Afterword

Comments from Barry Jones, son of Frank Marcel Jones.

 

My earliest memories of childhood are of living in Germany - my father was posted to work as a flying instructor with the German Airforce. 

We lived on a Farm with a German family - Dad would let my mum know what time he was coming home by flying over the farm and dropping a homemade parachute with a note giving his arrival home time on it. 

When I was probably 4 to 5 years old, my brother, 20 months older, and I, lived an exciting and full childhood of travel and social interaction. 

We spent the summer holidays in Italy and Spain living at large, modern campsites. Like little villages, these campgrounds included every convenience that you could imagine. We slept in exceptionally large tents, the main one having a kitchen and even a covered carport 

In those summer days, my brother and I spent the majority of the day playing in the ocean. 

Most of my memories are about living in Officer flats based on a German Tank Base, I do not know the reasons for the location, I just remember us kids playing with the German soldiers, jumping from tank to tank. 

Another memory includes the occurrence of many parties, it seemed as though there were some form of new celebration every weekend. 

I remember how I felt watching the Cuban crisis and my Father talking about the possibility of him having to leave because of a potential war. 

Another memory is of Dad sharing how the young German pilots he was training were fascinated with the details of his bombing missions over Germany . 

We had a young lady called Steffi who would come to do our house cleaning. During conversation, we found out that many of her family were killed in the war during the Dresden bombings which was one of my Fathers missions. 

Understandably Dad did not talk about the war, other than fond memories of his crew who he kept up with. Years later, when he retired, he toured the UK visiting each of them. 

My father was incredibly ‘on task’ when it came to flying - and he got though his bombing missions by focusing on the job he had to do, but more importantly feeling responsible in bringing his crew home safely. The statistics of returning from a mission were slim and my father witnessed another plane’s crew member playing Russian Roulette, killing himself in the process. 

The military at that time was very much class based. Generally, rank and seniority were based on your education and my father did not come from a University background - in fact, he was a car mechanic by trade. This stigma unfortunately held my father’s promotional purposes opportunities  back. He understood the system, but his considerable experience was not rewarded and that did upset him. 

Although he was the consummate professional, he did enjoy his pranks. When we were based on a military base called RA Ouston, my father was in charge of the University Air Squadron; he was also flying the Varsity which was a cumbersome looking twin engine crew trainer. The base was hosting a small air show with the Red Arrows in attendance. My father felt a fly pass in the Varsity was somewhat mundane and proceeded to do an EXCEPTIONALLY low, wing down, beat-up of the control tower. It certainly was loud and spectacular. On landing, my father received a ‘dressing down’ by the senior officer in charge…followed by a silent well-done tap on the shoulder. 

There is no doubt the war had a profound effect on my father. He spent a considerable amount of time in his retirement collecting information for his memoirs, especially details regarding his bombing missions.