An Anglophile at heart....

Some of my fondest and earliest memories were listening to my dad and his friends regaling each other with their WWII experiences.  My father never actually went overseas because of his service working for Terrell Aviation School in Terrell, TX (about 30 miles east of Dallas).  Prior to America's abrupt entry into WWII they were quietly training British pilots who could then go back to Great Britain and fight in the King's Royal Air Force.  

As soon as we officially became allies with the Brits after Pearl Harbor the school's name was changed to No. 1 British Flying Training School and their work could officially be acknowledged.  (Prior to that we were supposed to have been neutral.  *wink*)  Thanks to these early experiences I became a dedicated Anglophile.  

It was just a few years later, when I was 9, that I learned to drive in my dad's tiny little Nash Metropolitan, made in England by the Austin Motor Company.  It looked just like this, a nice black over white two-tone.  It did 0-60 in 22.4 seconds, almost twice as fast as a VW Beetle.  Zoom zoom!  

One magazine of the day said, “It is not a sports car by the weirdest torturing of the imagination but it is a fleet, sporty little bucket which should prove just what the doctor ordered for a second car, to be used either for a trip to the movies or for a fast run to a penicillin festival.”  (Anyone have any idea what a "penicillin festival" is?)  "Our" little car had a 3-on-the-tree transmission (stick shift) which must have been built like a battleship as I somehow managed to NOT destroy it.  Needless to say I never got a speeding ticket in it.

Fast forward a few more years and, like all the boys of the day, I was a true petrolhead.  But instead of having pictures on my walls of fast American muscle cars, I was still a dedicated Anglophile.

Cars like this Triumph GT 6 had my heart.

A bit less racy, something I thought my dad might actually let me have (but didn't) was the MGB/GT.  *sigh*

 Totally unattainable, but always number one on my lust list, was a Jaguar E-Type.

There's just something so special about European seat covers, don't you think?  *did I say that out loud?*

But dad said firmly no, as did mom, and our family insurance agent, too.  I never got my English sports car, which is just as well as I would have had no idea how to keep it tuned and running properly.  They needed lots of tinkering, and I didn't have the necessary patience for that.  Even back then I had an aversion to maintenance.  

These days I satisfy my largely dormant British sports car itch by taking photos of them, which is probably smart as I still wouldn't know how to tinker with them.  Never mind that the ones I like are now far north of $100K.  :)

S

The Royal Baby

He probably looks something like this.

Daily life in Great Britain, the US, and much of the rest of the world came to a standstill for a few minutes yesterday when Princess Kate Duchess Windsor Middleton Cambridge gave birth to a new heir to the British Throne.  Little Prince Elroy* and his mum are both said to be doing well.  A beaming Prince William was quoted as saying, "Me?  Don't we have Royal Hired Help to change those?"

With the new expanded Windsor-Middleton-Cambridge family scheduled to come home today, Extreme Home Makeover, UK crews "gave it the beans" (English euphemism for "hurried things up"), getting the baby's room painted blue and the wood-cut-out letters E L R O Y hung over his crib.  

Elsewhere Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip were spotted wearing floppy hats and dark sunglasses trying to quietly get a few last minute things at We Be Toys.  Besides a lamp and a small rug, the Queen reportedly bought a gilded photo frame for the autographed picture of Herself she planned to present to the Royal Tyke.

Royal Bookies currently have Baby Elroy eventually becoming a Royal Air Force Sea King helicopter pilot like his dad, 5-2 odds over becoming a British Army Apache helicopter pilot like his uncle Harry, despite the fact that Apache's are way more cool.

The Lowandslow's have sent their congratulatory email, and we look forward to someday meeting King Elroy when we visit England for a little sightseeing.  I'm sure he's looking forward to meeting us, too.

S

*Prince Scott was ruled out early after Scotland announced they would soon hold an election on whether to remain in the United Kingdom or go it alone.  An incensed Queen Elizabeth reportedly said, "Well then, shag 'em."

Bonding with the British

In my previous post I recounted my dad's first experience at being a soldier.  He made the fateful decision to NOT re-enlist and instead go back home and marry his honey.  Life was good.

Before long he heard of a very good job opportunity with Dallas Air College, owned by a "Major Long".  It was 1940, the Brits were at war with Germany, and things were looking grim.  The US officially professed neutrality, but our sympathies were definitely with our English cousins.

The British desperately needed pilots.  Theirs were getting killed faster than they could train replacements.  Problem was, the skies over England were a war zone.  There was really no safe place to train.

That was when the plan was hatched to very quietly send Royal Air Force (RAF) cadets to the US to learn to fly.  They were first de-commissioned by the RAF and sent to Canada where they were issued visas to come into the US, 50 at a time.

Major Long, probably because of his previous military experience and connections, was chosen to establish Terrell Aviation School about 30 miles east of Dallas for the purpose of this clandestine training.   They needed flight and ground school instructors, dispatchers, etc, and dad was hired as a navigation instructor and flight dispatcher.  It was very intense training, with 2 years worth of school compressed into just 7 months.

In his off hours the instructors taught dad to fly, but his eyesight wasn't up to par and he couldn't be considered for formal military pilot training.  (I obviously inherited his eyesight DNA.)

The Brits were here as civilians until December 7, 1941.  After that time we were officially wartime allies, uniforms began being worn, and the operations at Terrell became No 1. British Flying Training School, one of 6 set up in the US.  At Terrell alone they trained 2,300 RAF pilots.  Many were later killed in action, several became Air Marshall's (Generals), and at least one won the Victoria Cross, Britain's highest military honor.  Dad became good friends with many of the British instructors and cadets, and I think this is why my dad (and I) became serious Anglophiles.

Although proud of helping the British get through those tough days, dad eventually tired of the training role and joined the US Army again, hoping to become an Air Force (Army Air Corp as it was then called) gunner.  He wasn't accepted as a gunner because he was under weight.  Imagine that!  (That is one gene I definitely did NOT inherit.)  Because of his previous military and flight school experience he was sent to Sheppard Field (Today Sheppard Air Force Base) NW of Dallas to....train American pilots.

He was heartbroken at the time, but considering the mortality rate of pilots and aircrew, in retrospect he probably cheated death once more.   To his credit, Dad pointed out that during his time at Sheppard Field not one enemy plane made it north of Wichita Falls.  ;)

In later years the No 1. BFTS Association was formed comprised of all the Brits and Americans who worked and trained together at Terrell during the war.  They had yearly reunions, alternating between festivities in the UK and here in Texas.  Once I used my Confederate Air Force connections to have a number of WWII-era T-6 Texan ^ training aircraft give rides to our now elderly RAF friends.  It was great seeing all those smiling British faces.

I have a No 1. BFTS scrapbook full of photos, but it's buried somewhere deep in my warehouse.  Maybe some other time I'll attempt to uncover it.

So dad survived, I'm here, and now you're stuck with me.  :)  

S