The Oliver Anthony story

In his own words, straight from the horse’s mouth.

Im sitting in such a weird place in my life right now. I never wanted to be a full time musician, much less sit at the top of the iTunes charts. Draven from RadioWv and I filmed these tunes on my land with the hope that it may hit 300k views. I still don’t quite believe what has went on since we uploaded that. It’s just strange to me. 

People in the music industry give me blank stares when I brush off 8 million dollar offers. I don’t want 6 tour buses, 15 tractor trailers and a jet. I don’t want to play stadium shows, I don’t want to be in the spotlight. I wrote the music I wrote because I was suffering with mental health and depression. These songs have connected with millions of people on such a deep level because they’re being sung by someone feeling the words in the very moment they were being sung. No editing, no agent, no bullshit. Just some idiot and his guitar. The style of music that we should have never gotten away from in the first place. 

So that being said, I have never taken the time to tell you who I actually am. Here’s a formal introduction:

My legal name is Christopher Anthony Lunsford. My grandfather was Oliver Anthony, and “Oliver Anthony Music” is a dedication not only to him, but 1930’s Appalachia where he was born and raised. Dirt floors, seven kids, hard times. At this point, I’ll gladly go by Oliver because everyone knows me as such. But my friends and family still call me Chris. You can decide for yourself, either is fine. 

In 2010, I dropped out of high school at age 17. I have a GED from Spruce Pine, NC. I worked multiple plant jobs in Western NC, my last being at the paper mill in McDowell county. I worked 3rd shift, 6 days a week for $14.50 an hour in a living hell. In 2013, I had a bad fall at work and fractured my skull. It forced me to move back home to Virginia. Due to complications from the injury, it took me 6 months or so before I could work again. 

From 2014 until just a few days ago, I’ve worked outside sales in the industrial manufacturing world. My job has taken me all over Virginia and into the Carolinas, getting to know tens of thousands of other blue collar workers on job sites and in factories. Ive spent all day, everyday, for the last 10 years hearing the same story. People are SO damn tired of being neglected, divided and manipulated. 

In 2019, I paid $97,500 for the property and still owe about $60,000 on it. I am living in a 27′ camper with a tarp on the roof that I got off of craigslist for $750.

There’s nothing special about me. I’m not a good musician, I’m not a very good person. I’ve spent the last 5 years struggling with mental health and using alcohol to drown it. I am sad to see the world in the state it’s in, with everyone fighting with each other. I have spent many nights feeling hopeless, that the greatest country on Earth is quickly fading away.

FAIR WARNING: the link is to a post on Anthony’s Fakeberg page, if that’s a problem for ya. This once, it wasn’t for me.

I’ve seen some speculation here and there that Anthony is in reality some kind of false-flag sleeper agent for TPTB, but I can’t honestly say I buy it myself; his story rings true enough to me, especially knowing as I do how these lightning-in-a-bottle moments work in the music biz, and how commonly they actually do occur.

And, per John Nolte, those jackwagons at NRO can STILL kiss my baggy, white ass.

(Via Insty)

3

WHOA, that’s good squishy!

As CF Lifers will know by now, I often like to commend skillful writing here on Ye Aulde Colde Furye Blogge when I run across it, if only because I enjoy it so much my own self. Also well-known is my fondness for military history/historical fiction, which is where this post comes in.

I’ve lately been reading one called Wings Over Summer, a sort of prequel which covers the lives—and deaths—of the Spitfire pilots serving in the RAF’s (fictional) 646 Fighter Squadron during the Battle of Britain, with the second (really, the first) volume of the two-part series recounting their exploits during the Siege of Malta. The author, a chappie yclept Ron Powell, definitely has some writerly chops, as this extremely amusing excerpt confirms.

