Living History

In memory of...

I write this story in loving memory of my Grandpa who passed away earlier this year. Whilst I am not a senior, I write this on behalf of my family; which consists of wonderful and energetic seniors, as well as the more youthful members (only in age!) and those beginning their lives as an adult. We all have one thing in common; we grew up listening to Grandpa’s stories of his time spent during the days of WWII.

It was a while before Grandpa spoke to me about his stories; he was of the belief that it was a story for men’s ears only. Once I began to travel the world and share my stories of adventure, mishaps and joy with him, he returned the gift.

Please excuse my lack for detail, which is one area where his stories excelled. When ever I tell his stories to friends, I become quite animated, thinking of him as a hero in a Steven Spielberg Hollywood film.

Grandpa was a navigator. When he first joined the Air force, he wanted to be a pilot. After completing the exam, it was clear that he had a great talent for detail and for maths which were the necessary skills to become a navigator. Grandpa flew in a Wellington plane from both England and Italy - this meant he often had to navigate very long distances and it was often at night so he had to be very sure that all his maths were right. You can just imagine the type of technology that they had back in the day, a navigator was a necessary element to each flying team.

He loved his crew and they were a real team - it was Grandpa’s job to get ‘the boys’ home once he had found the target set for that night

Once in Italy Grandpa’s plane was hit in enemy territory and they lost any ability to navigate from the equipment on the plane. Grandpa had to step in and work out a way to get back to base. Grandpa had such an incredible talent for detail, whenever they flew anywhere he took note of the landscape. Grandpa remembered the Po River and so found their way across to that and he guided the plane back to base by following the river and saved the day! On another occasion after similar damage he was able to navigate back towards their base in England by estimating the distance they needed to go by estimating the speed they were going and the distance needed - after the last correction of direction he said to his crew - "lets count back from 70 and if we don’t see the lights of the airstrip we are in real trouble" - to everyone’s joy they saw the lights at 69 - Grandpa was only one second out!

In his stories he would describe the plane to us in detailed measurements, colour, smell and sound. He would use his hands to gesture and paint the picture.

The beautiful sunny day in Victoria that we held Grandpa’s ‘Celebration of Life’ was a special time for all members of our family and of Grandpa’s circle of friends. As we shared stories of his life we learnt about; Dudley the father, Dudley the navigator, Dudley the worker, Dudley the mate, Dudley the husband, Dudley the Grandpa and, well, just Dudley. He is pictured here, the good looking one in the hat!

After that day I realised that Grandpa’s war stories were not a Hollywood film, they were real experiences that he lived from 1939 to 1945. They were stories that were the memories of his life that he carried with him everyday.

Kate, Canberra, A.C.T

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