Only One Ole by Mashuni

Only One Ole

Nanette Olson

Only One Ole With love to our grandchildren. Abbygail and Jonathon Armijo, Harry, Frank and Milly Olson. Also Sallyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grandchildren, Natalie and Ryan Harris. You missed meeting a wonderful man, but what is also sad is that he missed meeting you

Foreword I was touched and honoured to be asked by Nanette to write a foreword to this remarkable collection of memories of Bill. I first met Nanette when she came to one of my constituency surgeries to request my help to obtain British citizenship for her son Tony. She offered to join my campaign team for the 1979 general election, and because of her talent as a stage dancer she became one of my assistants in the conjuring performances I gave in the constituency. I met Bill on a number of occasions over the following year. It was clear to me that theirs was a very strong and loving partnership. What shines through these pages is the enormous impact he made on everyone who met him. What a special man he was, and one who had so much more to give. Rt Hon the Lord MacGregor of Pulham Market OBE

Preface For me, the positive side of the Covid-19 lockdown is that it has given me the time and space to go through albums, letters, cards, pictures, newspaper cuttings and all the memorabilia that belongs to 18 November 1980, when our beloved William (Ole) Olson was so tragically taken from us. Forty years ago. I was 35 years old when I found myself widowed with our two adorable children. I tried to make a life for us, and have always had fabulous family support, but I’m afraid no one will ever match up to the standards he set, or replace him. He was known as “Ole” by some and “Bill” by others. I’ll call him both, because I loved him with both names. Spending hours reading letters, poems and other people’s thoughts has given me the opportunity to relive the warmth and love with which he embraced us, to take pride in the joy he gave to so many others, and – most importantly – it was a time for me to fall in love with him all over again. I want to collect memories, thoughts and feelings for our five grandchildren, and Ole’s nephew’s two children, so that they can get to know their grandfather and great-uncle a little. I also want them to be able to read the story of how he “put out his hand and touched the face of God”. Nanette Olson, November 2020

Contents William “Ole” Olson

The early years and the USAFA

Graduation, Vietnam and a move across the Atlantic

Blossoming love, and “the Royal ‘we’”

Starting a wonderful family

Travelling the world as a young family

Everyday life: music and a magic car

Monday 17 November 1980: black patent shoes and Daddy’s warm words

Tuesday 18 November 1980: early morning – “We fly above this”

Tuesday 18 November 1980: shock and disbelief

Strength and support from the community

Sally 65 The accident

Wednesday 19 November 1980: a gentle giant

Monday 24 November 1980: our final meeting

Tuesday 25 November: David Bullock’s final send-off

Wednesday 26 November 1980: saying goodbye

Grief, and an understandable curiosity

Looking for the truth

Meeting the Judge Advocate and making a useful connection

Honouring a distinguished career

The inquest

Three families, united in grief

Harold Vague

The Creda oven repair man

Reflections

My Bill

120

Letters and poems

124

Ole’s handwritten lyrics from “The Impossible Dream”

William “Ole” Olson , JR T” FLIGH SPIE MAGEE “HIGH E L L I NG BY JOH

It was a sunny day in August 1969. We met at an air show in Woodbridge, Suffolk. I had trained as a dancer and was living and working in London as a fashion model. I happened to have a free week, so I had come back home to Ipswich to visit my parents. A complete stranger telephoned – everyone was in the telephone directory back then and my parents’ number wasn’t hard to find – and invited me to the air show. At first I politely refused, but when he said that the Red Arrows were flying, I suddenly changed my mind! However, my escort to the air show faced a dilemma: he had been offered the opportunity to fly in the back seat of one of the Red Arrows during their display, but felt he should probably stay on the ground and keep me company. As soon as he told me about the situation, I wasted no time in telling him to get up in the air! He introduced me to several people, mostly Americans, so I wouldn’t be on my own. One of these new acquaintances had the name tag “Ole Olson” on his flight suit. I thought: “Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Ole Olson… what next?” The

aerobatic

display

was

absolutely

wonderful, just as my RAF engineer brother Patrick had described them. What a magnificent day. I saw the Red Arrows for the first time and met the man of my dreams. We were married seven months later.

Clockwise from top: 891 Caledonia Avenue Ole and his dad What a stylish outfit! Mischief-makers Ole and his sister Sally

The early years and the USAFA William

Harold

Olson

was

born to Ruby Barrett Olson and William Henry Olson on 20 December 1941 in Cleveland, Ohio, USA. His paternal grandparents, Emil Ohlsson and Anna Paulina, were both born in Sweden. On 15 February 1944, his sister Sally came into the world. They grew up in a house at 891 Caledonia Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio. Ole and Sally both attended Caledonia Elementary School and Shaw High School, where their mother taught English and English Literature. Their father ran a stationery store in downtown Cleveland. As a teenager, Ole had an early-morning paper round in the neighbourhood. Both children were clever, and Ole was awarded a place at the US Air Force Academy (USAFA) in Colorado in 1959, before he had finished his final year in high school.

Ole and Sally. Both attended Caledonia Elementary School and Shaw High School

Ruby, Ole and Sally

Ole meets Santa Claus

Caledonia Class of ‘49

Ole’s baseball team

Shaw High School football team

Caledonia Class of ‘51

The Academy

Proud Mom!

er g quart in v li is Ole in h

What a place! - The US Air Force Academy

Ole in uniform

Traditional cap-tossing 17

The US Air Force became a separate military service in 1947, after the Second World War. The training academy was temporarily housed at Lowry Air Force Base in Denver until the strikingly designed modernist facility in Colorado Springs was completed in 1958. Ole was part of only the second year of entry to this magnificent campus. While studying at the USAFA, Ole indulged in many sports, but his real love was skiing – Colorado being the perfect place to learn to ski and to enjoy gliding and racing down the snowy mountains. He was very proud to have led his own squadron at the USAFA and proud to have been part of that wonderful institution.

We were not only roommates at the US Air Force Academy – the greatest thing that brought us together was the values we shared. We had both grown up in the Midwest and raised by parents who were school teachers. That formed the basis of our friendship for the rest of our lives. He was my best man when I took Kathy as my bride in the Air Force Academy chapel in April 1969. During our Doolie (Freshman) year at the Academy, it was customary for parents or friends to send “boodle” – luxury items like cookies, candy, gum – that were not permitted. It was also customary for upper classmen to visit their Doolies Saturday afternoons after mail call to check on any boodle that might have made it. Hoping for a better week ahead, Doolies would share their boodle. The “Dark Ages”, from January through March when Christmas had passed and spring was nowhere in sight, were a totally miserable period in the life of a Doolie. We needed at least a spark of hope! My Aunt Max lives about 100 miles from the Academy, so I wrote her and asked for a dark chocolate cake with thick frosting to be made of Ex-Lax (a chocolate-flavoured laxative). On the Saturday that the cake arrived, I displayed it on my desk then left for a while to let human nature take its course. Upon my return, I asked Ole about the much smaller cake. He confessed he’d shared his half with the upper classmen. I chuckled.

Goodness Gracious! Spot the Ole!

Kent and Kathyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wedding day

All night long the latrine had a steady stream of visitors, including Ole. When I threw the leftover cake into the trash, I had to admit the source of his misery. Our senior year Ole was selected to be our squadron commander and was promoted to Cadet Lieutenant Colonel, the second highest rank in the Cadet Wing. We survived the Dark Ages and went on to Georgetown University in Washington, DC, where we were once again roommates, but this time without chocolate cake. Ole was always such a generous person, caring for others. Kent Harbaugh

The young cadets and their instructor being very thorough with their equipment checklist

Academy yearbook entry

After Billâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s death, Ruby thoughtfully sent me some of his notebooks from his years at the Academy. Among the carefully recorded

thoughts,

aims

and

ambitions, I found this list of goals, which perfectly sums up his positive, considerate and analytical approach to life.

Graduation, Vietnam and a move across the Atlantic

President John F Kennedy addressing the graduates in 1963

After four years at the Academy, Ole graduated in June 1963 at a ceremony attended by President John F Kennedy – of course, this was only six months before his assassination. Ole then went on to Georgetown University in Washington DC, where he obtained a master’s degree in economics, before returning to the USAF for jet pilot training at Webb Air Force Base, Texas. This was followed by six months’ training in the F-100 supersonic jet fighter at Luke AFB in Arizona. He was then sent to fight the war in Vietnam, where he flew a forward air control aircraft. Like so many others who return from fighting in a war, Ole never spoke

The plane Ole flew in Vietnam. Ruby said she thought it was put together with coat hangers!

about his tour of duty. He was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross Air Medal and on his return in 1968 was posted to Wethersfield in Suffolk, England.

Rugged Ole Good Morning Vietnam!

Ole in the front seat of an F-100 fighter jet

One of Oleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cool cars

John Helinski’s Academy yearbook entry

Bill and I entered the Academy from Cleveland, Ohio. Our parents became friends after we became cadets. Bill was a special friend to me. Ole was someone we all respected and he was always there when you needed him. I wasn’t the smartest cadet, and Ole tutored me on several occasions. Bill was our Squadron Commander our senior year, and I served as his training officer. He helped me prepare the military training programs for our doolies (or “fourth classmen” – what we call the freshmen). We showed them war movies of famous battles, famous military leaders, and provided information on current aircraft. Tried to motivate them. [I] remember Ole was one of the ROCKS – a very military-oriented cadet, without a girlfriend, who did not intend to get married. He also held the record for the most sit-ups in our squadron. No one could compete with him. He wrote the bio that accompanied my senior yearbook picture. Bill was an outstanding cadet, had a great sense of humour, and was a reliable friend. John Helinski

Learning to Fly

Letter to Ole from his mother, Ruby Barrett Olson, written in 1963. (turn to the back pages of the book for a typed version)

Oh, what fun he had!

