Post by Dave Homewood on May 13, 2023 22:05:58 GMT 12
Here is some media about Bryan Cox's first book, the brilliant Too Young To Die, from when it was first released in 1987.
From The Press, 5 December 1987
N.Z. pilot in the Pacific War
Too Young to Die: The Story of a New Zealand Fighter Pilot in the Pacific War. By Bryan Cox. Century Hutchinson, 1987. 290 pp. $24.99.
(Reviewed by Vincent Orange)
Many books by or about New Zealand's wartime airmen have appeared in recent years, but apart from some chapters in Bob Spurdie’s “The Blue Arena” (reviewed here on July 25), they have all been about life and death in the European War. Not one has been concerned mainly with the Pacific War.
Bryan Cox’s book therefore breaks new ground in a field otherwise well tilled. It is the more welcome because he has a fascinating story to tell and his publishers have produced a substantial book at a very reasonable price. There are numerous photographs and although the quality of reproduction is not high, all are carefully placed at relevant points in the text. The book deserves a larger scale map of the islands and an index, but there are useful appendices detailing Corsair losses, pilots killed while flying Kittyhawks and victory claims made by R.N.Z.A.F. aircrew.
Better still, there are brief biographies covering both the service and post-war careers of many men with whom Mr Cox served — a valuable and novel feature in books of this kind. Over-all, the book makes an important addition to our knowledge and is excellent value for money.
Mr Cox, born in January, 1925, describes his boyhood on a poor Waikato farm: a life without shoes, money, or electric light. His mother would pot rabbits with a rifle from her bedroom window and his father would kill the occasional sheep and hang it from a tree. As soon as he turned 18, his parents agreed to his joining the R.N.Z.A.F, even though three of his cousins had already been killed in the war and his brother’s life was in great danger (a bomber pilot in England, he would lose his life in 1944).
His parents each lost a brother in the Great War and a third was badly wounded at Gallipoli. The burden of war was not restricted to male members of the family, for Mr Cox’s mother and two female cousins served in the W.A.A.F. Those who died, as well as those who survived, often gained, however briefly, an intimacy with friends very rare in peacetime: a comradeship, as Mr Cox wrote, “which I had never experienced before, and which later provided consolation in the face of danger, but extreme grief in the face of loss.”
As befits a man who has enjoyed an outstanding post-war career as a flying instructor, Mr Cox is at his best when explaining what it felt like to be in the cockpit of a Kittyhawk or a Corsair. We are shown how difficult, how frightening and how exhilarating it could be to have sole charge of such large and powerful aircraft. Although Mr Cox had no engineering background, he had a liking for machinery very common among New Zealanders of his generation. He modestly ascribes his survival in numerous crises in the air to good luck, when in fact he showed, time and time again, a vital understanding of how machines work and an ability to think and act quickly under pressure.
By the time he first flew on active operations in the Pacific in January, 1945, he had more than a year of intensive flying and gunnery training behind him. This was far more than most German or Japanese pilots received at that time and far more than most Allied pilots received early in the war; nor did they enjoy the relative security of fighting in a Corsair, an aircraft of high performance, great strength, and devastating firepower.
Mr Cox’s career thus illustrates an old truth about the advantage of coming late to a war on the winning side when excellent equipment is plentifully available. He was never required to engage in the aerial combat for which he trained so strenuously, but he carried out many dangerous attacks against well-defended ground targets, often in support of Australian troops, for whom he developed a warm sympathy once he had spent a few days with them on patrol. He had mixed feelings about American attitudes (to women as well as to aircraft), though he liked most of the individuals he met.
Mr Cox is good on the daily routine of war service in the islands: its discomforts and shortages (except when within range of American supplies) made worse by heat and snakes. But he is even better on life in Japan in 1946-7, where he served with the Allied occupation forces. He describes well the poverty, the eagerness to rebuild, and the amazing friendliness of the people, so soon after their defeat in a long, bitter war: this in a region very close to Hiroshima, the devastation of which profoundly impressed him.
This book covers mainly the years 1943-7, when Mr Cox grew from 18 to 22: years spent by many New Zealanders in tertiary education. By the end of that time, he had certainly graduated in that famous institution, the University of Hard Knocks, earning at least a PhD in absorbing vital instructions, in self-reliance combined with teamwork, in taking an alert interest in a wide range of new experiences, in developing a tolerant good humour, and (not least) in coming to terms with the sudden, painful death of many contemporaries. He was indeed a thoroughly tested young man and this distillation of his memories deserves a wide readership.
