeod the day he didn’t return?

Many thanks for any assistance you may be able to offer


Tony Irwin

A comment is how this blog was created back in 2013 when Nicole Morley wrote a comment on another blog I had created in 2011. It was about RCAF 403 Squadron.

Nicole wanted to share a story with me about her granduncle Arthur James Horrell who was with 443 Squadron…

She wanted to know more about how her granduncle died.

Then little by little other people joined in like Tara whose grandfather was Paul Piché seen here on a group picture.

Paul Piché died in the same crash as Arthur Horrell.

Later on Nicole visited Ivor Williams.

Ivor was on the group picture and he identified a few pilots.

There were a few errors but they were later corrected thanks to Nicole and Tara who teamed up.

Which brings me four years later to write about another pilot who was not on that group picture, but on this post written in April 2013

F/O J. R. Irwin was just first a name, then a picture which was shared Art Sager’s son.

This is what Tony Irwin has just shared a few minutes ago…


A picture of his father when he was a recruit.

Tony wanted to know more…

I’m curious and wonder if there’s some way to determine something I’ve been unable to clarify. That is…who was flying wing to S/L Wally McLeod the day he didn’t return?

How Wally McLeod died and who was his wingman?


To read Leslie Birket Foster’s memoirs, click here.

To learn more about F/O J. R. Irwin…?

For your consideration.

An aviation print by Robert Taylor depicting ‘The Canadian Wing’ patrolling the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. As per my dad’s log book he participated in those patrols.

Sometimes it takes time to get it right – Fairfield

This was written a while back… It was about a Spitfire pilot. Ivor Williams has identified him as Ferguson.

How could we argue with Ivor Williams who was part of 443 Squadron?

Now let’s go back in time on this blog.

Lost somehow in translation…


Hi Nicole and Pierre,

I misunderstood your email Nicole. I will make the correction. Therefore, the last unknown pilot (originally identified as “Ferguson” is in the back row on the far right.

This must be E.H. Fairfield.


new identification 443 January 1944


Squadron photo Jan 1944 Fairfield

Hal Fairfield modified picture

E.H. Fairfield


RCAF 443 Squadron pilots (Art Sager's collection)

Please feel free to contact us.


A Spitfire Called Lola (A Love Story) by David Readings

A Spitfire Called Lola (A Love Story) 


Image source Internet

My name is Lola and I am a Mark IX Spitfire. Some say I was the most beautiful single-seater fighter ever produced. The perfect lady. I won’t argue with that. They also say that flying me was just like driving a racing car. Others have claimed that pilots never really flew me at all, they just strapped me on and we did it together. I also had a very powerful engine, called a Merlin, and it was often said, I could go all night without stopping. Whatever that meant. I first saw the light of day at the Castle Bromwich Aircraft factory in 1943, designed as a single seat fighter aircraft and assigned the recognition number MJ627. Because of improved technical modifications installed in Spitfires at that time, I was classified as a Mark IX and entered service in 1944 with a Canadian Airforce squadron at a Royal Air Force base located in Belgium. You can say I was born at the human age of 20 because Spitfires are not born as babies, they arrive on earth in their prime of life, fully built, ready and eager to fly. At that time, the Mark IX variant had been operational for just over a year and the performance of my Merlin engine steadily improved as more power was gained by using enhanced fuels. Later, a two-stage supercharger and a fuel injection system were installed, improving my performance even more, enabling me to gain additional speed, manoeuvrability and well as firepower over my opponent – The Messerschmitt 109. In addition to those enhancements, I also had a couple of face-lift. For instance, some time after they rolled me off the production line at Castle Bromwich, two 20mm cannons were installed, one in each wing, making my front end stick out a bit more than before. The improvement in firepower seemed to turn on my pilots because they really began to love those cannons and so gave them a little rub for luck every time before taking off into combat. I liked that. Then I had my nose reshaped to incorporate an improved Merlin engine and that was when they fitted the two stage supercharger which made me go faster, over 400 miles an hour at 28,000 feet. The pilots then got to love me even more and so fondled my front bits with tender feeling every time after they returned from a sortie. I really liked that too. But, I didn’t like the Fuel Bowser driver very much because he had the habit of ramming the petrol nozzle rather clumsily into my intake pipe when filling up my fuel tank before take off. That hurt. I was pleased when he was posted back to England because his replacement was gentler poking it in. He forgot I was a delicate lady and therefore most sensitive about that sort of thing. My Pilot, Sid Bregman was a nice man, very gentle with me and I loved him a lot. Other pilots who flew me during that time were Manette, Smith and Mackenzie. All good pilots but Sid was my favourite. He was special and simply had the touch. During my time with him we were often involved in dogfights over Belgium and Germany in 1944 intercepting Messerschmitt 109s and Fokker-Wulf 190s defending their cities against Allied bombers.