WingsOverSummer 1

WingsOverSummer 2

Since I couldn’t find a way to simply C&P the above passage in the Kindle Unlimited application, I had to screen-cap the above passage in two parts, hence the size discrepancy. But still: great stuff, no? A little biographical info on the author:

After 32 years in the Royal Air Force, from which he retired as a Group Captain (full Colonel) pilot commanding the first stage of flying training for the British Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force, Ron moved to south Wales to pursue his long held ambition of becoming a writer. Since then, he has written an illustrated history of events in the skies above Britain in the summer of 1940, The Battle of Britain, Hitler’s First Bloody Nose; an acclaimed novel, Wings Over Summer, set in the same period; a sequel, Wings Over Malta; and two volumes of memoir, Shropshire Blue: A Shropshire Lad in the RAF, the first, Preparation For Flight, about growing up on the English/Welsh border and his early years in the RAF, including working on Vulcan nuclear bombers on a Cold War air base, the second, On The Buffet, about his RAF pilot training. He has also written numerous short stories and articles and gives talks on a range of topics, including the Battle of Britain.

There’s also a website with more on Group Captain Powell’s life and RAF career, perusable here.

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SO, how’s that “get woke go broke” thing workin’ out for ya?

For faltering retailer TarZhay, not too good. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes, if you ask me.

Target Sales Are Punished by Pride Month Backlash
Retailer lowers profit goal for full year; executives say they will modify Pride Month promotion

Target said shopper backlash over its Pride Month collection, as well as cautious consumers, pushed sales sharply lower in the most recent quarter.

The retailer said it expected sales to decline again in the current quarter and lowered its profit goal for the full year. Executives said they would still mark Pride Month next year but with a more focused assortment of merchandise.

“As we navigate an ever-changing operating and social environment, we are applying what we learned,” Brian Cornell, Target’s longtime chief executive, said on a call with reporters.

Yeah, from the looks of the radically-declining graph—DURING PRIDE MONTH!!!—included with the article, I’d say it’s best that you do. Note that the above link isn’t to the WSJ article, but to the safely paywall-evading archive.is snapshot thereof. You’re welcome.

Via Insty, who correctly calls it “Another example of the diversity problem within nearly all of our major institutions.” What can one say but, heh. Indeed.

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Smackdown: DEALT

The effete True Conservatives™ currently dragging Bill Buckley’s once-indispensable magazine through the shitlib sewer-pipe had the unmitigated gall to sniff, in the manner of Thurston Howell III, at Oliver Anthony’s smash song, and John Nolte is all over ‘em like white on rice.

This establishment elite is so above it all he dissects “Rich Men North of Richmond” lyric by lyric. Honestly, the best way to read these excerpts is in the voice of Thurston Howell III:

“Yes — it is a damn shame what the world’s gotten to. But we can fix it. We don’t have to just dream about it. Indeed, if we want to, we can fix it on our own even if Washington is standing in our way or looking down its nose at us,” lovey.

He also suggests Anthony remind everybody in a song of “what makes America a great land — a land of opportunity, not of guaranteed success,” lovey.

It gets worse:

My brother in Christ, you live in the United States of America in 2023 — if you’re a fit, able-bodied man, and you’re working “overtime hours for bullshit pay,” you need to find a new job.

There’s plenty of them out there — jobs that don’t require a college degree, that offer good pay (especially in this tight labor market) and great benefits, especially if you’re willing to get your hands dirty by doing things like joining the Navy, turning wrenches, fixing pumps, laying pipe, or a hundred other jobs through which American men can still make a great living. If you’re the type of guy who’s willing to show up on time, every time, work hard while you’re on the clock, and learn hard skills — there’s a good-paying job out there for you. Go find it.

What did the pedantic do before the Internet?

