Cousin Charles and I go back a long way, to 1946 or thereabouts, and he is entirely responsible for my interest in aviation. In those early days my parents lived in Wallington, Surrey, close to what was then the airport for London, Croydon Airport. You will appreciate that Heathrow was barely on the drawing board at that time.
Being a curious sort of fellow, Charles took me by the hand and we explored the local park at Purley, in the middle of which stood a brick public toilet block. Its flat roof made a perfect viewing platform and, with no apparent effort, he climbed to the top, hauling me with him. I don’t know how long we stood up there watching the distant aircraft landing and taking off, because the passage of time doesn’t register with a small child, but I remember him looking at his watch and saying that my parents would be furious if we were late for lunch.
Back on the ground I knew I wanted to be ‘up there’. That’s the exact point at which my own fascination with flight began. See, it’s all your fault, Charles.
Charles keeping busy
Now we’re both getting on a bit – Charles slightly more so than myself – it seems hard to fathom how swiftly the years have flown. His lovely wife of 64 years, Dorothy, died earlier this year and, though he keeps busy (very busy), there’s no denying her loss has taken its toll.
I visited him yesterday at his home in Birkirkara, and we talked about events, both recent and not so recent. I’d been fortunate to attend his mother’s (my favourite aunt’s) 100th birthday a few years ago. An amazing lady who, when handed a microphone, could still sing football songs, she passed away just a few months later. I might be biased, but these great people played such an important role in my early life that I feel a huge sadness that they’re no longer around. It’s also a bit lonely now.