Moving on... Oleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s beautiful Volvo P1800

Blossoming love, and “the Royal ‘we’” Our friendship – or should I say relationship? – started out with a few unusual misunderstandings. I knew that he was living in a Tudor house in the centre of Braintree, which he shared with two other bachelor pilots. It sounded like a happy arrangement. One day, he said: “We are going to London next Saturday. We will be driving down, staying at a nice hotel, going for dinner where there will be a Spanish cabaret. We will then enjoy London on Sunday before driving home. Would you like to join us?” Normally, my reply would have been “no”, but realising that there is safety in numbers and it sounded like fun, I agreed to go. He came to collect me in Ipswich; we drove via Braintree so that he could show me the house he lived in. We made our way to London, driving through the picture-postcard village of Thaxted, where we had to stop because there on the green, Morris dancers were performing. Can you believe it? I had never seen that before and it took an American in my own country to show me true English country dancing – I loved it. We then continued our journey to London, arriving at a hotel he had booked. I thought we would meet the others there. However, after he booked us both in, he showed me to my room. I proceeded to get ready for the big night out, getting all glammed up! I met him down in the foyer, but still the others were nowhere to be seen. “Oh well,” I thought. “Perhaps they will be at the restaurant.” We had a wonderful evening – on our own. The whole weekend was the same… not that I complained, but what a funny business. It certainly made my mum laugh when I told her. Incidentally, my mum was smitten with Bill – even when she had only set eyes on him once. She thought he was a wonderful young man. When she first opened the door to him, having had one glance, she asked him: “Do you feel like Gulliver in Lilliput Land?” He was 6ft tall and Mum and Dad were 5’2” and 5’5”… and I was no bigger. That was when we all saw Bill’s wonderful smile. So that’s the story of “the Royal ‘we’”. Bill eventually explained to me that he didn’t like hearing people say “‘I’, this, ‘I’ that, ‘I’ the other… always ‘I’. ‘Me.’ ‘Myself.’” – another beautiful example of Bill’s unselfishness.

The 77th squadron at Wethersfield, 1969 (Ole is fifth from left)

Our Wedding

Our wedding day Easter Saturday, 28 March 1970

Guard of Honour

Our honeymoon helicopter

Ole the romantic

Starting a wonderful family We began married life in Oxfordshire. He was stationed at RAF Upper Heyford and we lived in the lovely “Garden House” in the village of Chesterton. Alexandra was born at Bicester Cottage Hospital in October 1971. Ole attended the birth and was a wonderful support.

I met Ole through Nanette. She and I attended antenatal classes which, as I recall, were run by an unmarried lady called Miss Green who rubbished the idea that we might be frightened

First home in Oxfordshire

by the impending birth! Nanette and I were due to have our babies at Bicester Cottage Hospital. On 6 October 1971 my daughter Kathryn, now known as Kat, was born at 2pm. As I recall, it was in the evening that Nanette came in, giving birth to Alexandra that night and therefore on 7 October. Nanette, as we all know, was a glamorous beauty queen and “Come Dancing” champion and, either the next day or the one following, a press photographer came in to take a picture of both Nanette and Alexandra. Prior to this event Nanette opened her beauty case and, as I recall, took out a beautiful blonde wig which she then donned. She looked absolutely fabulous. At visiting time, in walked a very good-looking American airman ready to adore his beautiful wife and new daughter. I remember thinking that they were the most glamorous couple I had ever seen and how perfect they were together. Ole was clearly a lovely man, full of fun and absolutely brimming over with love for his beautiful English wife. They were, to my mind, “made for each other” and will always remain so. Liz Holdsworth

Along came Alexandra

Alexandraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s christening - Ruby and Bill Olson Sr on the left, Nan and Fred Slack on the right

Ole and Alexandra

Ole, Alexandra and Tony

Ole and Tony

Proud parents

Tony and Ole picking oranges in Florida

Ole, Alexandra and that car again!

When Alexandra was nine months old, we moved across the ocean to Lexington, Virginia, USA, where Ole became Professor of Aeronautical Studies at Virginia Military Institute (VMI). During our three years living in Lexington, our son Tony (Harold Anthony) was born. We had the perfect family and were both absolutely thrilled to bits.

Bill and Nanette showed up for my Lamaze natural childbirth classes with another VMI couple. I remember Bill as always smiling, very attentive to his wife. He was on military exercises with VMI cadets in Delaware (six hours’ drive away) when Nanette went into labour so I was called to come to the hospital to help out until Bill could get there. He arrived about the same time as the obstetrician and promptly gave his version of what it is like to give birth: he pulled on his upper lip to stretch it as far as he could and then says: “And then you stretch it over your head.” Nanette, who was in very active labour, could only laugh and call him a twit. But we all laughed. As I prepared to leave, they invited me to stay and share in the birth of their baby. Soon we were in the delivery room and Bill was being the dutiful coach. In those days, one did not know

Four men hard at work! Fred, Patrick, Bill Olson Sr and Ole

the sex of the child ahead of time. As Tony was born, Nanette said to me: “I have the perfect family: a boy and a girl.” Then she added: “Maybe too perfect. I’m frightened something will happen to spoil it.” Bill was busy beaming over the bassinet, holding his son. We became social friends, sharing dinners and evenings of singing, in the short time before Bill was sent to a new assignment in South Korea. But, he was the “nappy warrior”, always smiling, joking. His devotion to his wife and children was always on display. Anne Mueller

In the second year of my three-year tour at Virginia Military Institute with AFROTC (Air Force Reserve Officers’ Training Corps) Detachment 880, we sponsored Bill Olson as he arrived for his three-year tour. Bill was enthusiasm personified. Our earliest memory of him is him coming to our house, talking of his wife and baby girl; he wanted us to go shopping with him. Di Anne wanted to go and change her clothes to go out, so he settled in to read. Less than five minutes later, Di Anne came up, ready to go. Di Anne remembers him saying: “I have never met a woman who could get ready so fast.” Nanette and Alexandra arrived as the school year started and they moved into a house about five blocks away. This was a special time as we all got to know one another as Nanette became accustomed to living in small-town America. Of course, much to Bill’s chagrin, she called directly to the Pentagon to insist that someone there find out why their household goods had not been delivered. Bill was a class ahead of Michael at USAFA but we did play “Do you know?” several times. Bill’s friend John Nehring’s parents’ house backed up to the apple orchard in Di Anne’s parents’ backyard in Cañon City, Colorado. Our favourite project together was to develop a board game for cadets to play that we called the “Career Game”. Its purpose was to teach various career paths and show protocol missteps that could have career consequences. We sent a copy of our hand-drawn game (this was before computer graphics existed) to ROTC headquarters and much to our surprise, a professionally drawn and printed copy of the game was sent to all AFROTC detachments! We drove together in Bill’s new blue Chevrolet Caprice to the Hotel Roanoke, where we dined and danced in the elegant 1940s-era Regency Room. (This prompted Nanette to give ballroom dancing lessons in the Marshall Library building at VMI.) Our most lasting memory of Bill is his pride in and love for his family. Whenever Alexandra would do something new or unusual, Bill would praise her by saying “clever girl”. This phrase became a permanent part of our lexicon and years later we would use it for our adopted granddaughter. (We also use it for our cats occasionally.) For those reading this too young to remember, long-distance calls – especially international calls – were extremely expensive 50 years ago. Our last conversation with Bill was when he called us in San Jose to tell us he had a son – we remember the pride in his voice. Michael and Di Anne Wood

“

When I think of Ole, I immediately see his smiling face. There was a gentleness to be seen in his eyes.

”

Joan Sullivan

Travelling the world as a young family In 1975, we all left the house to go to Fort Walton Beach in Florida, where Ole was in a training programme prior to being sent to South Korea for a year’s unaccompanied tour. In early December, while the children and I flew home to England for Christmas, Ole left for Korea. An unaccompanied tour would take him away from us from a whole year – I’m afraid that it would take more than that to keep us apart. In January 1976, the children and I returned to the Lexington house to put it on the market. When it sold, I put our belongings into storage and we journeyed across the States visiting friends before flying out to Seoul to join Ole. Korea certainly was an amazing experience: a country at war, but full of talented and wonderfully charming people. A very special place. We also managed to visit Hong Kong for a long weekend while we were there. However, trouble in the demilitarised zone prompted myself and the children to return to the States. We waited for Ole’s return in Dallas, Texas, in a rented townhouse close to our friends Joan and John Sullivan.

Proud Mum!

Korea Family in

A very proud pil ot

When Ole returned to the States, we spent Christmas at his sister Sally’s house in Middlefield, Connecticut, with her husband and son, Nathaniel, and Mr and Mrs Olson Senior. Our next stop was Germany – Ole’s next assignment was at Sembach AFB. We lived in the village of Drehenthalerhof, with the best neighbours in the world. Elli, Ewald and their son Ralf became family, and remain so to this day. How lucky can you get?

I always think of Bill and see his smile. We had a lot of fun with very nice times when the Olson family lived next door. Bill never had a bad face, angry or sad. He was a very positive person. Ralf Krackehl

Ralf lit a candle to mark the 40th anniversary of Ole’s passing

Ole and Greg Snyder, who served together in Sembach

OV10 - Bronco 51

The delightful Paul Van Escche

Nathalie, Janine and Anneke Van Essche

Bill a nd N athal ie

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

ce I have a smile on my fa when I think of Bill.

â&#x20AC;?

Janine Van Essche, Belgium

During our time in Germany, the Frecce Tricolori Italian aerobatic team performed at the Sembach Air Base annual air show. As Bill was appointed to be their host for the weekend, we met the pilots socially and became friends with Antonio Gallus, who flew No.1. Antonio invited us to take a holiday in Lignano, Italy. He organised an hotel for us, so in August 1977 we took the scenic drive through the Brenner Pass to the Italian coast. It was a delight to meet Antonio’s wife, Elvira, and their two daughters when we arrived. It was there on the beach that we also first met Paul Van Essche, his wife Janine and two daughters, Ann and Nathalie. Paul was a pilot in the Belgian Air Force and had been the lead pilot in the former Belgian Red Devil team. We thoroughly enjoyed the twoweek break and felt that we had made lifelong friends. Another strong memory of that holiday is that we were in an icecream parlour when we heard that Elvis Presley had died – another of those “remember where you were when..?” times. As we drove away to go home, the Van Essche family waved us goodbye. But I felt uneasy. I told Bill that I had a deep, sinking feeling that we would never see them again. He assured me we would – he and Paul had made arrangements to meet at an Air Force club in Germany before Christmas. We arrived home in Drehenthalerhof, having had a wonderful time. Unfortunately, Paul was killed in an air accident that November. We remained very close to his family – and still are.

