Within the context of this being an examination of ancestral journeys, my reconstruction of his trip to the UK shows that his first ever journey out of Australia was by sea, in August/September 1943, from Adelaide to Brighton, UK.  He had enrolled in the RAAF at the age of nineteen, on 20 June 1942.  His service record shows him as a "bank clerk"; he had probably joined the then Bank of New South Wales at the age of sixteen or seventeen, in 1939 or 1940, but that is a guess on my part.  That first journey was followed numerous training assignments across the southern part of England, and then of course the twenty five operations across the English Channel into Europe.  He returned to Australia, again by sea, in October 1945, coincidentally in Perth, WA, not far from where I presently live.  As best as I can recall, after he returned to Australia only once ever did he leave his country again, in 1982 when my parents came to visit me when I was living in Port Moresby, PNG.  My mother wanted to travel, especially in their later years after he had retired from work, but he refused.  They travelled within and around Australia, and almost always by car or train.  He didn't totally avoid air travel, but he didn't enjoy travel by plane, and it seemed to be towards the bottom of preferred means of travel.  I had no real insight to that at the time, but of course on reflection it now makes sense.

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I must now digress for a moment and tell of one of the most amazing coincidences in my whole life.  Rather than write extensively of that coincidence, I will allow it to be told by "podcast" - see One Night in December (go to podcast #21 if the link doesn't automatically take you there).  Here, Adrian Woolrich-Burt and Pete Chicken, both ex-RAF officers, tell of this coincidence from their own perspective; the first 10 minutes or so explain it well.  I have had several email exchanges with Adrian, and his discovery and our electronic discussions prompted me to undertake some further research.  One of the most poignant discoveries in this research comes in the form of an extract from a RAF Confidential Report (Officers), dated June 1945.  In it his two senior officers (ranks unable to be discerned), comment as follows:

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Generally above average as a Captain, on operations and as an officer.  Throughout his time on the squadron he has shown himself to be keen, efficient and very willing.  He has a lot of personality: was popular and an asset to the squadron.  <sgd. John Jones>

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A conscientious officer with the gift of leadership.  Generally rather above the average <sgd. B A Casey>

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I genuinely think that his wartime experiences limited his potential.  Reports from his schooling showed that he was a reasonably gifted student, especially in Maths and Physics, and the above assessments seem to suggest that he was well regarded.  He was successful in his business career, but likely could have progressed further.  That said, he did do well in a career which saw him (and the family) live and work in Adelaide, Darwin, Whyalla, Adelaide (again), Renmark, Cootamundra, Mount Gambier, Darwin (again) and Newcastle, before retiring to the southern Adelaide suburb of Port Noarlunga, in what became the family home for 30+ years.  There I think he found a level of peace, although that peace was nearly always bolstered with alcohol use.  Sadly, with the benefit of many years of reflection, I have to say that I never really knew my father (as indeed I didn't know his father, or those before him).  Certainly not deeply; not properly.  That fault lies with both of us, and of course cannot now be rectified.  His one and only journey certainly influenced him in ways that I will never truly understand.  I would speculate that this one journey in 1943/45 had a greater influence on him than my many have had on me.  And further that that influence has cascaded down through him to me, and through me, to my daughter.  Such is the way of the world.