Reginald Harrison didn’t just dodge bullets—he outmaneuvered death itself four times in the skies over Europe.
According to Military.com, one of Canada’s most remarkable wartime aviators, Harrison, passed away on November 20, 2025, at his home in Saskatchewan at the age of 103, remembered for courage in combat and humility in peace.
Enlisting in the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1943, Harrison quickly earned his pilot wings and was stationed at a base in Croft, England, where his career of defying death would begin dramatically.
Pilot Faced Death, But Didn't Blink
His first brush with tragedy came within a year, when a bomb detonated on the airfield’s landing strip just as Harrison and his crew were returning from a mission. The explosion lit the strip on fire, and Harrison sustained serious burns but, in true grit fashion, was back in the cockpit within months.
Then came July 1944. A plane crash caused by engine failure on takeoff had Harrison unconscious in the wreckage before being dragged to safety. Fellow pilots, with the gallows humor common among warriors, started calling him “Crash.” Just weeks later, his third crash unfolded over poor communications and bad weather. After failing to receive a reroute message, the plane ran out of fuel. Harrison and his crew bailed out, and after hiking through the English countryside, they made it to shelter near Cumberland.
Fourth Crash Earned Him a Flight Home
In late 1944, Harrison was piloting the formidable Avro Lancaster, a favorite among Commonwealth crews. But fate dealt him one last grim card on December 1—that’s when friendly fire brought down his aircraft. Remarkably, everyone survived yet again.
This final crash, by all accounts, was enough for his commanding officer, who told Harrison, “Reg, you better go home.” Word travels fast when someone’s danced with death four times and lived to walk away. By war’s end, Harrison had completed 19 missions. He left the service before the conflict concluded, carrying not just the scars of war but the stories of survival that fewer and fewer can share firsthand today.
From War Hero to Humble Family Man
Raised near Pheasant Forks, Saskatchewan, Harrison returned home where he made good on the peace he’d fought for. He married Jean, started a family, and served for four decades with Veterans Land Service, helping others get back on their feet without fanfare or fuss.
His later years were marked by quieter pursuits—gardening, curling, and golf. For a man who once stared down enemy fire at 10,000 feet, growing tomatoes and lining up a short putt were probably welcome changes of pace.
Unlike too many voices today shouting about microaggressions from digital pulpits, Harrison spoke of real aggression—of D-Day, combat missions, and fallen comrades. “The heroes are over there,” he once said, pointing out that the true sacrifices were made by those who “never came back.”
A Legacy of Valor and Humility
In the years before his passing, the honors finally caught up with his deeds. Between the Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee Medal, a knighthood from the French Legion of Honour, and even becoming an honorary pilot for the Saskatoon Police Service, Harrison never seemed eager to wear his medals on his sleeve. Brian Swidrovich, a close friend, described him as a man “full of patience and pride and caring for everybody else except himself.” That’s worth more than 1,000 hashtags or social media platitudes.
Swidrovich added another zinger about Harrison’s luck in war, recalling, “He says he fooled the Grim Reaper four times,” and that his commanding officer didn’t think he’d make it a fifth. That kind of gallows humor doesn’t survive in “safe spaces.” But thank God it survived in men like Harrison.
A Witness to History, A Model of Integrity
The executive director of the Saskatchewan Aviation Museum, Brian Eikel, said it best: “Having somebody that we could speak to about what it was like on D-Day... He had all these stories.” Not posts. Not viral videos. Stories passed down the human way—in-person, with perspective.
In 2023, Harrison marked his hundredth birthday by flying a Tiger Moth—his very first aircraft—all over again. At an age when most are puttering with TV remotes, he was gripping a flight stick. That’s heritage. That’s resilience. Long after academics start rewriting textbooks with political overlays, the real deal—the Greatest Generation—will remain untouchable. “We will never see the Greatest Generation people like him again,” said Anthony Towstego, another friend of Harrison’s. He may be right. And that is a loss not only for Canada, but for a world that’s forgotten what grit looks like.
