Spitfire legend

IT is almost a bit eerie. I am sitting at a large, immaculately polished dining table in an understated dining room, facing Gordon Mitchell with a portrait of his father, Reginald Joseph, hanging prominently on the wall behind him.

The similarities between the two men are stark - the same strong jaw, angular features and receding hairline.

Gordon may be 85 now but the resemblance to his father, who died almost 70 years ago, remains striking.

It is unlikely Gordon positioned himself here on purpose when he invited me to sit.

Nevertheless, seeing RJ, as he was known, looming above the head of his only son brings a very real, very human feel to our chat.

He may be one of the most revered engineers this country has ever produced - a man hailed for playing as integral role as anyone in securing victory in the Battle of Britain in 1940, but to Gordon Mitchell, RJ was simply Dad - the man who taught him about life and just happened to be a brilliant aircraft designer.

"His work was at work. His family life was an escape for him and he valued that. He was a very affectionate father but very strict - he kept you on your toes. He also had a wicked sense of fun though."

There is little doubting RJ's genius.

From humble beginnings growing up with his four siblings in Stoke-on-Trent, to becoming chief engineer at Supermarine Aviation Works in Woolston at the age of just 25, everything RJ touched aeronautically seemed to turn to gold.

Between 1922 and 1931 he won the prestigious Schneider Trophy for high-speed flight four times, being awarded a CBE for his efforts.

And in 1934 he embarked on designing the plane that would guarantee his place history - the Spitfire.

Tragically, in 1937, aged just 42, cancer robbed him of the chance to enjoy the Spitfire's finest hour and arguably receive the recognition his achievements deserved.

He was an inspiration to everyone who worked for him. But he inspired noone more than Gordon.

"All the time he was designing the Spitfire he knew he was probably dying," Gordon contemplates.

"And I think that gave him a sense of urgency. He knew what the situation was and he had to face up to it."

It was 1933 when RJ, who had moved from the Potteries to Southampton after accepting his first engineering job at Supermarine some 16 years earlier, was taken ill.

And in the late summer he was diagnosed with cancer of the rectum, undergoing life-saving surgery that left him with a permanent colostomy.

The doctors told Mitchell they had removed the cancer as far as possible but there was a grave risk it would return. If it did there was very little that could be done for him.

However, if he lived for about four years without it returning things would look a lot brighter.

Gordon, who was just 13 at the time and about to return to boarding school in Clifton, Bristol, remembers that after convalescing from the operation, RJ enjoyed three years of reasonable health.

But he admits. "I'd been told it could come back at any time and it was always in the back of my mind.

"It was very, very difficult, especially being away at school, but one just had to accept it and hope it wouldn't come to it."

For the next three years, RJ carried on as normal, opting to keep the severity of his illness from his Supermarine colleagues.

And at a time when he was confronting the biggest personal challenge of his life, RJ seemed almost inspired to hit the highest heights possible both professionally and as father.

For someone from an era when men were not generally encouraged to discuss their feelings, Gordon speaks with tremendous humility and compassion on a subject which, after 68 years, clearly still affects him.

Born in Southampton in 1920, he is not outwardly emotional when talking about his father, rather he is considered and takes his time when answering what must at times seem quite intrusive questions.

Gordon, who married Alison in 1947 and has three children, vividly remembers RJ's behaviour in the build-up the Spitfire's maiden flight at Eastleigh on March 5, 1936.

"He was always very nervous before a test flight. His main concern was always with the test pilots because he felt so responsible. Most people decided it was best not to speak to him at that time.

"You could sense that at home. He had a short fuse and would very easily explode if he thought something was not as it ought to be.

"But people just accepted that's the way he was. They knew the best thing was not to try to make pleasant conversation - they just left him quietly to get on with it."

And he laughs at the typically understated way his father reacted after the Spitfire's successful first outing.

"He was a very modest man. I remember asking if he was satisfied and his answer was 'Reasonably so.' But he knew it was all right.

Gordon admits during his early childhood at Radstock Road, Woolston and, from 1927, Russell Place, Portswood, he was closer to his mother than his father.

But as he moved into his teens in the early 1930s Gordon and RJ's relationship developed, the pair spending treasured days together at air pageants while as a family they would play tennis and golf at Bramshaw.

Gordon spent many a Saturday morning at Supermarine getting a feel for what his father did.

But he insists there was never any pressure from RJ for him to go into the aircraft industry.

"He went to great pains to try to help me in what I was going to do. He didn't try to push me into anything."

Gordon says he did consider following RJ's footsteps but feared he would always be compared to him.

"If I'd been successful, like I may have been, everyone would've said it was only because of my father. Or if I'd been a failure, which is more likely, everyone would've said I was nothing like my father."

However for all the personal and professional foundation laying achieved in the wake of his operation, the shadow of cancer always loomed ominously over RJ.

And by the autumn of 1936, shortly after the third anniversary of the surgery, it returned, finally forcing him to give up work.

Gordon knew his father's prognosis was bleak although even up to his death RJ's letters to his son at school remained upbeat - constantly offering Gordon help and career advice.

RJ died on June 11, 1937 at Hazeldene, the beloved home he had helped design a decade earlier.

His father's death hit Gordon hard but eventually he opted to pursue a lifelong interest in biology and went to Reading University in 1940, having spent the previous year on a farm near Blandford in preparation for his course.

In 1942, he chose to interrupt his studies and joined the RAF for five years, never letting it be known who his father was, before returning to university to complete his undergraduate studies.

RJ's influence on his son is obvious.

And Gordon never forgot the lessons his father taught him and the enormous part he played in the future he knew he would never see.

"It wouldn't be far wrong to say my whole childhood was a bit of an education. My father didn't go in for superfluous things, there had to be a reason for everything whether it was to help you or improve your education

"Our relationship was built largely on respect. He was obviously, rightly or wrongly, very proud of me. He used to call me Big Boy and I felt I had to live up to that. I didn't always meet that standard but I would always try."