Lost and Found

Dad, right, and his brother Eric. I imagine mid 1930s. You could not get too different siblings. Dad got his RAF wings as a pilot in WW2, only for the war to end before he saw action. He ended up in the Paras, serving across the Middle East through the late 40s. Eric moved to New Zealand just before war broke out and returned shortly after it finished. Dad worked every hour under the sun until the day he retired. Eric effectively went straight from school to retirement. 

Eric was a cheerful, helpful, harmless and friendly chap. He would make an appearance every Christmas, usually on Boxing Day. Eric could be a little aromatic, if we are to be honest. Not in a good way. The seats next to him were occupied by persons under compulsion, not through choice. One day in the late 90s Dad got a call that Eric was at deaths door. A rushed trip was made up to London, only to find he had just a cold. 

Eric died a few days later nonetheless, from a sudden medical incident completely unrelated to his cold. Dad passed away more than a decade later. Only photos and memories remain. This is a colorised version of the original sepia toned B&W shot.