My Dad, Geoffrey Sandilands, RAAF, 1923-1944

Geoffrey Bruce Hope ‘Sandy’ Sandilands
My Dad, the Australian hero I never met.

Now having acquired a bit more information of my father’s short life, I realize just how much living he managed to pack into his short lifetime of 22 years.

No doubt the most exciting part would have come around the time of his 20th birthday when he decided to follow in his family footsteps and fight for his country in a war that was now coming far too close for comfort. He left his home on the sheep station “Roumalla” near Uralla on the New England Plateau to enlist, train, and eventually was shipped overseas from Sydney, Australia (June 1943).  His destination was Canada, so many thousands of miles away. Arriving on a Canadian airfield, he would receive training  to be a flyer as part of the British Commonwealth Training.  Eventually he would find himself at RAF Base Hixon, in Staffordshire, England in June 1944. During those early days in Canada, he met my mother at the #3 Bombing and Gunnery School at Macdonald RCAF Base in Manitoba and they became smitten with each other. (An interesting family historical note here is that my husband, J. Robert Whittle was born in June 1944 and they share the same birthdate! Bob and I found this out some years afterward from my dad’s sister.)

In May 1944, mom and dad decided to marry after much discussion about the fact that he would no doubt be sent overseas and the odds were as a rear gunner, he would not survive. But a miracle happened and, the family tradition (story) is told, due to British Government connections (dad’s uncle was a Lord) and, the fact all the young men in his family (2 brothers and a brother-in-law) had recently been killed in WW2 while serving in the RAAF (Australia) — in India and N. Africa — he would not be sent overseas.

Upon return from their honeymoon, however, all this was apparently forgotten, possibly due to the terrible losses the Allied aircrews were suffering in Europe which caused the decision to close the MacDonald base. Of course, mom and dad were not party to this information and I only recently discovered it in my research. So the unthinkable happened — his transfer papers were waiting for him, sending him to England. I would imagine that my parents initially assumed that the British government had betrayed their trust, but on arriving in England, my father was told he would not be flying … he was to serve as an on-ground trainer of rear gunners at  Hixon Air Base, training base for Wellington Bombers. (While in Canada he had been refused as a pilot due to his eyesight.)

His kind nature and love of flying, however, would soon seal his fate irregardless of the precautions. Barely months later, on that fateful night of October 31st, 1944, one of his Aussie buddies got sick and dad saw the opportunity to do what he loved … to fly … taking his friend’s place in that Wellington on its night training flight. (I gleaned this information of the flight from military records.)

During the flight they encountered a wild electrical storm and crashed into a tree as they tried to find the landing strip. That tree was located in Ingestre Park (now a golf course) a short distance from Hixon Field. Sadly, all nine young (ages 19-32) Flight Officers were killed. They were buried together in the War Graves Cemetery (Blacon) just outside of Chester, Staffordshire. Left behind among grieving family was a young, pregnant widow, my 25-year-old mother. They had been married 4 months and 16 days … I was born 5 months later.

(left) An old Hixon mailbox outside one of the old buildings.We were told by the man inside that dad would have mailed his letters home from this mailbox.

In April 2002, I saw a lifelong dream come true when my mother, my husband Robert, and I visited the former site of Hixon Airforce Base , now a thriving commercial area, and my father’s grave at Blacon Cemetery. At that time, I met a man who was six at the time of the crash and remembered it well because his family had a clear view of the area from his home. Not wanting to upset my mother further, I did not tell her these details but I did take a picture of the area.

This first trip to England for my mother and I would be a sadly fateful visit as a few weeks after our return to Canada, mother took a fall and within days experienced complications due to long-standing heart problems from diabetes. Unbeknownst to us, a friend informed us later, she had been told by her doctor that the life of her heart stents were running out. No wonder she was so happy to be in England with us. Sadly, she died six weeks later and I still miss her every day.