Two years later, we were all back in England. We had purchased a house in Hethersett, expecting Oleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s assignment to be Lakenheath or Mildenhall, but he was sent to RAF Woodbridge. This was not quite such an easy journey, so when the time came for him to lead his own squadron, he asked me to look for a house close to Woodbridge. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what I was doing the day he was killed. I still live in the Hethersett home he bought for us 42 years ago.

No matter where we were living, Ole always had music playing. His favourite artists were Peter, Paul and Mary, Abba, and The Seekers with Judith Durham. He often talked about how much he had enjoyed the stage production of “Man of La Mancha” and he was inspired by the words of the song “The Impossible Dream”. He also really enjoyed Marti Webb singing songs from the Andrew Lloyd Webber show “Tell me on a Sunday”. His last car was a Matra Simca Bagheera – we saw it in Germany, where Ole had taken it for a drive and absolutely loved it. It was a rather extravagant purchase, but I am so glad he had that joy and experience. The car plays a big part in one of Tony’s memories of his father. “Dad would click his fingers to make the windscreen wipers work by ‘magic’. I later found out that the on-off button was on the floor by his foot! This is one of the very few memories I have of him – I was too young.”

Everyday life: music and a magic car

I met Bill on 4 March 1964, our first day of pilot training. Our class had 42 members, of which four were Air Force Academy graduates. Bill was one of these four and was from the top 10% of his class at the Academy. Bill and the other three were, because of their academic achievement, given the opportunity to attend graduate school and earn a masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree before reporting to pilot training. We began as part of the 3560th Pilot Training Squadron. We attended academic classes half a day together and then flying training the other half of the day. Bill was always upbeat, smiling, and friendly. He was always encouraging to our classmates. After five months together, the Air Force decided to split our class. Bill and 20 others stayed in the 3560th. From then until our graduation in March 1965, I saw little of Bill as we no longer had academic or flying training together. Bill was one of the top graduates in our class and chose the F-100 to fly. We celebrated graduation together, then Bill went to Luke AFB in Phoenix, Arizona, for his training. I went to F-4 school at Davis Monthan AFB in Tucson, Arizona, for my training. Because of our different assignments, I lost track of Bill. After my tour in south-east Asia, I was very fortunate to be assigned to the 81st Tactical Fighter Wing, 92nd Fighter Squadron, at RAF Bentwaters, near Woodbridge, Suffolk, England. I had not been there very long until one night at the Officersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Club, I was tapped on the shoulder from behind. I turned to see Bill! He was assigned to a fighter squadron at RAF Wethersfield, near Braintree, Essex, about 50 miles from RAF Bentwaters. Naturally, it was a wonderful reunion. Then, from time to time, we had dinners together. Then one day while we were together at RAF Bentwaters he told me he was to be married soon and wanted me to attend his wedding! Naturally I was at both the church and afterwards at the reception at Seckford Hall and there met his beautiful bride, Nanette. The last time I saw Bill was as he and Nanette boarded a helicopter on the lawn of the hall and flew away for their honeymoon. What a spectacular departure! Tom Slemonds

Monday 17 November 1980: black patent shoes and Daddy’s warm words On the evening of Monday 17 November 1980, Alexandra was due to take part in the Laura Ashley Fashion Show at St Andrew’s Hall in Norwich. She was one of four children chosen to wear the store’s children’s collection and we had to buy her some black patent leather shoes. She was so proud of them and as soon as Daddy came home from work, she put them on and was showing him how she had been taught to walk and turn on the catwalk. I tried to persuade him to come to the show but, as much as he would have loved to be there, he insisted that he had to fly early the next morning and it was most important that he had the correct number of hours’ sleep. Coming with us would have made him too late to bed. I ran upstairs to grab my coat, and as I was

oes! Those patent sh

coming down, Bill looked up at me and said: “Honey, you couldn’t have a better daughter for you, could you?” He was so right. We kissed goodbye. Those were some of the last words he spoke to me, and I remember them so well. The show was a success. After putting Alexandra to bed, I went into our bedroom and saw Bill sound asleep. I had this huge urge to go over and give him a big hug, but stopped myself in case it would disturb his sleep and he would wonder if something was wrong. I just went to bed.

nd Bill, Nanette a Alexandra and irsky d and Jamie M vi a D , ie ck a J Tony,

“

great h t i w m i h f We think o and we n u f s a w e h affection; pany. m o c s i h d e y always enjo old, but s r a e y x i s nly Jamie was o tting i s e l O e l c n bers U still remem ircraft. a 0 1 A n a him in g – the n u o y r e v e r He will be fo ise us n g o c e r e h l wil question is, n him? i o j e w n e h w

”

Jackie and

David Mirs

Tuesday 18 November 1980: early morning – “We fly above this” I wasn’t wide awake, but I was aware that Bill was getting ready to go to work extra early – it was still dark. As he came over to peck me on the cheek, I could hear nasty weather and strong winds blowing. “Surely you’re not going to fly in this weather, are you?” I asked. “Honey,” he said. “We fly above this. See you later.” And off he went.

Tuesday 18 November 1980: shock and disbelief My parents had driven to our house that day so Dad could do a few jobs around the house for us and be there when the children came home from school. Mum and I planned to spend the day in Ipswich shopping. I remember looking in estate agents’ windows at houses for sale – Bill was about to be a squadron commander and we were looking to move closer to the air base at Woodbridge. I also remember trying on some cocktail and evening dresses, hoping to find something glamorous for the upcoming party season. However, everything I tried on was black and nothing was a “must have”. On the way home we drove by the base for petrol – and hopefully to see Bill. We went to the gas station – I couldn’t believe how charming everyone was being towards me. I quickly ran into a store to make a purchase (Mum wasn’t allowed in, so she waited at the door). In the shop, I asked the girl serving me if I could use the internal phone. I called Bill’s office to let him know we were on the base. The guy who picked up asked me to wait a minute because they couldn’t find Bill. He then asked where I was, so I told him. He told me to wait outside the store. I walked out with my purchase, but it wasn’t only Mum waiting for me: there was a crowd of people. The next thing I remember is Bill’s boss, Colonel Bowen, standing in front of me, with his hands on my shoulders, telling me that Bill had been killed in an air accident that morning.

Mum tugged at my arm, saying: “Come away from him, dear. He’s drunk.” Mum, like so many others, thought of Americans as heavy drinkers. “No, Mum – this is Bill’s boss,” I said, but although the words came out of my mouth, I felt paralysed from the waist down. I tried to walk towards the Colonel’s car, but my legs wouldn’t move. They were frozen with shock. I was carried – by the armpits, as I remember – and then the Colonel drove me and Mum back to his house on base. I heard him giving instructions over the phone: “They can now drive to his parents’ house.” Bill’s mum and dad lived in DeBary, Florida, and a USAF car had been waiting around the corner from their house for most of the day. They would not be informed until I had been found and told. The Colonel then told me the story of the accident – just too many things had gone wrong that morning. Although I was really anxious to know what had happened, we just listened to him. I felt emotionally frozen and in disbelief. I have since thought about that time and realised what a difficult situation Colonel Bowen had coped with that day. The children were at home with Dad – apparently, the Colonel’s wife was there, too, along with a whole entourage from the base. I asked the Colonel if I could use his telephone to call my friend Jackie. When I told her what had happened, she said straight away: “Don’t let anyone else but you tell the children. My mother asked someone else to tell me when my father died and I never forgave her.” (Jackie’s father passed away with TB when she was just seven years old.) I immediately gave these instructions to the Colonel and he phoned them through to our house. I don’t remember the journey back to Hethersett, but we were driven home in our car by Lt Colonel Bob Hall. Bob’s wife Shirley came too, at my request. Bob had been at the USAFA with Bill, and Bill had great affection for both of them. Shirley was a bubble of energy. She was attractive, always beautifully turned out with smart clothes, lovely hair and make-up. She was extremely clever, creative and artistic – just a wonderful girl with a superb personality.

ob Hall with Shirley and B xandra a teenage Ale

Shirley stayed with us that night – none of us could sleep. We just talked and talked, cried and laughed. Shirley was my “rock” for a very long time, and I will always love her dearly. Our driveway was full of USAF cars and the house was full of men in uniform. I brushed past them all, going straight to my children. I gave them each a hug and asked them to come upstairs with me. Halfway up the stairs, I asked which of the uniformed gentlemen was the chaplain, and requested that he join us. All four of us went upstairs into our bedroom. I sat on the bed, held the children’s hands and told them that Daddy had died that morning and

“

Nanette, to you your children and grandchildren, for a man greatly respected and missed. He was taken too early from us all.

”

gone to heaven. I had to be so very strong for them – Alexandra, aged nine and Tony, six. We were now a family of three, and would be going it alone. The chaplain asked the children where they would like Daddy to be buried. Tony said straight away: “In our garden.” The chaplain explained that although burying Bill in the garden wasn’t possible, he would be buried in one of God’s gardens. The chaplain wanted to know whether Bill’s final resting place would be in the UK or the USA. The children wanted Hethersett Church, so that is where he rests in peace. Following all the formalities and calls to Ole’s parents, sister and relatives, the first phone call I made outside the family was to Janine in Belgium (Paul’s widow). When I told her what had happened, she gasped with shock… and then told me: “I have all Paul’s friends in the house. It’s the anniversary.” Both men died on 18 November.

Bob Hall

Strength and support from the community The first incoming telephone call that evening was from Mrs Williams, the headmistress of Tony’s school. After introducing herself, she expressed her sadness about the accident and asked me if there was anything she could do for me. I asked her advice about what to do with the children the next day – should I keep them home and close to me? She advised me to keep to a routine for the children’s sake and send them to school as usual, assuring me that they would both be well taken care of. This we did – truly wonderful advice from a most knowledgeable and caring person. Then the doorbell rang. Standing there was Alan Burrell, father of Michael, Tony’s best friend. He took one look at me and said: “Oh, it was him, then.” He had obviously heard about the A-10 accident but hadn’t heard who the pilot had been. Alan came in and sat with us – my parents, the children, Shirley and myself, all together and in disbelief. Alan didn’t speak very much; he was just there. His presence gave us a great feeling of comfort, moments I will never forget.