How out of touch do you have to be to rip apart a song that speaks to a disaffected group of people and says I get you, I hear you, I’m with you, you’re not alone, we’re in this together…? That’s what art does. The best art grabs hold of something inside of us and helps us to make sense of it. Art is firing on all cylinders when it examines and explains the human condition. All Oliver Anthony is doing is commiserating and reaching out to a group of people who feel they are under assault by America’s dominant culture because they are under assault by America’s dominant culture. He’s commiserating with us in the same way Sinatra commiserates with the lonely, Patsy Cline embraces the brokenhearted, Woody Guthrie speaks for the scorned, and the blues offer everyone a shoulder to cry on.

Hey, National Review. Why are you whining about a song? This is America, you crybabies, a land where you can write your own songs. You don’t need to sit around and wait for Oliver Anthony to write a song about how great America is–not in America. Why aren’t you pulling those bootstraps, showing some initiative, and writing the song yourself, my brother in Christ?

Finally, what’s interesting is how National Review failed to comment on this specific lyric in Oliver Anthony’s “Rich Men North of Richmond”:

I wish politicians would look out for miners
And not just minors on an island somewhere

But that might be because National Review was publishing gushing articles about Jeffrey Epstein years and years after his conviction for procuring underage prostitutes.

What whores won’t do for a dollar.

But DAYUMMM, that one stung from all the way over here. Let ‘im up, John, I think he’s stopped breathing.

4

Rock ’em sock ’em (senile) robot

OhpleasepleasepleasepleasepleasePLEEAAAASE.

US Diplomat Threatened To “Kick The Sh*t” Out Of Biden For Groping Wife
Former diplomat and US Senator Scott Brown said he threatened to beat then-VP Joe Biden’s ass for getting handsy with his wife.

Scott Brown, a former Massachusetts Senator who went on to serve as Trump’s Ambassador to New Zealand, said in a new podcast interview that Biden started touching his wife inappropriately when the newly-elected Republican was being sworn in, as first reported by the NH Journal.

“Yeah, I told him I would kick the sh…uh…I told him to stop,” Brown told Tom Shattuck on the Massachusetts-based Burn Barrel podcast.

The only pressing question is: How much would YOU be willing to shell out to watch it on PPV? Might need to get a pool up among your circle of friends or something. I’d bet it would be the most-watched sporting event in television history.

3

Argumentation Vs action

No comparison: one wins, the other…doesn’t. Ever.


Screencap of the best of the rest of the thread:

AristoThread

Most salient point: “You cannot debate an enemy to death, you cannot discourse them into relenting.” Particularly when The Enemy is one as ruthless, determined, and utterly, utterly bereft of empathy as the Left is. Period fucking dot.

Nabbed via WRSA’s Wednesday Edition meme roundup, which is extry-extry-good this week.

Update! Completely unrelated, but since it involves another Twitter X thread, I’m a-putting it here anyhoo.


He’s right, y’know: it IS just what the world needed right now, even if it didn’t know it needed it. Heh.

Update within an update update! Know what just might be my favorite aspect of the above vid? The great good humor displayed by the women being pranked. I mean, just look at ‘em: after the initial stunned puzzlement over what just took place, every one of the prankees just about kills herself laughing in response to it.

Good answer, ladies. Quite apart from the language in the signage, it couldn’t be more obvious that the vid isn’t set in this poor country, and that those definitely are NOT the kind of sour, bitter broads—women who can barely even make it down the street under their own power, so huge and burdensome is the FemiNazi chip on their shoulders—that younger American men are saddled with.

Or, y’know, saddled by.

Chaya Raichik claims another scalp

Hubris, I have someone I’d like you to meet.

Yesterday I came across some disturbing posts on social media. A woman who claimed to be a teacher in Texas went on an insane anti-white racist tirade after finding out her sister was sleeping with a white man. To add to that, she had the words “black supremacist” in her X (Twitter) bio. The content was horrific but the fact that she was a teacher made it 1,000x worse. In her messages, she had called upon her boyfriend to come kill this white man for herI posted a video compiling her tweets and videos to X. It immediately went viral because the content was just so shocking. Users immediately went to work identifying where this woman teaches.

