Blackford, Brook
OT 518 - West
Date of Death: 08/06/2021
Wing Commander Brook M Blackford (Retd) 1945-2021
(Obituary written and read by his eldest son, Craig)
Fighter pilot, Spy, Cold War warrior, Squadron Commander, Air Attaché, Russian Interpreter and Cornwall British Legion Vice President. Husband, father of three children, grandfather of seven grandchildren, uncle and brother.
Shot at by the Soviet Army, bombed Scotland (accidently) and one of the first Harrier display pilots. As Air Attaché, who after spending a day with Margaret Thatcher hosted Shirley Temple (then US Ambassador) for a cocktail party in his house, escorted Charles and Diana around Prague, rubbed shoulders with Dubcek and Václav Havel and was present in Wenceslas Square during the Velvet revolution in Czechoslovakia.
These are just a few things Dad did during his amazing life.
Dad was in the RAF for 30 years as a pilot flying Gnats, Hunters, Hawks and Harriers, but it was his time spent in West Berlin and Czechoslovakia which he particularly enjoyed. Twice posted to Berlin as part of a military mission to observe the Soviet forces in East Germany(BRIXMIS), he spent over 500 nights sleeping in East Germany spying on the Warsaw Pact forces. I remember him going on tours for days on end, dressed in military fatigues and driving in green painted cars. He would return, usually not on the planned day, smelling of BO, curry and mosquito repellent, and chase us round the garden.
Nicknamed ‘Dodger’ by his unit for his uncanny knack of pulling out of an observation post just before being uncovered by the opposition, he spent many days and nights sitting by airfields and training areas waiting to snap a picture of a new Soviet fighter or tank. On one particular occasion he did not live up to his nickname. Assigned in the middle of winter to monitor an airfield to get a picture of a new Soviet ground attack aircraft, he and his crew were discovered by the Soviets and chased through snowy fields by tracked vehicles until they finally got stuck and surrounded. To stop them driving off,land mines were placed under their car. After spending the night in the car making curry, they were escorted out of the area and driven to a nearby road which had a big sign saying that the military mission was not allowed in the area. On being shown the sign and told “Look at what it says” by the Soviet commandant, Dad replied, in Russian, “I am sorry I cannot see or read today because I have not got my spectacles.”
As part of Dad’s role, he also flew Chipmunks (over 300 hours) on reconnaissance missions around Berlin, taking photos of nearby military bases. On one of these occasions he was supposedly shot at by a soldier on the ground. During our time in Berlin we used to travel regularly across the Bridge of Spies to visit the mission house in Potsdam. Guy particularly remembers that Dad would spend long days teaching us to fish, and in the winter ice skating on the lake at the bottom of the garden. We also went on social visits with Dad to parts of East Germany where I was always amazed by his ability to name any Soviet military vehicle by the smell of its exhaust fumes before it had even come into sight.
Later in Dad’s RAF career he was promoted to Wing Commander and offered the role of Air Attaché to Czechoslovakia. Mum and Dad moved to Prague in January 1989 at a momentous time for the country. After a few months of gathering intelligence and being followed by the Czech secret service, things changed when the Velvet revolution occurred. One night, with the revolution going on around them, they decided not to stay in their house and instead went to Wenceslas Square to witness history being made. With the fall of communism Dad’s role changed and, after spending many years spying on Soviet aircraft, he was then invited to fly in the latest fighter, a MiG 29 Fulcrum. He was unofficially the first British pilot to fly in one and recalled it was one of the best flights he had had.
Dad was born in January 1945 in the east end of London into a theatrical family. His mother was the actress Betty Ann Davies, who starred in over 40 films and took over from Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire, while his father, Alex, was a jazz and classical pianist. His uncle, Jack Davies, wrote Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines and many British comedies. His cousin, John Howard-Davies, was head of BBC Light Entertainment and was Oliver in Oliver Twist and producer of The Good Life. In his early years Dad showed no inclination to follow his parents’ career and instead developed a passion for flying after being given a gliding and flying scholarship by the RAF whilst at Ottershaw School. He actually gained his pilot’s license whilst still at school and before he could drive!
At 18, in 1964, he joined the RAF and trained as a pilot. After learning to fly in Gnats and Hunters he was sent to Aden in the Middle East. Unfortunately, his time in Aden was cut short due to a water skiing accident in which he had an argument with the propeller of the speed boat, which resulted in 187 stiches down the left hand side of his body. He was flown back to England and told he might not be able to fly again. Though a very bad incident, his injury had two advantages: firstly, because of the injury to his leg, he could not walk without a limp, which meant he never had to attend a parade again; and, secondly, he met Mum at the place where he had been sent to learn to walk.
Mum and Dad met at RAF Headley Court, where she was recovering from a motorcycle accident. Hobbling round the grounds of Headley Court, they fell in love and got married in 1967. Dad recovered from his injury and learnt to fly again before being posted to Bahrain in the Middle East. Between these periods Kirstie and I were born.
In 1970 Dad was posted back to the UK, where he was one of the first pilots in the RAF to fly Harriers on No 1 Squadron. During this time Dad was frequently away on deployments, but still Mum and Dad found time to have Guy. During one deployment Dad made newspaper headlines when the Harrier he was flying dropped its entire load of live bombs somewhere in northern Scotland. The incident was not his fault, but he did become the butt of many jokes in his squadron – the bombs were never found!
Dad’s luck with Harriers did not get better. The following year he broke his back when the Harrier he was flying as part of a display crashed whilst hovering. Again not his fault! For the second time he was told he would probably never fly again. However, he made a miraculous recovery and within six months was back flying Harriers in West Germany.
Between the tours in Berlin we were posted to Devon, where Jason came and lived with us for a while. Dad was the CO of 63 Squadron at RAF Chivenor.
With the fall of communism and the Soviet Union, Dad was posted to the War Office in London before taking voluntary redundancy and leaving the RAF in 1993.
Moving down to Cornwall, Dad built his own house and began work for the Cornwall British Legion as the County Field Officer. He spent 14 years working for the Legion. He eventually retired in 2007, but continued to support the Legion as Poppy Appeal organiser and secretary of the St Columb branch, and he was very honoured to be made Life Vice-President of the Cornwall Legion. He was also the Chairman of the local parish council in Crantock, and co-wrote the Neighbourhood Plan for the village.
In later years Dad rediscovered his joy of fishing and particularly enjoyed teaching some of his grandchildren to fish. But not best pleased when his youngest grandson caught a larger carp than him!
We all have our memories of Dad; probably most of them involve his hospitality, including his large G&Ts and wine. Here are a few of our memories.
Guy recalls, as has been said earlier, dad teaching him to fish and ice skate in the lake in Potsdam.
Jason has fond memories of Dad flying a Hawk fighter over Ilfracombe Pier. Having told Jason to be there at a certain time during the day, he dipped his wings to say “Hello” to him.
On her wedding day Kirstie remembers standing outside Saffron Cottage with Dad, just the two of them dressed up and very nervous, and that Dad held her hand all the way to the church and smiled.
On the way into Cornwall on the day Dad died I turned to my daughter Katie and remarked on how clear the air was and that you could see Bodmin Moor for many miles around. It reminded me of flying with Dad in a Hawk jet (when I was in the ATC) and seeing the ground far below us. And I think now of Dad flying way above the clouds looking down on us, smiling with a glass of Pilsner in his hand.
Cheers, Dad!