A Scattering of Ashes

Last Saturday, Boultbee Flight Academy had the honour of scattering the ashes of Flt Lt Tim Hamer, a wartime Spitfire pilot who passed away last year. Today we received the following from Stephen Mosley, Tim’s son-in-law. It’s a lovely piece of writing – moving and also uplifting. I thought I’d share it with you.

Today we have scattered my Father in Law’s ashes, just over a year after he passed away. During the war he flew with the RAF, most notably Spitfires with 66 Squadron, so it seemed right and appropriate that they should be scattered from one of these aircraft. We are very fortunate therefore to have the Boultbee Flight Academy at Goodwood, and having approached them they were most enthusiastic in helping us to achieve our aim. So it was that at half past eleven my wife Fiona and I found ourselves with my Mother in Law Grace, one of Tim’s closest friends and comrades Andrew, and family friend Louise in front of the beach huts lining an all but deserted Aldwick beach. What little rain there had been had passed and dramatic steel grey clouds, with sunshine almost breaking through high up, provided a suitably muted palette for the occasion. The Spitfire came arcing in from the pier for a single pass to pinpoint our location, turned and dropped back down towards us rapidly scrubbing speed. She sank ever lower with the deep thrum and occasional pop from the exhaust stubs giving a sense of the tightly reined in thoroughbred. We were high up back from the sea so it felt almost like we were looking straight across to her at the same height as she drew close in to the shore. Slow and steady, a dignified deliberate precursor to the performance of an act of respect. I briefly found that I was holding my breath in expectation when, exactly opposite us, the flaps snapped open. The ashes held within streamed out in the wake; flowing, thinning and dispersing until there was nothing left – a poetic and moving return for Tim, at last, to the care of Mother Earth. The Merlin bellowed, the odd backfire adding drama and indicating the prop cycling through its settings during this most unusual of demands, as she settled her altitude then climbed away steadily with duty admirably discharged. Tears were shed. Turning up behind us she came into view again, this time all solemnity gone. The moment of mourning the death was passed, now was the time to celebrate the life. A display is a display, there are rules that cannot be breached and therefore all are pretty much the same. However today there seemed to be an exuberance that I have not felt before. It was quite possibly just the heightened emotion but as this most iconic of aircraft was made to dance in that brooding sky for us there was a fierce fluidity to the loops and turns that exceeded our expectations. Close by and low too – this was in every way our display, ours alone as testimony to someone we all miss dearly. The snarling crackle of the V12 underscored by high pitched supercharger whine added its own irrepressible accompaniment and I allowed the frail old man, to whom we had said our goodbyes, fade from my mind and the fresh-faced 18 year old familiar from myriad black and white photos to stand in his place. Finally the Spitfire climbed away inland leaving us with the warm breath of a sea breeze and the gentle breaking of the waves. After a moment’s silence Andrew read out the poem “High Flight” and our private little service came to a close. A passing marked, a life remembered. RIP