The teacher, “Claire Kyle” was not worried in the slightest of losing her job and spent her first day back at school taunting users on social media.

It was eventually discovered that she worked as a first grade teacher in Thompson Elementary School in Mesquite, Texas. Then, a 6-year-old Google review came to light where a former student claimed she was bullied for being white. This was not looking good for Thompson Elementary School!

“Claire Kyle” eventually deleted her account but not before reminding us that she will for sure not be fired because she’s a good teacher and the school board has her back.

So how’d that work out for Mizriz Claire, do ya think?


Heh. Good show, Chaya. “Y’all will never be able to call me unemployed,” is it? Okay, howzabout we just call you “jobless nigger bitch,” then? That suit your worthless, hateful ass any better? Because I must say it suits the hell out of me.

I know, I know, it amounts to no more than the merest drop in the bucket when it comes to cleaning out the government schools. Which doesn’t at all mean that it ain’t a damned good start anyhow.

3
1

“A Retirement Home for American Politicians Who Won’t Retire”

AMPO: an idea whose time has clearly come.

Only flaw I see here is this: “At AMPO, we actually let you live the retirement life without actually having to retire…in the rare event your relative does need to leave the premises to vote on America’s future we have chaffeurs ready to go, as no sane person would let someone of that age drive themselves.”

Funny, yes, but I’d much prefer that these decrepit, corrupt scum-lickers be forced into full and complete retirement—no more influence; no more power; no more graft or influence-pedding; no more preening for Praetorian Media cameras. Nothing but the continued long, slow slide into the obscurity, senile dementia, and physical helplessness they so richly deserve.

(Via Ace)

2

Just say NO, Mr President

It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for.

Folks, we’ve entered the part of the drama where the evil ghouls shave off Aslan’s majestic mane and mock him on the way to his slaughter. Trump is dutifully visiting the stations of the cross he bears. But Trump isn’t Jesus — he’s a lion, not a lamb — and there’s no reason why he should take one more choreographed step in the Left’s disgusting dance. It’s not fair, so let’s stop pretending it is.

What if Trump simply says, “No”?

Remember, we’re cascading down the face of the cliff at this point. Every step of the way will become increasingly debasing and humiliating for the former President of the United States and front-running candidate for office in 2024 (who is, after all, the representative of the political will of half the country — you and me). What if Trump simply refuses to show up for Fani’s hate-indictment arraignment and Labat’s cuffs-and-mugshot routine?

I would pay good money to see the look of frustrated rage on the Leftists’ faces when they realize he’s not coming. Trump should force their hand. Make them send armed forces to arrest him like the thugs they are. Show the captivated world that yes, it’s true — America is gone, replaced by just another failing fascist state.

It’s not like the former president has anything to lose at this point. We all know where this is headed — Trump forcibly imprisoned. He could save himself the years of ratcheting-up humiliations and tens (hundreds?) of millions of dollars (donors’ dollars!) and just cut to the chase. Run his campaign from prison if need be against the now fully exposed fascists who put him there. The next president — even if it’s him — can pardon him and save us all the drama of this endless law-war. Shoot the moon, as they say in Crazy Eights.

Please, President Trump, do something. We remain ever grateful to you for what you did to stop the decline when you were in office. In your influence alone, you remain the most powerful leader America has today. Please lead again. Tell them you’re not going to be their gulag-bound victim, their Emmanuel Goldstein. Tell them you ain’t gonna dance no more. If they want to keep abusing their authority to attack you, don’t help them.

Don’t go to Georgia, Mr. President. Just say no.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine why not, but we all know there’s no way he’ll do it. But hoo boy, talk about your consummations devoutly to be wished! The ensuing mass uprising in support for such a move amongst Über Ultra Mega MAGA Americans™ would make the phonus-balonus J6 “riots” look like the busman’s holiday they truly were.

