Suddenly as the result of an accident on Saturday, October 18, 2008.

Charles “Charley” Fox DFC, CD of London, Ontario. Honorary Colonel of

412 Squadron of the Canadian Air Force, in his 89th year. Beloved husband of the late Helen (Doughty) (1995) and dear father of Jim

(Cheryl) of Kitchener, Sue (Doug) of Thamesford and Adrienne (Bruce) of Budd Lake, NJ. Dear grandfather of Kristi, Todd, Steven, Ryan, Amy, Katie, Travis, Jeff and Jen their spouses and step-grandfather of Dominique, Frank and Veronica. Also loved by 6 great grandchildren.

Sadly missed by 3 sisters-in-law Mary, Barb and Christine, many nieces, nephews, and some very special ladies who were additional daughters to Dad. Predeceased by 2 brothers Ted and George.

Charley served his country as a decorated Spitfire Pilot during WWII. He ended his tour of duty in January 1945 but became active in the London-based 420 Reserve Squadron after the war. On April 30th, 2004 he was named Honorary Colonel of 412 Squadron passionately devoting his time and energy to honour the veterans, past and present. Throughout his working career, Charley contributed 30 years to the success of Tender Tootsies and Lyons of London. He will be missed by family, friends and everyone whose lives he touched.

Visitation will be at the Harland B. Betzner Funeral Home, 177 Dundas Street, Thamesford, ON (519-285-2427) on Wednesday from 7 – 9 pm and on Thursday from 2 – 4 pm and 7 – 9 pm. Funeral service will be held at East London Anglican Ministries, 2060 Dundas Street, London on Friday, October 24, 2008 at 11:00 am. Rev June Hough officiating. Internment will be at Forest Lawn Memorial Gardens. As an expression of sympathy memorial donations may be given to the Canadian Harvard Aircraft Association, Stevenson Children’s Camp, or the Children’s Hospital Foundation of Western Ontario.

A few years ago Charley shared the following poem with me, and I share it now with you:

— Captain Michael J. Larkin, TWA (Ret.), 'Air Line Pilot' magazine, February 1995

FLYING WEST

I hope there's a place, way up in the sky Where pilots can go when they have to die.

A place where a guy could buy a cold beer For a friend and a comrade whose memory is dear.

A place where no doctor or lawyer could tread, Nor a management-type would e'ler be caught dead!

Just a quaint little place, kind of dark, full of smoke, Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke.

The kind of a place that a lady could go And feel safe and secure by the men she would know.

There must be a place where old pilots go, When their wings become heavy, when their airspeed gets low, Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young, And songs about flying and dying are sung.

Where you'd see all the fellows who'd 'flown west' before, And they'd call out your name, as you came through the door, Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad, And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad!"

And there, through the mist, you'd spot an old guy You had not seen in years, though he'd taught you to fly. He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear And say, "Welcome, my Son, I'm proud that you're here! For this is the place where true flyers come When the battles are over, and the wars have been won. They've come here at last, to be safe and alone,

From the government clerk, and the management clone;

Politicians and lawyers, the Feds, and the noise, Where all hours are happy, and these good ol' boys Can relax with a cool one, and a well deserved rest!

This is Heaven, my Son. You've passed your last test!"

Clear skies, safe flights and smooth landings,

Sandra