I received many bullet holes and other puncture wounds in my wings and fuselage but on arrival back at our airbase in Belgium, they were soon patched up with no lasting effect on my health. I’ll mention just one of our missions against the enemy, copied from Sid’s official wartime record…. “It was on September 27, 1944, we were patrolling the area around Arnhem, at about two in the afternoon, as a squadron. We all had special long-range tanks on the underside of our aircraft, which gave us some additional range, because we were stationed at Antwerp at the time. Normal range was 80 to 90 minutes at the most. Those tanks gave us an extra hour but while we were patrolling over Arnhem, my engine stopped. Obviously the tank had fallen off, so I switched immediately. That particular manoeuvre put me in a position somewhat astern of the rest of the squadron, although my wingman was still with me. As I looked over my shoulder, lo and behold, there was an Me 109 alone, with me now very manoeuvrable because I didn’t have that tank. It took about two or three seconds for me to get in line, and another second or two after that I hit the 109. That was the end of it – it only took 11 shells altogether. Just a quick burst and it went down immediately. Because I’d lost the tank, I got permission from the squadron leader to head back to Antwerp. My kill was confirmed later. Apparently, the 109 crashed into the Rhine at Arnhem. We had done a lot of air-to-ground, but that was my first German aircraft.” Sid’s airmanship was, as usual – superb, but I was a little disappointed he forgot to mention how well I performed during the encounter. But I forgave him as I always did. Later during the war we were posted to the Orkney Islands in the north of Scotland, supposedly for defence of the Royal Naval fleet located there but more likely for rest and recuperation and out of harm’s way. We were there for many months and on the 9th of December 1945, after the war had ended, we were involved in a forced landing incident following an engine problem. Would you believe, my beloved Merlin had let us down. Wasn’t my fault. Some sloppy mechanic had left a spanner in the works. As a result of that accident, I was then classified as ‘Beyond Repair.’ Then my heart sank further as Sid left me and returned to Canada. I was now all alone. What was to become of me? Time passed by and my bits and pieces were placed in storage, until one day, after many months of doing nothing, I was loaded on a transporter, driven the entire length of Great Britain, all the way from the Orkneys down to Southampton on the south coast where work began in 1946 to restore me. A year later my repairs were completed and I was almost ready to fly again but sadly, they returned me back into storage. After hanging around for a couple more years, all my body and engine parts were again assembled and transported over to the Heritage Hangar at the Biggin Hill Airfield in Kent, where those inspired enthusiasts went to work on my battered body, substituting new components for old when they proved to be missing or damaged beyond repair. A brand new Merlin engine, copied from the original Supermarine drawings, was fitted into my restored airframe and it made me feel decidedly frisky. I felt like I was twenty years of age again, young and eager just like the old days and not my true age. Those guys in the Heritage Hangar at Biggin Hill had worked a miracle on me in restoring me back to my original self. It was amazing – I was reborn. I noticed they had removed my cannons, so there was nowhere for my new pilots to rub me anymore but I felt they would still love me just as much as Sid and the other boys did during the war.

Eventually in 1993, I was fully restored and ready to fly again. I was so happy on the day they pushed me out of the Heritage Hangar at Biggin Hill for my first trial flight with my reconstituted body. Only this time I discovered I had a new baby. Two cockpits instead of one. Now I knew why I felt heavier than before, but that extra weight had no adverse effect on my maiden flight which proved to be an outstanding success. Those restorers certainly knew the right parts to rub, that’s for sure, as I found myself hurtling around the sky, in and out of the clouds, diving and climbing without a care in the world, just like with Sid in 1944. What Joy! Then some time later I discovered that ‘management’ was going to put me to work, selling my services to trainee pilots to sit in my new rear cockpit at nearly three thousand quid for a twenty minute flight. Wow! I guess someone has to pay for my restoration. But, like the L’Oreal Television Ad says, – ‘I’m worth it.’ This went on for a few more years and life was a breeze. I got to fly most days when the weather was good but when winter came, they put me back in storage until Spring. I was enjoying the long lay-off from work now as I had become an old lady of seventy-three and at my age, what can you expect? So, when those cold nights came and being all alone in my hangar, I liked to reminisce of the life and times I had during the war when I was a young and beautiful Spitfire, together with the men I knew and loved. My first love of course, was Sid. We were together for a long time and had many narrow scrapes and yet somehow survived. We shot down a Messerschmitt 109 over Antwerp one day and had many other attack missions over enemy territory, but crash landed, suffering extensive damage to my undercarriage and right wing. An impressive record against the enemy that certainly merited high commendation. He was one in a million. We went through a lot together and I loved him dearly. I became very attached to my chief mechanic, Barney Reagan as well, while at our forward airfield in Belgium. Many a night he would sit up with me in a freezing cold aircraft hangar tweaking my two stage supercharger, always trying to get the best out of me. He felt if I had the edge in speed over the enemy I would always manage to get home safely. Nor would he ever hand me back to my pilot, Sid unless he was absolutely sure I was completely airworthy and fully loaded with ammo. He always had my best interests at heart and that’s why I loved him too. I remember during the war, when I was in my prime, they would often park me out on the tarmac at night, fuelled up ready for an early morning sortie. I observed the aircrews leaving their quarters regularly at about seven o’clock most evenings and wander over to an old Flemish Inn adjacent to the airfield. They would go inside talking quietly to each other and a couple of hours later would emerge laughing and singing. I often wondered what went on inside. Many years after the war had ended I was still being maintained to an operational standard by the boys in the Heritage Hangar and found myself still able to strut my stuff once I was airborne, just like during the war. But one day in 2016, an eighty-six year old man arrived at Biggin Hill airfield for a thirty minute flight with me. Immediately, I became aware he had strong feelings for me as I noticed the way he circled around, admiring my shapely body and stroking me gently in a most sensual way. There were no longer any cannons for him to rub as they were never refitted during my restoration but he placed his hand lovingly on my wings and fuselage and I knew straight away, he loved me just as much as Sid used to back in the old days. He introduced himself to the Pilot as Jake, and recounted the story of the last time he sat in the cockpit of a Spitfire. It was in 1941 when he was a young boy of eleven years of age and dreamed that one day he would fly one. That day had now arrived and he added that he had always been inspired by a poem by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, an American who served in the Royal Canadian Airforce during WWII and he named it…. ‘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’ve trod The high un-trespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.”

