IAN CAMPBELL THOMSON

Condolences & Memories (4 entries)

• My sincere condolences to Carley, Ian, and families. I just heard today or would have been there Friday. My parents thought so highly of Ian's skills in getting the crew back safely after all those missions, that I was named after him; the highest tribute they could give. Ian wrote about how he trained; how the team came together; and about those missions and gave me a copy that I treasure, as it gave me a perspective on their relationship and the circumstances they were put into. May he rest in peace. - Posted by: Ian Roach (Son of Jim Roach who was wireless operator on Ian's crew for the entire WWII tour) on: May 21, 2018

• The following is my eulogy for my father. My Dad was a fortunate man. In fact, his nickname was “Lucky Thomson”. He survived 34 combat “ops” as a bomber pilot in World War II. His 4-engine Halifax bomber was shot full of holes many times and he was once struck in the head by flack bouncing around in the cockpit. The grunt he gave when the flak hit him prompted anxious calls over the intercom “are you okay Skipper”? Returning from one mission he exited the cockpit to find aviation fuel pouring from the wing onto the tarmac. While flying level, he hadn’t lost much fuel, but when the plane settled back on the rear wheel it began to leak profusely. He lost one or more engines to enemy fire on several occasions. More than once he landed his Halifax bomber without brakes after those had been shot out. His logbook records “no brakes, Whee!” His crew idolized him and one crewmember named his first son Ian after him. In return, he loved his crew and his ground crew and reminisced about them fondly throughout his lifetime. In his post-war RCAF career he had additional adventures that added to the legend. He lost consciousness while flying a P-51 Mustang fighter at altitude, perhaps due to a defective oxygen valve. The plane went into a steep dive. He regained consciousness a few hundred feet above the deck, pulled back on the stick and crash-landed in a farmer’s field near Portage la Prairie. He broke his back and lacerated his head on the gun-sight, but he survived. Afterwards, he was pensioned off and, to his eternal regret, missed his chance to qualify on a jet fighter. In civilian life Dad was a firefighter. Perhaps not the best job for a bad asthmatic. I believe that the war made him into what we would now call an “adrenalin junkie”. At one time while driving a District Chief to a fire, the rattled chief expostulated “You’re driving a car Thomson, not flying a plane” or something to that effect. Ian craved action and complained bitterly whenever he was transferred to a “quiet” fire hall. He needed a job with risk, and so he battled many blazes and inhaled a lot of smoke. I remember him lying in bed coughing and wheezing for hours after a major fire. Still, it was with regret that he later left firefighting to become an excellent Fire Prevention Officer for the latter part of his career. After retirement Ian’s lucky streak continued. In 1990 he survived coronary artery bypass surgery. In about 2000 he developed colon cancer but was cured after half his colon was removed. In 2013 he lived through a heart attack and three stent insertions. Ultimately, he survived severe heart failure for years longer than expected. He would just shake his head and say, “by God, I’ve been so lucky”. Dad never stopped being amazed by his own good fortune. He was immensely proud of his family. To my embarrassment, every health care professional we encountered was duly informed that his son was a doctor. He thought the world of his daughter-in-law Leah. He adored his two grandchildren and exulted in their academic achievements. He treasured his wife Carley who he always referred to as “my wonderful Carley Eleanor”. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner” was his constant refrain. He loved Carley’s children and grand-daughter and felt great joy in their love and companionship. He was an extroverted and gregarious person who consequently had many, many friends. In years past when I visited Ian and Carley during the holiday season their walls would be festooned with score upon score of greeting cards. With advancing years his great sorrow was in outliving so many friends, relatives and colleagues. He longed to be with people who shared his experiences and values. Longevity he recognized was a two-edged sword. My father was an intelligent and well-spoken man. He loved language, word play and poetry. At Scottish celebrations he could address the haggis from memory, in a grand Scottish accent, complete with all appropriate gestures. He could recite numerous other poems from memory and with great feeling. A few years ago his recitation of “High Flight” to an audience of airmen