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JOHN CONLIN Memoriam
In Loving Memory of John Baskerville Conlin (November 28, 1920 - January 24, 1996) My Father Thirty Years On..
My father, now gone 30 years ago today, is someone I have missed and thought of often if not near daily during these passing years.
Dads, when I was born, were little known to us, as typically they did not play a central role in our early years as mothers usually occupied this space. With the passage of time, their roles in the family changes giving context to who our fathers are and what they mean to us as young boys.
When I was born, young boys, me included, saw our fathers as heroes. My father was 36 years of age when I was born. It was not until much later in my life that I became aware of who my father really was and what he accomplished prior to my birth.
My father was born in Eldorado, Ontario, on November 28, 1920, to William P. and Fanny Conlin. He moved to Sydenham, Ontario, at an early age with his father and mother, along with his elder and younger sisters who were two years older and younger.
My father's mother passed of pneumonia when he was only was seven years old and his sisters were nine and five, respectively. His father was left with three young children, which was no small task for anyone in 1927, not to mention today.
During the brief period that my father had with his mother, Fanny, who was a schoolteacher, she taught her own children to read and write before they entered the school system, such as it was in those days.
My father, as a result of this and the fact that he possessed a photographic memory, sailed through the school system two years at a time. He slowed his ascent in high school of his own volition to allow some of his age group to catch up, and due to the fact that he was far too young to enter Queen's University, as by then the family was living in Kingston, Ontario.
WWII broke out while my dad was attending Queen's University, and he dutifully volunteered for the services. All of them!
The first, the Navy, said to come back at the end of the school year. Then onwards to the Army whose response was the same, to return at the end of the school year. Neither of these first two options appealed as Dad really had, at the time, little interest in finishing his year.
Next up the Air Force, who said come back next week. Perfect, as that is exactly what he did, and he returned the next week!
Volunteering as he did for all three services did cause some ructions with the services and the powers that be at the time. The Navy and the Army did go looking for him and found him in Saskatchewan doing his basic training for the Air Force. The C.O. on base pointed out that at least one of the services had him and he was not in fact shirking his duty to crown and country
His progress through the Air Force training was completed with distinction and as a result my father found himself part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan. After earning his wings in Uplands near Ottawa he was posted for nearly a year training other recruits how to fly.
There were 13 of them in fact, all of whom were shipped overseas, all posted to squadrons as pilots, all of them flew in action, all of them survived and returned home.
After this time as a training officer my father was shipped to Britain and posted with the RAF in the 107 Squadron as a Mosquito pilot, "The Wooden Wonder." As a night intruder, he flew some 50 plus missions before the end of the war. The 107 whose motto was and is "We Shall Be There" flew out of recently liberated and vacated German airdromes just behind the front lines.
In his own words my father said, whenever he discussed the war which was not often, if what he taught these young men meant the difference of sending 13 mother's sons home to them, then that was the only thing he felt was worth a damn as far as he was concerned about his contribution during his time in the war.
I just cannot add anything to that remark that speaks more profoundly about the man himself than that which he said himself.
His accomplishments were many: he flew over 50 missions, taught 13 recruits to fly, was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross), and all followed by a long and remarkable career as lawyer. At his firm he helped to build it from its Phoenix-like ashes of Parkinson, Gardiner, Willis and Roberts into Gardiner, Roberts, Anderson, Conlin, Fitzpatrick, O'Donoghue and White, that now still exists as Gardiner Roberts.
My Dad was and still is my Hero. I miss him and wanted to honour his memory by this tribute to him as I am fortunate enough to call him my father.
Miss you Dad.
Frederick William Conlin
My father, now gone 30 years ago today, is someone I have missed and thought of often if not near daily during these passing years.
Dads, when I was born, were little known to us, as typically they did not play a central role in our early years as mothers usually occupied this space. With the passage of time, their roles in the family changes giving context to who our fathers are and what they mean to us as young boys.
When I was born, young boys, me included, saw our fathers as heroes. My father was 36 years of age when I was born. It was not until much later in my life that I became aware of who my father really was and what he accomplished prior to my birth.
My father was born in Eldorado, Ontario, on November 28, 1920, to William P. and Fanny Conlin. He moved to Sydenham, Ontario, at an early age with his father and mother, along with his elder and younger sisters who were two years older and younger.
My father's mother passed of pneumonia when he was only was seven years old and his sisters were nine and five, respectively. His father was left with three young children, which was no small task for anyone in 1927, not to mention today.
During the brief period that my father had with his mother, Fanny, who was a schoolteacher, she taught her own children to read and write before they entered the school system, such as it was in those days.
My father, as a result of this and the fact that he possessed a photographic memory, sailed through the school system two years at a time. He slowed his ascent in high school of his own volition to allow some of his age group to catch up, and due to the fact that he was far too young to enter Queen's University, as by then the family was living in Kingston, Ontario.
WWII broke out while my dad was attending Queen's University, and he dutifully volunteered for the services. All of them!
The first, the Navy, said to come back at the end of the school year. Then onwards to the Army whose response was the same, to return at the end of the school year. Neither of these first two options appealed as Dad really had, at the time, little interest in finishing his year.
Next up the Air Force, who said come back next week. Perfect, as that is exactly what he did, and he returned the next week!
Volunteering as he did for all three services did cause some ructions with the services and the powers that be at the time. The Navy and the Army did go looking for him and found him in Saskatchewan doing his basic training for the Air Force. The C.O. on base pointed out that at least one of the services had him and he was not in fact shirking his duty to crown and country
His progress through the Air Force training was completed with distinction and as a result my father found himself part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan. After earning his wings in Uplands near Ottawa he was posted for nearly a year training other recruits how to fly.
There were 13 of them in fact, all of whom were shipped overseas, all posted to squadrons as pilots, all of them flew in action, all of them survived and returned home.
After this time as a training officer my father was shipped to Britain and posted with the RAF in the 107 Squadron as a Mosquito pilot, "The Wooden Wonder." As a night intruder, he flew some 50 plus missions before the end of the war. The 107 whose motto was and is "We Shall Be There" flew out of recently liberated and vacated German airdromes just behind the front lines.
In his own words my father said, whenever he discussed the war which was not often, if what he taught these young men meant the difference of sending 13 mother's sons home to them, then that was the only thing he felt was worth a damn as far as he was concerned about his contribution during his time in the war.
I just cannot add anything to that remark that speaks more profoundly about the man himself than that which he said himself.
His accomplishments were many: he flew over 50 missions, taught 13 recruits to fly, was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross), and all followed by a long and remarkable career as lawyer. At his firm he helped to build it from its Phoenix-like ashes of Parkinson, Gardiner, Willis and Roberts into Gardiner, Roberts, Anderson, Conlin, Fitzpatrick, O'Donoghue and White, that now still exists as Gardiner Roberts.
My Dad was and still is my Hero. I miss him and wanted to honour his memory by this tribute to him as I am fortunate enough to call him my father.
Miss you Dad.
Frederick William Conlin
To plant trees in memory, please visit the Sympathy Store.
Published by The Globe and Mail on Jan. 24, 2026.
Memories and Condolences
for JOHN CONLIN
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Tim Hyde
January 24, 2026
Nice tribute Fred. I remember fondly your Dad sitting in his study and explaining that baseball was the best game to watch on TV because you could snooze for a few innings and not miss much!
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