Alas, t’ain’t bloody likely, I’m afraid. Which is a crying shame; a large part of why we are where we now are is the inexplicable failure to serve up platter after steaming, stinking platter of the exact same shite the shitlibs have been giving us, tit for tat and measure for fucking measure.

So go ahead and pull that trigger, Mr President; believe me, there are millions upon millions of Real Americans out here who are waiting with bated breath for you to do precisely that. In fact, I’d bet even plenty of folks who AREN’T necessarily diehard, MAGA-type Trump partisans would flock to your banner. If shitlibs want a showdown, then let them by-God get one—all they think they want of it and then some, until they choke to fucking death on it.

Let’s get this party started update! The more I think about this idea, the more I absolutely love it all to pieces. It does raise a vital question, however: is it even remotely conceivable that nobody in the Trump camp has already thought of it, possibly even floating the possibility with his colleagues, only to see it immediately shot down in flames by those who think of themselves as cooler, wiser, more judicious heads?

From all we know of Trump, such an action would certainly cut against his usual grain. Trump is a law and order guy, one who still deeply, passionately believes in now-moribund America That Was and all the dreams and potentialities resident therein. For him to stop cooperating and start openly resisting would therefore amount to an irrevocable admission that those dreams have died—been murdered, actually—and that all Real Americans must now relinquish them forever. It’s an incredibly harsh reality for any true patriot, such as Trump has over and again shown himself to be, to have to face up to. But reality it is.

No, he isn’t going to do any such thing. The charade will carry on as before; the persecution of Donald J Trump will be neither thwarted, abated, nor even slowed just a little bit. The Enemy will either see him behind bars rockin’ orange, or if they must they’ll have him assassinated. The one sure thing is that they will NOT back off, not one iota. Please refer to Mike’s Iron Law #873 for further explication.

On the upside, I do believe I’ve found the topic of tomorrow’s Eyrie submission. Cold comfort, perhaps, but what the hey.

Bearded Spock update! It’s a way-out, whacked-out, topsy-turvy world.

Trump is being punished for refusing to recant his belief, a reasonable one, that the political process was fatally corrupted in 2020 and that Biden, consequently, is illegitimate. The indictment is a shot across the bow at anyone who shares Trump’s “false” unbelief in “our democracy.” Of course, when “our democracy” was perverted from its natural end, as it was during the Trump interregnum, the rules shifted dramatically. Back then, it was courageous to call the president a traitor and a usurper; it was “resistance” rather than “coup.”

In 2020, Democrats censored a major scandal about Biden and imposed sweeping administrative changes that resulted in an abnormally messy, delayed, and opaque vote count. But it’s Trump who caused “mistrust.”

Now, Democrats say it’s crazy to speculate that there is anything political about the prosecution of a presidential candidate in an upcoming national election. Come on, do you really think Jack Smith would arrest the chief political enemy of his boss if he didn’t have a good reason? Hold on a moment: his boss? Jack Smith is independent! He doesn’t work for Joe Biden. Stop spreading lies. He works for…well, who exactly?

The Trump indictment is politics at its purest. Machiavelli would have no trouble understanding it. But Democrats would have everyone believe the “rule of law” magically enforces itself. In the pollyannaish world of “our democracy,” the corrupt motives that have driven political elites throughout history to faction, intrigue, conspiracy, assassination, slander, bribery, and the like do not exist. There are two kinds of people: the good guys, people like Jack Smith, and the bad guys, like Trump.

Can’t say their black-and-white, bad guy-good guy worldview is incorrect, or not entirely. It’s just that they (mis)perceive themselves as the Good Guys, and Real Americans the Bad ones. Nothing, but nothing, could be further from the truth. Which, having already mentioned them, has inspired the spanking-new Mike’s Iron Law #462.

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Resuscitating the hallowed V8

As my old H-D shop boss and close friend Goose always liked to say: ain’t no replacement for cubic-inch displacement.

