The Man Who Made Me Look Up

Anthony “Tony” Cleveland · 1926–2023

There are some people whose influence reaches much further than they probably ever realise.

For me, one of those people was my grandpa, Anthony “Tony” Cleveland.

Grandpa lived an extraordinary 96 years. He was an engineer, a husband, a father, a grandfather and eventually a great-grandfather. His career took him from Britain to Canada and around the world.

But there is one part of his story that has always captured my imagination more than anything else.

He helped design engines for Concorde and the Harrier Jump Jet.

Even now, I have to stop for a moment when I write that.

Engineering the Impossible

My love of aviation runs deep.

There is something about aircraft that has always fascinated me. The noise, the mechanics, the enormous forces involved and the sheer engineering required to make something so large leave the ground.

But Concorde and the Harrier aren't just any aircraft.

They are two machines that seem to represent engineers being presented with something bordering on impossible and deciding to have a go anyway.

Can we build a passenger aircraft capable of flying at more than twice the speed of sound?

Concorde.

Can we build a jet aircraft capable of taking off and landing vertically?

Harrier.

And my grandpa's career began in the British aviation industry designing engines for both of them.

That connection has always made aviation feel incredibly personal to me.

These aren't simply aircraft I've seen in museums, documentaries or photographs.

Somewhere within their story is Grandpa.

The Man Behind the Engineering

What I appreciate even more as I've grown older is that aviation was only the beginning of his engineering career.

After his work in the aviation industry, Grandpa moved into British Gas, working on pipeline systems.

Then, in 1975, he emigrated to Canada.

His engineering career continued there as a consultant within the energy industry, working with pipelines, gas turbines and co-generation.

He also travelled extensively through his work, often accompanied by my grandma, Pam.

It's a career spanning different industries, different technologies and different countries, but with engineering running straight through the middle of it.

When I look at that now, I recognise something that has become a huge part of my own personality.

Curiosity.

Wanting to Know How Things Work

I've always wanted to understand things.

I struggle to look at a machine and simply accept that it works.

I want to know how.

What's happening inside it?

Why did the engineer choose that design?

What does that component do?

What happens if this part fails?

How would you diagnose it?

Could it have been designed differently?

That curiosity has followed me throughout my life.

It's part of why I became obsessed with programmes such as MythBusters and How It's Made. It's why people such as Adam Savage have become enormous creative influences on me.

It's why I love tools.

It's why I enjoy technology.

And it's certainly part of why I've ended up working in field service engineering myself.

The machines I work on are very different from Concorde, Harriers and gas turbines, but the fundamental challenge is wonderfully familiar.

Grandpa the Engineer, Grandson the Engineer

I love that connection.

Grandpa's engineering career began in aviation.

Mine has taken a very different route, eventually bringing me into field service.

But I recognise the same fascination with systems and problem solving in myself.

Every day I'm diagnosing equipment, taking things apart, replacing components, measuring, testing and trying to understand why something has failed.

There is a particular satisfaction when you've been staring at a problem, gradually eliminating possibilities, and suddenly everything clicks.

That's it.

You've found it.

Then you fix it, put everything back together and watch the machine come back to life.

That's the bit I love.

And knowing that Grandpa spent so much of his life immersed in engineering makes my own career feel connected to something much bigger.

More Than an Engineer

His obituary also reminds me that describing Grandpa simply as an engineer would miss an enormous part of who he was.

When he began moving towards retirement, he became actively involved with the Millrise Community Association in Canada.

He maintained friendships throughout his personal and professional life.

And the words used to describe him are perhaps more important than any aircraft or engineering project:

Those are qualities worth aspiring to.

But perhaps the part of his story that says the most about the man he was concerns my grandma, Pam.

Towards the end of her life, Grandpa was determined to care for her personally and keep her at home despite the difficulties involved.

His obituary describes that dedication as a reflection of his selflessness.

Engineering achievements are impressive.

Character matters more.

Cleveland Engineering Services Ltd

One of the little pieces of my grandparents' story that I've always loved is Cleveland Engineering Services Ltd.