was met with a standing ovation. He would have done well on the stage. He used grammatically correct English at all times and demanded the same from others. He continued to correct my English usage and pronunciation in the final months before his passing. Hospital staff was also given lessons in grammar and syntax. I’m not sure that those lessons were always appreciated to the extent he expected. Dad was a lover of music and song. He had a hugely resonant bass-baritone that he could project to great distance. His voice was so distinctive that if he so much as cleared his throat at a Jets game in the old Winnipeg Arena, I would know that he was somewhere in the building. In his prime he sang in the church choir at King Memorial Church in Elmwood. For many years he was a frequently requested soloist at weddings and other celebrations. He particularly loved Scottish music and was still singing old favorites weeks before he died. Songs like “I belong to Glasgow”, “A Wee Deoch an Doris” and “Keep Right on to the End of the Road”. When he met a new female nurse or aide he would ask their name. Then, if possible, he would sing from memory a song that had their name in the lyrics. He also remembered the words to every raunchy, or ribald tune that was ever sung by men in the armed services. He knew more verses to “The North Atlantic Squadron” than anyone I have ever met. In latter years as we drove to Lockport to enjoy the scenery he occasionally launched into a few truly shocking verses from one or other of these songs. “Awful, just bloody awful” he would say afterwards with a chuckle. Ian Campbell was an opinionated man. And he had no hesitation in sharing his opinion with others or disabusing them of their erroneous beliefs. In fact, for years he had a bumper sticker that stated, “Everyone is entitled to MY opinion”. He was a great writer of letters to the editor of the Winnipeg Free Press and was published many times during his lifetime. Personally, I considered his views somewhat reactionary whereas he would have described them as correct. Dad was happy with how things were in 1950. He never thought that Canada had any need of a new flag, official bilingualism or God forbid a new constitution. Liberal politics were anathema and the name Trudeau was best not mentioned in his presence. To my chagrin, having almost the same name as my Dad, it was often thought that I was the author of his letters to the editor. Innocently, I would arrive at the hospital on a Monday morning to be clapped on the back by my conservative colleagues and shunned by my liberal friends. I would find myself hastily explaining that I was not the author this latest verbal barrage and then having to clarify my views on some contentious issue. A high school teacher enen asked my son, Ian Alexander Thomson, if he had authored one of these letters. Nonetheless, it was fun to bask in the warmth of his reflected notoriety. Politicians were also frequent recipients of letters taking them to task for their missteps. Dad’s scrapbook contains lengthy quasi-apologetic responses from Mayor Susan Thompson, Premier Gary Filmon, Finance Minister Michael Wilson, Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, and others. Dad fought a war to defend democracy and he exercised his democratic freedoms vigorously. It wasn’t all smooth sailing. At the end of his life Ian suffered from increasing incapacity, both physical and mental. He was forced to use a walker and later was confined to bed or a wheelchair. He was robbed of intellectual capacity and memory. As a proud and intelligent person this indignity frustrated him enormously. But he carried on to the end of the road with all the courage and dignity that he could muster. He continued to meet visitors with joy, to view a blue sky or passing bird with pleasure, and from time to time to reflect on his incredibly good fortune. To conclude, Ian was not the only lucky person. Many of us feel fortunate to have fought with him, lived with him, worked with him or enjoyed his company. I feel incredibly lucky to have had him with me for over 70 years. I feel especially fortunate for these last few precious years, lived on borrowed time, where we had no use for anything except loving one another. I miss him so much. Farewell Dad, and God speed! Ian Robert Thomson, 18 March 2018 - Posted by: Ian R. Thomson (Son) on: May 18, 2018

• Here is Ian's voice recorded by the veterans "Memory Project". Just click the following link. http://www.thememoryproject.com/stories/71:ian-c.-thomson/ - Posted by: Ian R. Thomson (Son) on: May 18, 2018

• My condolences, Dr Ian Thompson to you and your family. Reading your Dad's obituary, I can see he had a wonderful life. May he rest in peace. Gloria Nagy - Posted by: Gloria Nagy (co- worker to son) on: May 15, 2018