The Pilot's Daughter

By Phillipa Annesley Scrivens and Karen Lox Jorgensen

Imagine being the 5-year old informal air stewardess as Phillipa’s dad, Captain John Hankins, flies four world leaders to the Paris Peace Talks. After WW II, people in London were suffering. Captain Hankins flew his family to Nairobi,Africa where they built a farm near the Serengetti. Even though he was then flying for British Overseas Airways, he established a working farm. Young Phillipa and her family survived attacks from the Mau Mau, as well as columns of merciless fireants, man-eating tigers, poisonous pythons, debilitating diseases, and a culture totally foreign to a proper little English girl. After escaping from the Mau Mau in a tribal war known around the world, Phillipa and her family returned to London, and begins ballet school against the backdrop of a father who left the family to be the chief pilot for the President of Mexico and her severely depressed mother who hated her for not being a boy so she could have inherited English lands. Phillipa had some wonderful encounters with Queen Elizabeth II and finally was able to go to America as an au pair. The final chapters of the book highlight her having a family in California, owning her own ballet school, escaping from a dodgy first husband, and traveling to Spain and New Zealand to tend to each dying parent. Finally Phillipa ended up in Orlando, Florida armed with a new hope for a successful life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665727143

Phillipa Annesley Scrivens

Phillipa Annesley Scrivens, born in London, England, was a delightful English lady who lived through some of the world’s biggest events. A swami in London once told her that she must write her life story and it would be very popular. Phillipa told him that she hated to write essays, so it would never happen. Now, decades later, she has relayed her story through many months of recalling memories through her friend, Professor Karen Jorgensen of Orlando, Florida who recorded hours and hours of their conversations. Every event detailed in this book is true. It is a labor of love for her family and friends to complete this promised project. Karen Lox Jorgensen, originally from Roanoke, Virginia, resides in Orlando, Florida. For the last 24 years, she continues to be an Associate Professor of English at Valencia College in Orlando, as well as an award-winning realtor. Jorgensen has written four other novels in the last three years including Escape from the Union School, a semi-autobiographical novel about her first job out of college as the only white teacher in an all-black union school in eastern North Carolina and escaping from certain death by a mob the morning after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Other non-fiction novels she has written include a private genealogy book for a wealthy family in the Midwest, the myriad adventures of a world traveler, and a novel about the surviving family of a fireman who died in one of the Twin Towers in New York City on September 11, 2001. Ms. Jorgensen acknowledged that she really enjoyed the years she spent with Phillipa not only writing down her stories, but oftentimes picking her up and going for vanilla ice cream after dinner. Phillipa was always happy and talkative as she reminisced about her adult children, her grandchildren, and how she was grateful to have met the challenges of life with faith and determination. She never gave up!

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Copyright © 2022 Phillipa Annesley Scrivens and Karen Lox Jorgensen.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author

and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of

the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of

people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

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of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Interior Graphics/Art Credit: Captain John Hankins (deceased)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2715-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2714-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913089

Archway Publishing rev. date: 01/04/2023

FOREWORD

Dear Reader,

I was born in London, England in 1940 and this is a brief account of my most extraordinary life. Please remember these words are my memories and not yours, not historical records, but my thoughts, feelings, and understandings of my life from birth to near the present day.

History may prove wrong with some dates that I recorded, but this was written originally for my children and grandchildren. Now, I want to share it with you, interested reader. This is the life I led. It was a very different world I lived in. I have been involved in wars that have never touched the American continent and have scars from the fighting that went on. I have seen a great generation of people leave this earth after doing all they could do to try and improve our lives here.

I am concerned and deeply saddened by the affairs of the world this day. My grandchildren will suffer and I will pray that they will have the knowledge, strength, and hope to overcome all the trials that lie ahead of them. I love the Lord Jesus Christ. He is my Savior and his Atonement for our sins is a gift beyond our understanding.

I have been blessed by the knowledge I have gained in this life and I pray that my progenitors will feel the same way I do. Great strengths can be gained from the Bible and other religious books. Everything that has happened to people has been recorded in these books and great insights can be received just by reading the words and pondering on them. This is the final dispensation of this earth and the battle we fight is real. But we have been told the outcome and know who wins this war. Thanks be to God!

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my three wonderful children (now adults with families of their own):

Lorelei, Douglas, and Annica

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

My grateful thanks to my dear friend, Professor Karen L. Jorgensen of Orlando, Florida for her patience, professionalism, and writing skills to bring my story to life.

