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A short tribute to Jack.

Jack was my friend and neighbour. He was, I’m sure, the person (outside of my family) who knew me the longest, from when I moved to my childhood house as a toddler, through to his death over 30 years later.

Jack was the neighbour who helped me with my tricycle, and then my bicycle, then my motorcycle. Jack was the afternoon visit each time I came “home”, where we shared tea, or sherry, or tea and then sherry, and conversation. Even into his later years he’d read and was always good for a book recommendation. We told stories – his were usually better, I felt. He was a pilot in the war, though he never spoke about it much. Over the years, and more-so in the last few, he seemed to speak a bit more openly about it – I learned of his distinguished flying cross, and of his letter (or was it letters?) from the King. I learned he was apprenticing to be a plumber when the Air Force wanted to train him as a pilot. “So, go be a pilot”, his father encouraged and he did, climbing the ranks to Wing Commander. All this from a man who would usually only admit that “he was quite good at flying”.

Jack was more than just a pilot, even though that was the focus of his younger years. He was a figure in the community, a father and a husband. Jack was, and continues to be, the role-model for the man I want to be as (God willing) the decades continue to pass me by.

Jack would talk always about his grand-daughters (he has three) with pride and joy. I felt honoured to meet them and can only hope that they follow in their grandfather’s footsteps. The world is theirs, if they want to follow their dreams.

As for me, I’ll follow mine. If I’m lucky – no, more than lucky – I’ll be half the man that Jack was by the time I turn 90.

Farewell, my friend, and may you rest in peace.