Ole and Sally

Sally Bill’s sister Sally, who was a school teacher in Connecticut, later told me about her experiences of Tuesday 18 November 1980. She had heard the news that morning as she was getting ready for work: there had been an accident off the coast of England and an American A-10 pilot had lost his life. Naturally, she was concerned. But she went about her day as usual and, when she arrived home, she got into the house then leaned back on the door with a sigh, relieved that she had got through the day without receiving any bad news. At that moment, the phone – hanging on the wall in front of her – rang. It was her parents, telling her that the A-10 pilot killed in the UK that morning was her brother. Sally’s son, Nathaniel, shared his memories of that day with me. “I was only 10 years old when tragedy hit our family. Unfortunately, most of my memories are just pictures in my mind. We lived on Toad Ridge Road in Middlefield, Connecticut. I remember coming home from school. I was walking up the road from the bus stop to the house. I can still vividly remember entering the house, where I found my mom crying at the kitchen table. I don’t remember much more on this particular moment other than she had address books on the table.”

Alexandra and Nath aniel. Picture taken by S ally, September 19 74

The accident Early on the morning of Tuesday 18 November, three Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt aircraft left Woodbridge base for a training mission in Lincolnshire. Major Steve Kaatz was the pilot of No 1, Bill flew No 2 and I don’t know who was in No 3. No 3 developed engine trouble as they flew over Norfolk. Steve decided to return to base with No 3 to make sure he landed safely, after which he would rejoin Bill and they would continue the exercise with two aeroplanes. But as Steve returned, there was a midair collision between his and Bill’s A-10s over Immingham. Steve’s plane burst into flames and Bill told him to eject, which he did, landing in a field. However, Steve was unable to release his parachute so he was dragged across a couple of fields by the high winds until he was stopped by a hedge. Bill called in three other A-10s, flying around 15 miles away, to help. He also called the Sea King helicopter from No 202 Search and Rescue Squadron at RAF Coltishall to pick Steve up. When the A-10s arrived, Bill asked two of them to continue flying over Steve until his rescue had been completed. Bill asked the other aircraft to fly alongside him and assess any damage that had occurred to his plane. They flew out over the North Sea, because Bill wanted to avoid flying over built-up areas if his plane had been damaged. Bill began his routine checks. However, he lost the hydraulics and the plane went out of control. He ejected, landing in the rough water but, like Steve, he was also unable to release his parachute. (Pilots are trained to release the chute when they are 10 feet above water, so as not to get tangled up in it.) In fact, it would seem the safety equipment failed to work. I heard rumours on several occasions that the parachute release button wasn’t the only safety device that failed that morning. While this is hearsay, it also seems obvious – had everything worked, Bill would be with us today.

An A-10 Thunderb olt - the Tank Buster

The weather was dreadful: Bill jumped into raging seas, with 15-foot waves and 40-knot gale force winds. After only three minutes in those icy currents, he would lose consciousness. The Sea King was diverted from picking up Steve to rescue Bill instead. RAF winchman Master Air Load Master David Bullock was lowered down into the water. He managed to attach himself to Bill, and almost completed the parachute separation. However, at this point the weight of the waterlogged parachute caused the winch cable to snap and they both drowned. David and Bill’s bodies were subsequently recovered by an American para-rescue helicopter (the “Jolly Green Giant”) from the 67th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron, RAF Woodbridge. The helicopter landed on the playing fields of the Hewett School in Norwich, where ambulances were waiting to take David and Bill to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. David Bullock was posthumously awarded the George Medal, one of our country’s highest awards for bravery. He was also awarded the USAF Airman’s Medal, the Prince Philip Helicopter Rescue Award and the Sir James Martin Award. It’s difficult to remember how we all coped, but my parents moved into the village and were a fantastic help.

Wednesday 19 November 1980: a gentle giant I was taken back to the base at Bentwaters to meet one of the pararescue men who had been in the American helicopter that had picked up both bodies. I didn’t ask to be introduced to this man – I was still very much in a state of shock – but I remember his warmth and compassion. As we sat talking, I couldn’t help noticing that the skin on his hands and lower arms was raw. He had been slashed by the parachute ropes during the struggle to free both men. He had entered the water in full diving gear (including an air supply) and dived down so that he could come up between the two bodies in order to release them from each other so they could both be recovered. But, as he explained to me, the force of the water made the two bodies keep smashing together. I wish I could remember his name – I was so pleased to have met him. He was such a gentle giant, who did an amazing job.

Monday 24 November 1980: our final meeting Two days before the funeral we received a telephone call from the undertaker in Ipswich to say that we could now visit Bill in the coffin. Sally suggested that the children might like to take a flower for Daddy. Alexandra asked to take a pink rose and Tony requested a purple poppy – good luck with that request, Sally! However,

she

ingeniously

returned

from the flower shop with a pretty pink rose and a deep purple anemone... very clever. I remember the intense feeling of excitement as I drove the car towards Ipswich. I couldn’t wait to be with Bill

Poem written by R uby Barrett Olson, August 1981 (turn to the back pages of the book for a typed version )

again, even though it was obvious that this was to be our last goodbye. He looked wonderful, peacefully asleep, laid out in his US Air Force uniform. Tony had to be lifted up to see into the coffin and – typical Tony – he came out with an abundance of questions for the undertaker standing with us. Alexandra quietly looked on. We talked a bit and I remember feeling so close to him at that moment. I was looking at just his body, but I strongly felt his presence in the room. The children left their flowers with him on his pillow. I left my lipstick on his forehead.

n The USAF hym

ing place Oleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s final rest ethersett St Remigius, H

her , wrote about 12 d ge a , ra Alexand ent school assignm a r fo th ea d fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

Tuesday 25 November 1980: David Bullock’s final send-off The day before Bill’s funeral I was taken (at my request) to David Bullock’s funeral in Aylsham. His wife had stated that she didn’t want any RAF uniforms or banners at the service – nothing military at all. I’m not sure what message this sent to all his squadron associates, family and friends… or, more importantly, what message Mrs Bullock wanted to send to them all. However, she must have had her reasons. She followed the coffin with her two children – a girl and a boy, a bit older than ours. Two wives, left in the same situation. Our men drowned hooked to each other.

David Bullock was awarded the George Medal for his bravery

My brother, Patrick Slack (who was in Ecuador at the time of the accident), had spent many years in the RAF and I didn’t realise until almost 40 years later (he thought I knew!) that he was probably the only person who knew both men. Pat had known David when both engineers were stationed at Stradishall, near Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, during the late 1950s. David Bullock was 125 Squadron, working on de Havilland Venom night fighters, and Pat Slack was 152 Squadron, working on Gloster Meteor 12 and 14 night fighters.

Ole and Patrick

“

ery v s y a s alw Ole wa ers, h t o f o erate d i s n ed. o c w o h s really t a h t and

”

Patrick

Slack

Wednesday 26 November 1980: saying goodbye Bill’s funeral was an amazing tribute to him. I was so pleased that his parents and sister Sally were able to be there. But the emotional ceremony at the Woodbridge base chapel was interrupted by a heavy pummelling on the roof: it was a sudden burst of hailstones, which lasted only seconds, but made everyone pause. It was almost as though a message was being sent. Bill’s friend Bob Heavner (whom he had known at the USAFA) wrote and read the eulogy, which was addressed to Alexandra and Tony. Patricia Malcolm, a lady with a splendid voice, sang the Lord’s Prayer. I also remember “Lord, Guard and Guide the Men who Fly”, the USAF hymn, being sung. Shirley and Bob Hall had been such a support to me the day Bill was killed, and they created the most beautiful funeral I could have imagined: wreaths, flowers, a “missing man” formation flypast and a magnificent service. What a send-off he had. What a lot of love, and a huge amount of respect. The drone of A-10 aircraft in the sky followed the cortege from Woodbridge all the way back to Hethersett Church for the burial. Alexandra and Tony were amazing, and I remember Aunt Sally had two bags of goodies to keep them occupied during the journey. Such a thoughtful lady; a terrific aunt. I remember seeing crowds of people in the church grounds as we arrived. I snuggled my children close to me as the American flag that had been draped on Bill’s coffin was folded and presented to his mother, Ruby Olson. The presentation was made by Bill’s very best friend, Kent Harbaugh. Kent and Bill had come through the USAFA together and Bill had been Kent’s best man when Kent married Kathy. I looked at Kent as he turned to Ruby, with disbelief and pain on his face, to hand her the flag. He opened his mouth to speak to her but nothing came out.

A stunning array of floral tributes

The eulogy, written and delivered by Bob Heavner

As the coffin was lowered I remember a break in the clouds letting through a ray of sunshine that shed a spotlight on to the grave. There was definitely something supernatural about the whole day’s experience. Afterwards, everyone returned to the house, where the ladies of the Officers’ Wives Club had arranged drinks and food. It was beautifully done and I will be forever grateful. It

must

have

been

mid-afternoon

when I looked out of the window to see Alexandra’s school teacher at the bottom of the driveway with her class of children, whom she had walked to the house. Not only had Alexandra run out to see them but, to my amazement, she was dancing to them. They gave her cards and an array of paper flowers that they had made. I still have those flowers. Sally’s son, Nathaniel, although only 10 on the day of Bill’s funeral, remembers: “On entering the chapel, I was given a small card with a picture of Uncle Ole and an inspiring poem on the back. As the service came to an end, I remember exiting the chapel for the final series of events: a flypast and gun salute. I was scared of the gunshots. I was young and, as I reflect today, I believe it was the first time I had heard a gunshot.”

