Peter Graham was born in Oxford, on April 11, 1923. He died at the end of a sunny day in the garden, blessed by God. Hugely loved, he will be long remembered by friends and large family. Skypilot extraordinaire - age can no longer wither you... flying again. please donate, (and NB. music can be turned off top right of page.)
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For a proper life story you need to get hold of "Skypilot memoirs from take off to landing" on Pentland press (but out of print) a few copies surface on Amazon but cost over £100. This is my own condensed version written soon after his departure. originally conceived as a memorial service piece it reflects on his life as I saw it - and not the totality of that even. “ I know how you feel …”. The subject of Peter Graham's last piece for publication in both the local parish news magazine and his Grandson, Luke Thompson's web site was, “Should we ever say, 'I know what you mean?” My father's point was concerned with when we may be hearing some genuine deep feelings, perhaps in a counselling session... or dealing with a bereavement, He tells how he once asked a group of people if any of them would care to volunteer to show that they understood another person’s pain. One brave young man said he’d do it. So Peter said to him that he found life hard because of his growing deafness. To which the young man responded: “I know what you mean. I had an aunt who was deaf.” Did I know my Father's feelings? - often not. Did he know mine? Likewise, but possibly better than I knew his. He had greater and more savage experience to draw on... I am proud to share many of his characteristics, and have made peace with those less obviously attractive aspects that I have despaired at over the years – the competitive, loud, attention loving, sometimes physically dominant presence... (so I am told).
I know that my father touched the hearts of very many people – for a period of well over 68 years. why, “over 68 years”? Because... It was 68 years ago – that Peter Graham, a raw recruit to the RAF, met and touched the heart of the 15 year old Sylvia Patteson. His years in the RAF were, thankfully, well after the Battle of Britain, but for Spitfire pilots the war remained an occupation that meant family, and betrothed, lived in constant fear that the most recent sortie might be one of no return. This duly happened in September 1944 but Peter, missing in action, was safe in Stalag Luft 1 In St Sampson's Church York – both clergy fathers must have rejoiced greatly in celebrating a marriage of their second born children - a love that shone out so brightly against the very dark backdrop of the war. My father's career might have been very different, if he had kept his promise to not “become a bloody parson...” The context some might know – his father was a priest, his brother became a priest, his sister married a priest, her father was a priest, her sister married a priest... people expected my siblings and I to be born wearing dog collars. The doctor had advised against any more children – I snuck through the closing gate at a mere 10lbs. Thanks, mum, and sorry for being so big. I came out preaching at Eaton Bray, Dad's first parish as vicar. We children remember the vicarage most fondly, indeed recently we all sang to Peter, and a wider family group, a song dedicated to that apparently idyllic place. In 1955 it was far from idyllic for Sylvia as the new Vicar's wife – a huge unheatable Victorian house that was designed to need at least three servants; ...the duties of a priest's wife, which are very many, a live-in mother who liked to open windows on freezing days, a nearly 3 acre garden with an ice hockey pitch sized lake that was just asking for children to come drown in... and a fourth child on the way Eaton Bray life included many days where Peter sat at the bottom of the back drive collecting cash from the passing villagers to go towards building a new village hall – a project that lit Peter with a passion, the passion of someone who would forever champion the common sense of using the Church, and its buildings, for empowering a wider community. One great aspect of this passion as far as his youngest children were concerned was probably the annual holding of the village fete in our very large, lawned garden. Having the “ball target game” set up gave us the thrill, on the day before, that you might expect as a child coming across a fairground ride with free admission. At the fete my brother Tony once won the “bowling for the pig” contest – I was a bit jealous of him for winning something strange called a pig... but too young to think about a huge supply of sausages. Pleasures were largely outdoor or the train set in the loft... Cricket as a family affair was bucolic splendour, six and out if you