Remembering Paul Conroy
We recently received the sad news that an ex-student of ours, Paul Conroy, had died of a heart attack at his home in Devon. You can read the BBC report here: BBC News – Paul Conroy.
Paul was an award-winning photographer and photojournalist. In 2012 he was in Homs, Syria, working alongside the legendary war correspondent Marie Colvin. They were targeted and shelled. Marie Colvin was killed in the attack.
Paul survived but suffered catastrophic injuries that led to the amputation of part of his leg and years of recovery. Their story was later told in the film A Private War.
Paul was a truly unique human being with a wicked sense of humour. Those who knew him understood that immediately. He carried the weight of the terrible injuries and experiences he had suffered in Syria, yet he refused to let them hold him back.
In 2015 he booked a paramotor course with us despite, as he would casually put it, “being half a leg short.”
During his course a student wrote a complaint email that has since gone down in SkySchool history. It featured none other than Paul Conroy, who he described as a "new age traveller type."
Knowing Paul as we did, we cannot think of a more fitting way to honour his memory than by sharing what may well be one of the finest literary masterpieces ever to emerge from a SkySchool training field.
We promise you that it’s genuine and, assuming you share our sense of humour, well worth the read…
Dear SkySchool,
As you know Parajet threw in this beginner course as part of my overall package that I ordered in December. However, I was ejected from this course yesterday morning by Zebur Mercan after I swore at him because he accused me of leaving a field gate ajar letting out some cows.
The cows' dash for freedom was short-lived anyway as we quickly rounded them up, so no big deal there, but Zebur decided to make it a big deal! This entrance gate was always left wedged closed so far as I had seen because it was so difficult to lock properly due to a build up of mud.
Hence my reason on this particular day for leaving my car outside the gate, as I thought the mud was getting so slippery after the heavy recent rain that I wouldn't be able to get out again.
I told Zebur in front of the farmer and everyone else that I went to get my foldable chair which I'd forgotten to bring to the landing area and climbed over the gate without opening it to keep my boots out of all the clayey mud.
I tried to explain to him the last people to close it were the other two students, Kevin the driver and the passenger Paul, the new age traveller type who last opened and closed the gate when they arrived an hour after the rest of us.
Obviously the passenger — the new age traveller type — left it ajar as was common, yet Zebur used me as a scapegoat in front of the farmer and everyone else.
Zebur asked why I didn't lock the gate. I told him I just left it be as I thought it was wedged in for the cows to nudge open. Zebur said it was my fault so I told him to go forth and multiply!
Getting back to the interesting student called Paul — a scouse, coarse, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, scruffy new age traveller type who just unfortunately happened to be at the same campsite as me in Mere.
He had a big blue van to live in and because it was so large he didn't want to use it for driving to the airfield so I felt forced to provide a chauffeuring service.
As he always overslept I also had to provide a personal alarm service and wake him up 10 minutes before we set off for our Mere rendezvous point, always greeting me with a yawny, “can u wait a few *uckin minutes while I get my clothes on mate.”
The last straw came on Sunday night after we had been down the pub after a day out in the field. I don't drink alcohol, so after a couple of colas I made my leave and returned to the campsite to cook, shower and get my head down.
At midnight I was woken by a loud up-and-down high-pitched buzzing sound and flashing lights. I looked out of my tent to see this idiot Paul who I can only assume had carried on drinking or smoked something illegal, standing outside his van flying one of those electric drone toys with four propellers used for surveillance.
In the morning I told him I was moving to another campsite nearer Frome because his behaviour at midnight on a Sunday night was unacceptable. I told Zebur who just laughed it off which was rather frustrating.
I was also less than happy with Zebur's attitude when I suffered from heat exhaustion due to being out from 10am to 5pm that first day without any shade or gazebo, running back and forth pulling a wing practising my front launches.
Zebur did not see heat exhaustion for what it is because the next day he asked me why I went home early in a huff. He doesn't seem to understand that after getting himself acclimatised to the hot sun in Spain the previous week that myself — a lily-white 53-year-old office worker — might be susceptible to heat exhaustion and not as fit as him.
I must have lost half a stone in weight with sweat that day, felt like I had run a marathon and started to get a headache. My face has never been redder — and I don't just mean from the sunburn!
To chuck someone off a flying course for safety reasons or ignoring his instructions would be acceptable, but to chuck someone off a course for a minor incident with a frisky herd of cows is just plain juvenile.
I would like an apology and then I will treat this matter as closed.
Here’s to you, Paul, you “new age traveller type.” They don’t make them like you anymore.
You will be deeply missed.
Blue Skies and Safe Landings
The SkySchool Team
