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My book, On Laughter-Silvered Wings, aboutTed Strever, myfather, follows one

man’s journey from boyhood tomanhood. It traces his life andcharacter development through thehumble beginnings of a SouthAfrican childhood during theeconomic depressions of the 1920sand 1930s; an early life fraught withinstability and financial insecurity.The story recounts his experiences asa South African Air Force pilotduring the Second World War, andmarks his coming of age achieved byhis tenacity, perseverance and abilityto overcome adversity as a Coastal

Command bomber pilot. Hiswartime exploits include the firstmid-air skyjack in history, and adaring solitary attack on the Italianfleet after losing the rest of his striketeam. Later, his painful recoveryafter being burnt in the inferno of ahorrific air crash in the Ceylonjungle, and his many emergency andcrash-landings. The story finallyunfolds when, as commander of 27Squadron RAF, he carried outdangerous rescue operations behindenemy lines in the jungle of Burma,for members of the Indian resistancemovement.

The journey of writing my bookstarted with two early passions.

Firstly, my love as a child of hearingfamily stories of old. Secondly, mybeing an intrepid hoarder of familyphotographs, letters andmemorabilia, which earned me thenickname of ‘Magpie’.

Tip 1:What not to doSome thirty years ago I felt anurgent need to record, and sopreserve, my father’s life story; I didnot want it to die with him. My mostpersonal motivation was to celebratehis indomitable spirit, to leave sometrace of his voice and keep alive hiszest for life. He was at this time, ashe put it, ‘in the departure lounge’. Iwas a ‘30-something’ wife and

Gail Strever-Morkel recounts her personal journeyin recording her father’s remarkable life story

mother with a busy household andfull-time study at university. I thustried to take the easy way out. Ipresented my father with a tapecassette recorder, a set of tapes andan ‘instruction’ leaflet, which read:

Darling Dad, Please tell me your lifestory on these tapes. When you arerelating anything remember todescribe how you were feeling, whatthe atmosphere was like, what thesetting/scenery was like. All my love Gail. xxx

Two years later, with nothing fromhim, I realized this tactic was notgoing to work. If I was going to getanything out of him, I needed to bepresent and personally engaged withhim and his story. As we lived some400-plus kilometres from each otherthis was going to be a slow process,achieved in small bites. I decided todo our recording sessions on everyweekend or holiday visit to hiscountry cottage. Here, I coerced himinto an hour or two of ‘life-story’ time.

Tip 2:Be fully involvedOnce Dad and I had begun ourjourney of reliving his past together,I understood how vital it was toshare with him all those exciting,frustrating, hilarious and painfulmoments. My original expectation ofhim – sitting ‘cold’ and speakinginto an inanimate object with nolistener or dialogue happening – wasan impossible one. Had he done thetapes this way, his story would havebeen ‘bloodless’, lacking life,humour and expression, and Iwould have been deprived of all theprecious hours spent with him,which I now hold forever dear.

Tip 3: Be organizedAs we completed tapes I took themhome, numbered and labelled them:‘Tape One: 1920-23’, for example. Ithen spent many hours transcribingthem using an old-fashionedDictaphone machine with earphonesand foot peddle. When the content ofeach cassette was printed out I sent acopy to Dad for checking and inserts.

The recording sessions started in1983 and ended with his death in1997, at which time, having obtainedhis dusty correspondence file fromhis office, I managed to sendnumerous questionnaires to hisfriends and acquaintances for more

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Family Archives A Hero in the Family

In at the Deep EndSoon I realized whatwas happening andshouted, ‘By God, it’sthe bloody 10-inchguns of thebattleships aimedand firing at us.’There was now nomistaking theirintention. All of asudden we wereflying into blacksmoke, withexplosions all aroundus, but fortunatelywe couldn’t hearthem over the noise of the aircraft. In spite of not having the support and comfortof the other eight Beauforts around us to disperse the anti-aircraft fire, I decidedthat since we had found the fleet we would go in alone. So I flew on.

There were two battleships escorted by two cruisers and seven or eightdestroyers – eleven warships in all. The escorting ships were ahead of thebattleships, forming an avenue on either side of them. I decided that the safestplace to go was right down the centre of the avenue, straight towards thebattleship, reasoning that if they fired at me they were going to hit their ownships on the opposite side, which would surely make them more cautious. Well, Ican assure you they didn’t desist.

I went in low, right between the escorting ships, head-on to the battleships,aimed – ascertaining from the bow waves that the battleship was in motion – anddropped my torpedo and shouted to Dunsmore in the front, ‘Fire the Vickers gunstraight ahead!’ (My torpedo just missed the bow of the ship and I realized that,having already been attacked by our strike force ahead of me, the ship wasstationary and had a bloody false bow wave painted on it to fool the enemy.)

The flak coming at us from all these ships was indescribable. There was tracer,green, orange, blue … the water was boiling around us. There were big blackshell bursts exploding. As I jumped the battleships from bow to stern I felt a crackin my back and … shoomph! … the hatch was shot off over my head, filling thecockpit with flying shrapnel and leaving gouges in the instrument panel. Theturret at the back was shot away. A 20mm shell hit us on the wing root, whereBob Gray was manning the Vickers gun, and the shrapnel ripped into his thigh.Incredibly, the aircraft kept flying.

