Can I have a moment of your time?

My son just got orders to deploy (again), and I dug up an article that I penned several years ago for Mark “Frugal” Bush’s website (the old Frugalsworld). Mark was kind enough to publish it for me, and it rang home again. Addendum is at the end of the piece.

Thanks for your time and thoughts of support.

Bill

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                                                                         “ Driving The Bus”


"You're just an overpaid bus driver"

I've heard that little quip from passengers, neighbors and yes, even friends and family. Over the last four decades, I've spent countless hours trying to explain my world as a professional aviator to those that have no idea what it's like, and I’ve been met with little or no success. It’s truly not their fault, for the world behind the locked (bomb proof) door is a mystery for the majority of the population. I've spoken of the many long years of training to test for all the sundry licenses and ratings, the ugly (and sometimes dangerous) jobs taken to build precious flight time, and the frustration of yearning to leave the “minor league” and work for a major airline. Unfortunately, you’re faced with a perplexing conundrum. You can’t apply to the big leagues until you have logged the requisite number of flight hours, and many times, you can’t find a job to gain those flight hours without having paid your dues. After years of this insanity, when you finally get the interview (which is grueling), and then get the nod to attend a new-hire class, you’re now faced with many long hours of training and check rides, all under the jaundiced eyes of  the FAA and company check-airmen. Also, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the endless “journeys" on the treadmill (and in the weight room) to stay in shape for that semi-annual trip under the medical microscope. Without that precious slip of paper from the FAA doctor (your First Class Medical Certificate), all those licenses and ratings are worthless. Getting the job is one thing, keeping it can be an entirely different battle.

Strangely enough, even the folks that should almost understand what my little world is like (the cabin attendants), simply don't. They see us sequestered into our little closet with windows, and then they're only allowed in when things are at the most dull point in the flight...the cruise segment. I've actually heard them say after an endlessly long duty day, "why are YOU so tired, you just sat there all day?" It can be monumentally frustrating; for it seems the hours I've spent trying to let earthbound folks peek into my world, has all been for naught when I hear that "bus driver" comment. Truth be told? Sometimes that can be exactly how I feel when I’m at work.


My closet with windows, a Boeing 757-300 bound from Anchorage to Minneapolis/St. Paul.

I received my Commercial Pilots License while attending an aviation college in the summer of 1976, and my very first passenger for hire flight was what we called a "Lake Texhoma tour". I was tasked with loading a couple of locals in one of the university's mighty Cessna's, and then spending the next hour or more flying them on a sightseeing tour over the expanse of that dirty-brown lake. It wasn't anything on the order of a Grand Canyon tour, but this rather large body of water on the Oklahoma/Texas border offered some cool viewing. Those summer days were inevitably hot, sweaty, rife with thermal bumps, and the barf bags were occasionally known to return filled to overflowing, but it was "professional flying", and I loved it. I had FINALLY turned the corner in my aviation career.  When I handed the Cessna keys back to the flight school person, it was a wonderful feeling to not have to attach a wad of my dollars to them...cool. It was all pretty neat to actually be getting PAID for flying an airplane, and a bit heady for this shy 20 year old.

Nowadays, my "tours" take me from one end of this planet to the next. The jet that I call home flies to dozens of cities, and I've seen them all...many, many times. I can tell you lots of little tidbits about them. For instance: Milwaukee has the best airport bookstore in the system, runway 33L in Baltimore is so humped that when you’re on one end of it… you can’t see the other end, you will always have a bit of a tailwind landing on RWY 27 in Palua at midnight…so you better configure early, there’s a good chance you'll get moderate turbulence below 300' AGL landing on runway 06R in Anchorage when the wind is out of the south...but 06L will be smooth as a baby’s butt, the hotel in Beijing can be as noisy as the Super Bowl at halftime, and don't get the chili at the Phoenix airport...your spouse will regret it. Does this sound like the rantings of a person that's been to these destinations over and over again hundreds of times? Yep, I'm afraid it does. Sometimes I literally have to roll over and look at the phone book to see which city I just woke up in. Being a professional aviator is simply not a job...it’s a lifestyle.


A 747 heading the other way. They even look huge at FL350!

