The awkward squad

There was a programme on the BBC a few days ago about the Dambusters which we were unable to watch at the time.  It was a live broadcast from RAF Scampton to mark the 70th anniversary of the raid.  The BBC saw fit to air it on their second channel but really it should have been given more prominence.  I recorded it and have just got round to watching it and it inspired me to find out a little more about the leader of that raid, Wing Commander Guy Gibson.  It's staggering to think that he was just 24 at the time.  His death just two years later remains a mystery - or, rather, the cause of his death remains a mystery and deserves a post all of its own.  Anyway, it seems that although he was an inspirational leader of men, he could be an awkward bugger.  I was reminded of that other awkward bugger of an airman, Douglas Bader.

Although he was knighted later, he was just plain Douglas Bader - or probably Flying Officer Douglas Bader - when he crashed his plane and, as a result, had both legs amputated.  Within 6 months he had learned to walk again on artificial legs but was ruled unfit to continue as an RAF pilot.  That was in the 1930s.  However, when war broke out he joined up again and was soon flying Spitfires and then Hurricanes.  He was shot down and taken prisoner, escaped - or tried to - and eventually arrived at Colditz, the camp for the determined escapers.

His determination and refusal to be beaten meant that, like Gibson, he didn't always hit it off with others, although he was an inspirational leader.

Another person whom I would describe as a member of the awkward squad is my wife, the Old Bat.  Her lack of mobility due to her condition (corticobasal degeneration) is slowly increasing.  I say slowly, but there seems to have been a marked deterioration over the last few months.  And yet she refuses to give in although it is obvious to me that she finds some things more and more difficult.  I am only too willing to help out where I can, but I do wish she would tell me when things are getting too bad.  I also wish she would accept that she sometimes needs more than just a stick to help her - but I just cannot bring myself to suggest that a mobility aid such as a walker is needed.  Stubborn, obstinate, too proud to admit defeat, that's the problem.

It must be 20 or more years ago now that the Old Bat, our daughter and I rented a cottage fairly near to Paris and made a day trip into the city.  I remember that my hip was playing up and I was struggling to walk but I took inspiration from the Marines who had "yomped" across the Falkland Islands covering goodness knows how many miles a day over difficult terrain and with full battle kit.  Just by imagining myself as one of them I was able to forget the arthritis and walk more easily.  I no longer see myself as a Bootneck (Navy slang for a Royal Marine) but Bader and the Old Bat still provide inspiration when it is needed.

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The rape was in full bloom in the Loire when we were over in France a few weeks back but it is only just coming to its peak here on the Downs.  This is the view to the east from 39 Acres, looking directly over the University of Brighton's Falmer campus with the new Amex Community Stadium just to the right.