Phew! … We got out of that lot! Now, you must realize that because of all themessing around looking for the fleet, we had only attacked at about 6.30 and itwas now 6.40, about twenty-five to thirty minutes after sun-up – which was a veryhazardous time to be flying around the Mediterranean. However, now that wewere clear of them I assessed the damage. Shells had broken all the hydraulicpipes, there were holes all over the place, no radio, and we were in a terriblemess. The only things working were the engines and the control surfaces, the fuellines, and the oil pipes, and there we were, stooging around an emptyMediterranean sky.

With no radio contact, a seriously defective aeroplane, fuel gauges close to theempty mark and a wounded crew member, I said to my navigator, ‘Well, what dowe do?’

He threw up his arms. ‘I don’t know!’This wasn’t a lot of help and made me lose confidence in him at that stage. I

then attempted to fathom the correct course and ETA to Malta. I reasoned thaton the original course I must have finished up north, or to port, of the target (thefleet), and that if I flew the reciprocal course I would end up to the left of Malta.So I turned 90 degrees again, and off I set.

In this excerpt from Chapter 1 of On Laughter-Silvered Wings, Ted Streverdescribes an incident that happened in June 1942 when he and his Beaufortcrew came under attack while trying to defend Malta, ‘one small lonely islandin the middle of the Mediterranean’, from the Italian fleet.

TED AND the wreck after a crash-landing at Ta’Qali, Malta,1942. Author’s collection

information. The response wasamazing. Addressees who could notadd much to my quest put me incontact with others who could. I hadreplies and help from places all overthe world: Bermuda, Canada,England, Italy and New Zealand, toname a few. I also travelled fromCape Town to Harare to interview asmany people as I could – especiallythose of Dad’s generation, beforethey passed on …

So I felt ready to put this booktogether – but then life threw me acurve ball and my project had to beshelved. It is now ten years later andone night, lying awake at three in themorning, I realized that I might belying on my deathbed saying, ‘I neverwrote the book’, feeling I had nothonoured all those who had helpedme with their time, effort andencouragement. The next morning Itried to find something on mycomputer from this early research, andto my surprise I found a file entitled‘Interviews’. Thinking that it was onlya few pages, I pressed the print buttonand, to my astonishment, a hundredpages spewed out of the printer. I thenknew I just HAD to write the book. Iwas ready to go. Or so I thought!

Tip 4: Research The process of structuring andwriting a book is not really thedifficult part of the process; once Igot going it became obsessive and allabsorbing. However, as I found out,the research of hundreds of big andsmall details can stall the process forweeks or months at a time. Tenacity,faith and patience are definitelyneeded, the latter not being one of

my strong points. Actually, therewere times, when by the mostuncanny means, I received just theinformation I needed. This made mestart believing my project wassomehow ‘blessed’.

Tip 5: You need alliesI was very privileged to have theinvaluable help of two prolificauthors along the way. Firstly, Roy C.Nesbit in the United Kingdom, whoshared his in-depth research onaspects of my father’s skyjackingstory and gave me permission to usephotographs from his collection.Secondly, my South African mainstay,Professor Louis Changuion, who inaddition to providing his immenseknowledge of South African history,read, edited and commented on mymanuscript. I drew heavily on theinformation I received from myfather’s childhood friend Wally Levy,and his ‘comrades in arms’,Lieutenant General R.H.D. (Bob)Rogers, Carey Heydenrych, HerschellReilley and Eddie Whiston. Thesesources provided me with thebackground and context into which Icould weave my story. In this wayone man’s story became enmeshedwith the world story – HISTORY!

Tip 6: Determination I gave a draft of the first chapter to aliterary acquaintance and got it backtwo days later with, ‘I think youshould stick to painting.’ However,since my father’s favourite saying tohis children was, ‘Where there’s awill, there’s a way’, I just kept going.

Also, the most frequent commentI got, when it was mentioned that I

was writing a book about my father,was a rather sceptical, ‘Why? Whowas he? What did he do?’ – as ifanyone outside of celebrity or famecouldn’t possibly have a good story totell. I knew in my bones he had agood story to tell. I also knew his storywasn’t only about him; it was aboutan extraordinary generation of menand women. In addition, I hoped mybook would highlight the incrediblesacrifice and contribution made bySouth African Air Force pilots in thewar effort overseas, many achievinggreat success in accomplishing, andoften going beyond, their duty. Thiscontribution has largely been leftunacknowledged, both internationallyand within our own country, SouthAfrica.

Tip 7: Make a startFor me, the full meaning and value ofmy story only emerged during theprocess of researching and writing itdown. Originally my intention todocument my father’s story was forthe family. However, the process tookon a life of its own and developedinto On Laughter-Silvered Wings. Whathas made it all the more worthwhileis receiving excited and happycomments from my family. Forexample, on receiving her copy, myniece Lauren wrote, ‘Oh! Auntie Gail,Thank you – it is a gift to him, thewhole family, history and the world.’

It has been an enriching, moving,sometimes frustrating but wonderfuljourney. �

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Family Archives A Hero in the Family

Gail Strever-Morkel’s book On Laughter-Silvered Wings is published by Pen andSword at £19.99. READER OFFER: 20% off plus FREE UKpostage and packing. Call 01226 734222and quote 161939 or visit www.pen-and-sword.co.uk and enter code

TED AND an Indian V Force resistance fighter after a successful rescue operation, Mingladon,Burma, 1945. Author’s collection