A few weeks ago I was fortunate enough to fly a trip that would put an end to all that for a few days. It was advertised as a charter flight, but not just any charter. We fly all sorts of "off line" flights in the airline business, and I've done my share of them. Most have been for professional sports teams, and I can honestly say that picking up a load of "20-something” NFL millionaires, and kissing their (at times) prima dona asses all the way across country isn't my idea of fun. Some guys love it.... I don't. These superstars can be less than nice at times, but I guess that's O.K. when you’re convinced your feces has no odor (lol). This charter however would be something different, for it was to be a CRAF flight. CRAF stands for Civil Reserve Aviation Fleet, and it's basically working for the MAC (Military Airlift Command) folks shuttling their personnel across the USA (or, in the case of our wide body jets, around the world). The first MAC flight I did was back in '87 when I was a Flight Engineer on the Boeing 747, and I remembered it as being truly "different"...but in a good way.

What makes these trips so different? First of all, there are the destinations. Many times they are to places I’ve never been to before...but not always. On this trip, we left at 0600 on day 1 ferrying the aircraft from Minneapolis/St. Paul down to Grey Army Airfield on the Ft. Hood Army reservation just outside of Kileen, Texas. Ever been to the sprawling metropolis of Kileen, Texas? Me neither. I spent my formative years growing up on U.S. Army bases all over the world, and my teen years on the plains of north central Texas, but I've never had the pleasure of logging quality time in Kileen. After an hour on the ground, we were to depart and deliver the troops to Victorville, California, then ferry back to Ft. Hood. A two day layover was scheduled, then off to take more troops back to Victorville. Following that mission, the F/O and I would transcontinental ferry the aircraft through the night out to Andrews Air Force Base just outside of D.C., arriving at approximately 0430. After a short nap at the hotel, we would deadhead home later that day, thus ending this extravaganza. So, with the prospect of flying to several new airports, and ferrying the aircraft three out of the five scheduled legs, I was really excited about releasing the brakes on this one. A huge difference from the KMSP-KDTW-KATL-KMSP, etc, etc that one can grow accustomed to.


The flight line at Grey Army Airfield. I logged many an hour on flight lines like this with my Dad when I was a kid.


Ferrying is weird. Maybe it's the word "ferry", but I would hope that I'm not that -phobic. I guess I would prefer these legs be called "repositioning" flights.    Anyway, after all the hoopla that the cockpit door has seen since 9-11, it's pretty strange to tool around the country with the thing wide open and the cabin attendants free to come and go as they please (in cruise flight). During take-offs and landings the door is closed, and one of the flight attendants is allowed to occupy a jumpseat if they like (someone will always jump at the chance), but after 10,000', we “open the cell door" and they can visit freely. I think it's a GREAT way for them to peek into that world I spoke of earlier, and I would champion a cause that would require all new hire flight attendants to ride at least one leg in the cockpit. This would allow them (many of whom have never been around an airplane professionally) to gain lots of insight into what running a cockpit can entail. IMHO, it would show them things like... when we are busy, how we are busy, why they can't ring us as the gear is coming up, and why we always seem to be doing nothing when they come into the cockpit at FL350. Plus, it's always fun to have someone sitting on the jumpseat that isn't sporting a badge with F.A.A. printed all over, or some bald, sweaty, bad-breathed pilot-type.

Without a doubt however, the one thing that makes these trips so special to me are the people that I'm tasked to deliver. I’m talking of course about the young men and women that serve in our armed forces…in the case of this particular trip, the ARMY.  Personally, I feel blessed to have been raised in this "family of honor", and I deem it a distinct pleasure and a privilege to chauffeur these wonderful folks from point A to B. One might ask what makes them so special, and my answer would be; I’m not sure I can put my finger on it, but I’ll give it a go. It's a look, it’s a walk, and an air about them that most civilians don't have. My Dad had it, my uncle Wade had it (he wasn't really my uncle, but he and my Dad were best friends from their early Army chopper days), and these "kids" sure as hell had it. It's almost as if they unconsciously know that they're carrying the weight of freedom's long forgotten battles on their young shoulders. They look you square in the eye when they're talking to you, and they aren't afraid to let loose with a "yes sir, or yes maam" when it's appropriate. They seem to have a reason to their existence, and that principle is wrapped in honor, and integrity.


My special charges for the day.

One of the curious by-products of being raised in an Army family is that you learn all sorts of things that kids in the civilian world will never know. The language is bizarre, but has a coolness all it’s own. When my Dad would yell at is brood of five (at time heathen like) children, his calls of “police up that room”, or “fall in” would be met instantly and with an air of trepidation that I can still remember. Walking into my bedroom to hassle my brother and I with a large grin and bass-voiced “at ease”, would send us into a relaxed state ready for his next sentence.  I would sit and listen to he and his pilot buddies talk, and could actually understand lots of what they were saying (and lots I didn’t). Mix military lingo with “pilot talk” and you have a language that few kids will ever hear.

