My father, Milton Clarence James Dale, was a celebrated second world war hero, Distinguished Flying Cross, No. 166 Squadron. He flew Lancaster bombers, and I was surprised a few days before he died in hospital that he yelled, Ann, be quiet, I can't hear bomber command. How much we learn about our parents as people through death, as I realized how dramatically the war must have affected a 17 year old who lied about his age when he first joined the RAF, for him to such vivid memories as he died. My father was a bit of a curmedgeon, and one day he called me up, and began to tease me. "All your generation does is complain about being stressed, and then you go out to bars, and put more debt on your credit cards, and get more stressed. I didn't even know the meaning of the word when I was flying the bombers".