Report: Mercedes-AMG Bringing Back V8 Engines
Word has it that Mercedes-AMG is mulling over how best to bring back V8 power to the C and E-Class. While the performance unit downsized its powertrains in a bid to be more emissions compliant, fans pointed out that AMG had long been synonymous with under-stressed and over-engineered V8s making enough power to burn through a set of tires in a single outing.

The shift ended up being a bit of a scandal and one that left a sour taste in the mouth of the people that would actually buy AMG-branded products — which may explain the claimed change of heart.

According to two unnamed sources speaking with Car and Driver, Mercedes-AMG is in the midst of deciding how to bring back the V8. Though the overarching plan remains ambiguous, the rationale behind it is anything but.

It would be stupid to pretend that a 2.0-liter Mercedes optimized for performance can’t still be a hoot to drive. The iconic Mercedes-Benz 190E (W201) is an absolute legend with the 2.0-liter. But there’s a reason models featuring the I6 tend to be more sought after. It isn’t because they’re more reliable, it’s definitely not because they’re cheaper to run, and it might not even have all that much to do with their being faster. People want the larger engines to have the mental satisfaction of knowing they’re driving something with a larger engine.

Not to mention the mental calm of knowing they have enough horsepower to safely get around any pokey-ass, underpowered little i4 road-obstacle they might ever find themselves impeded by.

While perky little four-bangers have a lot to offer, their implementation can sometimes be a little disappointing. Imagine you’ve been given a free Ford Mustang with the badging removed and are told to open the hood to see which motor is inside. Your level of excitement is going to be determined almost entirely by how many cylinders you find.

Compact cars can thrive on small and peppy turbocharged motors. But there’s something truly sad about seeing one tucked inside an engine bay of a vehicle that could have accommodated something larger — especially when it’s also a premium luxury product that costs as much as some starter homes.

“Sad” might be one word for it, yeah. I can think of several others: disgusting, appalling, infuriating spring immediately to mind. Especially considering that those squirrel-on-a-treadmill “powerplants,” tucked away under wafer-thin sheet-tin hoods mounted on a Kleenex box rolling on four go-kart wheels, were forcibly fobbed off on the world by overpowerful goobermints in the name of coping with a climate “crisis” that never existed. More on the origins of that sorry development can be found at this recent Eyrie post.

Good on Mercedes for having the gumption to at last toss a big, fat FUCK YOU at the slimy government enviro-queefs. Would that Ford might be able to find balls enough to join them, but I won’t be holding my breath waiting for it.

(Via Insty)

5

Johnny Shiloh

What an amazing story.

In May of 1861, 9 year old John Lincoln “Johnny” Clem ran away from his home in Newark, Ohio, to join the Union Army, but found the Army was not interested in signing on a 9 year old boy when the commander of the 3rd Ohio Regiment told him he “wasn’t enlisting infants,” and turned him down.

Clem tried the 22nd Michigan Regiment next, and its commander told him the same. Determined, Clem tagged after the regiment, acted out the role of a drummer boy, and was allowed to remain. Though still not regularly enrolled, he performed camp duties and received a soldier’s pay of $13 a month, a sum collected and donated by the regiment’s officers.

The next April, at Shiloh, Clem’s drum was smashed by an artillery round and he became a minor news item as “Johnny Shiloh, The Smallest Drummer”.

A year later, at the Battle Of Chickamauga, he rode an artillery caisson to the front and wielded a musket trimmed to his size. In one of the Union retreats a Confederate officer ran after the cannon Clem rode with, and yelled, “Surrender you damned little Yankee!” Johnny shot him dead. This pluck won for Clem national attention and the name “Drummer Boy of Chickamauga.”

Clem stayed with the Army through the war, served as a courier, and was wounded twice. Between Shiloh and Chickamauga he was regularly enrolled in the service, began receiving his own pay, and was soon-after promoted to the rank of Sergeant.

He was only 12 years old. After the Civil War he tried to enter West Point but was turned down because of his slim education.