belted it into the lake... We remember with mixed feelings the harsh winter of 62/63 – when at one Sunday service the snow was so deep no one else could get to the church. Dad was the celebrating priest, Michael was the acolyte, Tony and Rachel were the choir, and my mother and 6 year old self the congregation... The igloo we built on the lawn lasted until April. Holidays with Dad were frequently to Matterdale in the Lake District, where his parents had retired, and sometimes to Devon where Uncle Alan and Sylvia's mother... having moved from Eaton Bray vicarage, said thank you for calling, These holidays always involved messing about with water. He would think nothing of diverting a small stream to power some stick and twine water mills, nor of damming a medium sized river to create a temporary swimming pool. I loved it. The Lake district also involved climbing fells and following the Wainwright guides, but his ardent desire, to drag those of us who had to take 2 steps to his one, up Helvellyn, had me constantly shouting for a diversion to Hallin Fell “the most beautiful view over Ulswater for the least effort”. On these Lakeland walks another famed aspect of Peter's notion of fairness came to the fore – he would typically have purchased some minor refreshment to sustain us on these arduous climbs. Dividing, for example, two Mars bars amongst five people became a speciality of his mathematical mind and penknife wielding skills... For some reason we never really questioned, then, why we didn't just have a whole one each, but penury was perhaps an accurate rationale for this, - we certainly were not well off at Eaton Bray, so Peter was very grateful when offered the living of the much wealthier multi-church parish of Harpenden in Hertfordshire
For the left leaning, liberal voting, anti apartheid campaigning, CND supporting ...Christian... that Dad was, this largely “Tory party at prayer” parish made for interesting conversations – to most of which I was not privy. He did confide to me later that he felt that his overt stance on issues such as Trident, South Africa and liberal politics within the church, effectively ruled out any further greasy pole climbing within the C of E. He was however, very adept at enthusing people for his ministry of equality, and in that he found some able and keen supporters. It was largely these liberal allies who converted him from the Telegraph to the Guardian... ...and it was a few years after this that he discovered that the crossword he most loved to solve was created by his own elder brother John, better known as Araucaria, the Beethoven of crossword compilers... One of the symptoms of a priest overworking at home involved having his curates in Harpenden to regular Friday morning breakfasts in the Rectory, more work for Sylvia, since cooked breakfasts were always required, it seemed. My memory of these breakfasts is not fond. They were emblematic of the problems of the child of the manse – we have to fight with the parish for attention, including within our own homes – and it is hard to gain a satisfying sense of equal attention with a family of 2,000 plus. It was at such a breakfast that I heard one of his curates ask, “Which of your sons do you think will follow in your footsteps?” The idea was impossible to me but he told them, in my presence, that he thought I was the most likely... I think my “NO WAY!” was kept as just a silent thought. But I have done so, yes, in a way – into the skies – not into the church, thanks for the flying gene Dad. I think he would not want me to gloss over one aspect of his tendency for overwork that he hid for many years. Sometimes, as in when he was training for the priest hood, he experienced a hypo-manic high, and it could take him into the church on a joyful wing and a hallelujah. But later in his work, and twice at Harpenden, it led to taking on too much, physical collapse and a need for retreat and recovery. This manic gene is commonly described nowadays as either a manic depressive or bipolar tendency – it is a curse for many, but also mooted as the reason we humans got out of the cave and discovered the wheel... I know it to be the gene that some members of our family share with Stephen Fry, Winston Churchill, Mark Twain, TS Elliot, Spike Milligan, Kate Millet, Graham Greene, Buzz Aldrin, William Blake, Victor Hugo and Sigmund Freud to select just a few, ... rather carefully... Peter became convinced that in bygone years this manic gene was at the heart of much spiritual exploration and present in many of the stories of the saints... Overwork's negative effects, with the stresses of a dominant counselling role in Harpenden, led to career movement, not by way of a promotion to a more powerful role, but by what the Peter Principle might label “The Lateral Arabesque”...