From The Press, 5 December 1987
N.Z. pilot in the Pacific War
Too Young to Die: The Story of a New Zealand Fighter Pilot in the Pacific War. By Bryan Cox. Century Hutchinson, 1987. 290 pp. $24.99.
(Reviewed by Vincent Orange)
Many books by or about New Zealand's wartime airmen have appeared in recent years, but apart from some chapters in Bob Spurdie’s “The Blue Arena” (reviewed here on July 25), they have all been about life and death in the European War. Not one has been concerned mainly with the Pacific War.
Bryan Cox’s book therefore breaks new ground in a field otherwise well tilled. It is the more welcome because he has a fascinating story to tell and his publishers have produced a substantial book at a very reasonable price. There are numerous photographs and although the quality of reproduction is not high, all are carefully placed at relevant points in the text. The book deserves a larger scale map of the islands and an index, but there are useful appendices detailing Corsair losses, pilots killed while flying Kittyhawks and victory claims made by R.N.Z.A.F. aircrew.
Better still, there are brief biographies covering both the service and post-war careers of many men with whom Mr Cox served — a valuable and novel feature in books of this kind. Over-all, the book makes an important addition to our knowledge and is excellent value for money.
Mr Cox, born in January, 1925, describes his boyhood on a poor Waikato farm: a life without shoes, money, or electric light. His mother would pot rabbits with a rifle from her bedroom window and his father would kill the occasional sheep and hang it from a tree. As soon as he turned 18, his parents agreed to his joining the R.N.Z.A.F, even though three of his cousins had already been killed in the war and his brother’s life was in great danger (a bomber pilot in England, he would lose his life in 1944).
His parents each lost a brother in the Great War and a third was badly wounded at Gallipoli. The burden of war was not restricted to male members of the family, for Mr Cox’s mother and two female cousins served in the W.A.A.F. Those who died, as well as those who survived, often gained, however briefly, an intimacy with friends very rare in peacetime: a comradeship, as Mr Cox wrote, “which I had never experienced before, and which later provided consolation in the face of danger, but extreme grief in the face of loss.”
As befits a man who has enjoyed an outstanding post-war career as a flying instructor, Mr Cox is at his best when explaining what it felt like to be in the cockpit of a Kittyhawk or a Corsair. We are shown how difficult, how frightening and how exhilarating it could be to have sole charge of such large and powerful aircraft. Although Mr Cox had no engineering background, he had a liking for machinery very common among New Zealanders of his generation. He modestly ascribes his survival in numerous crises in the air to good luck, when in fact he showed, time and time again, a vital understanding of how machines work and an ability to think and act quickly under pressure.
By the time he first flew on active operations in the Pacific in January, 1945, he had more than a year of intensive flying and gunnery training behind him. This was far more than most German or Japanese pilots received at that time and far more than most Allied pilots received early in the war; nor did they enjoy the relative security of fighting in a Corsair, an aircraft of high performance, great strength, and devastating firepower.
Mr Cox’s career thus illustrates an old truth about the advantage of coming late to a war on the winning side when excellent equipment is plentifully available. He was never required to engage in the aerial combat for which he trained so strenuously, but he carried out many dangerous attacks against well-defended ground targets, often in support of Australian troops, for whom he developed a warm sympathy once he had spent a few days with them on patrol. He had mixed feelings about American attitudes (to women as well as to aircraft), though he liked most of the individuals he met.
Mr Cox is good on the daily routine of war service in the islands: its discomforts and shortages (except when within range of American supplies) made worse by heat and snakes. But he is even better on life in Japan in 1946-7, where he served with the Allied occupation forces. He describes well the poverty, the eagerness to rebuild, and the amazing friendliness of the people, so soon after their defeat in a long, bitter war: this in a region very close to Hiroshima, the devastation of which profoundly impressed him.
This book covers mainly the years 1943-7, when Mr Cox grew from 18 to 22: years spent by many New Zealanders in tertiary education. By the end of that time, he had certainly graduated in that famous institution, the University of Hard Knocks, earning at least a PhD in absorbing vital instructions, in self-reliance combined with teamwork, in taking an alert interest in a wide range of new experiences, in developing a tolerant good humour, and (not least) in coming to terms with the sudden, painful death of many contemporaries. He was indeed a thoroughly tested young man and this distillation of his memories deserves a wide readership.