A personal appeal to President Ulysses S. Grant, his commanding general at Shiloh, won him a 2nd Lieutenant’s appointment in the Regular Army on 18 December 1871, and in 1903 he attained the rank of Colonel and served as Assistant Quartermaster General.

He retired from the Army as a Major General in 1916, having served an astounding 55 years. General Clem died in San Antonio, Texas on 13 May 1937, exactly 3 months shy of his 86th birthday, and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery.

Back in the long-ago days when Disney was still in the family-entertainment business—well before they’d lost their way and veered wildly off into Blasting The Squares with child-grooming and the lionization of mentally-disturbed freaks—they did a made-for-TV movie about John Clem. I believe there’s a DVD available out there, don’t know whether Amazon has it it not. The bare biographical facts:

John Lincoln Clem (nicknamed Johnny Shiloh; August 13, 1851 – May 13, 1937) was an American general officer who served as a drummer boy in the Union Army during the American Civil War. He gained fame for his bravery on the battlefield, becoming the youngest noncommissioned officer in the history of the United States Army.

He retired from the Army in 1915, having attained the rank of brigadier general in the Quartermaster Corps; he was at that time the last veteran of the American Civil War still on duty in the United States Armed Forces, although others similarly aged and experienced such as Peter Conover Hains and Albert A. Michelson rejoined the military after World War I started.

By special act of Congress on August 29, 1916, he was promoted to major general one year after his retirement.

A most remarkable saga of perseverance, gumption, and sheer force of will, I must say.

Greatest meme EVAR?

I know I’ve said that several times before, but this one just might top them all to permanently retire the crown.

FokkerVsFucker

Heh. Fuckers.

Update! I knew of Bader from all the Battle of Britain histories and historical fiction I’ve read over lo, these many years, but went poking around for more info on him. And BOY, did I ever find it. To wit (bold mine throughout):

Group Captain Sir Douglas Robert Steuart Bader, CBE, DSO & Bar, DFC & Bar, DL, FRAeS (/ˈbɑːdər/; 21 February 1910 – 5 September 1982) was a Royal Air Force flying ace during the Second World War. He was credited with 22 aerial victories, four shared victories, six probables, one shared probable and 11 enemy aircraft damaged.

Bader joined the RAF in 1928, and was commissioned in 1930. In December 1931, while attempting some aerobatics, he crashed and lost both his legs. Having been on the brink of death, he recovered, retook flight training, passed his check flights and then requested reactivation as a pilot. Although there were no regulations applicable to his situation, he was retired against his will on medical grounds.

After the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, however, Douglas Bader returned to the RAF and was accepted as a pilot. He scored his first victories over Dunkirk during the Battle of France in 1940. He then took part in the Battle of Britain and became a friend and supporter of Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory and his “Big Wing” experiments.

In August 1941, Bader baled out over German-occupied France and was captured. Soon afterward, he met and was befriended by Adolf Galland, a prominent German fighter ace. Despite his disability, Bader made a number of escape attempts and was eventually sent to the prisoner of war camp at Colditz Castle. He remained there until April 1945 when the camp was liberated by the First United States Army.

Bader left the RAF permanently in February 1946 and resumed his career in the oil industry. During the 1950s, a book and a film, Reach for the Sky, chronicled his life and RAF career to the end of the Second World War. Bader campaigned for disabled people and in the Queen’s Birthday Honours 1976 was appointed a Knight Bachelor “for services to disabled people”. He continued to fly until ill health forced him to stop in 1979. Bader died, aged 72, on 5 September 1982, after a heart attack.

A truly remarkable man, no? His legs were amputated after that ill-advised aerobatics attempt, one BTK (ie, Below The Knee) and one ATK (Above etc), in amputee jargon (mine was ATK, just so’s ya know). Baden was flying a Bristol Bulldog, a single-seat, unequal-wingspan (ie, lower wing shorter in length than the upper) biplane of some renown and excellent reputation at the time. His logbook entry after the crash was a true masterpiece of dry, laconic, British stiff-upper-lip understatement:

Crashed slow-rolling near ground. Bad show.

