Adam Thought's

Inspire-Expire: Live How You Breathe
Posted by Adam (adam) on Aug 02 2008 at 9:52 PM
Adam's Thoughts >> Blog

 Last year my grandparents, on my father’s side, passed away. Six days before my grandfather, David Shaw, died he was out at a restaurant drinking whiskey and eating a full-meal. He claimed that he couldn’t eat like he used to. My granny responded by saying “That’s right. For the first time in his life he’s eating the same amount as a normal human being.” Yet, he always kept himself in trim condition.

 Such banter was common with my grandparents and they provided constant, Monty Pythonesque humour for us all to revel in. The day before David Shaw died he had the rest of the ward laughing at his life musings, in front of my dad. He passed away in his sleep the next day at the age of ninety-four.

 He was an inspiration to me throughout his life. His modesty would frequently inhibit the true heroics of what he did in his lifetime but some of the evidence could not be hidden. Whilst I may not recall the exact dates of what happened – the stories have all been verified by those that knew him and from the archives of my memory.

 At the age of twenty-seven he decided to join the RAF, without consulting my granny. Their cash situation was bleak and this was the best plan that he could come up with at the time. He was sent to the United States to train. Here, he managed to upset his trainer – who refused to train him in the end. He had to learn to pilot a plane by asking his comrades and flying on his own in his free time.

 Despite becoming a proficient pilot by training himself, he was failed by the American base. The system allowed only three out of every group of six to pass. He did express his concern at the ludicrousness of this process as the best six pilots in the airbase could have been in the same group of six – and they would have had to fail three of them. Conversely, they could have had a group of six incompetent pilots – and have to pass three of them.

 After parting ways with the Americans he was moved to Canada to train as a pilot. He continued to develop his skills and send back all available money to my granny. However, the canteen on the base noticed that cutlery was going missing. Their solution was to insist that everyone on the base paid 50 cents for their own cutlery, which they would have to bring to each meal.

 This plan proved agreeable to everyone on the base – except my grandfather. Although he was joined by a group of Australians on the initial protest, they were, somehow, convinced to purchase their own cutlery. This left my grandfather as the sole dissenter at the base and led him to the office of the base commander.

 My grandfather maintained that he had sent all of his available money home and would not sacrifice 50 cents for cutlery. The result of his stubbornness was a transfer out of fighter command and the pilot programme. He was, consequently, sent to train as a navigator, with bomber command.

 He trained to become an efficient navigator for the next two years. As he had made few friends within the base hierarchy, they were in no rush to grant his wish of getting to the front line. He waited for a call, which took plenty of time to come.

 After two years of being moved to bomber command he came across a journalist, who was intrigued by his story. He did some research into the case and found that my grandfather had been qualified for the past eighteen months – yet, nobody had told him. This resulted in a back-dated wage and immediate transfer to England, on the front line. It is likely that this oversight on the part of the Canadian Air-force saved the life of David Shaw. I will never know for sure but his ability to stand his ground, with conviction, when everyone else did the opposite, could have saved his life.

 His first eight missions were over Berlin, at night. It was a baptism of fire and lessons were learned very quickly. With an average of seven percent of all crew dying during each mission, it paid to be good and also to be lucky.

 He realised early on that firing a machine gun against fighters at night wasn’t a good idea. Since every third bullet was a tracer, it alerted German fighters to their whereabouts. As each bomber was less manoeuvrable than the fighters, and full of fuel and bombs, it wasn’t a good idea to help anyone know where you were in the night sky.

 On one mission his bomber was attacked on eight separate occasions, by German fighters - and they still made it out alive. My granny kept a newspaper cutting about the incident – along with a picture of the badly mangled bomber upon its return to the base. He won the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) for his feat.

 I once asked him how close he had been to death. Ironically, this happened at his base, in England. He had just landed his bomber in foggy conditions and was walking to the debrief room. This was something that he had previously done after every mission. For the first time that night he was called into the commander’s office for a coffee and a chat.

 Minutes later a bomber landed, mistaking the lights of the navigator’s debrief room for the runway and ploughing into it, killing everyone in it. He had luck on his side.

 He kept a ruler in his cockpit, to plan his way in and out of Germany. On one occasion a bullet whistled through his cockpit and broke the ruler in half, as he held it. My granny told me that the rest of his crew said that he was the coolest head in the plane. Although he confessed to his moments of apprehension - it was never picked up by his fellow crew members.

 Those who were in bomber command were, originally, told that if they flew twenty-eight missions that they would be exempt from flying. With seven percent of all crew dying during each mission, that meant that everyone who flew thirteen missions should be dead.

 David Shaw flew his twenty-eight missions, only for the RAF to renege on their deal due to shortage of experienced crew. Consequently, he went on to fly a further seven missions.

 He lost his brother during the war. He died flying over the Bay of Biscay. He had to contend with this knowledge for numerous missions. As for my granny – she never knew if she would ever see my grandfather again each time he left.

 Both of them lived in a time of war and financial poverty. However, they experienced a level of respect an camaraderie that we can only dream of today.

 Very little ever phased David Shaw after the war and he provided a role model for me that will remain part of me until the day I die. Hopefully, I will pass on some of the lessons that both of my grandparents have taught me.

 The day after David Shaw died, my granny, Sadie Shaw, had a heart attack and was taken to hospital. She never recovered and died a few months later – never returning to the house. They were married for over sixty-eight years.

 Both of them inspired me through their love, wisdom and sense of fun. David Shaw was deaf as a post but sung (admittedly, not too well) every day. Sadie Shaw was registered blind, yet studied philosophy and computers in her late eighties and painted all of her life. They never knew anything other than to keep the faith and be grateful for what they had. I saw in their faces how much it meant to them each time I visited them. I only had to turn up and that was enough for them.

 When I helped clear out their flat, when they passed away, I found every postcard that I had ever written them, neatly stored. They derived joy from the seemingly small things that many of us take for granted.

 The last time I saw Sadie Shaw I took her out of her nursing home bed and wheeled her into a garden. We sat there for about half an hour and said very little. We just appreciated the beauty and simplicity of nature. Although she could only make out the colours as blurs – it was enough to bring a smile to her face. She died a few days later, aged ninety-one.

 My goal is to pass on the inspiration that my grandparents gave to me: Love, without question – beauty, without fault – gratitude, without condition and faith, beyond luck.