As Jake mounted the steps and clambered into the rear cockpit, I heard him whisper the last line of that poem, knowing he would soon be experiencing John Magee’s wonderful words. My parachute harness and seat straps then held him close and I felt anticipation and excitement surge through his body, knowing what lay ahead. We were all set to go. The pilot fired up my engine and commenced taxiing along the perimeter track until reaching the main runway and the tension began to mount. Then, without further delay, he opened up the throttle and with a loud roar from my Merlin engine, we began accelerating down the runway at ever increasing speed until he called out through the intercom, “Here we go.” And we were up and away. Having climbed to regulation height, the pilot handed the controls over to Jake and suddenly, I felt a burst of energy and love being transmitted down the control column into my beating heart. We were as one. Then he began to fly me all over the beautiful Kent and Essex countryside and it didn’t take long before he wheeled and soared and danced the skies through sun-split clouds on silvered wings for a few precious moments, just like John Magee. Those thirty minutes passed by in a flash and we were back at Biggin Hill but not before I had shown him a couple of my party tricks, like the sudden switch of my wings from horizontal to vertical and of course, my favourite – the Barrel Roll. I knew he would like that. Unfortunately, I was unable to perform my best trick – the full Loop as the cloud base was too low. Eventually, the pilot put me down neatly on the runway and then taxied around the perimeter track, finally coming to a stop in front of my hangar, where I sleep every night.

Jake unhooked his seat harness and clambered out of my rear cockpit and dismounted the steps with a sad expression on his face. Our short time together was over. He caressed my wing tip lovingly and whispered, – “Lola. That was the most thrilling thirty-minutes of my entire life. Words cannot express the sheer pleasure you gave me. You are a real class act. No one does it as good as you. Maybe we could do it again sometime?” I wish I could have told him – “I hope so.” But Spitfires can’t speak, can they? Before parting for the last time, we had our picture taken together and I knew in my heart he would treasure it forever. Sadly, that was my last flight for the 2016 season and today, I was pushed into my hangar where, over the coming weeks, those dedicated enthusiasts at Biggin Hill will begin their routine maintenance on my worn-out body. Their mission is to ensure that every one of my moving parts is checked and double checked, repaired or replaced as necessary, with special emphasis on my dear old Merlin engine. Nothing will be missed because they are certain to restore me to a level of excellence befitting the best fighter aircraft ever to fly. – ‘The Mark IX Spitfire.’ Now winter has arrived and all alone in my hangar, I shall be dreaming once more of the good times I had in the past and of the men I met and loved, especially those brave young Canadian pilots of WWII – Manette, Smith and Mackenzie. Also of Barney Reagan, as he was the one who saved me from the scrapheap many times, always ensuring that when crunch time came, I was ready to rumble. Last, but not least, dear Sid Bregman, the love of my life, the brave young boy who faced death with me on numerous occasions and came through it all with a smile and without a scratch. He’s the one I miss most of all. I have great affection for them all because they were just boys, the eldest was Barney Reagan and he was only twenty-three years of age at the time. Sadly, they have all moved on to a world above the clouds where larks and eagles dare not go. And now, I must refrain from looking back because there is always next season to look forward to, where once again, I shall do the thing I’m good at in wheeling and soaring in that special place, high in the sky where the ghosts of John Magee and Sid and all the others, are still flying. I’ll show those new aspiring pilots the joy of chasing the wind at 20,000 feet, same as I did with the others who shared that sublime experience with me this year. All of whom, without exception, showed tender feelings for me, but there was only one who gave me true love and affection the same as Sid in the old days…… That was Jake. Who knows? Perhaps next year I’ll get to meet another just like him? And if that should happen, I’ll teach him how to slip the surly bonds of Earth and climb to windswept heights, to turn and dive and maybe, just like John Magee, put out his hand and touch the face of God.


Lola (David Readings)

Image source Internet