Aylesbury came to him as a parish in need of some new spark, It was as though there needed to be a loud cannon fired to wake up the parishioners where 20 attended Sunday worship in a church built to house 1500. The church building itself, his predecessor assured him, was in very good condition. Alas not so. Some £250,000 of funding campaign and 4 years of hard slog later, it reopened with its cracking pillars and foundations restored, a magnificent new organ and stage, controversial toilets (a running theme some will note) and everything that a good community centre, as well as church, might need. English Heritage should be grateful for the sleepless nights and ceaseless efforts he put in to ensure that this landmark, high on the hill of a key county town, is still there. During all this career progress Peter had pursued his interests in clinical theology and psychological help via counselling. This has been a great boon to us. Many others have commented that the greatest aspect of Peter and Sylvia's marriage was how they kept growing... when others of their age became rigid, growing emotionally, through a mutual approach to therapeutic work on themselves and with others, past retirement age. I owe my own resolved and loving relationship with my Dad more to the work on themselves that both parents undertook, than to my own growing past the age of dissent. The shining example they set, of love as a growth-filled life long process, is a lasting lesson for all. His 21 retirement years in Buckland Newton were perhaps the happiest of his life, settled into a nurturing community with an abundance of fellow gardeners – still campaigning, right to the very end, mainly now... yes... for the small mercy of a toilet within the church... He had a remarkable ability to make friends and influence people and this led to a level of popularity within the village that leaves me relaxed in the knowledge that my mother will be well looked out for, well loved. One resident in the village, top aero modeller, Jeremy Collins, took it on himself to construct a flying scale model of Peter's Spitfire Mk12, which, apart from the absence of that enormous Griffin engine roar, was the spitting image of his beloved plane, lost 65 years ago over France. I imagine his spirit boyishly residing in it if it ever flies again... Jeremy? - are you reading this? And so to the present – past perfect, future unknown...tense... The following is a shortened version of what I wrote on my blog, and read at his graveside and would like to share with you all now, On the final day (11 October 09) I am sitting in my father's chair, tapping on his keyboard, to the sound of my mother and brother exchanging a few practical words in the kitchen downstairs. The garden looks as wonderful as it always does - now in the fading evening light, tomatoes he grew, and picked on Thursday, are ready on the table to accompany our meal. I know he is gone - lying lifeless in a hospital bed 12 miles away - but I still would not be surprised to see him totter down the garden path on his two sticks calling, "Sylvia...?". Today on the ward I stroked his hair, and immediately smelled the bonfire smoke - distinctively holly leaves, that he was busy with only hours before his fall from wakefulness. A most fitting perfume. Relatives are now generally in the good mode of contact, confident chats and simple sympathy. Friends, a mix of close, those not yet informed, and those who have heard from others, are very keen to offer condolences, and some with greetings in overly hushed tones - but the best out there have already said such wonderful things about him - so wonderful it hurts. The final call from the hospital was a midnight affair, and my hopes that that call would wait, have been dashed... The great grandchildren were just asking if he is in heaven yet... …...........he always was. this was a big, smiling, great hearted man...my Dad.
This is to be sung to the tune of Mozart's Horn concerto (should play - click on it) and in the style of Flanders and Swann's "Ill Wind" - lyrics by Tony especially for Dad's Birthday dinner at the Amberley Inn near Minchinhampton 2008 "The Way of the Ping" We heard of a PING and we had to WAY-lay it, Two wires for track with collection of balls which flew far with a beauty and grace – though we’ll say it - With sleepers and tension came one or two falls. To build that line took high-level engineering skills, They found that line was a bit of a devil to run: Such use of height (such use of height) to give you a sight, (echo vocal) A beautiful sight with a beautiful sound Oh, the hours they had to spend before they mastered it in the end. (unlike this song - echo vocal underlay) But that was yesterday, and if today You searched the original site, There might be balls but the PING-WAY would be missing! Oh where has it gone? Haven't you, hasn't anyone seen that WAY. Oh where has it gone? What a blow, now I know I'm unable to launch my Glissando. Who swiped that WAY? I bet you a quid somebody did, Knowing they had an invention and wanted to build it, Afraid of their talent at laying the WAY For decades ago, as we'd like you to know It had vanished - Oh Woe - like a needle in hay. We lost our PING - we know they were using it yesterday We lost our PING, lost our PING Found that PING – A-HAAAAAA Its not so easy getting it back, though it offers a splendid reward. We know of Money Men, whose cunning plan's to market a miniature PING, Gone away, Gone away, was it one of them took it away? Will you kindly return that PING (backing vocal - "Way") Where is the Devil who pinched that PING? We shall tell the police. We want that PING WAY back! We miss its music more & more & more, Without that PING, I'm feeling sad & so forlorn…(Cadenza!!) (But) PG had PING seedlings and wanted to grow them With wires and pliers he laid a new track With Sausage and Hoist, Harpenden could rejoice The PING was reborn, King of “Toys” After resting a while, he revived it in Dorset And nobody took it away It might have long gone with no-body to make it But Peter G kept it alive The Wife's less obsessive than he, “Just coming - One more before tea!!” His Child’s pretty large you’ll agree! WAA! WAA! (lyrics by Tony Graham) The Pingway - the great "invention" of Peter Graham copied elsewhere, brilliant originals all of them - the last in Dorset... May it rust in peace
