Squadron Leader 'Gandi' Drobinski DFC

THIS is my Dad, the photograph taken in the early 1940s, somewhere in England. He'd followed his country's orders: to leave his native Poland when the Germans invaded and to find his way to England to make himself useful to the war effort. He'd been caught and interned in Romania, escaped and made his way to England via false documents, passports and a kindly guard at the French border. Although he survived the war, this Remembrance Day seems a good time to say a few words about him.

Dad flew planes. A young officer in the Polish Air Force, he came to England a trained fighter pilot. He flew Hurricanes and then Spitfires, fighting in the Battle of Britain with 65 Squadron. He went on to become Squadron Leader of 303 Polish Squadron, was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross and was classed as an 'Ace'. He flew alongside V1 flying bombs to tip their wings, confusing their gyros and sending them back where they came from. He flew fighter escort for bombers on their historic raid on Hitler's 'Eagle's Nest' at Berchtesgaden. In later life, he was one of the technical advisers for the 1969 film, Battle of Britain. He is one of the 24 pilots featured in '...So Few', a beautifully and painstakingly prepared limited edition book produced to raise money for the RAF Benevolent Fund.

But that really isn't what I wanted to say. That went on well before I was born, and formed the man before I got to him.

The Dad I remember was the one who used to drive me six miles to school in our red Mini in the 1960s, making me laugh by pretending the oncoming traffic were enemy aircraft and shouting 'Dakakakakaka' while firing imaginary tracers at them. He'd let me sit on the rear wheel arch of our tractor while we towed the hay-baler up and down our farm's meadows, making me feel so grown up.

My Dad was the man full of alleged Polish proverbs and sayings which, like the fictional Banacek, he'd quote at you. 'He's lying like a cheap watch' was one of his favourites.

While driving, he was someone who would approach roundabouts cautiously, and then, when he felt he'd waited an appropriate amount of time, drive into the melee, regardless of whether he had right of way or not. I think he just lost patience.

But of all these memories, the strongest one I have is this: the two of us sitting on the floor in front of the telly, watching Rowan and Martin's Laugh In, laughing like drains at Arte Johnson, playing the German soldier, with traditional tin helmet, whose running gag was to appear from behind a pot plant and say: 'Very interesting. But stupid.'

An American playing a German, and my Dad laughing at the joke. And me sitting next to him.