World War II veteran Edward James reflects on life at 99 years old

He "didn't fancy crawling around in the dirt" and had seen boats rocking viciously at anchor off the coast, which left the sky as the clear winner.

He sent off his enlistment papers on February 12, 1942.

Now 81 years on, Mr James is likely the last surviving World War II advanced flying instructor in Australia, if not the world. And in a few months time, he will turn a century old.

The day he enlisted could not feel farther away.

But, for Mr James, all the past is not a diminishing road; the memory is a fresh field he finds his way back to on occasion. And on a rainy day in his new home of Launceston, he recalled his time serving, coming home to raise a family with the love of his life and what his 100th birthday celebrations will entail.

Love and War

The day before his 18th birthday, Edward Frank James made no hesitation in his decision to enrol with the Royal Australian Air Force.

He brought his papers home, ready to head off to Europe, but someone did hesitate: his mother.

She was, understandably, not eager to see her son sent off to war in any capacity, and what he hadn't known was that, in World War I, pilots were lucky to last six weeks. His mother was trying to protect him, but Mr James did what every child does: he defied one parent and asked the other.

"My father signed my form because he'd been a war serviceman himself," he said.

When Mr James finally shipped out, only a few months later for basic training, his mother threw away all his clothes. She never told him why, but perhaps it was in protest or even in a form of preparation. She may have believed her son would never come home.

At basic training, he lived in a small boys orphanage where sitting on the toilets made your knees come up to your head; he slept on hessian bags filled with straw on cyclone wire beds; and used shoes to prop up the makeshift mattress.

At the next training stop, he flew Tiger Moths as a training pilot, rolling upside down, spinning and taking on aerobics. On completion of the rigorous course, Mr James received his wings and his sergeants stripes.

For a while after that, he did return home, which was where his love story started - but not with planes. He met a young woman, Mavis, but in early 1943 the romance was stymied - Mr James was called up for service.

He shipped out to the United States, was piled on trains and off to New York, but halfway he fell ill. He'd never seen snow before and the cold weather didn't sit with him: he had severe pneumonia.

His medical reports were doubtful he would live. He wrote to Mavis regularly.

When he recovered, he was sent to England where he would spend close to four years as an advanced flying trainer from the age of 19 to 23. He was tasked with test flights - "you hoped the engines kept going and the wings stayed on" - and was once almost caught in a mid-air collision with a German aircraft. There were metres in it.

When the war ended, after living in London during bombings, after flying countless training runs, Mr James wandered around town. The bout of pneumonia had saved his life and he wasn't looking back.

"I saw an engagement ring for Mavis," he said

"The first letter I sent her asked if she would marry me. Back came a letter from her with one word on it: yes."

They were married on March 16, 1946.

After the war

Mr James raised four boys - two of whom later served in the armed forces - and worked at Commonwealth Bank until he retired.

His four boys have since gone on to have seven children themselves, and now Mr James has 13 great grandchildren and 2 great great grandchildren.

He moved to Launceston 10 years ago to be closer to his son, Alan James. The pair are "thick as thieves".

Twice weekly, the son takes the father around town or builds scale models alongside him. Alan has the serial numbers of his father's planes painted onto their sides or tails. He says it keeps them connected.

The pair will head to Perth to see the extended family when Mr James will turn 100 on February 8. He said it's been a good life.

"It was better than good; it was great," he said.