Publish and be damned!
Everyone has a book in them, so they say, and if your oeuvre is not accepted for publication you can always print it yourself. Vanity or Self Publishing is big business and extremely satisfying for anyone who has met with a brick wall in their efforts to get their work out there. Pat’s family has clubbed together to do a small print run of his wonderfully evocative poetry; Georgina has secretly written her life story, designed the cover and ordered 30 copies so her five children and their various offspring can discover how risqué this suburban housewife was in her former incarnation.
And Ben Rue decided it was the only way to right a wrong that had been on his mind ever since 1943.
In the summer of 1996, my friend Tara was walking with forty others on the Camino Walk along the St James Way to Santiago de Compostella, raising funds for the MS Society, when they met with Ben, a rugged gentleman from Canada. He thought they were wonderful and invited them back to the Hotel Parador de León where he treated them all to a drink in celebration of their endeavours. Once there, in the plush surrounds of this top class hotel, he regaled them with stories of his experiences during the war, producing fifteen signed copies of his self published book, handing them around, delighted with his captive audience.
Tara shuddered, as she handed me her copy. “It’s not a very nice story, you know, I felt very uncomfortable reading it”, she said. “Take it, have a look and see what you think yourself.”
Odyssey of a Ju88: Tragedy and Death on a North Atlantic Flight describes weather-reconnaissance missions, unarmed and commanded by a meteorologist. The crews had to observe absolute radio silence to avoid detection by observers in Scotland or the Shetland and Faroe Islands. The JU88 was the pride of the Luftaffe with her occasional temperamental whims, and all who piloted her respected and loved this aircraft; however, during the war, many disappeared without trace.
The story is harrowing as it describes one such mission in which a
three-man crew flew near Greenland on reconnaissance: Ben, the pilot, Heinz, the wireless-operator, and Feldwebel, the meteorologist. It started out as a monotonous regular flight but on their return to Norway, at an altitude of 2,550 meters, the engine began to sputter, “the oil pressure went down, the temperature rose and the engine began to shake and jerk.” In an attempt to lighten the aircraft, they jettisoned equipment but still the aircraft could not keep altitude. Feldwebel then took control and ordered Heinz to evacuate into the freezing waters below where he hadn’t a cat’s chance in hell of surviving.
And then there were two.
Full of anger, Ben said that still more had to be jettisoned so Feldwebel, a soldier to the end, jumped, without his parachute.
As the Iron Cross was pinned on his chest, the pilot of this ill-fated flight was crushed by remorse and guilt that stayed with him for the rest of his life. The meteorologist need not have jumped; by adjusting the propeller Ben had given the false impression that more was needed to lighten the load. His loathing at Feldwebel was such that he lied just so Heinz would not die alone.
With these chilling words, the book concludes: “With humility and penitence, I now have confessed my sins.”
And Ben Rue decided it was the only way to right a wrong that had been on his mind ever since 1943.
In the summer of 1996, my friend Tara was walking with forty others on the Camino Walk along the St James Way to Santiago de Compostella, raising funds for the MS Society, when they met with Ben, a rugged gentleman from Canada. He thought they were wonderful and invited them back to the Hotel Parador de León where he treated them all to a drink in celebration of their endeavours. Once there, in the plush surrounds of this top class hotel, he regaled them with stories of his experiences during the war, producing fifteen signed copies of his self published book, handing them around, delighted with his captive audience.
Tara shuddered, as she handed me her copy. “It’s not a very nice story, you know, I felt very uncomfortable reading it”, she said. “Take it, have a look and see what you think yourself.”
Odyssey of a Ju88: Tragedy and Death on a North Atlantic Flight describes weather-reconnaissance missions, unarmed and commanded by a meteorologist. The crews had to observe absolute radio silence to avoid detection by observers in Scotland or the Shetland and Faroe Islands. The JU88 was the pride of the Luftaffe with her occasional temperamental whims, and all who piloted her respected and loved this aircraft; however, during the war, many disappeared without trace.
The story is harrowing as it describes one such mission in which a
three-man crew flew near Greenland on reconnaissance: Ben, the pilot, Heinz, the wireless-operator, and Feldwebel, the meteorologist. It started out as a monotonous regular flight but on their return to Norway, at an altitude of 2,550 meters, the engine began to sputter, “the oil pressure went down, the temperature rose and the engine began to shake and jerk.” In an attempt to lighten the aircraft, they jettisoned equipment but still the aircraft could not keep altitude. Feldwebel then took control and ordered Heinz to evacuate into the freezing waters below where he hadn’t a cat’s chance in hell of surviving. And then there were two.
Full of anger, Ben said that still more had to be jettisoned so Feldwebel, a soldier to the end, jumped, without his parachute.
As the Iron Cross was pinned on his chest, the pilot of this ill-fated flight was crushed by remorse and guilt that stayed with him for the rest of his life. The meteorologist need not have jumped; by adjusting the propeller Ben had given the false impression that more was needed to lighten the load. His loathing at Feldwebel was such that he lied just so Heinz would not die alone.
With these chilling words, the book concludes: “With humility and penitence, I now have confessed my sins.”
Labels: Ben Rue, Self publishing