Even the name feels wonderfully straightforward. No flashy branding exercise, no carefully engineered corporate identity. It was Cleveland, it was engineering, and it was about providing a service. That was Grandpa all over.

But Grandma made sure it wasn't entirely engineering.

On the company sign, alongside the very sensible CLEVELAND ENGINEERING SERVICES LIMITED, she added a small daisy. She loved flowers and apparently felt the sign needed a little something extra.

I absolutely love that.

Against the black background and formal lettering sits this tiny, cheerful flower. Engineering on one side, Grandma quietly adding some personality on the other.

And there's a strange little family coincidence hidden in that flower too.

Years later, completely unknowingly, my nickname when I played rugby was "Daisy".

I had no idea at the time about the significance that little flower would eventually have for me. It was simply a rugby nickname. Yet years later, here I am looking at Grandma's daisy sitting proudly beside the Cleveland name, and somehow that tiny detail feels even more special.

I'm not going to pretend there was some grand plan behind it. There wasn't. That's exactly why I like it so much.

Decades later, that old sign has become one of those family objects that means much more than the materials it's made from. It's a tiny surviving piece of their life together, their personalities captured in a few letters and one little white flower.

And perhaps that's part of why I care so much about putting personality into the things I build today.

The engineering matters. The workmanship matters. Getting the details right matters.

But sometimes it's the completely unnecessary little daisy that makes something yours.

Four Generations

One of the things that means an enormous amount to me is that Grandpa lived long enough to know four generations of our family.

He wasn't only my grandpa.

He became my daughter's great-grandpa.

There's something rather special about seeing her name among the generations of family in his obituary.

Tony's life began in 1926.

My daughter knew him almost a century later.

Think about the amount of change contained between those two points.

Aviation alone transformed almost beyond recognition during his lifetime.

Grandpa was born when powered flight itself was barely more than two decades old.

He would eventually work in an industry producing Concorde and the Harrier.

Then he lived long enough to see his great-grandchildren growing up in an entirely different century.

That's quite a journey.

The Questions I Wish I'd Asked

Grandpa died on 22 January 2023, aged 96.

And one thing I wish I'd done differently is ask more questions.

Not because he didn't tell me things.

Because I didn't yet understand which questions I would one day desperately want answers to.

I'd love to sit with him now and talk engineering.

I'd ask about Concorde.

I'd ask about the Harrier.

I'd want to know exactly what he designed.

I'd ask about the engines, the people he worked alongside and the problems they were trying to solve.

I'd ask about British Gas.

I'd ask about Canada.

I'd ask about the gas turbines and pipelines.

I'd ask about travelling the world through engineering.

And I'd probably keep asking questions until he wondered why on earth he'd agreed to the conversation.

When you're younger, Grandpa is simply Grandpa.

It's only later that you realise the elderly gentleman sitting across from you has nearly a century's worth of stories inside his head.

The Man Who Made Me Look Up

Perhaps that's why aviation means something slightly different to me.

When I see Concorde, I don't only see one of the most beautiful aircraft ever created.

I think of Grandpa.

When I see a Harrier hovering, I don't just see an extraordinary piece of engineering.

I think of Grandpa.

And whenever an aircraft passes overhead, I'm still the person who instinctively looks towards the sky.

That curiosity he helped inspire has found its way into almost everything I do.

Engineering.

Technology.

Tools.

Making things.

Fixing things.

Taking things apart.

Trying to understand the world rather than simply accepting that something works.

Anthony “Tony” Cleveland lived from 2 November 1926 to 22 January 2023.

He designed aviation engines, worked on pipeline systems, consulted within the energy industry, travelled the world, contributed to his community, built lasting friendships and, above everything else, remained devoted to his family.

I'm incredibly proud that he was my grandpa.

And I'm proud that, in my own small way, I've found myself following an engineering path too.

Perhaps I didn't realise it when I was younger, but Grandpa gave me something I've carried with me ever since.

A reason to be curious.

A reason to understand.

And whenever I hear an aircraft somewhere above me…

a reason to look up.

Thanks, Grandpa.