Grief, and an understandable curiosity As hard as it was to think about, I found myself wanting to know more about the details of the accident so I made a few requests. I asked if it would be possible to meet David’s wife, Pat Bullock, and also the team who were in the Sea King helicopter. I felt the need to come face to face with the men who were possibly the last people to have seen Ole alive. Bill’s parents, his sister Sally and I drove to RAF Coltishall and were taken to the squadron building, where we met the RAF helicopter crew and support group. When we were introduced, it was obvious that we were so pleased to meet them, but there was a strange feeling coming from their side. They seemed on edge and uncomfortable; polite, but by no means welcoming, or forthcoming with information about events. I later heard that they thought we were possibly going to sue them or take some kind of legal action. What a strange thing to say… but then I suppose it is a well-known fact that this is a common American practice. The one question I asked was whether Bill was alive when they arrived on the scene. They said his arms were moving. They were not sure if he was waving to them of whether the movement was caused by the water. After our polite goodbyes, we went to the Bullock home in Aylsham to meet David’s widow, Pat – an absolutely delightful and charming lady who made us so welcome. We discussed the accident, our feelings, our children, both men’s air force careers. For me, it felt so comforting. I only hope Pat felt the same way.

Looking for the truth I was asked to go to the Woodbridge air base several times during the weeks that followed. On each visit, I would ask questions… then question the replies I was given. The story I was hearing was that Ole had been responsible for the initial collision. How were they so sure? Quite frankly, I didn’t believe that, and still don’t to this day. I’m afraid I gave them a hard time over this. So often I felt they thought they were dealing with a “dumb blonde”. This was rather insulting, but I came to realise that so much information was secret and I was never going to be told the truth. It angered me that, although no one had witnessed the mid-air collision, it seemed they were determined to blame the dead pilot. Human error is inevitable from time to time; mistakes will be made. No one in their right mind deliberately causes an accident. It is such a shame that the dead man always takes the blame when he has no chance to speak up for himself. Apparently, that is always the practice with both the USAF and the RAF… something to do with the cost of training pilots, I was given to understand. If there is a crash and the pilot who made the mistakes survives, it must be terrible to have to live with the fact that not only did the dead man take the blame, but that your mistake also took his life. In Bill’s case, there were many other factors in play that day, other than the mid-air collision. About a week after the funeral, I was getting ready to take the children to school one morning and I had BBC Radio Norfolk on in the bedroom. Suddenly I realised that they were having a big discussion about the accident – and the presenter was siding with those who had called in complaining about military aircraft flying too low. The way they were speaking badly of the pilots made me mad. I picked up the phone and dialled 617321 (a number I’ve never forgotten) and told them to: “Stop. Stop speaking that way. You have no idea what you are talking about. My husband lived his life for the protection of other people. He was a good, sensible man, not some crazy daredevil.” They immediately announced that Lt Col Olson’s widow had called and they stopped the discussion immediately, explaining what I had said. How dare they?!

Meeting the Judge Advocate and making a useful connection On one of my trips to the base, I was asked to go and see the Judge Advocate in his office. He advised me about pensions etc, how things would be if I remarried (a horrid thought at the time) and various other legal dos and donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ts. He also explained that probate would be needed on both sides of the Atlantic as Bill not only owned our house here in England but also a plot of land in Colorado that he had purchased as a USAFA cadet. The Judge Advocate suggested that I contact a lawyer friend of his, Harold Vague, who had retired from the USAF and set up a legal practice in Denver. That all took place very smoothly, over the next few months. During this time, I corresponded with Mr Vague by mail and we had several telephone conversations. After the accident, the base appointed Greg Snyder to guide me through everything that was needed. He and his family remain special friends to this day.

When I think about what the loss of Bill Olson (Lt Col Olson to me) means to me, the first thing that comes to mind is my disappointment in not being able to serve in the squadron under his command. There are both personal and professional aspects to my feelings. It is personal because I had written to Lt Col Olson asking for assistance getting assigned to the wing at Bentwaters. When we served together at Sembach in the OV-10 I developed a great respect and also feeling of friendship for him. I wrote feeling sure he would have some influence, but not having any idea he had been selected to command one of the fighter squadrons. Learning not only that he was about to assume command but that I was assigned to that squadron was, in fact, extremely exciting news. In a professional sense I so admired Billâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s rise to the position of fighter squadron commander since he did not follow the standard Air Force path to that achievement. The normal route to command was, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sure still is, flying assignments, interspersed with a tour of higher headquarters staff. That leads to a flying assignment in a fighter wing, Operations Officer in a squadron, then squadron command. Lt Col Olson took a different route. Rather than a staff tour, he was an ROTC instructor, not noted as a step upward. Then after flying in Germany, he went to Bentwaters as a non-flying Chief of Wing Plans. What impresses, but does not surprise me, is that he became such a valuable asset to the Wing Commander, Col Gordon Williams, that Col Williams convinced headquarters to put Bill on the list of those eligible to command a squadron. I remain completely disappointed not to have served under Lt Col Olsonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s command. This is a personal disappointment. It is also a disappointment in not seeing come to fruition the success of an officer who rose to his position by being superb in ways that few, if any, others could have done. Greg Snyder

Honouring a distinguished career Being connected to the US Air Force is like being part of a large, extended family. The sense of community and support I experienced during my life with Bill was second to none: we were welcomed everywhere we travelled and lived around the world, and instantly felt we belonged to the communities that naturally developed around each air base. The Officers’ Wives Club was wonderful, catering for the funeral, and the base took care of my legal and financial arrangements, but when Bill lost his life, our air force life was also taken from us. The sense of belonging that I had become so used to had suddenly come to an abrupt end. So it was with mixed emotions that I and the children attended the ceremony in which Bill was posthumously awarded the Meritorious Service Medal in February 1981. I wanted the children to be proud of their father, as I was (and of course still am), but it was not easy to be back at the base with the family when our grief was so raw, and when I still had so many unanswered questions about the accident. Looking back now at the press coverage, I see Tony’s bravery shining through as his father’s medal is pinned to his young chest. I see Alexandra remembering her daddy and being unable to contain her tears. Honouring Bill’s lifetime of dedicated service was important to us all, and although I didn’t perhaps realise it at the time, it marked my last formal contact with the US Air Force.

The inquest One day, months after the accident, when just the children and I were in the house, I switched on the television for the evening news and heard that the inquest into the cause of death of William H Olson and David Bullock had taken place in Norwich that morning. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No one had informed me – surely that was illegal? I called the Coroner’s office first thing the next morning. Of course they were full of apologies, but told me that the USAF had been informed and automatically assumed that the air force would tell me. Perhaps I had simply been forgotten. Perhaps I slipped through the net. But my gut feeling was that they didn’t want me to attend. David’s father was there, but no one from the Olson family.

Letter from the coroner

Three families, united in grief During the summer of 1981 I took the children to see the Frecce Tricolori display. They were performing south of London (I think it was Farnborough air show). The pilots were wonderful with Alexandra and Tony. It meant a lot to us that they had bothered to invite us – another most memorable time. Antonio Gallus was killed only weeks later, in September, during a practice session. All three families ― who had had such a wonderful time on the beach together in Lignano, Italy back in 1977 ― had suffered the same loss. All three pilots were gone.

Harold Vague One Sunday afternoon in autumn 1984 I was about to go out to a school concert when the phone rang. I answered it, only to hear an American male voice asking for me. He went on to tell me that it was Harold Vague calling and that he and his wife were at Norwich railway station. “Don’t move,” I said, jumped in the car and drove straight there, where I met a tall, elegantly dressed couple. I was so excited to meet them both and I drove them straight back to our home. They had flown over to “do Europe” as only the Americans can! (“Doing Europe” always makes me smile.) Harold had wanted to take a train from London to Thetford to find the base out of which he flew during the Second World War. Well, the train didn’t stop at Thetford, so now I had the pleasure of taking them to try to find this place. It wasn’t easy to locate, but we got there in the end and discovered a small memorial on the edge of open fields. There was no longer a recognisable base, but I took their picture by the stone inscription. As Harold was thinking about his flying days, I asked him if he had been a pilot and he replied that he had been a navigator. With that mission accomplished, we returned to the house. I wanted them to stay for dinner – it was getting late. Having been able to accommodate all their needs, I managed to persuade them to stay the night, too. We had a late dinner with lots of chat before turning in for the night.

After breakfast the following morning, Harold asked me about the accident. I started telling him the story, then laid out the large album I had put together, containing all the press cuttings and memorabilia. He started to read, then to ask questions. Suddenly I found all my anger and frustration pouring out: my exasperation and sadness about how the air force had treated me, how I felt they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes, the stupidity of blaming the dead man… and on, and on. This gentleman understood and agreed with every comment I made, particularly about putting the blame on the deceased pilot. He told me that (for whatever reason), they always do that, as do the RAF. I felt comforted by having him listen to me. When he went upstairs, his wife said to me: “You don’t know who my husband is, do you?” I looked at her, thinking: “He’s a retired navigator who has a legal practice in Colorado.” She went on to tell me that he was a four-star general, had been the Judge Advocate General of the USAF between 1973 and 1977 and was a friend of Jimmy Carter. Oh dear! Whoops! I’m not sure I would have opened up to him in the way I had if I had known who he was – and I was even more pleased with his response to me. They were a wonderful couple, and we stayed in touch for many years.

The Creda oven repair man Auntie Dod and Uncle Joe were my mumâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s brother and sister. They were the only members of that side of the family who never married and in 1993 they were living together in a flat in Shoreditch, London. Uncle Joe was in St Barts hospital, dying of cancer, and when Auntie Dodâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cooker broke, she called me to see if I could sort out getting it fixed. The cooker was made by Creda so I arranged for a Creda repair man to call first thing the next morning. Dod was 95 at the time and frightened of opening the door to strangers so I drove to London in the early hours to be there with her. We enjoyed a cup of tea together, then the doorbell rang and there was a man dressed in overalls bearing the Creda logo and carrying a tool box. As he pulled out the cooker and removed the back, he was very chatty and started telling me that he lived in Cornwall. He said he flew his own plane to London City Airport when he had to work in London. To be honest, none of this made much sense to me. However, he then said that he had been a rescue helicopter pilot in the Royal Navy. I said nothing at this point, deciding just to listen. He told traumatic stories of trying to rescue people trapped underneath broken parts of ships, some of whom even had to have limbs severed in order to lift them to safety. He said that these experiences still gave him nightmares and eventually he had to leave the job. I kept on listening.