— Douglas Bader

In 1932, after a long convalescence, throughout which he needed morphine for pain relief, Bader was transferred to the hospital at RAF Uxbridge and fought hard to regain his former abilities after he was given a new pair of artificial legs. In time, his agonising and determined efforts paid off, and he was able to drive a specially modified car, play golf, and even dance.

Daring, dauntless, utterly without fear and indomitable, Sir Douglas Bader was outstanding even amongst an entire generation of real, true men; clearly, the words “quit” or “give up” simply were no part of his vocabulary. We shan’t see his like again, to our incalculable cost. Lots more great, great stuff at the link, of which you should damned-skippy read the all.

Ironically enough update! As it happens, Leigh-Mallory and Bader’s “Big Wing” theory, along with the resultant political battles with Air Vice-Marshall Keith Park, was recounted in great depth in one of those historical-fiction novels I’ve always been so fond of, namely Vol 2 of John Rhodes’ gripping Breaking Point series (highly recommended, if you’re into that sort of thing at all). “Big Wing,” while still controversial, was nonetheless pretty much a disaster.

After the Battle of Britain Leigh-Mallory never really had a chance to use the Big Wing defensively again, and it quickly mutated from a defensive to an offensive formation—Bader would eventually lead one of these new wings on massive fighter sweeps over France. To this day there is debate over the effectiveness of the “Big Wing” as it was used during the Battle. Although Leigh-Mallory and Bader argued it was a great success, post-war analysis suggests the actual number of German aircraft shot down by the wing was probably a fraction of those claimed (the claims for the Big Wing were never credible even at the time. On 15 September 1940, the Big Wing was scrambled twice against incoming raids and claimed 52 kills, eight probables and others damaged. (German records showed that six aircraft were lost). Some senior officers like Leigh-Mallory and Sholto Douglas wanted to believe these claims so that they could use the Big Wing as a political tool against Dowding. This would seem to support the idea that, for a “Big Wing”, there were “not enough enemy to go around”; the Wing had too high a concentration of aircraft in the same air space looking for targets.

It could be argued that 12 Group had more time to get fighters into position but even then it failed to do so. When 11 Group was stretched to its limits and required support, due to the delay imposed by 12 Group, 11 Group airfields were left undefended. This was due not only to time wasted in forming up the Big Wing but also due to 12 Group commanders not following 11 Group’s instructions and thus arriving in the wrong place. Not only did 12 Group fail to support 11 Group, they left their own airfields undefended; a large portion of UK airspace was left undefended while Leigh-Mallory and Bader tested their Big Wing theory. The time taken to form a Big Wing also wasted fuel and combined with the limited range of the fighters, reduced time over the combat zone. When 10 Group was asked to provide cover for 11 Group in similar circumstances, it was provided and 11 Group airfields defended.

Casualties for the “Big Wing” were significantly lower than in the smaller formations—suggesting that they did indeed benefit from protection in numbers. The “Big Wing” invariably joined combat with the enemy over Northern London, where the German fighter escort was at the very limit of its range and effectiveness. Consequently, the Big Wing also made very few interceptions, and as a result lower casualties would be expected on both sides. Park’s tactics (which had included the occasional use of two- and three-squadron wings) were correct for the conditions he had to fight under. The most powerful argument against the Big Wing in the Battle of Britain is that without a clear idea of a target as a raid assembled over France, it was impossible for the Big Wing to get airborne and form up in time to meet it.

Not all of the problems with “Big Wing” can be attributed to the concept itself; as always, the 7P Rule (Proper Previous Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance) axiom comes into play. That, in concert with the unavoidable influence of Murphy’s Law and the proverbial “fog of war,” all had their own part in things, also.

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