Another strange skill learned was visually oriented, and it was (is) vastly important in that world. I learned to recognize and decipher that bizarre collection of symbols and insignias that every soldier lives by; I'm talking about unit patches and rank. I grew up knowing that the beautiful gold shield with the black stripe and horse silhouette is of course the storied 1st Cavalry Division, the four green stars linked within the tilted square can only be the famous 4th I. D.  I knew things like the “Hell on Wheels" patch is the 2nd Armored Division, and who can forget the sands of Omaha were stained dark with blood from the famous "Big Red One"? I can tell the difference between a Staff Sergeant and his boss the Master Sergeant with the "three up and three down", a "butter bar" Second Lieutenant from a Chief Warrant Officer, a gold-leafed Major from a silver-leafed Lieutenant (or "Light") Colonel, and I know that nobody loves seeing a "full Bird" headed their way. But first and foremost I learned that the most important of all ranks is the "dog face" or Private, for he/she is the backbone of the military. Throughout history in the heat of battle, it’s been the NCOs and the “dogfaces” that have carried the day. The generals get the glory, but it’s always been the grunts that get the Purple Hearts.

I also gleaned knowledge about tradition and respect, and in the military, one of the primary forms of respect is the salute. I was educated that you salute the rank and not the person, and that EVERYONE salutes a Congressional Medal of Honor wearer, no matter their rank or stature. I watched my Dad salute lots of higher ranks, and he always seemed to mean it, but it was truly special when someone snapped off a crisp salute his way, for the respect and reverence that it intoned always made me walk a bit taller next to him. He taught me that serving one’s country is one of the most noble and honorable thing a young person can do, and I've never wavered in that belief. I loved growing up in the Army with my Dad, and had he been alive after 9-11 (when we were all glued to our television sets), I had many thoughts of just how proud he would have been to see “his” Army, and how they were fairing in battle.

The last days of my father's active service were many years ago, and all the soldiers in my life then were much older than me. Now I wear the face of five (plus) decades, and the troops on this trip seemed to be young.... very young. Hell, most of them seemed like just kids. Both times we landed in Victorville, I stood at the cockpit door to say goodbye to each of them, and I swear that I saw the face of my son when he was 16-year-old under many of those helmets. As a father, it was scary as hell, but I’m sure their fathers feel more than I the grip of that fear. It has been said many times that "war is a young man's game", and I guess that statement is wrapped in a hard truth. That truth however, doesn’t make it any easier for the young widow or the grieving family. These young men and women serve a dangerous profession.


Descending inbound to KVCV. If it looks hot, it’s only because it was.

Even "the brass" sitting in first class seemed young. Heck the Captains looked 20, the Majors 25, and the "full bird" Colonels looked 30 years old. I'm actually not joking at all...they really seemed (to me) to be that young. With the current events in the world, there is very good possibility that these folks will be deployed to a combat zone sometime during their time in uniform. If they do deploy, there's always a chance that some of those young, fresh faced, “Lord of the Rings” reading, "I was carrying an iPad last year, and now I'm toting an M-16" kids.... won’t.... well.... you know.... make it back.... and that breaks my heart.

My Father once told me..."son, the Army took me out of the slums of Dallas, got me my High School G.E.D. (my Dad had dropped out of high school when he ran afoul of the law), sent me to night school to gain a college degree, taught me a trade, and showed me the world. All my country EVER asked in return was to twice go fight her battles. Once, as a medic in Korea, and once as a pilot in Vietnam.... I think that was a pretty fair trade-off on my part." I've never forgotten those words. I’m convinced that many of the kids I flew around that day had grown up in "soft" America, where they've had everything from MTV and Windows 7 to "soccer moms" to make their lives easier. All that has ended for them now. They are being shown the "hard" world, where bad guys fly airplanes into buildings, where RPGs take off arms and legs, and where your buddy’s life can sometimes mean more to you than your own.

For years I've had my doubts about the "youth" of today. I've wondered if they could stand up to the inevitable challenges that evil always throws at folks that yearn to live in free and descent societies. History tests each generation, but could these youngsters step up to the plate, like the "20 somethings" that braved the Flanders fields, beaches of Saipan, and the jungles of Vietnam? I can honestly say that after what I've seen from Iraq and Afghanistan in the last few years, and my CRAF trips flown at work, I no longer have those doubts. These kids can handle it...they WILL handle it.