Not long before he died, Peter Graham started a Facebook page. Probably not everyone here at the memorial service knows what that is, so let me explain: Facebook is an Internet social networking site originally designed for college and high-school students to network with each other. It’s grown a bit beyond that now… but I’m not sure “86 year-old retired vicar” was ever in the imagined demographic. Now, let me tell you why that’s significant. I live in Hollywood, and work in the media, and the way older people are so often portrayed is exemplified by Grandpa Abe on The Simpsons: Scared, senile, conservative, stuck in their ways. Now, I’m not saying my grandfather was never stuck in any ways…for example, I don’t think he could ever bring himself to eat a whole banana. But if it ever became clear to him that he was set in a way that was detrimental – he worked to change it. I’m told he used to smoke heavily…but not while I’ve been alive. And far from fearing the new, he embraced it as best it suited his purposes…he was my first ever cinematographer, combining his then-brand-new Betamax camcorder with my youthful, unpolished script attempts. He was one of the first in the family to really embrace email, on which he would often debate me about the awful things “my country” was doing – that’s how he always phrased it, “YOUR country” (It’s not all my fault!). And his personal page is still standing on Facebook. A few years ago, I remember helping him deliver the local village circular, to approximately 25 houses, at least one of which had a frightening dog. I looked through the circular myself, and in it was a column he had written. I asked him if he had any older ones, and he obliged showing me a binful of back issues, and I said, first to myself and then him, “This is too good to only be read by 25 people.” I asked him then if he’d let me set up a website for him, where people across the ocean who needed to read an intelligent, progressive Christian thinker could interact with him. And he liked the idea… but the fear of spam took hold, and he said he didn’t want that; however, he’d send me the columns each month, and I could do as I pleased with them. So I ran them on my site. The first or second time I did, one of the readers left a comment: “Can we clone your grandfather?” I said I thought he’d been plenty fruitful and multiplied the old-fashioned way, and besides, you’ve got ME… I’m the watered-down version. Later, I got him to take reader questions, and he got quite a following that I’m not sure he entirely knew about, but would have loved. If anyone here follows movie websites based out of Los Angeles, you would recognize some of the bylines of people who read his words…one of the creators of the movie “Snakes on a Plane” sent me his condolences when he heard the news. Peter Graham was larger than life…and judging by the turnout here today, he’s also larger than death. My grandfather shared many words of wisdom over the years, and while I didn’t always agree with all of them, there are one or two I like very much. The first, is that he said we should always endeavour to act as if there is no such thing as giving of offense, only taking offense…and we won’t do that. The second is a bit more oblique, but just as significant from a man of the cloth: “There are very few absolutes…and one of them is that there are very few absolutes.” I don’t know if the love he tried at all times to walk in counts as an absolute; but I can say that it was felt – and is missed – absolutely. Please copy and paste this link below in to a browser tab. it is a youtube video shot and edited by Luke during his recent visit for the memorial service, memories of Peter via interviews with his family:- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZwObJETuXY for video of Mike, Steve, Lucy and Si singing at the memorial service click here http://www.youtube.com/user/offpatsmile#p/a/u/0/83AfF_6v8hs
Peter Graham was born on April 11, 1923 in Oxford, UK. the second son in a squadron of 6, to Eric and Phyllis Graham.
sat scholarship for Cambridge and came 4th to last out of 126 candidates - good enough for Kings in wartime apparently.
In America at the time of the Pearl Harbour attack, Peter had his first flight and attempt a controlling an aircraft on this date
engaged - not enemy aircraft - Sylvia whilst on leave...
Attacking a heavily defended train load of V2 flying bombs, success in hitting the engine, failure to escape the scene... capture immediate upon (bad) parachute landing.
10 days after returning from POW camp in Northern Germany, Peter married his beloved Sylvia in York.
The doctors first said the due date meant that conception must have been whilst Peter was still in POW camp...the revised expected birth date showed the silliness of that prediction.
seeking to use his (much improved) German & French language skills, not bad first job for someone with no teaching qualifications whatsoever...(check out Haileybury College now on the web - it seems to have thrived since then.)
Born at home, and this birth was with Dad present.
in hospital in St Albans, on advice of medics.
Already ensconced in the Abbey Mill Lane property next to 'Ye Olde Fighting Cocks' - the famous pub near St Albans/ Verulanium lake.
village life proper
on holiday at Parental home, Forbescourt, Dundee, - "ostensibly to amuse the older children" the great invention with wires, golf balls and a mad Graham magic. This was the ultimate development of previous experimental ball rolling games. - probably competed for in magnificence by the Harpenden version built 1966-1970
at home, on Doctors advice - the mold was broken...
