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My father worked for De Havelland during the war. He fitted propellors. He was a very conscientious and skilled worker.

One time he was called in to the office. not sure why, he made his way there.

He was told that an aircraft had been damaged while flying back from an operation. One engine was damaged as it made its slow, steady way back to its home field.

One can imagine the crew, weary, very anxious but glad to be on their way back.

Would hands have been clenched, nails biting into flesh? Would looks have been frequently cast in the direction of the one droning engine? Would ears have been strained to their limits as they waited for a change in sound that would have indicated imminent failure?

Tight lips and tense bodies could relax as the long agonising minutes ticked away.

This time, they landed safe and sound, thanks to my Dad and their courage.

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