Wings Clear Climb Ahead

By John Farron

This book is a sequel to Ice on My Wings and includes many homorous anecdotes about the authors life and coming to terms with Parkinsons Disease whilst maintaining a very full career.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477246962

John Farron

John Farron is a Squadron Leader in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve (Training Branch). He was appointed MBE by the Queen in 2001 and elected a Fellow of the Royal Aeronautical Society in 2005. He is a Qualified Gliding Instructor, holds a Private Pilots Licence and has flown many types of aircraft during his 55 years of a joint career in the RAFVR(T) and the Aerospace Industry. He now holds the position of Special Projects Officer at HQ Air Cadets RAF College Cranwell, runs his own Business Development Consultancy and is the author of “Ice on my Wings” to which this book is a sequel. Besides aeronautics, he enjoys watercolour painting, music, and has a keen interest in Practical Philosophy.

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© 2013 John Farron. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 1/10/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4695-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4696-2 (e)

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Contents

Introduction

Review

Marcella and Harry

Elizabeth’s Story

Andrew’s Story

Richard (Coeur de Lion)

The Personalities of Projects

The Chilean Challenge

The Neurotic North American

The Not So Jolly German

The French Connection

The Eccentric Englishman (Middle Eastern Hokey Cokey)

Guardian angels do fly — don’t they?

Student Pilot Solo Cross-Country

The Auster convex

Ghost Rider

A Tricky Trip in a Tri-pacer

Vigilant Engine Failure

Bird strikes

Wings Clipped

My Left Handed Right Hand Man

Finding the right note

And that’s another story…

The ABC of P for PD (black humour)

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Introduction

It is usually a good idea to spell out the reason for writing any story, and this tale is no exception.

This book is a sequel to Ice on my Wings, which mainly concentrated on my recovery from serious depression, the conditions that led up to it and the survival of it. Also, in the first book, there were quite a few references to and that’s another story…, which has made many people curious as to what those stories might be. Well, Wings Clear, Climb Ahead is just that – a series of other stories, a collection of anecdotes, the family history brought up to date and a look at the new challenge, Parkinson’s Disease (PD), which I was diagnosed with some eight years ago. Just as you thought things were settling down, along comes PD man.

Well it is not perhaps the end of a lifetime’s journey. It is perhaps not the beginning either, but at 70 years of age it is probably the end of the beginning…

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The Author

Review

BY GROUP CAPTAIN W M N CROSS OBE FRGS RAF(RET’D)

After John Farron invited me to review his first book ‘Ice On My Wings’, I felt particularly privileged that he invited me to do the same for his second.

Whilst his first book dealt with his struggle with and recovery from a deep depression, ‘Wings Clear, Climb Ahead’ is to some extent a sequel which develops the loose ends of references left hanging in ‘Ice on My Wings,’ ‘and that’s another story’. In ‘Wings Clear Climb Ahead’ he brings these earlier references to life, and a lot more; often amusing, often emotive and often acute in their observation, not the least in his comments on the part he played in each event. However, underscoring the writing of this book runs the creeping impact on his life of Parkinson’s Disease, which since 2004 has had an increasing effect on a free and innovative spirit. It gives an added poignancy to the book as a whole, but particularly to the last chapter in which he tackles his condition head on with irrepressible humour whilst clearly reflecting a determination to overcome its consequences. There is nothing of self-pity in these later stories; at worst, only an understated frustration that things are not what they used to be.

The tales often reflect a risk taker, and something of a romantic, which the reader may admire or criticise in the light of some of the situations he finds himself in. However, he always comes through ‘in tact’, be it by luck or guile. Above all he reflects the importance of family and friends in his life, their value when faced with difficult circumstances, and the essentialness of ‘keeping your chin up’.

As with ‘Ice on My Wings, for any reader this book is an inspirational series of personal, often intimate, stories, but in particular it is for those faced with Parkinson’s Disease who are endeavouring to retain a meaning to their life.

Chapter 1

Marcella and Harry

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My mother, Marcella Hill was born 7th April 1910 in Preston, Lancashire. She grew up at a time when the world was changing so rapidly and at a speed which had hitherto never been experienced. It would not be long before the British Empire would cease to stretch across the globe and then never again would the world see an empire upon which the sun never set. Wars were fought on horseback, ladies wore long dresses and gentlemen tall hats and had manners.

Marcella Hill was born to a poor, working-class family and lived in a two-bedroom house with her parents and sisters, Fanny, Elesha, Mary, Elsie and Christine. Because of a poor diet, Marcella’s mother was confined to bed with constant illness and Marcella herself always looked gaunt and under-nourished. Her father was an enigma; he was in the military, probably the Army, and little was seen of him.

After her father’s untimely death, although my mother would never admit it, the family was probably accommodated in what was the Workhouse, which later became Sharoe Green Hospital. Then after her mother’s death, Marcella and her sisters were taken into care by an order of French nuns known as ‘La Sagesse’ who, on the whole, were kind and caring, as my mother often spoke of them with great affection. They all lived in the convent at Moorfields, Longsands Lane, Preston.

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She first met my father, Harry, when he was serving as an altar boy at English Martyr’s Church. The nuns would take a party of young orphans for Holy Communion at the Church. Harry was smitten by this beautiful girl with long auburn hair and beautiful brown eyes, and he tried always to be the altar boy who served her.

One day, he asked the Reverend Mother if he could see Marcella outside of the Convent.

‘Certainly not!’ exclaimed Reverend Mother with great alarm, ‘That would not be possible. These young ladies are far too young to be allowed to roam free. Thank you young man, but Marcella will not be allowed outside of these walls except to go to Holy Communion at English Martyrs.’

Now my father was not easily swayed from his objective. Outside these walls, eh? OK, he thought to himself. The walls were identified as the barrier to reaching Marcella. So one Sunday, whilst helping to serve Holy Communion, my Father slipped a note into the hands of Marcella just as she was cupping her hands to receive the Bread of Heaven.

Meet me tonight by the Statute of Our Lady inside the walls after evening prayers at 6.30 prompt and I will rescue you from all this, the note said.

At 6.25 p.m., Harry arrived with a ladder borrowed from a window cleaner friend, and whistling in that nonchalant way, he climbed to the top, just in time to hear the last lines of Oh Mary, we crown thee with blossom today, Queen of the angels and Queen of the May.

‘Ave Maria,’ my father hummed to himself as the angelic voices gently faded into the gardens of the convent.

Reaching the top of the ladder he paused and cautiously raised his head above the parapet. He scanned the garden for Marcella – not a sign, not a hint. Marcella was late as usual. Crouching below the top of the wall and clinging to the ladder, my father began to get cramp. ‘Marcella,’ he whispered, ‘Are you there yet? Do hurry.’

‘Harry, oh Harry, are you there?’ called out a soft shy voice.

After what seemed an eternity, they finally found each other.

Once safely on the other side, they stole away into the night and their future together began. Not long afterwards, they were married at the same church where they first met.

This was not long after the great depression of 1930 and things were pretty tough for everyone. However, my father, ever resourceful, became assistant manager in the Co-op and was able to find a nice house in Brackenbury Road, in the Fulwood district of Preston.

Everything was fine