Eric Graham, formerly Bishop of Brechin and Dean of Oriel College died 9th(?approx) January 1964
having had a massive and, mercifully big enough to be final, stroke on the evening of a full day working in the garden in the sunshine of 8th October, Peter's body gave up completely in the first hour of Monday the 12th - his traditional day off before retirement as a most hardworking clergyman.
This is to be sung to the tune of Mozart's Horn concerto (should play - click on it) and in the style of Flanders and Swann's "Ill Wind" - lyrics by Tony especially for Dad's Birthday dinner at the Amberley Inn near Minchinhampton 2008 "The Way of the Ping" We heard of a PING and we had to WAY-lay it, Two wires for track with collection of balls which flew far with a beauty and grace – though we’ll say it - With sleepers and tension came one or two falls. To build that line took high-level engineering skills, They found that line was a bit of a devil to run: Such use of height (such use of height) to give you a sight, (echo vocal) A beautiful sight with a beautiful sound Oh, the hours they had to spend before they mastered it in the end. (unlike this song - echo vocal underlay) But that was yesterday, and if today You searched the original site, There might be balls but the PING-WAY would be missing! Oh where has it gone? Haven't you, hasn't anyone seen that WAY. Oh where has it gone? What a blow, now I know I'm unable to launch my Glissando. Who swiped that WAY? I bet you a quid somebody did, Knowing they had an invention and wanted to build it, Afraid of their talent at laying the WAY For decades ago, as we'd like you to know It had vanished - Oh Woe - like a needle in hay. We lost our PING - we know they were using it yesterday We lost our PING, lost our PING Found that PING – A-HAAAAAA Its not so easy getting it back, though it offers a splendid reward. We know of Money Men, whose cunning plan's to market a miniature PING, Gone away, Gone away, was it one of them took it away? Will you kindly return that PING (backing vocal - "Way") Where is the Devil who pinched that PING? We shall tell the police. We want that PING WAY back! We miss its music more & more & more, Without that PING, I'm feeling sad & so forlorn…(Cadenza!!) (But) PG had PING seedlings and wanted to grow them With wires and pliers he laid a new track With Sausage and Hoist, Harpenden could rejoice The PING was reborn, King of “Toys” After resting a while, he revived it in Dorset And nobody took it away It might have long gone with no-body to make it But Peter G kept it alive The Wife's less obsessive than he, “Just coming - One more before tea!!” His Child’s pretty large you’ll agree! WAA! WAA! (lyrics by Tony Graham) The Pingway - the great "invention" of Peter Graham copied elsewhere, brilliant originals all of them - the last in Dorset... May it rust in peace
For daughter Rachel's retirement and 60th birthday party the Graham clan gathered in Minchinhampton, songs, food, play, speeches, but mostly catch up chat... and pictures...
unsure of the dates - sometime between April and July..
two murders were featured in the locality news in the first month of our arrival...a town of 44,000 population.
where the counselling of clergy was the flesh built on to the core of the small parish between Tamworth and Lchfield
a long and happy retirement in 1987... editors note: despite that it says 1988 in his book, more than one of his dates in there are wrong - I married in February 1988 and told parents I was going to, several months before - in 1987 in the dining room at Buckland Newton...