Many decades ago, a wise man told me that I would write my story and that I would find the perfect person to understand and bring to life the exciting experiences I have had on four continents of this world. That prediction has come to pass and I can now share with you my incredible adventures.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part I – Life in England

My mum and I surviving the 1940 bombing of Victoria Station; my phone conversation at age 5 with Winston Churchill; my dad, a decorated RAF pilot in WWII, who flew four world leaders to the Paris Peace Talks with me as the air stewardess; Mum’s refusal to love me; the birth of my brother Brit and my sister, Liz.; and why my mum was an heiress.

Part II – Life in Africa

Living on a remote 10-acre farm near Nairobi, and dealing with yellow fever, wild, hungry lions and tigers, millions of destructive fire ants, dangerous baboons, poisonous pythons, friendly Masai, the murderous Mau Mau, and a harrowing escape from Africa.

Part III – Return to England

Living in Arundel, England; meeting the Queen; my year in Paris; graduating from ballet school; my dad’s secret decision to leave us; getting my master’s degree; Brit’s decision to join dad and go to college in Mexico; and the last Christmas with Brit.

Part IV – Living in America

Becoming an au pair in Chicago and dancing with a Finnish folk group; moving to Los Angeles to teach ballet; being drafted to go to Korea; visiting Dad and Brit in Mexico and touring the country with them; a Mexican medicine man who healed me; and the death of Brit at 19 years old.

Part V – New Zealand and Taking Care of Dad

Dad officially divorced my mum which made national news in England; a move to California to get my nursing degree; marrying Bill, a dodgy fellow, then divorcing him; a move to Arizona and working at a ballet school; marrying Ray; a move to Florida; my dad’s surprise decision to leave Mexico and go home to New Zealand; our many adventures in New Zealand as a member of a Māori tribe; and his death.

PART I

LIFE IN ENGLAND

W HEN I WAS FIVE YEARS old, Dad would sometimes take me along on flights because he was a decorated war hero in Queen Elizabeth’s Royal Air Force. He was a brilliant flight commander and a squadron leader. He was one of the best RAF pilots, so he was also secretly chosen for special missions. Before one of those flights, Sir Winston Churchill asked my father if I could be their air stewardess on a flight to Paris and Le Bourget Airport. I did not know it was for the peace talks for the end of World War II and didn’t care because I was young and more interested in being with my dad.

Sir Winston Churchill thought I was quite a character because of a funny incident that had happened some days earlier, so that is why he asked my dad to bring me along as a little stewardess. One day the telephone rang and I picked up the phone. A man’s voice asked, Little girl, may I speak with Captain John Hankins?

No, you can’t. He’ s in the bathroom, I replied.

Well, this is very important. Can you knock on the door and ask him to come out?

No, I replied matter-of-factly.

Why not? the man inquired.

He will be in there all day! I retorted.

Oh? What does he do in there all day?

Oh, I replied. Everything!

"This is a very important call, said the man. Can you write down my name?"

I was most indignant. Of course, I can. I go to school. (In England, during the war, the criteria for going to school was if you could read, you could go to school. I learned to read by age 3 ½ because I was frightened to stay home being alone with the bombs dropping and ack-ack guns going off. So, my father taught me to read the newspaper and by the time I was 3 ½, I was good enough to go to school!)

Can you write down my name? questioned the man again. He spelled out each letter separately. W-I-N-S-T-O-N, then C-H-U-R-C-H-I-L-L. Can you read that back to me?

I read his name back to him and he also gave me his telephone number, which I repeated back to him. I promised the man that I would give my dad the note whenever he got out of the bathroom.

Dad came out of the bathroom about thirty minutes later. He read the note, called the special man, then rushed into his bedroom and got his uniform on. Later, my dad arrived at the underground railway station (or tube) near Paddington Railway Station. He entered a special secret door for only generals, admirals, and other important people. They called it the war room. Immediately, Sir Winston Churchill stood up and said loudly, Captain! You made it! I heard that you spent all day in the bathroom doing everything. How could you get out so early? My dad was so embarrassed as everyone laughed like crazy. Needless to say, I was never allowed to speak on the telephone again after that!

So, yes, now you know why Sir Winston Churchill thought I was so engaging. When he asked my dad if I could accompany them to the peace talks, my dad agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. After all, I was only five years old!

Dad said we could get on the plane when it was time. I was supposed to hand them their little lunch boxes. The plane was very small. Only eight seats! Dad said I had to sit in one of the back seats because it was the safest. We were flying out of an airfield near Croydon, (Biggin Hill) England where Her Majesty’s Air Force kept their small planes to fight the Germans. Before we boarded the plane, Sir Winston Churchill asked me to do cartwheels, which I happily did and then I sang French songs for Charles de Gaulle as we got on the plane. There were two other men who also boarded. The first one was a man in a wheelchair who had to be lifted onto the plane. His name was Franklin D. Roosevelt. I asked him innocently, Can’t you walk? He replied with a smile, Not in a long time. Then a row of black cars approached the plane and a very grumpy man in a brownish uniform boarded the plane. He was not nice. They said his name was Stalin. While Stalin ignored me, I showed the other men how to fasten their seat belts.

