I Hear You Ask...Why Biggles?

Biggles...hmm

I am of the baby boomer generation, albeit the tail end of it, however, I grew up in an era that still espoused, and expected certain moral obligations of it's citizens. Now, I should insert here that I did not/have not always conformed to those obligations, but I was cognizant of them and I tried my best!!! Can you ask any more of me?

I was born a mere 15 years after the end of WWII, which is not only scary but now in my withering years, rather disconcerting. The ruling generation - my parents - were born of that war and the Great depression before it, consequently suffering more than any of us can truthfully imagine.

I was also the unfortunate product of a Catholic upbringing, although I can at least state in my defence that I realised by the time I was 10 that the whole Catholic thing was, at best, a crutch for those unable to stand alone. If you feel the need to contest this assetion, then you can do so at dan@drmgroup.com.au. !

Anyway, as a result of this rather closeted education, I and my generation grew up with a very cloistered view of the world, it being all British Empire and democratic with an omnipotent God to guide and save us.

We were not exposed to Italian or Chinese history and culture, nor Indian or even Australian, nor actually that of my homeland - and the Maori of New Zealand. I have made attempts to right that latter inequity and I must say that I am more than a little humbled by the Maori efforts to stave off the British Invasion during the formative years of that nation. Did you know that Maori are credited with INVENTING Guerilla warfare? I'll wager not. Of course you cannot deny the evidence that the Maori had basically eaten themselves into pending extinction or were warring themselves into the same arena, but none of this was elucidated in the classrooms of the 60"s children in New Zealand. I was, however, given a magnificent insight into the American Revolution and Civil War, and the albeit heroic travels of Captain James Cook, who really should need no introduction.

The fact I ramble on about all of this is to paint the Union Jack background for a white middle class upbringing in the remotest of Colonial outposts. Ripping good yarns and all that.

In that light, and as an impressionable boy searching for a hero, I fell under the spell of Capt. James Bigglesworth - better known as Biggles - as penned by captain W.E Johns in the years between and beyond, both major World Wars. As a young fella I was captivated by his descriptions of Biggles heroism and the Aviation theme came to form the bedrock of my dreams and inspirations. Hence, when I muddled about thinking of a nomenclature for my ever so humble little blog, I wanted to use a name that relfected my upbringing, my generation, my culture and my endless fascination and love of all things aviation.

Biggles was my generation's Indiana Jones, MacGyver and classless everyman's swashbuckling fighter pilot hero rolled into one, between the pages of an easily read and transportable novel - pre CGI and colour television as it was. Actually pre just about anything in little old enzed!

He took on the wild's of deepest darkest Africa, swooped through the clouds to harass and diminish the Nazi hordes in their evil black painted Mescherschmitt Fighters, brushed off death and despair with a charismatic humour and flair and rollicking good action adventures with Algy and Bertie tagging along for good measure and sterling support.

Youth assisted me in failing to grasp the time line of the Biggles adventures - in one book he was flying the Sopwith Camel of the Great War and in the next he wrestled with the controls of the latest Spitfire. As long as his trusty mates Algy and Bertie came along for the ride, I neither noticed nor cared.

Biggles represented all that was good in the world, in terms of humanity, and gave me something to aspire to in my clouded godmuddled childhood. He didn't care if you were Roman Catholic, Presbytarian or C of E, black or white, yellow or blue, rich or poor. If you were the bad guy, you'd better be able to out think, out manoeuvre and outfly him or perish in the attempt.

I recently attended a country fair in rural Queensland where I came across a stall selling motheaten copies of Biggles adventures for more than $100.00 each. They weren't first editions, or even signed by the author but it made me realise that even now he attracts and retains a loyal following, albeit one that greying baby boomers such as yours truly are responsible for perpetuating in attempting to rekindle some of our youthful past.

Still, could've been worse I suppose, I could have latched on to Charlie Manson or Adolf Schicklegruber to idolise but instead I chose the consumate aviator and all round good guy I fondly remember simply as Biggles. A damn fine choice if I say so myself!