I remember the basement in our house in Toronto. I don’t know how old I would have been but I imagine I was 12 or 13. There was a fire place at the end of the family room where the TV was and on the right side there was a bookcase. I remember finding Dad’s Journal and I had a look at the first few pages and saw that it was addressed to me. But being a child, I put it back and forgot it.

Years later I remembered that there was such a book. But by then we had left Toronto and I did not see the book again for many years. Finally, a few years ago Dad gave me his three log books, two of his and Joe Carpenter’s, and along with them came the Journal. It makes for powerful reading.

Once Dad got overseas and into real combat flying the book fades out and stops. I suspect that events were difficult and all consuming and there was simply not enough time. And once you stop, well, the incentive to get back to it is lacking. But I am so glad Dad kept what he did write.