Offloading in Victorville, California.

So, someday when an innocent grandchild is sitting on my old, arthritic knee and he or she asks,

"Grandpa, what did you do in the war on terrorism?"

"Oh, I flew my airliners around the country and the world, always working hard to fly safe, and protect my passengers from the bad guys."

"But Grandpa...what did you DO during the war against the terrorists"

The real answer will be:

"Oh honey, that's easy....

I drove the bus that the heroes rode on.... I proudly drove the bus."




The hero’s bus.


One final note:

God bless all the coalition troops, and special prayers to my two nephews that are serving. Recruit Jason Hobbs just beginning his journey of service, and Specialist Nicholas Stewart, 2/3rd ACR, 7th Infantry Division (Light), United States Army deployed in Iraq. We love you Jason and Nick, and we’re very proud of you and your comrades. Do your duty well gentlemen, and return home safe.

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Addendum...(19 Feb 2014)

Mom’s don’t get to have a “war face”.

I wrote that piece a few years ago. It was before my son began his active duty service. He attended college in an ROTC program, graduated a 2nd Lt., and (after his return from Afghanistan last year) now wears the double gold bars of Captain in the United States Army. To say that his mother and I are proud of him would be an understatement of astronomic proportions.

With that said, she and I (and his lovely bride) are about to enter the familiar place of that long, dark tunnel again. Yes, he recently received orders to deploy back to war in the very near future. Our first reactions of course were those of shock, frustration (are we NOT drawing down over there?), and anger. They’ve now softened to become that old familiar mix of resignation and (sometimes stark) fear. It will indeed be another long year.

As a Dad, like ALL Dads throughout history, I would gladly swap places so he wouldn’t have to go. My M1 Garand is cleaned and oiled, the sling is adjusted, and the sights are true. I would give anything to lace up my boots, grab a few extra bandoliers, move up and squat in the rain waiting for the call of “guns up!” If it would mean he could remain home, safe and sound with his new bride (and work on some grand-babies for his mother and me...lol), I would raise my hand, put on my “war face”, fall in line and move out. I know that’s not possible, but as I’ve gotten long in the tooth, I find that many days I spend simply praying that He will afford my son that same privilege.

Mom’s don’t have that to steel them. They have long sleepless nights, short ecstatic phone calls, followed by more sleepless nights. They mumble, moan and sometimes scream in their slumber. Their dreams are of the unspeakable, and they are visited by those dreams most nights. They spend hours packaging boxes to send overseas so that their young son or daughter can have just a tiny bit of “home” in a foreign land. Mom’s don’t “get” that horrible monster called war, but truly, sane men don’t get it either. However what we do get is “duty” and brotherhood, and how they’re interwoven into us. We also understand that sometimes bad things have to happen so good people can live their lives in peace. We also know that Mothers from long ago days with infamous names like Bunker Hill, Antietam, Chateau Thierry, Okinawa, Khe Sanh (and now Fallujah and Pasab), have always cried as their babies have left for war. We also know that Dad’s cry too...but only on the inside. Our “war face” keeps it that way...

Please pray for ALL the troops around the world fighting for freedom and peace. We owe them no less.

Thank you,

BBall

---------      Well Said    ---------

Great piece of work...I salute your son and all of our brave warriors...

Nice, very well stated.

BBall

Well said and thank you, and i wish your son well, his training will uphold him. I want to add something as well, im a 5th generation Australian and as we are a relatively young country we are nonetheless counted as one of a handful of the oldest democracies left in the world. We are predominantly a white Anglo-Saxon/Celtic country, but the trendies love to harp on about multiculturalism. In my opinion its overrated and the reason other people came here was because of the reason why we are such a great country. Any other reason is just nonsense.

I come from family lines on both sides (father and mother) that have always fought for my country Australia, my Great Grandfathers (both sides) and Great uncle fought in France in WW1 (the Great War - the so-called war to end wars) they were all wounded in France and the Great Uncle died when he got back home as a result, one of my Great Grandfathers was 41 years old when he volunteered he fought on the Somme and at Hammel and Paschendale.
Then there is my Grandfathers, One was a Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) intelligence officer in Malta and North Africa and the other flew KittyHawks against the Japs in the Pacific.

