His Grey Lady
Faith Botwood
In 1957 I fell in love with the
handsomest Air Signaller on 269 Squadron, Coastal Command (apologies to other
Signallers of 269 Squadron). We met whilst on holiday and he was accompanied by
three other Coastal Command young bucks.
Marrying in 1958, I went
with him to a R.A.F. Station that went by the absurd name of Ballykelly,
"Bally what?" I was told to fall in love with Ballykelly, needless to
say being a dutiful wife I did. Then came the hitch in our relationship - Love
me, love my aircraft. This I never did, I was not that dutiful.1958 was the
year I began my association with the Shackleton, an association that has lasted
for 38 years, and only death will sever the ties. I found out that I had met my
husband's mistress. Like all relationships between a wife and a mistress I
hated her, from the minute I first saw her sitting fat, squat, dirty, and so
ugly on the tarmac at BK.
She had a terrible voice, I
am convinced she is the reason my husband suffers a peculiar deafness, an
affliction known only to those that consorted with her - high tone deafness.
Her skin was a mottled grey, with black splotches as if somebody had thrown a
tin of paint at her. Definitely, she had the most terrible acne. Her nose was
very large with a peculiar bump underneath it. The eyes were nothing to write home
about and she had fat rubbery legs. B.O. was another overpowering memory, it
seemed as if she tried to gas all who loved her. Though my husband considered
it to be the sweetest aroma, a mixture of Chanel, Brut, and Joy all rolled into
one.
What had I to fear from
her? She was no competition. How naive can one be at 22 years of age. For he
was infatuated, besotted with an "Affaire de Coeur", a love that has
never dimmed. In fact as he got older it seemed to get worse.
For the next eight years
she was a very demanding mistress, she took him away from the family with
monotonous regularity - Africa, Gan, Canada, Gibraltar, Hong Kong and Malta to
name a few. If my memory serves me correctly there were many more well
publicised assignations. Some destinations were so secret I never found out
where they went together. They really had great times him and her. Their
relationship must have gone through some bad patches, true love does not run
that smoothly. Why does he only remember the good times? I know he experienced
bad times and they are well remembered somewhere in the recesses of his mind,
but he never talks about them.
Memories fade, but not the
memory of him leaving me at some god unearthly hour to be with her. I would
bury my head in a pillow to deafen the sound of them as they thundered down the
runway together. Bound for some far distant romantic experience that I could
never share. Sometimes their absences lasted a few hours, sometimes weeks or
months.
I used to pray that she
would grow older and uglier and would be pensioned off. Silly me, my prayers
were never answered. She just seemed to go from strength to strength, and is
still doing to other wives what she did to me 38 years ago. Grudgingly I have
to admit she has great staying power for a very old lady.
1966 was the momentous year
he finally left her, or did he. The sad part of this sorry tale is that she
still has the power to pull him far across the world to her side, part of my
husband will always be with her. A day never goes by without some mention in
always loving terms. Why do I put up with it? I must be a masochist.Our
children were raised on tales of "derring do" exploits in days of
yore. Nowadays it is our two grand-daughters who dutifully listen to Pop, and
say "funny fella". They ask one another what are 269, 205, 210,
contra-rotating props, S.A.R., sonar buoys, 15 hour navex, J.A.S.S., Avro,
M.O.T.U., flying rations, and Merlin (isn't he the wizard?).
He wears her picture on a
tie, cuff links, and tie tac. There are more pictures of the not so lovely lady
adorning the walls of our home than there are of me. Why do I have an
inferiority complex?.I give in, I cannot compete. She can have him!
"The Growler" a
magazine devoted to continually praising her comes out four times a year.
Edited by a certain Mo Botwood who is apparently devoted to her. It is
compulsory reading in our house, in fact you could say I know them off by heart
every one. Sadly I've never read an article in praise of the young and oh so
handsome men who brought the Shackleton to life at all stages of her career.
Without you she was and is useless, an inanimate object without a heart, a pile
of metal, rivets and wires. Your devotion to the Shackleton is legendary. I
have seen you come home tired, grim faced and haggard, after eighteen hours of
flying and wondered why you chose this way to make a living. Never, ever forget
that it was your dedication and devotion to her that has given her the
reputation she has.
The Shackleton men I knew
and grew to love are probably grey haired, balding, and wrinkled, dare I say
getting on in years, aren't we all. But my memory of all of you stopped 24
years ago in a time warp where none have grown old - to name a few - Alan
Pitches, Norm Sewell, Alan Butler, Pat (Dig) Miller, Taff Morris, Taff Rees,
Johnny Mundy, Carl Nugent, Des Proud, Jack Perigo, and Dinty More. Apologies to
those I missed. I still love you all. Finally, to all who kept the Shackleton
flying may I salute you. Not only to the ground and air crews of years gone by,
but to the young men who carry on the tradition today. You cannot be that much
different to the men of 38 years ago, only age separates. But the ties that
bind you to the Shackleton I will never understand. I have heard that
retirement for the Shackleton is only a few months away, Many tears will be
shed into pints, stories will be told, and legends written, your memories will
never fade as long as you can all get together and talk.
I am too much of a coward
to put my name to this, if my husband ever found out I had written derogatory
words about the Shackleton it would be grounds for a divorce.
.