Dead Soldiers…

I have been asked to write a dedication to 5 of my brothers who lost their lives in various aviation accidents over the past 20 years. I’ll get round to putting those thoughts on paper over the next couple of weeks… in the meantime, though, there are all kinds of emotions this digs up.

I’ve lost a lot more brothers… but these 5 guys were part of a group of about 50 guys who got wings together in December 1990. To understand the bond between us you would need to know that we spent almost every day for the 2 year’s prior to that day together. We worked together, we sweated together (lots), we laughed together.

And cried together…

Like we will at our upcoming 20-year reunion when remember them. It will be a good reunion – lots of laughter, bravado, stories… Typical of 50 young, fit, intelligent men who were all, at one stage, considered the elite of the South African Airforce (and in our minds, the elite of the entire country). 50 guys who walked on water, yet could drown in sorrow for those of us we’ve lost.

A pilot funeral is awful. The coffin (if there is one) will always be closed, there will always be the same impersonal sheet of paper with the all too familiar choice of either, “I know that I shall meet my fate…” or “How I have slipped the surely bonds of earth…” Lovely poems but I hate them, to be honest – They always bring back such sad memories. After the funeral we will retire to the officer’s mess pub and toast to our lost buddy, all of us drinking his favourite drink. And then, a few days later, if there were ashes – these would be released into the wind.

And then life would go on.

And we’d pretend we don’t see his ghost in his favourite crew room chair, or hear his laugh, or see the funny little monkey dance he would do as a party trick. Or see his wife and children move out of their house on the base. We’d pretend we’re not angry with God or the Airforce or him. We’d pretend that we aren’t considering his actions and wonder if he had made a mistake we know we wouldn’t make.

We’d pretend that he was just another pilot killed in another accident and that impersonalising him through the same old rituals would make it easier to deal with.

We’d pretend that we aren’t crying. And still are.

Carl, Mark, Kottie, Herman, Paul… You were the best of brothers.

~ by Norm on July 4, 2010.