My father was a member of the Australian SASR (Special Air Service Regiment) and was an adviser in Vietnam and served with US Spec Forces in Northern Vietnam as a member of the Australian Army Training Team Vietnam (AATTV), which so far is still the most decorated Australian Unit in our History, (4 Victoria Crosses). Then there's me, im an old Infantryman who served for 30 years as a professional soldier and served in places like Somalia, Sudan, SE Asia and briefly in the mid east. I went up the ranks and retired a Captain. I still have regret at not being able to go to Afghanistan to fight the Muj with my mates.

The reason why i have written this is to say that while like minded people stay strong we shall not suffer the modern bullshit and weakness that seems to be coming through particularly on our predominantly lefty media. A lot of young people seem to believe everything that is thrown at them from the media and dont question it. But, even with all this politically correct bullshit, good, hard working, sensible, decent people stick their hands up and put themselves in harms way for us all.  My point here is that while there are good people like you and your son then hope for a great future is assured, my only disgust is i hate fence sitters and that my friend is not what your country represents, and hopefully mine as well.

My old regimental motto was : "Duty First" nothing swanky or flash, but an honorable belief.

Strut,

Firstly, thanks for the kind words. My son deserves them, my wife and kids deserve them, and my sad attempts at scribe deserve God knows what...lol.

Secondly, not to get too political with all of this, but I will say that worry for the future (and sanity) of my country (and the rest of the free world) does exist in my mostly empty skull. But then I see (and converse) with my children (ages 27, 25 and 17) and THEIR FREINDS, and hope rises again. The morons, douche bags, do-nothings, whiners, and “teet of the Govt suckers” seem to get all the press, and the good, sane, hard working, “normal” kids seem to get none of it. They’re there, we just very seldom hear about them...

Oh, and God bless you, your family and the generations from your lineage before you. The world is a better place because of folks like you and yours. Thank you (and them) for your service, it’s an honor to be associated with the caliber of folks on this site.

I’ll see ya in the virtual skies!

Very nice guys even though i never entered the forces there is some history of this in my family.

Great great great grandfather fought in the bore war and returned home with the VC.

Great grandfather fought in the 1st world war also highly decorated with the VC.

Grandfather and his 3 brothers all stormed the beaches in D Day landings and all fought their way to Germany all returned home safely highly decorated again.

Great Uncle now he was one tuff nut, he was assigned CO to the British Commandos of 25 men who deployed to Burma during the 2nd world war where they trekked to Thailand with all their supplies to derail the Japanese efforts.
Him and his men were responsible for tacking out railway tracks trains of supplies which were all destined for the Pacific effort and 22 of the 25 bridges which his command was given to do including the famous Bridge over the river Kwai which does not nor did it ever exist.
It was more commonly known as the bridge over the river Kwong, shortly after they took this bridge out my great uncle and his men got caught, and to set an example to the men under his command the capturing CO was ordered by Yamamoto to execute my uncle.
But he showed compassion by means of a letter hand written to my Great Aunt returning all of my uncles belongings including his uniform pressed and clean along with all of this officers Japanese medals to show his respect and the samurai sword used to execute my uncle, he wrote it is with great sadness and tears in my eyes as i write this letter of condolences, you could tell he was crying when he was writing as there were tear stains on the paper.

On the wifes side the Lachica family clan are highly decorated in the Philippines for protecting their CO Ferdinand Marcos (who was president also) at all times from the shot to kill orders issued by General Yamamoto, their names are listed with the highest honors in the Marcos museum along with the solid gold pocket watch which was given to the family but now resides in the Marcos museum.

Godbless all those who have given so much for so little in their efforts to rid the world of tyranny and oppression i bow down and salute you all may our memories of you all live for ever more.

Im very impressed, two Victoria Crosses  (VC)'s in your family thats really interesting McCoy , id love to know the names of your relatives that were awarded the VC in the Boer War and in The Great War ? Im actually doing some research at the moment for an Ex Service organization for their display which includes a history of the Victoria Cross (VC).

Also what which Commando Unit was placed under your executed Great Uncles command ? and what was his name? i would love to do some research and read about their exploits, please let me know as that is a very interesting story. Also please can you let me know the units your Grandfather and his brothers served in for the D Day landings, id love to follow that up as well.

best Regards

Strut

Interrested too. How crazy the story of your great uncle.
Cheers.

McCoy,

I must be looking in the wrong places, but I am trying pretty hard to find any mention of a British soldier, commando etc or officer that was captured and then beheaded trying to disrupt and demolish bridges, trains and railway lines in Burma and Thailand. What was your Great uncles name ?
Its strange but all records so far indicate that the only bridges demolished in that part of the war was done by aircraft bombing them.

