We lived next to the airfield and I still remember myself hanging on to the fence surrounding the airfield waiting for my father to appear. He Flew Thunderjets (F-84 ?) at that time but had flown Fairchilds, Spitfires and the first jets that came to Norway, which I can't remember the name of.
I got a brother some 18 months later and didn't think that was any fun. Luckily that relationship improved later. Some years later dad got fed up with too much politics in the Airforce I think and too little flying. Since my uncle had been one of the top flying aces during WW2 I guess dad had the flying thing in his blood. Dad decided to join as a pilot in the Scandinavian Airlines System, SAS and ve all moved to Stockholm, Sweden while he was attending training there.
I remember we lived two different places there. One was a large, at least for me, old house at the countryside with lots of old trees and forests around. I still remember vaguely large falling leaves in burning colors during autumn. Åkersberga I think the place was called. The other place we lived was a gray stone apartment building, second or third floor probably closer to Stockholm in a place called Vallingby Gård (I think). This was where I broke my arm and was sent to hospital for my first time. I still remember the sickly nauseating smell of the ether anestetics I got when they had to put the bones in position.
I think we lived in Stockholm for 2-3 years, at least that's what it
felt like. We then moved back to Norway, to Hønefoss where my father
came from and where my grandparents lived. We moved into a blue colored
apartment building, second floor.