Donald John Cameron Robertson, 1934-2016
Donald was born and raised on a sheep farm in Kinloch Rannoch, Perthshire. His lifelong interest in aviation was sparked as a young boy sitting up on the hill at night watching the glow from the fires and searchlights during the Clydebank blitz and other attacks. He recalled in later years the unforgettably distinctive up and down hum of the Luftwaffe's bombers as they passed over on their way back to Germany, one in particular, perhaps crippled from the fight, passing over so low he felt he could reach up and touch it.
The 70's saw him move from the then family sheep unit at Kippen to farm cattle and cereal in his own right at Forfar, after some flying lessons at Perth he bought a small single seat wooden aircraft with a Volkswagen engine as a project, I don't recall the type.
In the early 90's with his 4 kids grown and away he seen a daring flight display by Heather Hayes at Perth that reignited his passion for flying, leading him to buy a Varga Kachina (G-DJCR) from Ireland and restart lessons at Dundee. Unfortunately he was unable to pass the medical but did not let that deter him, I was commandeered to come along on his flights for the sole purpose of keeping things legal with my PPL under the strict understanding that he was doing all flying , which he did and very well indeed.
Over the years he would visit his sons in California where we would rent a Seneca and tour the State including a low level pass over the Golden Gate Bridge. His favorite stop was the little strip at the Harris Ranch to view with amazement the 100,000 head of cattle in the feed lot (he had a herd of 70) followed by a stop in the farm shop to pick himself out a choice cut for dinner.
In recent years he would take the controls of the Maule or fly in his other sons gyrocopter around the highlands that he loved so much and knew so well. On one flight back from Oban passing over his boyhood sheep farm at Rannoch I noticed he was looking down at the steep hills and appeared a million miles away deep in thought. I dared to intrude and asked what was on his mind expecting a fond recollection of his youth shepherding with his father on those very hills and glens 70 years previously, he turned and responded "That crazy old bastard had me running up and down those bloody hills all day long". I laughed all the way back to Forfar.
Although Donald never did get an official PPL certificate, he was a pilot and airman nonetheless and a damned fine one at that.
Peaceful flight dad, PB84.