大象传媒

I had been a constant disappointment to my parents after leaving St. Mongoe鈥檚 Catholic school in Glasgow. I had achieved well and they wanted me to be a doctor when all I wanted was to act. I had moved to London and even worked the mines in defiance of admitting failure. In 1938 the Royal Navy were not recruiting so I applied to the RAF when war looked imminent. My father had recently died and I felt some reservation in leaving my Mother, but the RAF! I鈥檇 be safe enough flying well above the battlefields and besides it would all be over by Christmas.
I was accepted and gained a high grade appropriate for air crew. I had been taught to stella navigate by an Uncle whose boat I had piloted many times and was a very competent mathematician. But I did not want to navigate, I wanted to fly, not a lumbering vessel, the idea of flying a Spitfire, like those I had been following in the paper and newsreel, was an exciting thought. In matter of weeks, the training that seemed so arduous came to an abrupt end and it became a reality.
I joined 234 Spitfire Sqn in Middle Wallop as Sgt aircrew pilot as you could then, with a couple of palls I had been through training with. I used to wake up our barrack block with my alarm clock the other chaps named 鈥淟ittle Ben鈥�. We socialised, I had an MG five of us managed to squeeze into and we regularly went to Brighton or Bournemouth when leave permitted. It all came to and end rather quickly when the Battle of Britain commenced. I did not like the idea of killing nor given it much thought and it was not until my dozen or so strike that I saw an mans eyes clearly, before he pealed away and was eaten up by the channel. I refused to wear a medal from that day and was charged more than once for being incorrectly dressed.
I had been commissioned shortly after war broke out and was now Sqn. Leader, I had lost more palls than I wish to remember and wondered why I had been so fortunate on occasions. As the new chaps came along one tended not to become too friendly. It was a cold reception but not intentional but they were all as excited as I once was to be operational, complaining about the narrowness between the wheels and how she was a bugger to land and how one could not see a thing while taxiing. 鈥渟he鈥檚 a bloody aeroplane not a race car鈥� I told one. That very afternoon my aeroplane turned in to stone.
I had not even engaged when a flurry of bullets came up through the floor of my cockpit hitting me in the left leg and chest. I remember no pain, I just hoped that I could get away without being shot again. But I had lost him without trying. He had turned away and the reason was it looked as though I was for the knackers yard, a big black streak of what I was later to find out was glycal streamed out behind me. I headed for home and made my approach. 鈥淔irst things up and last things down鈥� we were taught, undercarriage. Mine stayed up, no glycal, the whole tank had been shot off and I prepared to land on her belly. The props dug in and I went for a burton.
I woke two days later in hospital with a broken collar bone, two broken legs, both my knee caps having been ripped off, nine broken ribs and my right arm completely crushed where I had trapped it between my chest and the control panel. This had resulted in a crushed heart that doctors told me would mean I would be lucky to live past 50.
We were made to drink warn Guinness, I thought it was medicine until a nurse not so resentful of our being given free Guinness for medicinal purposes made sure we had some chilled. It is funny how things change, I started smoking during my time in hospital as they were free and doctors believed they were good for relaxing the patient.
Initially I was in a lot of pain and was administered a lot of painkillers. The doctors were at end as to what could be done for my broken arm. When they initially opened it up there was no bone left, just pieces. It was in plaster for so long they had to brake my fingers and reset them, at least I think that was the reason.
On day at the bed opposite, visiting a pall, was a surgeon who had been pioneering a technique to use steal where bone could not mend. I had been there for 3 and a half weeks and the patient he was visiting had been there longer than me, I can鈥檛 remember what was wrong with him, but we had talked and he knew that I was going to loose my arm and had mentioned this to his visitor. He came over and explained how he was developing a surgical procedure and would I mind if he attempted this on my arm. Of course I said yes and some very clever ironwork later I still had my arm. I can鈥檛 rotate my arm fully so my palm is face down but it beats not having an arm at all. I don鈥檛 think of it now but I remember how heavy it felt, it weights approximately three time that of a normal arm. The muscles were soon built up with the help of the delightful physiotherapists and I was released four months, two weeks to the day of being admitted.
It was quite by chance that the patient opposite me should be associated with this pioneering surgeon, the concept of his work I had not heard of since, only when Barry Sheen had the same surgery to his legs was it in the spot light. It was billed as something quite revolutionary then, maybe it was not used much after my lucky break! Excuse the pun.

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