Not long before he died, Peter Graham started a Facebook page. Probably not everyone here at the memorial service knows what that is, so let me explain: Facebook is an Internet social networking site originally designed for college and high-school students to network with each other. It’s grown a bit beyond that now… but I’m not sure “86 year-old retired vicar” was ever in the imagined demographic. Now, let me tell you why that’s significant. I live in Hollywood, and work in the media, and the way older people are so often portrayed is exemplified by Grandpa Abe on The Simpsons: Scared, senile, conservative, stuck in their ways. Now, I’m not saying my grandfather was never stuck in any ways…for example, I don’t think he could ever bring himself to eat a whole banana. But if it ever became clear to him that he was set in a way that was detrimental – he worked to change it. I’m told he used to smoke heavily…but not while I’ve been alive. And far from fearing the new, he embraced it as best it suited his purposes…he was my first ever cinematographer, combining his then-brand-new Betamax camcorder with my youthful, unpolished script attempts. He was one of the first in the family to really embrace email, on which he would often debate me about the awful things “my country” was doing – that’s how he always phrased it, “YOUR country” (It’s not all my fault!). And his personal page is still standing on Facebook. A few years ago, I remember helping him deliver the local village circular, to approximately 25 houses, at least one of which had a frightening dog. I looked through the circular myself, and in it was a column he had written. I asked him if he had any older ones, and he obliged showing me a binful of back issues, and I said, first to myself and then him, “This is too good to only be read by 25 people.” I asked him then if he’d let me set up a website for him, where people across the ocean who needed to read an intelligent, progressive Christian thinker could interact with him. And he liked the idea… but the fear of spam took hold, and he said he didn’t want that; however, he’d send me the columns each month, and I could do as I pleased with them. So I ran them on my site. The first or second time I did, one of the readers left a comment: “Can we clone your grandfather?” I said I thought he’d been plenty fruitful and multiplied the old-fashioned way, and besides, you’ve got ME… I’m the watered-down version. Later, I got him to take reader questions, and he got quite a following that I’m not sure he entirely knew about, but would have loved. If anyone here follows movie websites based out of Los Angeles, you would recognize some of the bylines of people who read his words…one of the creators of the movie “Snakes on a Plane” sent me his condolences when he heard the news. Peter Graham was larger than life…and judging by the turnout here today, he’s also larger than death. My grandfather shared many words of wisdom over the years, and while I didn’t always agree with all of them, there are one or two I like very much. The first, is that he said we should always endeavour to act as if there is no such thing as giving of offense, only taking offense…and we won’t do that. The second is a bit more oblique, but just as significant from a man of the cloth: “There are very few absolutes…and one of them is that there are very few absolutes.” I don’t know if the love he tried at all times to walk in counts as an absolute; but I can say that it was felt – and is missed – absolutely. Please copy and paste this link below in to a browser tab. it is a youtube video shot and edited by Luke during his recent visit for the memorial service, memories of Peter via interviews with his family:- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZwObJETuXY for video of Mike, Steve, Lucy and Si singing at the memorial service click here http://www.youtube.com/user/offpatsmile#p/a/u/0/83AfF_6v8hs
from Susanne (and Keith) Jukes, Minster House, Ripon - who attended The Rectory at Elford many times. They say it, "...was a very special place for those of us who found our way there in the 80s for the Clinical Theology course and/or for one-to-ones with Peter. It was a safe place in which to be challenged and healed - a place to come to terms with ourselves and the world around us. Peter was passionate and often ruthless because of his commitment to a healing ministry. He made such a difference to our lives. And always, we were aware that somewhere alongside would be Sylvia. We give thanks, and remember him with much fondness, love and gratitude. Susanne and Keith Jukes,
I have just returned home to Gloucestershire through incessant rain after the Thanksgiving service yesterday that took place in Sherborne Abbey embraced by glorious sunshine. Thanks are due to all who made the effort to attend and be so warm - especially those who traveled many many miles. I have just asked the web-masters here - who seem a wonderful bunch, if we can upgrade the site so that before too long it will have the capacity to host some video that I took at the service, and some interviews with the family that Luke Thompson made on the day... here are links so you can catch these three videos on youtube http://www.youtube.com/user/offpatsmile#p/a/u/1/20tnQsMsLKA http://www.youtube.com/user/offpatsmile#p/a/u/0/83AfF_6v8hs http://www.youtube.com/user/lytrules#p/a/u/0/dZwObJETuXY To pay for this much enlarged capacity I have put a note on the front page - look under the heading "donate" this will steer you as to how to donate to muchloved.com, which is fundamentally a free memorial web site, in aid of the bereaved, run by them as a charity. The extended site cost is small, but will enable it to be here for a longer time as well (as long as the internet runs) and be able to support many more photographs, video clips and pieces of music. I have also asked those who contributed to the thanksgiving service in the family words section to send their words either to me via email (you can contact me via this site too) or "contribute" to this site under the "thoughts" section - so you may well find this space filling up over the next year or six - as did I when I first saw the site go live...
7 hours of driving to be involved and transport Mum to Stephen and Mary's Hampshire home for Elisabeth's 80th birthday - and what driving... driving rain slowing us at one point to almost a standstill - the end of the world type storms - but it cleared and Flint House was warm with Graham family buzz. It is an odd time now - preparing for the memorial service this Friday, in the midst of celebrating a younger sister's birthday, who now celebrating her 80th with joy and verve was virtually assured by doctors she would not see past her 78th... and there she is holding pictures of her brother Peter who expected to be the last but one, not the first of the six to go... I still await the "Other Lives" short obit that the Guardian said they would publish - I gave them a strong push by putting "Araucaria's brother" in the subject line. and yesterday my lovely Katrina sat next to Araucaria convincing him that he must invent a crossword based on the theme of our family get-together parties. What a good thing it is that we have done by having these regularly. The gallery has two shots from the August Bank Holiday occasion for Rachel's 60th. I recommend this practice to the house.
