I've lost count of how many times I've re-read Behind the Cockpit Door. It has pride of place on my bookshelf right next to Ernie Gann.
I would like to imagine Captain Whitlock like some Forsyth Shepherd, whispering over the shoulders of pilots desert bound.
He lamented that his last Airline 'beat-up' was in a Trident down in the Med. I'd like to think he's already taken some ethereal DC3 down to the wave-tops. If I strain my ears maybe that's the sound of 1830's, way off in the distance? If I close my eyes, I imagine him in the left seat smiling, holding the yoke forward against nose-up trim as the unsuspecting fishermen in their boat get ever closer in his windshield.
I wish I had met him but feel as if I have known him.
Keep us out of our deserts Arthur!
Rest In Flight