PAYBACK TIME

Aug. 30

Sixty-five to seventy years ago, an entire generation of young, virile men and strapping naive boys would forgo the futures they were planning for to join the fight against tyranny around the world. With full knowledge of the odds and penalties, they would lay down upon the roulette table of all-out war a wager that would represent all the days of their lives not yet lived - possibly 70 years more, 24,000 sunsets, love, children and grandchildren. The stakes were supreme and many would lose this terrible gamble, forfeiting their lives, their limbs or their souls as payment. For those who found themselves still standing at the end of the war, the price was still high - the best an airman could do was to get his stake back.

For the most important and wholesome years of their lives, they faced unimaginable stress, deprivation, disease, homesickness and the acidic destruction that fear and loneliness brings to the body and soul. Some survivors came home whole, many came home weakened, aimless and broken.

Most men recovered from their nightmares, faced down the new reality of peace and their place in it and went on to resume their lives, to create children, opportunities and in time to distance themselves from the waste of those years.

Since those terrible days, the three generations spawned by the returning airmen, sailors and soldiers have also distanced themselves in an unintentional way. The years have passed, the days of remembrance whittled down to one cold morning a year, the interest faded, the heroes lost to memory. Now, as the last of these men, the strong and healthy ones, reach their ninetieth year, we have very little time to tell these men how much we appreciate the risks they took back then to give us the life and freedom we enjoy. Very little time.

I have done a lot of thinking about these men, about how much I owe them, about how much I enjoy their company and about what I can do to tell them so. There is very little one can do, because they do not ask for anything other than respect and to make good the world they sacrificed so much to give us.

There is no better gift to give one of these old gentleman warriors than a rendezvous with the best memories of their own history. Each and every pilot from that era looks back on his flying days with a powerful fondness. One of the greatest joys of being part of Vintage Wings of Canada, on par with watching the great warbirds flying, is being present when one of these men walks into the hangar for the first time and beholds a collection of exotically beautiful machines that were the consuming focus of the best years of his young life. It is like watching an older man come upon the young and beautiful woman he once loved in his passionate youth to find she has not changed one iota in sixty years. It is a breath-taking moment when a veteran sees that the love of his life is even more beautiful than he had remembered her. The look on their faces is one of rekindled passion.

But what if you could give them more than just a glimpse of their past? What if you could get them back in the air and put a control column in their hand again? What if you gave them wings? The new Vintage Wings Member Ride Program is the answer.

During the recent Wings over Gatineau Air Show, I had the opportunity to pay back in a small way one of my good friends, former 602 City of Glasgow Squadron Spitfire pilot Flight Sergeant Harry Hannah. Harry was shot down over France in 1943 and spent the next two years as a POW. One full year of that time was spent in solitary confinement for his part in a failed escape plan. Harry was tried in a Wermacht military court, given a military lawyer and sentenced to 3 years hard labour. His lawyer spoke eloquently on his behalf at the trial in Dresden and had the sentence reduced to one year in solitary - the 3 year hard labour being essentially a death sentence. While in Dresden, Harry witnessed the terrible immolation of the city by RAF Lancasters.

Harry Hannah is an elegant man, not given to loud words, rude jokes, boasting or actions that would hint at bad taste. He carries himself with a quiet grace, a straight back, and twinkling, constant blue eyes. There is something about Harry’s eyes that I haven’t yet pinpointed. There is contentment and laughter in them. They seem to look out upon the world from a quite place, a place Harry has truly earned. Harry is a gentleman in the true meaning of the word. He speaks well of every man, or should they not deserve it, he speaks very little of them. Harry is the very picture of a Scottish gentleman - with all its attendant qualities - a wry wit, a proud bearing, a reserved manner, an elegant sartorial sense and a way with the lady folk.

His history is one from the pages of a movie script, yet he will tell his story only if cajoled and questioned and entreated by an enthusiastic aviation nut like me. The movie of Harry's life would blend the scripts from Captains of the Clouds, The Battle of Britain, Reach for the Sky, The Great Escape, and Slaughterhouse Five.

He is still the quintessential fighter pilot and I wanted to pay him back for what he did for me and my family before I was even born.

As a member of Vintage Wings of Canada, I was able to sponsor the flight of the Tiger Moth as it prepared for the next day's air show and I or anyone of my choosing could fill the front cockpit for free. Harry was more than willing to hop into the vacant spot and go dancing in the skies over Gatineau and downtown Ottawa. I sponsored two back to back 20 minute flights, but pilot Blake Reid was aloft for almost an hour getting in as much time as possible while the conditions were perfect.

In addition to Harry's flight, Vintage Wings of Canada member Frank Waywell also sponsored a flight in the P-40 Kittyhawk. This is the same type he was in over North Africa when his engine packed in during a stafing run in 1943. He too was captured (by the Italians) and strangely enough he spent two years as a POW with many months in the same POW camp (Stalag Luft 4B) as Harry Hannah and never met him. Perhaps it was because Harry was in solitary.