Then he added: “Of course, it’s not so bad any more, because as of 1978 all UK rescue helicopters were fitted with a guillotine.” As I heard these words, it was as though a light had switched on. This fact answered so many questions and may well have explained the lack of facts and detail I experienced from those in charge following Bill’s accident. Now everything made sense, but why could the air force not have been honest? Surely everyone would have understood the use of a guillotine if the high winds had threatened the safety of the helicopter and crew? What a dreadful situation for those brave crew men to find themselves in, especially when one of the two men on the other end of the winch cable was one of their own. Too horrible to imagine. Was a guillotine used? We will never know the whole truth. Perhaps I jumped to an incorrect conclusion, but I’d never quite come to terms with the idea of a 3,700lb breaking strain cable snapping. Whatever happened, it was a total tragedy for all the professionals involved. None of the horrific events would have taken place had all the USAF equipment worked. Bill’s emergency equipment failed. Most importantly, the Koch fitting to release the parachute worked for neither Bill, approaching the water, nor Steve, as the wind in the chute dragged him across land. The Koch fitting is made up of two parts: male and female. I discovered that one part is manufactured in a factory in northern California and the other in southern California. Can’t say I’m surprised it didn’t work!

Reflections

Touching the lives of others Although we were only able to spend 10 years as a married couple, I am forever grateful that I met Ole, created a beautiful family with him and that we shared so many amazing times together. We were able to travel the world and our children were able to experience different countries and cultures. Thinking back about the man I loved and reading the contributions from those who knew him, I am surrounded by happy memories. He was a fun-loving, very clever, highly intellectual man – and such a gentleman. He had impeccable manners and a way of making people feel good. When I was collecting memories of Ole, one person explained that no matter how busy or rushed he was, if you spoke to him, he made time for you and also made you feel as though you were the only person in the world. He had a wonderful gift with people and a great smile – his students at VMI used to call him “Smiling Jimmy”! One of his party tricks was to pick up the phone and “talk to God”. He was very good at the one-sided conversation; children believed and adults chuckled. Great fun. Ole loved playing Santa Claus at Christmas time. His aeroplane would taxi in, then – in full red-and-white suit – he would arrive at the Officers’ Mess for the children’s Christmas party. This was always a huge success and he played the part beautifully with the children.

Bill Olson was one of those people you meet and never forget. One particular memory I have of him was one day leading up to Christmas I called round the home of Nanette and Bill and during general conversation I mentioned I had not taken my girls to see Father Christmas. On this subject, nothing more was said. On Christmas Eve evening, there was a knock at the door and there stood Father Christmas. I shall never forget the girlsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; faces. He came in with his sack and gave the girls a present each. After chatting to them for a while, he said he had to be on his way as he had many more houses to visit that night. That was Bill, a very special person. Dinah Evans

Nan, Ole in disguise again and Alexandra in 19 73

Poem written by Lorna’s mother, Jessie Young. (turn to the back pages of the book for a typed version)

My dear friend Lorna Richardson happened to pass by our house on the day of the accident and could see from the USAF cars in the drive that something was wrong. She came into the house and was there with my dad soon after he received the bad news. Another amazing friend, she always seemed to be around to “catch the pieces” at the right time. A few years later, she gave me this poem that her mother had written.

I have not known anyone in my life (other than my wife, Rae) who was more considerate of others than Ole Olson – every minute of every day of his short life he put other people’s needs and interests ahead of his own. In an effort to describe an individual’s character it is often very useful to tell a story, an anecdote, that chronicles an example of that person’s virtues and goodness. Sometimes the story can describe a serious event – or sometimes it can describe a very simple, and humorous, one. I will do the latter here. Rae and I were playing cards years ago in Nanette and Ole’s kitchen in Lexington, Virginia when Ole apparently had what I will call an “indigestion problem”. Not wanting to disturb anyone, he excused

Rae and Ross Becker

himself to go to his bedroom bathroom to get some relief – but what he didn’t realise was that the circuitous route he took to get to his bathroom brought him to the other side of the same wall separating the bathroom from the kitchen! So, as a result, Ole kindly spared us any irritation to our nostrils, but not to our ears! Of course, Ole profusely apologised when he realised what had happened, but all of us had a big healthy laugh about it! And, typical of Ole, whenever we met in the future he would always have us reminisce about the incident – so that we could all have another moment of joy despite him being the butt of the joke. A good man was Ole Olson. Ross Becker

Ole and Nanette

100

Ole loved barbecues

Ole and Tony

Nanette and Ole Elm Hill, Norwich

Ruby and Bill Olson Sr

101

Ole and his dad

102

Ole showing some children around his jet at an air show

Ole, Alexandra and Tony

103

Ole was one good friend “to everyone”. I remember the time he was Santa Claus for the squadron children. I don’t know who was more excited, the kids or Ole. He was always positive and whenever you saw him, he had a smile on his face. And, of course, there were the times he would pick up the phone and say: “Hello, God.” Ben Budzowski

Bill came back into my life in most unusual ways. First, a classmate at Air Force Command and Staff School, who had been stationed at RAF Bentwaters, told me that Bill had been fortunate enough to obtain an assignment there and that he had been killed in an aircraft accident. What sad news that was. Then a few years later while searching for information about Woodbridge, there was a photograph of Bill posted with a request to identify the person in the picture! How amazing! I contacted the person requesting the information giving him Bill’s name and the name of his wife. Much later I learned the contact with Nanette was successful. The final re-entry of Bill into my life was while I was playing in a retired military golf tournament. One of my teammates had been stationed at RAF Bentwaters and I asked him if he knew anything about Bill’s accident. He did not, but said his wife had kept contact with other wives from their time at Bentwaters and he would ask her. The next day he brought me information to contact Nanette. My daughter made the contact happen via the internet. Now for several years, through email, telephone, and visits together in London, I have had the wonderful pleasure of getting to know Nanette and her daughter Alexandra. I am sure that Bill’s spirit guided me to and through all these moments to this point in time. Thank you Bill. Tom Slemonds

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A special friend My story begins in the middle on a beautiful day in Middlefield, Connecticut in the late 1980s with my parents and Sally. My parents had come for a rare but interminable visit, and I desperately needed to get them out of the house. I had not seen Sally since the funeral, and because my mother was always asking why not, what better opportunity to combine a brief reunion with a visit to a pretty garden centre? White Flower Farm only a few hours away from where I lived in New Jersey. Of course, I had known Sally from childhood, but she was Denny’s friend more so than mine. I was too busy with Ole to pay her much mind – well, that’s how it was when you were a kid growing up, more concerned with games and adventures than your best friend’s kid sister. But Sally was watching back then, and she astonished me on

Becky and Michael Budzowski meet “Santa Claus”

our walk when she blurted out of the blue, “We never understood how you survived your childhood. It must have been your intelligence.” I replied, “No, it was Ruby and Ole. She taught me the love of reading which has lasted all my life, and Ole was my best buddy who helped me learn how to be a friend. A psychologist later explained that they both snuck in below my barrier at an early age before it was completed.” So, what was it like growing up in Cleveland in the 1940s and early 1950s? Pretty nice, actually. Ole and I were four months apart in age and lived nearly across the street from one another. We were constant companions. I remember the milk man, the ice and the coal vendors, the vegetable truck, walking to school and learning how to ride a bike. All of these things Ole and I did together, except for the school part because in those days we had half-year class starting dates – September and January, depending on our birthdays. Since Ole was born in December, several months after me, he had to begin in the January term, so we did not share classes. We were good, if not inspired, students but connected to the Caledonia School principal, Miss Clendenon, through our mothers. Our real school interest was more to do with outings – particularly the weekly visits to the community library, which was just up the street, and more exotic adventures like Dean Dairy up on Noble Road or the Cleveland Zoo.

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At home we spent every day out of doors, weather permitting. No lounging around for us; we had things to do in those days before TV. There were several other like-minded kids in the neighbourhood, so we would team up. Of course, intense planning would be required when we were seven years old, so usually if we had a group, we would escape to our fort up the street in a vacant lot next door to Bruce Patterson’s. David Boylan would be there sometimes, but not Denny or Sally – they were way too young/immature, you see. In the winter it would be snowmen and snowball fights. There was a season for everything. TV eventually came to one of Ole’s neighbours several years before our houses, but we were very lucky in that all the kids could spend an hour there before dinner watching Howdy Doody and our all-time favourite cowboy, Hopalong Cassidy, with generous doses of Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger and Gene Autry. Though I recall Ole liked comic books as much as TV. Fortunately, I had a huge stash up in the attic where we also had a fort for when the weather was bad. One day Ole locked himself in, presumably by mistake, but my mother became frantic and called the Fire Department when she could not unlock the door. Not Ole. I still can hear him telling her: “Don’t worry, Mrs. Irwin. I have plenty of comic books!” That was Ole. He never seemed to worry about much of anything, and I never remember him being angry or even upset. Now Sally, she was a different story. But then there was the time that the four of us decided that life at home was intolerable. Our mothers were insufferable dictators and our fathers did not much care. It is not like there was any mystery or secret here, we all talked about what had to be done: run away, together of course. This was to be the grandest adventure of all. We were too young to carry out the plans all by ourselves, so we enlisted the aid of Ruby and my mother – who, if the truth be told, may well have been the instigators. Denny and Sally were just along for the ride. Ole and I were the masterminds, with me in the lead, naturally, because I was the oldest. Well, finally the big day arrived. Ruby and my mother packed our little red wagon with snacks and a change of clothes for everybody, along with odds and ends and we set off heading up to Noble Road, about half a mile away. It was grand – better than

