The life of Brian

What is high performance?

When we think of high performance, images of peak physical condition, mental sharpness, and exceptional skills often come to mind. But is there more to high performance than just excelling in these areas?

To explore this question, I’d like to share the extraordinary life of Brian Walley, a 102-year-old WWII veteran and pilot whose experiences may redefine our understanding of what it truly means to be a high performer.

When I first met Brian in September 2023, he was seated comfortably opposite me in a small room in the nursing home in Margaret River, a small western Australian town where we both lived. He proudly shows me his favourite trophy - a trophy of a fish with two wave-like ‘bars’ beneath it - representing successfully ditching his Armstrong Whitworth Whitley bomber….twice!

The second time he was forced into the water was on the 7th of November 1941. The 51 Squadron Whitley bomber ‘F’ for Freddie was returning from a bombing raid over Berlin, where the aircraft had sustained heavy fire, forcing the shutdown of the port engine. A single-engine powered glide would have ensured a safe return to England.

However, when the crew encountered severe icing, they were forced to get below the cloud base, finally breaking free at 1500 feet. Unable to maintain altitude and hampered by 80 knots of wind, the crew jettisoned everything they could into the foaming North Sea below, including the Vickers machine gun and all the remaining ammunition. Eventually, still unable to maintain level, the crew prepared to ditch.

These are his words in an excerpt from his book ‘ Sole Survivor’:

"I was back in the cockpit and strapped into my second pilot's seat when we hit the water. The sea was in a malevolent mood. The waves like mountains piling up on top of each other slipped by below illuminated in the landing lights. We pancaked on the crest of one, planed down the trough and ploughed right through the next one, coming to a bone-shaking stop. The whole front of the fuselage disintegrated with most of it wrapped round my legs. I was trapped. The sea, pouring through the gaping hole was up to my chest before I broke free leaving one of my flying boots behind in the wreckage. I half clambered and half swam up and out through the open escape hatch on top of the cockpit. My bootless left leg dragged limply behind me as I crawled along the top of the rapidly submerging fuselage, whimpering like a whipped schoolboy in utter shock. At that moment, I grew from a nineteen-year-old teenager to a manhood man. I pulled myself together and tumbled towards the dinghy, one moment 10 feet below, then way above my head. I was the last man out. The other four, already in the dinghy, grabbed me and pulled me aboard.”

Brian’s face and hands are animated as he shares his story with me.

“I remember crawling across the wing of the now floating aircraft, 20-30 foot seas, groaning, body shattered, foot injured. I was moaning and afraid.”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” I told myself. “After that, it was easy to jump into the North Sea. What other choice was there?”

Brian, at 101,  has sparkling eyes and a mind as clear and sharp as a morning frost.

“Are you sure you are a pilot?” he asked me.

My loose auburn hair and feminine attire were not what he had come to expect from the pilots he had flown with. I showed him photos of the PC9s I instructed in and pictures of me in uniform.

He smiled as he spoke; he seemed content. This man has flown aircraft in combat, watched all 4 of his crewmates die of hyperthermia in the life raft beside him, endured 3 ½ years in POW captivity, and describes being ‘bashed into submission’ after several foiled escape attempts. He tells of enduring the infamous forced marches of the POWs even as Hitler was making his last stand nearby.

“War is the ultimate stupidity,” he told me, “But if something like Germany happens, you’ve got to stand up for yourself.”

I wanted to understand how someone who had been through these experiences could be sitting before me, so filled with joy for life.

“What makes you happy, Brian?” I asked.

“A good wife”. He answered unhesitatingly, smiling lovingly as he pointed out a photograph of his wife, Maira. “We were together 76 years; she died 2 years ago. She understood me”.

I choke back tears, imagining the grief this man must be feeling without his great love, but he shows no sadness.

“Memories are happiness, Belinda. My wife and I had a deep connection. I have an interesting life, a full life. I would be happy to kick the bucket tomorrow….but I’m not planning to anytime soon!” he tells me cheerfully. “I have no problems here”, he adds. “…and I enjoy my coffee every morning.”

He scrunches his eyes in amused suspicion. “Are you sure you’re a pilot?”

“Absolutely!”  I exclaim.

“Ah, good.” He relaxed. “ Then you’d like to join me for a whiskey.”

He gets out a bottle of scotch and pours me a generous serving—especially for 10 a.m.

Cheers! He sips, mischief in his eye, watching me intently. Having been bestowed this most incredible honour, I am determined to enjoy the early morning tipple, but unaccustomed to the spirits, it hits hard.

After a few sips, clutching the edges of clear thinking, I asked Brian if he had any further wisdom to share.

“Yes,” he tilts his head to the side, eyes twinkling, “You’ll understand this. If you’re going to fly tomorrow, stick to beer, you’ll piss it out by morning. Spirits may take a few days.”

Reflecting on Brian's life, it is evident that high performance includes much more than just professional achievements or physical feats.

It encompasses discovering meaning and joy in life’s simplest moments—such as savouring a morning coffee or sharing a whiskey with a new mate under extraordinary circumstances. A high-performance life is characterised by adaptability, an unyielding spirit, and a commitment to living fully despite past pains and emerging from our challenges—changed, perhaps, but undefeated.

Brian's longevity and happiness are testaments to his resilience, integrity, and courageous mindset. These traits and his knack for flourishing in tough times define excellence in the context of a whole life.

Through his story, Brian shows us that high performance is as much about the spirit we bring to our daily lives as it is about our successes and failures. It’s about enduring, thriving, and finding happiness in a life well-lived, no matter the circumstances.

In this context, high performance isn’t just an action; it’s an attitude—a continual journey of growth, learning, and deep engagement with life.

Take a moment to consider;

• What does high performance mean to you?

• How can you most meaningfully demonstrate high performance in your life to:

  • yourself, and

  • those around you?

PostScript.

I met Brian again in January 2025. He seemed unchanged from nearly 18 months earlier, which is synonymous with miraculous, given his age. This time, I was smart enough to wear my Zoom bag. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he stood to greet me.

‘You make me feel young again!’ he exclaimed.

We swapped stories of aircraft and our shared passion for flying. Brian has outlived his entire generation. His children are in their 80s, and he has a great-great-grandchild. He reflects on his life and his surely impending death. He smiles often, and his smile reaches his eyes. This man is a living, breathing example of human resilience, and I sit with him for as long as I can politely manage to absorb every word from this remarkable living treasure.