Welcome... from Peter's youngest, Patrick. I have included a selection of comments already posted on my instant memorial made on my blog at smileofthedecade.co.uk - at the time Dad died. This independent site offered a chance for others to take greater ownership, contribute and not have to bother with the rest of my rage against the machine blog entries... So if you are visiting here as a friend or family from far away, there are plenty of places within the site you might wish to add a thought or photo - but - there is a limit to the web space I can get for free and currently this page is safe for 10 years, remarkable for a free service from a charity who have seen the potential of the Internet for remembrance sites...to make it last for ever - please donate if it proves popular and people would like to see it grow I may add more storage space and upgrade to "in perpetuity" status...based on donations to the site charity. click "Donate" at top of page. In the event of it lasting longer than I do (or Simon does) - hey... someone else will have to do mine and take over this one it could get complicated!
'What time is it Si?' 'It's something after midnight Gramps...' In the pitch black I see you 'LARGER than life' (a somehow appropriate metaphor these days...) As I look up through my eyelids at you, gravity tugs hot tears of pain down each cheek & into each ear. (actually that gets pretty irritating after a while...) Still, Staccato as my thoughts are, I remember you with such pride... I see you playing floodlit croquet with me at age 11(ish).. I hear you reading Kalhil Gibran with such passion as I hold the trembling hand of my beautiful wife-to-be, I feel the tender touch of your love, as you hold little Jazzy, delicately caressing her 3 month old skin.. Then I recall your emailed conversations with Zeta.. She: inviting you (her hero) to come an bounce with her on her new trampoline.. you: warmly appreciative of her kind invitation, but gently suggesting that mexican dominoes may be slightly more appropriate... Your ebullient cry force a smile on my face,, 'A WICKET !' I recall the unrestrained boyish joy we shared during our penultimate day together, when Flintoff's direct hit ousts Ricky Ponting and begins England's charge towards a famous Ashes victory!.... It is still something after midnight... My devoted Grampy.. A huge inspiration, Unfailingly committed in your search for truths (spiritual & otherwise)... Wonderfully unfettered in your love and acceptance of people.... A song drifts into my head, and I welcome another session of music therapy. This time a song I heard just before my 17th birthday.. I love you Grampy Si..xxx.. ____________________________________________________________________ I took to your father the moment I met him at your wedding, and would love to have met him much earlier, and indeed sought his counsel. He was in every way a model of what a fine and honourable man should be. I especially valued and admired the fact that he was still fully ready to revise and rethink. Yours most sincerely, Dafydd and Fay Wales ____________________________________________________________ Thank You so much for informing of this sad occasion, Peter came into my life from extensive research on my 1st cousin once removed who was a dutch aviator who flew his last mission with Peter, when he was reported lost, and crashed near Dover on Auust 17th 1944. Peter had his picture of Rijklof "Charlie" Van Goens in his book "Skypilot" he so graciously signed and send to me. We e-mailed on several occasions, and my partner in research Rob Philips went to visit Peter, and they spoke extensively. Thanks to Peter the record was set straight that my cousin was shot down by friendly fire (AA guns) and not that he ran out of gas as reported by RAF records. Peter and Rijklof Van Goens set out that fateful day to battle incoming doodlebugs (V1 German selfguided bombs) but the weather was really bad and they could not get any visuals, they aborted the mission and returned to another base. Somehow Rijklof passed above the anti aircraft guns as they were shooting at the Doodlebug and was hit. Peter told us of my cousins last frantic messages in dutch, which he did not understand. It was a great honour for me to have met such a great person as Peter, he was a link to a past that absorbed me, even when I never met my cousin, he made me understand the person he was. I wish to convey my condolences to the whole family, Peter will be sorely missed. Thank You, God Bless Peter Huender Holland _____________________________________________________________ I only got in contact with your father very recently, namely in August this year. One month before I had co-led the excavation by our Belgian aviation archaeology team of a Spitfire of 41 Squadron that had been shot down over West Flanders on 19 September 1943. On that day your father had been in action with 41 Squadron as well and he was so kind to answer my questions I had asked him via e-mail. His reply as well as his photo were and still are intended to be taken up in our next year's exhibition about this excavation and the events of 19 September 1943. I will also appreciate his prompt and kind enthusiasm to help me in my research. I must admit that I did not expect him to pass away so suddenly. A unique husband and (great grand)father can never be replaced