Lest we Forget.
Donald James Reid
RCAF 424 Squadron
Hopefully Dad, you’re at your cabin in the woods, near a lake for fishing and never need to ring the bell.
As many people know, I tend to think/talk about my dad a lot. It’s not that he was a perfect father, but regardless, we were quite close even after the nasty bits. He was a huge influence in my life, and the good truly outweigh the bad.
As I get older, I’ve come to have a better understanding of the man he was, rather than just the father part he played in my life. From the bits and pieces I’ve been told (and who knows what’s completely truthful), he was born January 17th, 1923. He got his driving license at 11 by swearing on the bible that he was 16 and joined the air force underage at 17.
After being trained in Canada and North Africa, he was stationed in Skipton on Swale, England with the 424 Bomber Squadron where he eventually became flight engineer on Lancaster Bombers. Six months before WW2 ended, he was shot down over Germany where he became a prisoner of war. Not much was said about this time, but he did carry a POW tattoo on his arm and had a large burn scar on his chest because he had been trapped while the plane burned. The rear gunner got him out.
He tried escaping once, apparently that was the thing to do, although where the hell you would escape to is beyond me.
Considering the many sordid stories he would tell, including nights spent in hay-lofts and how he acquired the nickname “Pooky”, etc., it is understandable why he would often state that it was the best and worst time of his life.
The troubling thing is that now I can’t find any public record of him being with the 424. I’ve contacted a squadron historian as well as the squadron itself through Don Schofield, the current Captain of the still flying Lancaster here in Canada (there’s only two flying, the second being in England). My only hope is to obtain his service record in five years, but truthfully, I can’t help but wonder how accurate it will be. My dad himself said that he had trouble getting anything from Veteran’s Affairs after he got home. He ended up saying, “To hell with it. Others need it more than I do”, and went on to become a mechanical engineer, putting himself through Michigan State University by doing yet MORE sordid things (that’s another story). My dad was very mysterious! If he only knew I’d be writing about this for all to see…oh geez, maybe he does…
Well, I may not have him physically with me anymore, but I do have a tiny bit of his spirit close by and I always will. With every painting, he’s there (he wanted to become an artist too) and with every awkward moment in my life I hear him saying, “Laugh at yourself first, kid, before someone else does.” But I also still hear, “That’s a drink? I can put that in my eye” and “Beans, you’re a rotten kid, but I still love you”
