Tuesday 12th September 2017

By the time the end of May 1996 came round, it had been an interesting last 12 months for me. My marriage had fallen apart, I had started and completed a divorce against my first wife. I had fought by my then commanding officer whether I had to pay my then ex-wife maintenance. My legal advisor, also an RAF officer told me I did not have to. In challenging my CO I wrecked my career for the first time. I had been done for drink driving, no excuses on my part; I was stupid. No mercy was shown and I paid the price. Then in April my Dad died suddenly, and two days later my Grandfather died too. My only two male blood relations passing on in three days. Being the only child of two only children, this was earth shattering stuff. I was short=toured from my posting in Germany, allowed to have as much time off in the meantime I needed to straighten out my situation.

In the meantime I had met someone else and was in the process of buying a house in Oulton Broad with her. But after a year or so battling military rules, I was a bitter airman, and had a chip on my shoulder. I was posted to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire. At the time it was the main base for the C130 Hercules fleet, nestled on a hill in Wiltshire. It was a perfect posting. For my trade, Lyneham was a small camp, we either worked in small arms or in the bay servicing pods and ANLE 40 dispensers.

The summer of 1996 was a glorious one; the end of Britpop was playing out, but even then there was some wonderful music being released. Euro 96 was about to take place, there was football fever everywhere, and an air of optimism. And in the middle of this, I was posted back home, and on the 20th went to work for the fist time at my new camp.

THe first person I met in the armoury was Andy. Andy was a corporal, looked about 50, but as it turned out was less than two years older than I. We had a disagreement about my role and where he as my superior officer (noncommissioned) fitted into this. We had a chat about it, or he did, and saw he was right. We never had a crossed word again, and got on fine. Andy would do anything for anyone; mend a car, fit a kitchen, take you fishing. And so on.

I left Lyneham in 199, Andy stayed, having turned down promotion many times to ensure his children had a stable education in the same school, eventually retiring from the RAF after 22 years and the intention of setting up his own business. But being a kind hearted soul, did things out of the goodness of his soul for friends and not charge. But he seemed to have kept the roof over his family's heads. He and his wife raised three children, they grew up and had children of their own.

Last year their son-in-law got ill and only just pulled through. THey only just got through that when their son got ill and sadly died. And then on our second to last night in America there was a post on the Armourer's page on Facebook saying a Andy Haines had died. I had worked with an Andy Haines, but stuff never happens to people you know, does it?

It does.

Andy had died, a few months after his son had also passed away.

Andy is not the first RAF colleague to have passed away, and won't be the last. Facebook posts kept us updated, and the date of the funeral was set for the 12th. And because of the problem with the passport, I wasn't traveling this week, and so on Sunday I decided I would go to the funeral. Not just because it was Andy, but because of work I had missed several funerals, so decided I would go to Andy's. I booked a car and found a B^B to stay, so all was set.

And on Monday, the car, a Mercedes was delivered so I could make an early start on Tuesday. I still did not know what to expect, whether I would be the only person from the RAF attending. I was going anyway.

The alarm went off at four on Tuesday. Not sure whether it was still a good idea, but hey, if you want to avoid the worst of the traffic on the M25, and I had to be in Chippenham by eleven, so, best get going. I get up, get dressed then go down to feed the cats and make coffee and breakfast. With all tasks done I was able to get on the road before five, and needless to say it was still dark.

The controls of the car, well except the ones that are important, how to go and stop, the rest seemed unclear. Things like the radio. And the handbrake. Driving along I found how to change the radio station, and switched from some Belgian station to 6 Music. The lights seemed to be automatic, so with the radio on, I was happy enough, so pressed on into the new day, up the M20 to the M25. Traffic was light enough to make driving pleasant, and the radio was entertaining. Even on the way to a funeral, it was enjoyable.

Needless to say, the M25 got busier, and as I went west towards Heathrow, it got worse and worse, but turning off onto the M4, traffic got lighter, as was the day. Traffic heading east on the other side of the barriers was at a standstill. I knew this road so well from my time at Lyneham two decades ago, so could mark the landmarks off; Windsor Castle, the services at Reading, the A34 junction at Newbury, and then Swindon.

Once on the M4 I knew I was going to arrive in plenty of time, so I stop at Reading services for second breakfast.