I have also found reference to some Commando’s, one of which was executed after capture at the island of Phuket, his name was John Maxwell, he was a Royal Marine Commando Major.(Operation Copyright).

At the end of the war three Japanese Officers had confessed to the torture and personally beheading three British POWs, Major Maxwell RM, Sgt/Major Smith RM and a young Naval Pilot called Tomlinson on the 20th July 1945. The Commando’s, as part of a larger group called a Special Operation Group (SOG) had landed by canoe from a submarine in March 1945 on the island of Phuket on the West Coast of Siam (Thailand) to get information on the two Japanese Airfields on the Island, also to get beach gradient and if possible prisoners.

The SOG party that landed at Phuket in March 1945 were met with a fire fight by the Japanese. Sgt Major Smith was badly wounded and Major Maxwell stayed with him but they were subsequently captured by the Japanese, and taken, together with Naval Pilot Tomlinson, to a hill north of Pasir Panjang, Singapore, and because they refused to answer any questions, the Japanese Officers, Ikoda and Kajiki, beheaded them. The remainder of the SOG party had become separated during the fire fight but they were later captured by the Siamese Troops and kept as POWs for the remainder of the war, and treated within the terms of the Geneva Convention.
 
Another ill fated operation that went wrong was “Operation Rimau”  a raid on Singapore Harbour, all the members of that raid where killed and captured, those that were captured were later beheaded in Singapore, the majority of these men were 19  Australians and 4 British. Apart from these incidents I cannot find references to any more beheadings in the circumstances you laid out.

This is a great opportunity for me to research these incidents, but what I would really like is the names of those two family member of yours that were VC winners in the Boer War and WW1. I would really love to read their story's

Best regards

Strut. 

Hey Strut,

Thanks i am struggling to my aunt is obviously passed away my uncle Charles has the sword now it was left to him in my aunts will.
To be honest i have carried this around since the age of 10, my aunt used to live in the Lakedistrict huge house by a Lake somewhere there and me and my brother were playing hide and seek whilst on holiday there.
Boys being boys at our young inquisitive age my brother hid under this blanket which was draped over the cabinet, he eventually came out all excited to show me what he had found.
So then we steamed off downstairs as youngens do all full of questions Dad Dad Dad we found a sword in a cabinet my aunt looked at us rather sternly and then looked at my father and there was a stunned silence, she then said with teary eyes well Ian you may as well tell them but take them upstairs and tell them the full truth i don't want to hear it all over again.
So Dad sat us down and told us the story which we listened to with our pop and crisps, and we were under strict instructions after that to never speak of it again think i broke that rule.
The last i heard about this was that the MOD has never recognized any of the men involved as it ws classed top secret and still is today that was about 15 years ago.
My Great Uncles first name was Charles last name is where i come unstuck could have been Lambert but i can't be certain, my father also had a trunk wooden painted black with white lettering stenciled onto it reading C.R.I.Lambert may help i would really like to know more about this to so please help me find out more.

On the other side of the family last name was Rix first name Walter for the WW1 Boer war might be Rix again but can't be absolutely sure this ended quite badly though upon his return not something i am going to discuss here in public but will on TS with you.
Definitely Rix for the WW2 all 4 brothers came home decorated, and if you have ever watched the series World at War there's a clip of them in that series just before they shipped out i seem to remember my Grandfather saying i remember that day we were in line to receive our tetanus jabs.
I appreciate anything you can find out as they have all passed away now and the rest of the family don't like to talk about it and with them being spread so far and wide its difficult to get to any sort of solid information.

Cheers

Strut

Catch up with ya if you're about this weekend.

McCoy,

Well mate there is certainly no record of anybody with a surname called "Rix" winning the Victoria Cross in the Boer War or in WW1. I can only find some records of a W.Rix's late 1800's but no mention of decorations or awards as such. I have traced family's that have had two family members awarded the VC but no Rix was ever awarded the VC.

There is no mention of anyone named C.R.I Lambert serving in the 3rd Special Service Brigade or the "Chindits" which covered the type of operations you describe in the Pacific theatre of operations. Between these two units / organistions, they were made up of hundreds of units from Britain, India, Burma, Hong Kong, West Africa and even the US. Sorry mate, but i have been through the rolls of honour and do not see his name at all. As an aside i checked Australian Z Special Force and he was definitely not in that unit either.