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grand. We were filled with great expectations. That is until we got to Noble Road. Where I turned to my crew and said, “We cannot go on.” “Why not?” they complained in unison. “Because we are not allowed to cross Noble Road,” I said. And at that, we trooped back to find our mothers smugly waiting for us. They knew. And that put an end to all the talk about running away, forever. Bits and snatches, all a bit disjointed but no surprise after 70 years – sleepovers in Ole’s bunk bed, Ruby’s apple tree, Xmas trees, presents

Robert “Butch” Irwin (left) and his brother Dennis

– baseball glove, puppet shows, chicken pox and quarantines, Cyrano de Bergerac, Ruby’s garden – the Ravine – dressing up for Easter. How do I remember Ole in those early years? Self-contained, happy, a big smile, and never cross. A great sense of humour, alert, quietly observant. But, in the course of time our childhoods came to an end. I moved to a new house further out of town when I was 12, and we drifted apart without much contact until years later. It would have been the late 1970s, 25 years later, when I was living in Jackson, Mississippi, when one day Ole called me to say that he and Nanette were passing by, and he wondered if they could visit. Of course, we spent several hours catching up – reminiscing and comparing notes. His love of flying paralleled my love of surgery. As I listened, I could feel him as one with his aircraft, particularly the A-10. He loved that plane. He described his leadership style and his ambition. Despite his advanced degree and the inevitable prospects of promotion, he hoped to continue flying and to remain always in close relationship with his crews and his young pilots. The Air Force and flying were in his blood. But after our visit was over and as he was driving away, I had an uneasy feeling. A premonition. I remember turning to Fran and saying that sadly I would never be seeing him again. Meanwhile, Ole had kept in touch with my mother and would send her gifts and notes occasionally from his assignments. I remember in particular a gorgeous lacquer plaque from Vietnam and for me a large Thai print. For my part, I also had kept in touch with Ruby by visiting every few years right up until she died. Needless to say, Ole

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was always the featured topic of conversation both before and after his death. It has always felt that our lives had been entangled… and probably still are. At the time of Ole’s death I was living in California, working at the City of Hope National Medical Center as the Director of Urology, when my mother wakened me early one morning with a phone call. Since my life was in its usual state of personal turmoil, the last thing I needed was more conflict with her. But the story she told me grabbed my attention immediately. She had always had a reputation as being a bit of a clairvoyant, which I had thought as being a bit strange, but now I am wide awake. She told me that Ole had just died. The morning news had only said a pilot off the east coast of England, but she knew not only that it was Ole but that he had drowned while calling out in her dream in the middle of the night. In a rescue attempt a British air sea rescue officer had also died in the midst of high winds and waves. Fortunately, since I was my own boss with plenty of backup, my time was my own. The Medical Director soon gave his blessing for me to leave for England, though by then I had actually spoken to Nanette and booked my flight – no need to have troubled him with those details. The timing worked out perfectly to pack and catch the next night flight to London. It sort of reminded me of our adventure when running away as kids. No clue as to where I would be going or how the bits and pieces would be put together – just that I needed to get there. Thanks to Nanette, all of the details had been sorted. She arranged for the Air Force to send a driver to meet me at LHR arrivals who chauffeured me to Hethersett while I was able to catch up on my lost sleep. Therein began one of the most amazing weeks of my life, which I experienced from beginning to end in an almost fugue state. I had no idea what to expect but was determined to go with the flow which first off entailed setting up at Lorna and David Richardson’s farm – Whiterails Farm, Great Melton – in a spare room in a centuriesold, modernised house. They were very gracious, taking time away from their busy lives to care for a complete stranger – David was awarded an OBE in 2000, for his farm work advocacy and hosting

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40 years on and the candles still burn brightly

numerous venues, including Farming Diary, a popular TV series akin to Crockett’s Victory Garden. Lorna drove me wherever I needed to go and showed me country life in Norfolk. I will be forever grateful for their hospitality. The funeral was delayed for several days as friends and colleagues gathered from around the world to honour Ole. He had obviously touched many lives. During that time family and close friends embraced me and included me in all the activities. My notes are lost but I recall accompanying Nanette to the funeral home for a final viewing and a trip to the airbase where we met the Base Commander, as well as the US rescue officer who eventually was able to retrieve the bodies of Ole and the RAF winchman, Master Air Load Master David Bullock, who also tragically died in the rescue attempt. While at the base, I was also to visit also an A-10 Thunderbolt in a hangar. I had seen photos, of course, but nothing matches the real thing up close. It does have an odd but strangely beautiful configuration – nothing like its nickname, Warthog. The evening prior to the funeral service Nanette hosted a reception at her house for the out-of-town guests and a few others. Lots of socialising, when in the midst Alexandra appears at the head of the stairs. What follows is an unusual interpretive dance, nicely choreographed and performed. But Ruby was taken aback, given the occasion, until I assured her that all was quite well – but maybe not because I was concerned that Alexandra seemed more than a bit distant. Maybe in sort of a fugue state as well. As they say, “Takes one to know one.” Later I recall chatting with Nanette upstairs and asked about Alexandra. I heard that Nanette was also concerned because Alexandra had not cried since Ole’s death. Hearing this I urged her to try to help her cry when the time was right – hopefully as soon as possible. We also talked about Ole, and I suggested that the entire experience, from my perspective, felt almost supernatural – that Ole was in touch with another higher reality and that we were meant to receive some sort of deeper meaning from his death. Well, don’t you know.

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The day of the funeral service broke sunny and clear, a gorgeous day with no hint of the changes to come later. Lorna and I were picked up by a young Air Force driver who drove us to the church on the base, which was somewhat remote and nearly an hour away. He supposedly knew the route but as it turned out, not so much. While we had left in plenty of time, nobody had anticipated our getting lost, which translated into the service being significantly delayed, at least by Air Force standards. To compound matters, by the time our driver got back on track, we arrived at a rail crossing very close to the church, only to be further delayed by a train crossing in front of us. Naturally, we had no way of knowing that the service had been delayed awaiting our arrival, unhappily anticipating that we would be joining midway into it. Needless to say, our driver’s commanding officer was less than pleased but graciously greeted us and the service commenced. The church was packed with friends, families and officers with families from around the world. There were several tributes, prayers and songs pretty typical of any funeral service, but toward the end came the Airmen’s Hymn. Recall the day had been clear, but now as the hymn reached a crescendo, an enormous noise rose up drowning the song, or so it seemed to me. A hail storm had appeared out of nowhere, pelting the roof with a great racket. Astonished does not begin to describe Lorna’s and my reaction. On leaving the church there were hail stones scattered on the ground, but the sky was still clear. A meteorologic anomaly. Later looking at the forecast and talking to locals, there had been no clues. An isolated hail storm in this region was unheard of. But, more was yet to come. The drive back to Hethersett, Ole and Nanette’s home, for the burial at the church was uneventful, with our driver now fully in command of his route. But clouds were building for the first time in a week. By the time we had gathered at the grave site the sky had fully clouded over, except for a single shaft of sunlight which had settled on Ole’s grave. Perhaps I was the only one to see this because I had stepped back to let others be closer to his grave while thinking about what had transpired. So now, I am viewing the scene as if from the outside when

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I suddenly realised that the sky is turning very dark yet there is this odd spotlight tightly focused on the church yard and centred on the grave. As the graveside service is progressing, my “spotlight” begins to move and eventually takes a path across a neighbouring field then on out to the horizon. I am thinking, “Surely, someone else must have noticed. If not, why not?” The answer had to be that I was the only one in a position to physically observe it while the others were more actively focused on the service itself. When the service was over everybody made their way back to their cars. I did not know which car Nanette was in until I heard a tap on a window alongside me and she rolled the window down. Nanette wanted to show me that Alexandra was finally able to cry. At this point the weather was turning decidedly ugly and the temperature must have dropped 20°F in less than an hour, to be followed by a serious rainstorm overnight. By now I have noticed that I have been in a fugue state the entire time, for the past week. Back at Nanette’s house, others seemed to have noticed as well, but just one final comment about the day. At the reception back at the house, I heard that two wives of Ole’s friends had had a dream of sorts the night before. In one it was a vision of Ole and in the other a distinct audible message: “There will be a Sign.” Go figure. The above is written 40 years after the fact, so some details will have been lost with time, but the sense of it is correct. Robert “Butch” Irwin

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Bill asked me to type (with a non-electric typewriter) his thesis. He paced behind me, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for each page to eagerly read and make sure that everything was perfect. We had only one disagreement: forward vs foreword. I won. He would then tell me, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Forward, march,â&#x20AC;? as we continued the project. Nanette came to visit us in Lexington, Virginia, with the children after Billâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s death. There was a sadness in her but she put on a good show for the children. We hosted a dinner with VMI friends for the little family. Nanette came into the kitchen at one point and told me that she truly felt alone to be back here without him. I remember likening her to the photo of Jackie Kennedy holding the hands of her two young children. Bill was the kindest person who accomplished so much during his short life. Yet, still, 40 years since his death, the memory of him is still strong. Anne Mueller

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When my family and I rotated from RAF Mildenhall, Suffolk, England to the Virginia Military Institute (VMI) in Lexington, Virginia, Bill Olson was there to greet us and to welcome us as our sponsor to a new Air Force assignment. Bill was unceasingly positive and helpful. His characteristic manner would be to grasp his hands together while talking and asking if there was something else he could do for you. It would actually make me crazy; it was as if he had given me a bag of gold and then stood there saying, “Now is there anything else I can do for you?” Rather humorous! Another good memory was his portrayal as Santa when our children were two and three years old. The story started when Santa changed into his costume at our friend’s house. Another neighbour was emptying his trash when Santa emerged from the house. The shocked neighbour said nothing, just turned about and re-entered his home. We all had a good laugh about that. As Santa was talking to the gathered children, our young daughter was somewhat reserved about this big, red-suited dude in her house.

