OGDEN AND CLARK MEMORIAL

“The last time I was here was 51 years ago, in a hover 30 feet above these trees”.

These are the soulful words with which Al Horner, the keynote speaker at the Ogden and Clark memorial celebration chose to open his address.

He set the tone by pointing out that this was not a funeral, nor necessarily a sad occasion, but more appropriately a time for remembering, for gathering to pay belated respects, and how fitting it was to do so in the presence of one family, fifteen naval aviator friends of the deceased, along with some fifty invited guests, all within a sigh of the site of their demise.

Indeed, attending the event were fourteen members of Norm’s family, including two daughters, Dale Lane and Lorrie Fjeldstad, and one son, Blair Larson.

In spite of numerous attempts, no members of Don Clark’s family could be found.

It was the culmination of months of effort by Richard Dunn, who conceived, instigated, planned, organised, and carried out this most ambitious undertaking.

For Dick, Wayne Dannhauer and me, the day started at the Budget rental office promptly at seven where we collected a pair of fifteen passenger vans which, in our appointed roles as chauffeurs, Wayne and I drove to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal to collect Norm’s expansive family along with the Victoria contingent of Naval Aviators, and delivered them directly to the chair lift next to the Lodge.

Not normally operational at this time of the year, the chair was mobilised especially for this occasion by the ever cooperative Cypress management and staff.

On arrival at the top we found ourselves at the conflux of two ski runs, the upper of which is aptly named “T-33”, where an improvised amphitheatre composed of a disposition of chairs, thoughtfully protected by a tent, faced a podium bedecked by the blue and mauve checkerboard of the RCAF tartan.

In a small clearing behind the podium, at the base of a massive living backdrop of first growth hemlock, cedar, and Douglas fir, a contour, heralding heft and girth, lay in wait draped by a white ensign.

When all were seated, Dick Dunn, consulting a timetable which, with its minute by minute precision could only be rivalled by the D day battle plan, commenced the formalities, the highlight of which was to be a flypast by a Buffalo SAR aircraft from 442 Squadron launched from CFB Comox especially for this occasion.

Indeed, this aircraft was already seen maintaining a discreet distance over the Straight in preparation for its scheduled arrival.

On Dick’s command, an Air Cadet Guard smartly trooped on the colours, we joined the vocalist in singing the National Anthem, after which Dick addressed the assembly with his welcoming remarks.

Following the Chaplain’s prayer and the singing of the Naval Hymn, Al Horner, who had served with Norm Ogden in VU33 and subsequently acted as the Officer of the Honour Guard at the funeral, presented his vividly remembered personal recollections of these emotion filled days during which he piloted one of the HUP 2 helicopters which took part in the search.

[The other HUP was flown by Ian Powick who actually located the wreckage on the third day.]

Al then presided over the unveiling of the monument, an ovoid two ton granite boulder chosen for its agreeably flat sloping face on which the 192nd Engineering Flight, RCAF, elegantly mounted the handsome plaque which, with the indispensable assistance provided by the Cypress Mountain staff, was hoisted into place on to a white cement pediment which it now stylishly adorns.

It was now my turn to read the inscription on the plaque, after which Al presented the neatly folded white ensign to Dale Lane, the senior member of Norm’s family, which I followed with an offering of a printout from the Book Of Remembrance where Norm’s name is enshrined.

As this was going on, the waiting Buffalo was observed to be circling closer in preparation for its appearance, and since its control was reassuringly entrusted to locally imbedded RCAF command, we were confident that we would be treated to a fittingly timely and dramatic climax to the proceedings.

Dick next ordered: Colour Sergeant, Carry The Colours!, which the guard accomplished with as much élan as the rocky ground allowed, then Dick requested all to stand while the bugler sounded the traditional Last Post, followed by a minute of silence.

As the final echoes of the trumpet dissipated into the valleys, their sound was supplanted by the growing whine of turbine engines, clearly spooled up to a seriously aggressive setting.... and suddenly there it was!

Bursting into sight from behind the mountain to the west materialised the unmistakable yellow banana-like silhouette of the Buffalo, hightailing it in a rivet straining descent and shaping a determined beeline, but alas not at us, as we expected; instead it took dead aim directly at The Cypress Lodge, dispensing the benefit of a memorable low pass on some startled and undeserving back packers half a mile away and a thousand feet below us. 

The sound of the Rouse alerted us to the realisation that what we had just witnessed was a singularly uncommon example of a flypast safely completed BELOW the elevation of the reviewing stand.

Closing prayers, marching off of the colours, and the communal singing of “The Queen” completed this ceremony, the unique staging of which in these matchless surroundings, in meticulous conformance with the customary military traditions incumbent to such occasions, was an event long to be remembered by all who had the privilege to be a part of it.

Before descending for the reception, the program allotted some time to inspect the plaque and to examine the debris fields a mere fifty meters uphill from the monument.

The shredded pieces of aircraft which lay scattered on the steep slope in clusters of crushed metal, surprisingly unaffected by the intervening years, evoked a feeling of sadness and sober introspection.

An acquaintance of mine who happened to be the Supervisor in the Vancouver Control Centre on the day of the accident recounted later that, on hearing the inappropriately low altitude reported by someone in the aircraft, immediately ordered the controller working the flight to tell them to pull up, but this command brought no response.

We will never know what contributed to this unfortunate accident.

Eventually, we all gathered in the Lodge which hosted the reception where a table was set aside for Norm’s family to display some memorabilia, among which was his log book and Midshipman’s Journal.

In perusing these, to our astonished delight, we discovered a side of Norm of which few of us were aware; he was a highly talented draughtsman.

Both of the books were richly interspersed with paintings and sketches, crafted with skill and precision, depicting places he visited, ships and aircraft types, and splendidly drawn cartoons, the only aspect of his art which I clearly recall from the many examples I saw pinned to the notice boards in VU 32 when I joined that Squadron in 1960.

Before we parted, we were made amply aware of the depth of gratitude felt by Norm’s family for being invited to such a professionally orchestrated event, in the course of which they learned what it means to be a member of the flying fraternity, and the significance of being the progeny of a Naval Aviator.

George Plawski.

PS:

While subsequently discussing this event with Al Horner, he confided in me that, in preparing his speech, he had written an observation which the dignity of the moment impelled him to omit.

It may not have been appropriate then, but I don’t believe the restriction is still binding.

Al envisaged that we were being secretly observed by two flying suit clad beings, invisible in the ghostly landscape of the ancient forest, who as they watched the ceremony unfold were heard to remark:

Very nice guys, but what the f..k took you so long?

PPS:

On the way to the ferry, I engaged David, a young member of Norm’s family, in conversation during which I decided to challenge him with an assignment.

Scan all the pictures in Norm’s books, I requested, create an album, and send it to me for forwarding to the Shearwater Aviation Museum where they clearly belong.

I am waiting for him to come through, at which time you will all get to see this fine body of work.