Once I turn off the motorway at Wootton Basset, the traffic heading into Swindon was backed up 5 miles right into the town centre. It now has the prefix "Royal" thanks to their recognition of the repatriated war dead that used to be flown into nearby Lyneham. Its still Basset to me.

I drive to Lyneham, intending to then take the back road to Chippenham, maybe stopping of at Sutton Benger for some church crawling and photography. The sun was shining, and a glorious morning, even at the peak of the school run. But I can find nowhere to park at Dauntsey Locks nor in Sutton Benger, so I drive on to Chippenham. I knew where the B&B was so went round the one way system once checking out the limited parking spaces. On the second circuit I try to reverse into a small space, but the size of the Merc makes it difficult. I go round for a third time, ad make it into a space the third time, and checking the lamp posts, there are no restrictions, so I could park here until I leave on Wednesday morning. In theory.

The B&B is a hundred yards up the road, and the town centre through the arches of the railway viaduct to the south.

I grab my compact camera, and set off to explore and see how much of the town I remember. Very little as it happens, all new shops and shopping centre, but the usual shops, and nothing interesting like a camera or record shop. I take some shots of the buildings built of the local warm-coloures stone.

I wander about for an hour, and am standing in the middle of the high street when I see twp familiar figures; Spud and Fiery Jim. They are on the hunt for the local Wetherspoons. I have seen it already, shall we go for a drink? We shall.

Others are having breakfast, we have beer, it is just gone ten by now, and time to toast to the memory of Andy, and to catch up on what we have been doing these last two decades. And then the talk of deeds done under the influence began.

We drink up and walk up to the church. Waiting outside were some old friends, and Dave who had helped spread news of the day. Andy's wife has requested that we carry the coffin into the church. That was unexpected!

So, once we had all arrived, eight of us gather round the coffin, get instructions from the funeral director, and we hoist Andy to our shoulders, link arms and shuffle off. Ter really wasn't enough room for four each side, so we need to step short, but we get it done. As we enter with Andy, the tears start.

We make it to the trestles, and manage to put the coffin down, then retire to the row of seats and the service begins.

His wife reads out a speech, and turns out that one of their son, one of their three children had died earlier that year. I mean, how much bad luck can a family have in one year? Andy was a top blike, we knew that, but loved his family, and sacrificed his career for them, to ensure they had stability. What a guy.

We sang two hymns, pretended to say prayers, and then it was time for us to carry Andy back to the herse, and he was taken with the family to the crematorium. Outside we find two more former colleagues had arrived, we shake hands and do more catching up.

The wake is to be held at the rugby club, so we make our way there, hoping the bar would be open. It was, some were driving, some of s not, so we began to task of making the beer vanish. I guess the question is, how do you make four hours slip by in the bar of a rugby club? Well, drinking, tall tales, reading the buffet and some gentle ribbing. Yes, poking fun at each other is the best way for us to deal with tragedy. What else can you do?

The family arrived from the crematorium, and Andy's widow did the circuit of talking to everyone. It is hard to know what to say to someone who has had a double dose of tragedy, but words came out when it was my turn.

Cme five, we started to leave, and a friend dropped me off back in the town centre so I could check into the B&B. Arrangements had been made with Dave and his wife to meet in THe Three Crowns later, so I lay on the bed in my room listening to Radio 6 until it was time to walk back through the town centre. By now the sunny and glorious day had been replaced by cloud and the winds picked up as the forecasted storm approached. And as I walked up the High Street, rain began to fall, so the shots I planned to take as I walked up went untook.

I walked back past the Buttercross and carried on until I saw the pub, sitting on the corner of two streets. Not the family pub I was expecting, but a great real ale place, and walking in got a welcome from each of the people inside, and was presented with a fine dark beer to be getting on with. Dave and his wife arrived a while later, so more beer was drunk and stories swapped, until I realised I had had nothing really to eat since seven that morning in Reading, so asked if we were planning on dinner.

In the end, a curry was delivered, and we were allowed to eat it in the back room of the pub, along with fresh pints of course.

Meanwhile, outside it was hammering down, and the wind howling. So, a taxi was called for the three of us, as they were staying further along the road from where I was. I got my case out of the car, walked to the B&B, climbed the stairs to my room, out on the radio to get the football results as it was now ten. And fell asleep.

So ended one hell of a day.