Ole, Nanette and the Kane children, Kim and Kristie

She eventually decided in the interest of Christmas, she needed to greet him. She approached him, gave him a hug, and sat on his lap. Bill created a most memorable Christmas. We were most distressed to read about Bill’s airplane accident in the Houston Post when we first moved to Houston in 1980. Lost a good friend too soon, too young. He is still missed. Kimberlin Kane

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Ole and I attended the United States Air Force Academy as cadets in the Class of 1963, the fifth class to graduate. As the Academy I did not know Ole well, but was aware of his reputation as a “really sharp good guy.” Upon graduation, we both went to graduate programs in different disciplines. After earning our master’s degrees, we both entered flying training at Webb Air Force Base, near Big Springs, Texas, as part of the Class 65-F. There were 34 officers in our class including four Zoomies (USAFA graduates) with Ole and I being two of them. Early in our training, I was approached by a graduating Zoomie, Dave Morgan. He asked if I would be willing to take over a small Boy Scout troop sponsored by a very small Mexican Christian Church in a very poor area of Big Springs. After saying “yes”, I immediately sought out Ole and he readily accepted the challenge. Our troop consisted of 10 Hispanic boys, two black boys and we met at the church. Typically, at their age, they enjoyed scuffling with one another. Ole went to the base gym and checked out several sets of boxing gloves. Ole and I refereed many boxing matches. Our troop was very poor – only one boy had an old scout shirt. In an effort to raise some money Ole contracted with a company for which we would provide flyers to apartments and homes. After distributing thousands of flyers one Saturday we took the boys to McDonald’s for an “all you can eat” as a reward. That turned out to be a big mistake as the boys ate all our profits and more. Ole and I came up with the difference. The boys loved camping. Ole and I would check out tents from the base and we would take the boys on weekend camping trips. Ole and I provided the food – generally some vegetables and hamburgers. A wonderful surprise was that although the boys had very little, there was absolutely no complaining. After almost a year, when Ole and I were graduating we were able to hand off the troop to new entrants to flying training. We had a farewell picnic with the boys and parents. All the boys loved Ole. He was kind, humorous and very compassionate to their situation. A Scoutmaster Extraordinaire. Yea Ole! Vince Eckelcamp

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Ole, Nanette, Alexandra and Gill and Ray Forsyth at the christening of their son, Andrew

In May 1978 Nanette, Bill, Alexandra and Tony came over from Germany as Nanette and Bill were godparents to our son Andrew, who was christened at Acton church in Suffolk, UK. After the christening, everybody came back to our house for tea, and I can remember Bill getting the children to play outside in the garden and looking back, how kind he was with the children. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know where Tony was when this photograph was taken; most probably playing around the gravestones. Gill Forsyth

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Ole, Nanette, Barbara Newman and Barnaby at the Dorchester Hotel

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To begin, I would like to reprint a part of a letter received from Bob Donovan: “Dear Skip, Been meaning to write ever since our claxon sounded to scramble our alert crew after Bill Olson’s A-10. And that was around Thanksgiving time [18 Nov]. It was a grim time around the squadron as well around the Bentwaters/Woodbridge bases. Everybody knew Bill from his work in base plans and the exercises he ran… The funeral was beautifully done. Bob Hall (1963) organised almost everything. Colonel & Mrs Rokke (1962) and Colonel Kent Harbaugh (1963) both travelled for the funeral – Irv from London, Kent from Brussels. Both had been in sq 21 with Bill and Me. Colonel Bob Heavner delivered the eulogy during the service (he’s at Bentwaters now). Rufe Harris (1963) is at Bentwaters too. Rufe, Kent and I were pallbearers and after the military funeral, we all followed to a small town near Norwich (Bill’s home) where Bill is buried for graveside services. The strangest thing happened that day – a cold, sunny autumn day: as we lifted the coffin at the altar to carry outside for the flyby and taps, it clouded over suddenly and started to snow. Exactly as we reached the church door, the snow stopped. As taps ended, the clouds began breaking up and, right on cue, the missing man formation of A-10s appeared. Talk about dramatic! Folks here are still talking about the timing of that snow shower. And the rest of the day was sunny again! Hope you have a nice new year. Keep those folks at HQ honest. Regards, Bob.”

I don’t have much else to add except to extend our deepest sympathies to Bill’s family. I have some fond memories of the times Bill and I would spend plotting our careers – especially what we wanted to do when we finished our tour as Forward Air Controllers flying the feared “Bird Dogs” from Pleiku back in 1967. The Air Force and this great nation have lost a good man. Norman “Skip” Lee IIIUSAFA Class of 1963 [as written in “Checkpoints”, the USAFA alumni magazine, winter 1981 edition]

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Tony and Alexandra, summer 2010

Another of Ruby’s poems (turn to the back pages of the book for a typed version)

Ruby’s desk

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My Bill He was a man like no other I have ever met. A very special person. He was comfortable in his own skin, quietly confident, very aware of his own capabilities. Academically brilliant, with a photographic memory. Extremely kind, thoughtful and considerate, never capable of feeling angry or spiteful. He was positive-thinking and upbeat, loved life and lived it to the full. I learned a lot from him and miss him like mad, always wishing that he would once again burst through the door with his smiling face. As my life was dancing, singing, theatre, stage, film and television, I often think of Ole as Billy Bigelow in the musical Carousel, up in the clouds, looking down on his children and watching the family grow. I remember one day when Bill and I had only been together a few months and we were at the house in Braintree that he shared with other airmen. I had been upstairs and as I started to come down, I could hear him on the phone in the hall, talking to his mother. I sat down on the top step and waited for him to finish the call – I could hear that I was the subject of the conversation and that his mother must have asked how I’d react to him being sent away on lengthy missions with the USAF. “Mom,” he said. “She’s the kind of girl who can cope when I’m gone.” I didn’t expect him to be gone this long, though.

Our last family picture, taken summer 1980

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iley ames R J y b m , Poe ’s hand le O in written Ole om “The r f n k e k ta own boo is h ( ” e Machin ation) of inspir

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Dear Nanette, So, can it really be 40 years since that brightest of lights dimmed? But not extinguished because light brings light, reflected in our memories which still shine with the good fortune of having known and adored Bill, albeit too, too briefly. Bill’s footprints even stretch across the generations, lodged in the mind of at least one six-year-old. Out of the blue, our Christopher “reminded” us recently that he recalled his father in tears that winter’s day, for the first and only (?) time. Plus Bill’s wonderful Santa Claus, of course! Yes, it would have been more moving yet if the bittersweet remembrance could have been shared with you and others in person. But no virus, no matter how insidious or smart, will stop us thinking hard and deep of this special man on this special day. Fondly, Kay and Andrew Johnston

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Poem by Ruby Barrett Olson August 1981 I arrive in grief-stricken Hethersett, Nov. 1980 just as school is dismissed… (“Happiness consists in this: that two solitudes meet, greet, and embrace each other” – Rilke ) “Do pop out to meet Alexandra now just out the front and turn down to your right.” Five years old she was four years ago. How, Oh, how can I be sure?! The sudden fright At seeing children large and small come out In uniforms dark blue, each one alike! There, in a group of three who laugh and shout Could that be she? The one a bit elf-like? Suddenly there ahead, apart, alone, Fairer than fair, eyes blue, the clean-swept brow A wary look like that of a young deer Surveyed a world no longer one she knew And then the practised dancer’s step Became a full-mill run into my arms “Grandma! Grandma! Is it really you?!”

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Poem by Ruby Barrett Olson November 1988 Emanations from Immortality

Last week at a funeral

(November, 1988)

when it turned cold and rained

Like last year when Sally met the chief of police in Waterbury and heard him tentatively say: “I knew an Ole once – in Vietnam” – and it was you. This month a friend from England moving into Mississippi met Tom West (best man and fellow pilot, whereabouts unknown) and then the call from overseas, “Nanette! Tom! How can it be!”

I walked again that carpet of hail stones uniform as cultured pearls that fell upon our frozen grief I looked up into a clouded sky as if once more to see that, oh, so final fly-by. Eight years of your being there Without our family always too aware – eight long years of eternity – Have they been long to you, as well? There sharply gentle, powerful prods, coming in November as they do,

Alexandra, now in drama school,

probe secret depth of love we share

suddenly mature at seventeen,

and make the tenuous linkages

on being asked to read the part

somewhat easier to bear.

remembering a father drowned at sea, held firm, “But, mother, of course I will do it because I know exactly how she felt.”

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Poem by Jessie Young November 1980 For Nanette Olson In beech woods reaching for the sky May Doves of Peace Coo from on high That you may some time soon reply Beside the sea at Immingham Just lay your Posy on the tide Then watch it race & watch it ride upon the deep You’ll weep alone & weep & weep & watch the ebb tide flowing There, lingering, far as Eye can see Your flowers will glow as bright’s can be They’ll hesitate & swirl & glide Within a zone so mark it wide. You’ll know from safety on the shore It’s his & yours for evermore

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For Ole from Mother June 5, 1963 Let’s say that all Ohio did was breed

The added thrust of mind and spirit built

Another dream and let a folksy mid west

Indomitable will and self-control.

Suburb fence it in and foster, cherish,

Greater awareness of the work undone

Give it heart to grow. And then he moved

And love for man and woman chained to none.

One year ahead, three hours behind. From now on

Fair is the moon, but clean his pathway to the sun.

Time was relative and space more spacious

The greater flight remains – time lengthening

Than it was before. Then Rampant Rouge

grows apart –

Sent shattering winds but lent a mountain view

The sadness, heartbreak, fear, fatigue, despair

Pike’s Peak became a friendly towering hill

Are there, but trailing plumes of hope, delight,

For his monastic, military motherhood.

And gallantry and courage, balanced, blend

With Spartan vigor, Attic zeal, and healthy

Within the slipstream of his golden flight.

Casual humor masking real concern

For he has gathered strength from all the land

The hooded falcon hooked its talons, spread

To chart new portions of the sky and fly

His wings in trial fashion, seemed to sleep.

The dream to that infinity where hope

Hunger-fed, sustained by instinct, balanced,

And faith and God originate, and Power

Fierce and free, an inward victory won,

A world man-made, because an attribute of God

Craggy creature with a will to soar,

To see another through his little hour

He folded borrowed wings, his squadron honor won.

Returned along with borrowed wings, work done.

Fair is the moon, but clean his pathway to the sun.

Back East along the route that Lincoln toon Time-held in captive freedom, stern release To further study, flight postponed until

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Only One Ole