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> From: Scott Fisher <sefisher@cisco.com>
> To: Paul Richardson <Paul-Richardson@cyberware.co.uk>
> Cc: fot@autox.team.net
Scott wrote
> On the other hand... There isn't much that makes less sense to me than
> ancestral hatred based on national origin. >
I agree wholeheartedly with you Scott. In this world of ours there's no
place for racial hatred of any sort, especially while we're all slowly but
surely poisoning ourselves to death by contaminating the three most
important elements required for our very survival, namely, our atmosphere,
water and food - on a global basis. In my opinion well meant fun can lead
to friendships between previous mortal enemies - where intellectual
analysis might have failed because of touching on 'soft points'.
One of the most powerful, amusing and wonderful experiences of my life that
exemplifies this very subject happened in Spain. I went to Marbella
regularly a few years ago, on business, where my brother and I organized
golf tournaments on the coast for company promotions (my middle brother Ian
was a tournament pro and now plays on the Seniors European tour).
Anyway, circa 1985 we met a friend of ours called Harold Chadwick, who
lived locally, in the bar on the complex where we always stayed. Harold,
who's father Roy designed the Lancaster bomber, was one of our most
decorated bomber pilots in WW2, having flown Lancasters on 56 bombing
missions over Germany. We got on the ale this particular evening in an
Olympian fashion - together with an elderly German gentleman, and his
friend Rolph, who were friends of Harold. Rolph was also a WW2 veteran
bomber pilot like Harold. The four of us were eventually joined by the bar
owner 'Albert' (pronounced 'Albear'), who was a French Maroccan who had
served in the Western desert campaign. The five of us had the most
marvelous drunken evening and, inevitably, the conversation turned to
telling war jokes at each others expense and generally taking the piss.
Sometime towards the end of the evening Rolph said to Harold Chadwick, "Hef
you effer been round Hamburg Harolt" - Harold replied with an
uncontrollable laughing fit, "Several times but only from 30.000 feet
Rolph." We were all convulsed - including the elderly German gentleman who
was in tears with laughter. At about 3am we all decided to hit the sack,
and Harold poured the two legless Germans into his Austin A60 car and took
them back to the elderly German gentleman's home a mile or two down the
road.
The next morning Harold came round to our chalet, where my brother and I
were nursing our hangovers with copious mugs of coffee. He said, "The
Germans have phoned me and they want to meet up with us again in the bar
tonight - and they'll buy the first two rounds. Harold then explained that
his pal, the delightful elderly gentleman who my brother and I were
introduced to as "Willy" the previous evening was the great "Willy
Messerschmitt" the ME 109 designer etc. etc. who had also retired to Spain
and lived but a couple of miles from Harold.
All the best
Paul
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