Barry Aldridge - Remembering Stan Grierson Stan was a guest at my wedding in early 1962, together with five other members of 165UAS – any more would have been an invasion. I left a good party at my in-laws’ house in Chester for a three-day honeymoon in North Wales. ‘Friends’ decorated my old VW Beetle, and Big Stan thought fit to notify the Cheshire Constabulary that the car had been stolen. Fortunately they were not taken in by his broad Scottish accent, either that or we were too fast for an intercept. We were both posted to Valley for our advanced Vampire training, and graduated in early February 1963. With snow and slush on the ground the weather was declared inclement and the parade took place inside a hangar, with the doors wide open. It was a Saturday and no aircraft movement or noise was expected. With brand new wings pinned on proudly assembled chests, we were ordered to march past the Reviewing Air Marshal. As we began the drill, the Captain of a visiting Britannia began an engine run close to the hangar and, once clear of the doors, we could no longer hear instructions. While our proud leader marched on, Big Stan took over. In his broad accent he ordered a right turn to take us out of sight of the assembled guests, brought us to a halt and dismissed us, by which time our leader suddenly realised he was on his own, in full view of the Reviewing Officer. The tension of the Parade evaporated, much to our amusement. Having shown outstanding leadership and initiative in these extreme conditions Stan went on to fly Vulcans while I went to Cyprus to fly Canberras. Our paths didn’t cross again until the advent of our annual 165UAS Reunions in 1966, by which time Stan’s five-year Commission was at an end and he was living in Dumfries. Attendances at these gatherings depended upon outside influences such as the RAF for me and Burroughs for Stan, together with the demands of young families and various domestic arrangements, but both of us would attend whenever possible. We all took it in turns to scribe the annual newsletter, usually written under protest, but Stan’s report in 1977, written on Burroughs’ headed paper, was more entertaining than most, with highly amusing acerbic comment, and quotes of ‘petty banter and badinage’. As we approached retirement and travelled less, the Reunions have become even more important for seeing old friends, but between 1981 and 1987 Stan was invariably busy pursuing of an elusive fortune with the Glass Mountain. He knew where the better hotels and pubs were, identifying some for future 165 Reunions. In the 1990s he attended more often, especially when the venue was a hotel in Bradford-on-Avon, where he hoped to sell glassware to the owner. In 1994 we were described as ‘a group of greying, balding, semi-blind, quasi-geriatric travellers…addressing each other in loud voices by surname only, in a tongue which is English, but on subjects which are unfathomable’. What a crowd we were, and all Commissioned by the Queen. In 1995 the venue was the Kingswell hotel near Harwell, another of Stan’s contacts. We were both unaccompanied and decided to explore bookshops together. I saw for myself Stan’s astute and unusual bargaining powers. When a book was expensive he paid full price without murmur, but for another at £1.50 he would bargain and look offended when the bookseller refused. During a quiet and reflective break we discussed in some privacy the problems of ageing and the vagaries of our declining capabilities. In 2003 we heard that he had sold the glass business and was temporarily teaching English and Religious Knowledge. The 2005 Reunion in Lyndhurst resulted in an evening of ‘bacchanalian hysteria’ that was hilarious to recall even when sober. Blues at the start of the evening wouldn’t have lasted 10 minutes. Stan was there. He was also there in 2006 with Barbara in Avignon when they were confronted by a rough concrete bath unfit for a lady. Ever the gentleman, he vented his feelings and changed hotels. Reunions thereafter were always enlightened for me by the warmth of his greetings (and the bone shattering handshake). He was genuine rather than effusive. I always looked forward to seeing him. We held the 50th in 2011 at Cirencester again, gathering at The Tunnel Inn for lunch from where he and I enjoyed each other’s company alone on the two mile walk back. In 2013 we travelled by train to Linden Hall near Newcastle, and whilst there enjoyed the benefit of Stan’s Taxi, spending time in the famous Barter Books (without purchase!). We went to the 2015 Reunion in Nimes, looking forward to seeing him, but his Share Holder duties prevailed and he had business in Italy. We spoke briefly before travelling. It was the last Reunion opportunity before he was struck down. My call to him in August this year was unavoidably cut short due to an expected call from Robin announcing his arrival by air from Nimes. After 55 years I can no longer look forward to seeing him, and that saddens me. I shall miss his wit, his intellect and his very presence. Rest in peace Big Fella, the world is a poorer place without you!