Spitfire Pilot

Vienna_70

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On Saturday, 18th December, 1943, a spitfire, on the way back from a photo reconnaissance mission, crashed in one of the fields of my Grandpa's farm in Cornwall. When he and his workman went to investigate, the pilot drew his pistol on them, as he was concussed and didn’t know whether he was still behind enemy lines.

My Dad was 6 1/2 at the time, and was mainly kept away from the pilot. Apparently, some of his language wasn’t what a young boy in the 1940s should be hearing. Growing up, this pilot was Dad’s hero, and he often talked about the incident. He really wanted to find out what happened to him, but had no way of knowing how to go about it.

Then, in the early 1990s, he was listening to Radio Cornwall, and someone from the spitfire pilots' society was being interviewed. Dad immediately phoned Radio Cornwall, explained about the incident during the war and asked if they could put him in contact with him. Radio Cornwall told him that they couldn’t do that, but if Dad was happy for them to pass on his details, a representative of the pilots' society might call Dad.

Within a short time, the spitfire society rang Dad, and he explained his story. The society was able to determine that the pilot in question was an Australian called Bob Mackie, and he’d settled in this country and was living in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire.

Not long after, one Sunday, Dad drove up to meet Bob and his wife, Jackie. And on the 50th anniversary of the crash, 18th December 1993, also a Saturday, Bob and Jackie travelled to Cornwall and visited the spot where he crash-landed.

One of Dad’s friends was a reporter with the local weekly newspaper, and he had an exclusive interview with Bob.

It was an emotional weekend for my Dad, but it completed the circle for him.
 
On Saturday, 18th December, 1943, a spitfire, on the way back from a photo reconnaissance mission, crashed in one of the fields of my Grandpa's farm in Cornwall. When he and his workman went to investigate, the pilot drew his pistol on them, as he was concussed and didn’t know whether he was still behind enemy lines.

My Dad was 6 1/2 at the time, and was mainly kept away from the pilot. Apparently, some of his language wasn’t what a young boy in the 1940s should be hearing. Growing up, this pilot was Dad’s hero, and he often talked about the incident. He really wanted to find out what happened to him, but had no way of knowing how to go about it.

Then, in the early 1990s, he was listening to Radio Cornwall, and someone from the spitfire pilots' society was being interviewed. Dad immediately phoned Radio Cornwall, explained about the incident during the war and asked if they could put him in contact with him. Radio Cornwall told him that they couldn’t do that, but if Dad was happy for them to pass on his details, a representative of the pilots' society might call Dad.

Within a short time, the spitfire society rang Dad, and he explained his story. The society was able to determine that the pilot in question was an Australian called Bob Mackie, and he’d settled in this country and was living in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire.

Not long after, one Sunday, Dad drove up to meet Bob and his wife, Jackie. And on the 50th anniversary of the crash, 18th December 1993, also a Saturday, Bob and Jackie travelled to Cornwall and visited the spot where he crash-landed.

One of Dad’s friends was a reporter with the local weekly newspaper, and he had an exclusive interview with Bob.

It was an emotional weekend for my Dad, but it completed the circle for him.
Great story on many levels.
 
On Saturday, 18th December, 1943, a spitfire, on the way back from a photo reconnaissance mission, crashed in one of the fields of my Grandpa's farm in Cornwall. When he and his workman went to investigate, the pilot drew his pistol on them, as he was concussed and didn’t know whether he was still behind enemy lines.

My Dad was 6 1/2 at the time, and was mainly kept away from the pilot. Apparently, some of his language wasn’t what a young boy in the 1940s should be hearing. Growing up, this pilot was Dad’s hero, and he often talked about the incident. He really wanted to find out what happened to him, but had no way of knowing how to go about it.

Then, in the early 1990s, he was listening to Radio Cornwall, and someone from the spitfire pilots' society was being interviewed. Dad immediately phoned Radio Cornwall, explained about the incident during the war and asked if they could put him in contact with him. Radio Cornwall told him that they couldn’t do that, but if Dad was happy for them to pass on his details, a representative of the pilots' society might call Dad.

Within a short time, the spitfire society rang Dad, and he explained his story. The society was able to determine that the pilot in question was an Australian called Bob Mackie, and he’d settled in this country and was living in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire.

Not long after, one Sunday, Dad drove up to meet Bob and his wife, Jackie. And on the 50th anniversary of the crash, 18th December 1993, also a Saturday, Bob and Jackie travelled to Cornwall and visited the spot where he crash-landed.

One of Dad’s friends was a reporter with the local weekly newspaper, and he had an exclusive interview with Bob.

It was an emotional weekend for my Dad, but it completed the circle for him.
Great story.

I've met a few old Spitfire pilots over the years, and a couple of more recent piliots from BBMF. They had some amazing stories to tell. I've also been in a few bars near old RAF bases where there are coins hammered into the woodwork for the crews that never returned. It really was a different world.
 
What a great story love stuff like this considering that they were all heroes those pilots,pity your grandad didnt get a souvenir if you know what I mean from the spitfire..
 
Fantastic story, I salute all those brave souls for what we have now.
My Grandad was a dispatch rider who stayed in France after Dunkirk and also carried important papers for the D Day landings, I inherited his medals so I’m extremely proud to hold them until such time that they pass to my son.
Lest we never forget.
 