During the flight, I handed out sandwiches in white lunch boxes to each of them. I did my job very nicely. This was a big lunch to them – a sandwich and an apple. I realized that it was bologna and cheese or Spam and cheese. My mother would put blue cheese on the fireplace mantel, and soon the cheese would start walking along the mantel because there were maggots in the blue cheese, so I would never eat it. Once we arrived at Le Bourget Airport in Paris, my dad said to me, I’m going to leave you here at the airport with this nice man. He even has some green pea soup for you and some grenadine, a delicious red drink which you will like because it tastes like sweet water.

I waited a very long time at Le Bourget Airport. I ate twelve bowls of green pea soup, crawled under a table, and went to sleep until my dad finally returned. I told my dad that I thought I had died and gone to Heaven because of all that delicious soup and wonderful drink!

My dad was pleased that I enjoyed myself so much. I think he favored me more than my younger brother because I was his firstborn child. When I was born in 1940, my mother went into labor during an air raid in London. She told my father that she had to get to the maternity home, which was the place where women would go to have their babies. My dad carefully got her into the car and as they were driving down the street, my mum turned and looked back and saw our house take a direct hit! The Germans would follow the Thames River during moonlit nights and bomb houses and factories. My parents safely arrived at the nursing home in Harrow, a district in northwest London. It was the 17th of March 1940 - the night the Germans destroyed our house, but my mother didn’t deliver me until three days later. It was a dry, painful birth. My mother had to be given Twilight Gas (which the doctors never did because it was usually only used for people who were bombed out and badly hurt as well as returning injured servicemen). They had to pull me out with forceps. This procedure severed the optic nerve in my right eye, which to this day, has never been repaired correctly and probably never will be.

In later years, a lady told me that I didn’t want to come into this world and my mother didn’t want to have me. In fact, my mother seemed to corroborate that cruel lady’s remark when she would often say that I was to blame for her prematurely grey hair. In addition, my mother said she never wanted to have children again as the birth was so terrible.

When I was born, at that time in England, fathers had to report a child’s birth. The mother could never report the birth because the government considered all women insane and unfit at the time of birth. Since Hendon Airport and Biggin Hill Airport were both bombed as well as other airfields around London, my name was never sent in and registered as an official birth. What had happened was that Dad filled out the form, took it to the registrar, and then there would inevitably be an air raid. He and the registrar would escape into the air raid shelter and drink a glass of whiskey or two and smoke a cigar until it was all clear. The form would be put on his desk to be filed, but the place would be bombed before the form could be turned in. I didn’t know any of this until later when I was 16 and applied for a passport. They told me I wasn’t born because I had never been registered! But that’s another story!

When I was born, Dad had a little Scottish Terrier that he called Pukanui (named after a dog he had as a child in New Zealand). This dog did not like me taking over Dad’s attention and affection. So, he became quite vicious when he saw me and seemed to want to tear me apart, I suppose. I cried and annoyed him too. I don’t remember the dog, but Mum brought it up frequently, saying Even the dog didn’t like you.

There was also the story of Dad’s pet snake from Egypt. One day it got out of its cage and was lost in the house. Mum was taking a bath and out of the warm water pipe came the snake! So, Dad was in terrible trouble and it was either she was leaving, or the snake was leaving! Dad chose her and I don’t know what happened to the snake. Frankly, I am glad the snake went too as I don’t like snakes in any form.

One of Dad’s jobs as a Chief Flying Officer was to arrange entertainment for the men at the various air bases. So, he contracted a black entertainer who was very famous to come and sing for the boys. It was either Eartha Kitt or Josephine Baker. I don’t remember. She came and was so successful that the men were cheering, and, at the end, she invited Dad up on the stage. Dad had brought me to see the performance because it was in the daytime. The lady picked me up and held me in her arms. I was fascinated by her and said, Oh, you must have forgotten to wash your face today as it is black.

Oh no, my dear, she said. I am black. This is how God made me. She then gave a wonderful talk about how God created people’s skins in different colors in the world and that was her color, just as mine was white.

Dad nearly died of embarrassment, but the men loved it and they clapped and applauded greatly. I have no memory of this event, but I was told about it frequently. (Apparently, I even volunteered to help her wash her face! How embarrassing!)

I remember at age two my mother and I were standing watching for the planes to come in at an airfield near London. My mother as a WREN (Women’s Royal Ensign Navy) was still coding to decipher