but I am sure he will keep inspiring your family and so many friends and acquaintances. I wish your family courage. Sincerely Yours, Dirk Decuypere Belgium ____________________________________________________________________ I met Peter earlier this year at Bolt Head and had a most interesting conversation with him about 41 Squadron as my father was also a pilot who flew spitfires in 41 Squadron - but earlier in the Battle of Britain. I was struck by his sense of humour and his vivid recollections of the conflict and period of captivity. Although the conversation was brief, after dinner at the hotel, I count it as a treasured moment - his warmth and kindness shone through to me - a complete stranger. It was an honour to meet him and I feel privileged that I had the opportunity to have a conversation with him. I am sure he is flying once again. Sincere wishes John Shipman Bedfordshire ___________________________________________________________________ I am very sorry to hear of the passing of your father Peter....he was a neat guy and I enjoyed meeting and renewing our friendships from the 80s when he was priest at St. Ambrose, here in Claremont, California, I bet he has friends from all over the globe! ( certainly does - PG) Thank you for including me in the mailing. Love, Marcy ____________________________________________________________________ My late husband, Herb Wagner, who died 4 years ago of kidney failure, and your father served together in the RAF (Herb was one of the few Americans on the squadron),and they kept up via email for many years. We saw your father at a reunion many years ago. Herb always spoke so highly of your father and told me many wonderful RAF stories about him. Brooke Wagner , USA (editors note: Herb was the long serving POW mentioned in previous blog entry comments from 41 Sqaudron history compiler, Steve Brew, - they became great friends in Prison camp.) _____________________________________________________________________ What sad news about Uncle Peter, who holds a very special place in all our hearts. I have such fond memories of him and Sylvia here on the farm, rowing the boat on the river, visiting the people in the compound, joining in with the Christmas spirit at Ngenile, just being himself - no judging ever, even with the Randells, who as you know are not the most devout lot! Baptising Alexandra Barbara Randell at Petra and performing the blessing for Dad and Pam on the very same day, a day never to be forgotten. We still have the candle he gave us, kept specially for Abby as a reminder of that day. We have lovely memories of him on our trip to England, at Charlie's cottage, when they brought us lunch - and we then visited the nearby castle. All the children remember him fondly - as we do. Rest in peace Uncle Peter, we won't forget you! Uncle Peter really was a most special and unique person, with charm and compassion, and a smile that I will never forget. God bless, Lots of love Frances, Mark, Katie, Simon, Charlie and Abby (Southern Africa) _________________________________ I only met Peter once quite recently at a birthday celebration at Simon and Belle's house in the Peak District. As an ex-member of 41(F) Squadron from an altogether more recent and less dramatic era, I was left with the impression of his timeless sense of fun. The simple, understated way he related stories of his time served was both fascinating and humbling. We left the party both realising we had met someone truly special. God bless and our thoughts are with you all. Comment from: Jon and Amanda Hewitt [Visitor] I, like Pat above, only met Peter the once, on that same afternoon at Simon and Bel's house in the Peak District. A very striking man and yet a very personable one; I notice here that more than one or two folk who met Peter just the once or twice feel compelled to write something of him - surely the mark of a truly great man and hero. For myself, and as another aviator, the most fitting words I kind find were penned during WWII by one of Peter's fellow Spitfire pilots, I add them here in case they might touch others and enable them to draw some solace from these wonderful words, for Peter surely did, and is now, touching the face of God: High Flight Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . . Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or ever eagle flew — And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. — Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr __________________________________________________ Such sad news. Peter was a lovely, lovely person whom I feel so privileged to have known. Such fun to be with. We shared a love of crosswords - though he was better than me of course. Much love to you all, especially Sylvia. Angie - cousin-in-law! from Pat's brother...Tony "Hole in the world" Just gone noon the cocks are crowing A pot of late raspberries carried in the wrong hands I'll need your help to mend the study light he'd said. I sit in his chair between brother and mother, lie awake in bed in the dark of his dressing room. The coldness of his forehead shocks my lips. His grey-silver hair smells of bonfire smoke. A hole in the world
http://www.guardian.co.uk/theguardian/2009/dec/13/peter-graham-obituary this link takes you to the brief Obituary I wrote for the Guardian back around October 15th. ...only 2 months after he left...