What a great story love stuff like this considering that they were all heroes those pilots,pity your grandad didnt get a souvenir if you know what I mean from the spitfire..
I think the police or RAF were on the scene pretty smartish to recover the plane.

And Grandpa was too honest and respectful of authority to keep anything.
 
Great story. A mate of mine, Bill Hozy, his father also flew a reconnaissance Spitfire in WW2 in the RCAF. He said these Spitfires had no armaments whatsoever and because of such were significantly faster, the Germans would send up ME-109s but they couldn't get near them.
 
Great story @Vienna_70

If Bob had returned to Australia your Dad would probably never have met him.
Bob met and married Jackie, whose real name was Vera, in six weeks. That’s probably why he stayed here.

I think the main thing for Dad was to find out what happened to him. Actually meeting him was a bonus.
 
On Saturday, 18th December, 1943, a spitfire, on the way back from a photo reconnaissance mission, crashed in one of the fields of my Grandpa's farm in Cornwall. When he and his workman went to investigate, the pilot drew his pistol on them, as he was concussed and didn’t know whether he was still behind enemy lines.

My Dad was 6 1/2 at the time, and was mainly kept away from the pilot. Apparently, some of his language wasn’t what a young boy in the 1940s should be hearing. Growing up, this pilot was Dad’s hero, and he often talked about the incident. He really wanted to find out what happened to him, but had no way of knowing how to go about it.

Then, in the early 1990s, he was listening to Radio Cornwall, and someone from the spitfire pilots' society was being interviewed. Dad immediately phoned Radio Cornwall, explained about the incident during the war and asked if they could put him in contact with him. Radio Cornwall told him that they couldn’t do that, but if Dad was happy for them to pass on his details, a representative of the pilots' society might call Dad.

Within a short time, the spitfire society rang Dad, and he explained his story. The society was able to determine that the pilot in question was an Australian called Bob Mackie, and he’d settled in this country and was living in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire.

Not long after, one Sunday, Dad drove up to meet Bob and his wife, Jackie. And on the 50th anniversary of the crash, 18th December 1993, also a Saturday, Bob and Jackie travelled to Cornwall and visited the spot where he crash-landed.

One of Dad’s friends was a reporter with the local weekly newspaper, and he had an exclusive interview with Bob.

It was an emotional weekend for my Dad, but it completed the circle for him.
Brilliant, and what an even better conclusion to your dad's winderful story. Loved reading that Vienna. Imagine being a kid and experiencing seeing a Spitfire crash and the pilot survived. And then, to meet him, the same pilot, must have been incredible for him. And for the pilot too, to meet a man who had never forgotten him throughout his life, or what he and his fellow pilots did for us all.
 
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Brilliant, and what an even better conclusion to your dad's winderful story. Loved reading that Vienna. Imagine being a kid and experiencing seeing a Spitfire crash and the pilot survived. And then, to meet him the same pilot must have been incredible for him. And for the pilot too, to meet a man who had never forgotten him throughout his life, or what he and his fellow pilots did for us all.
I don’t think Dad ever saw the plane, but it was an incident that stuck in his memory over the years.

And in the days before widespread TV ownership and the sports and film heroes of the intervening years, Bob was someone he looked up to as his hero.

To meet him, after almost 50 years must have been quite a surreal moment for him. Maybe for both of them.

If memory serves, Bob stayed in the RAF after the war and rose to the rank of Wing Commander.

On the Saturday, my parents, my sisters, by brother-in-law and I spent the evening with them in the village pub, where we had a lovely meal together.
 
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My next door neighbour when i was a kid was a lovley old Polish fella called Joe. He was also a pilot in ww2. He was shot down and ended up losing a leg. I used to go to the shop for his brandy.
 
On Saturday, 18th December, 1943, a spitfire, on the way back from a photo reconnaissance mission, crashed in one of the fields of my Grandpa's farm in Cornwall. When he and his workman went to investigate, the pilot drew his pistol on them, as he was concussed and didn’t know whether he was still behind enemy lines.

My Dad was 6 1/2 at the time, and was mainly kept away from the pilot. Apparently, some of his language wasn’t what a young boy in the 1940s should be hearing. Growing up, this pilot was Dad’s hero, and he often talked about the incident. He really wanted to find out what happened to him, but had no way of knowing how to go about it.

Then, in the early 1990s, he was listening to Radio Cornwall, and someone from the spitfire pilots' society was being interviewed. Dad immediately phoned Radio Cornwall, explained about the incident during the war and asked if they could put him in contact with him. Radio Cornwall told him that they couldn’t do that, but if Dad was happy for them to pass on his details, a representative of the pilots' society might call Dad.

Within a short time, the spitfire society rang Dad, and he explained his story. The society was able to determine that the pilot in question was an Australian called Bob Mackie, and he’d settled in this country and was living in Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire.

Not long after, one Sunday, Dad drove up to meet Bob and his wife, Jackie. And on the 50th anniversary of the crash, 18th December 1993, also a Saturday, Bob and Jackie travelled to Cornwall and visited the spot where he crash-landed.

One of Dad’s friends was a reporter with the local weekly newspaper, and he had an exclusive interview with Bob.

It was an emotional weekend for my Dad, but it completed the circle for him.

Fantastic story and even more so personally, because Moreton-In-Marsh is only about 40 minutes from me currently!

Thanks for sharing.
 

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