Nöbetçi Eczaneler
For diver Daniel Zaccheo, a dive trip to Naxos, Greece, was not just about the underwater world, but an evocative connection to his grandfather, who flew Bristol Beaufighters during the Second World War
By Daniel Zaccheo
My Grandad, like many Grandparents to British people of my generation, lived through and fought in the Second World War. He was a Flight Sergeant and a Navigator during the War and remained in the RAF after the war, eventually retiring having reached the rank of Wing Commander. He died aged 62 in 1982 when I was just seven years old.
During the war, he was an RAF navigator within Coastal Command, launching raids on German shipping in the North Sea. He was stationed at home, leaving domestic life to conduct life-or-death missions before returning to his family.
Some might think being stationed at home would be better; less ‘all-in’ than being sent to war overseas, but the juxtaposition between nighttime raids on ships while being buffeted by fusillades of anti-aircraft fire and facing the prospect of a terrifying death being burned alive while crashing into the waves of the North Sea – to then return home for tea must have been very dificult.
The transition from work to home can be tricky at the best of times – this would have been on a level I can not imagine.
Growing up, one story about my Grandad, told to me by my father, always stands out. He described how my Grandad, operating in a squadron of nine aircraft, had completed a mission in the North Sea, firing rockets and torpedoes at German shipping.
My Grandad navigated Bristol Beaufighters, a formidable yet slow twin-engine fighter-bomber. They would often approach their targets with fighter plane support, but on returning to base with the mission complete, the fighter planes would turn hotfoot-it back to base, leaving the slow Beaufighters to return unprotected.
On one such occasion, a German fighter plane intercepted the Beaufighter squadron and shot each plane out of the sky, one by one, each plane burning as it crashed into the rough and dark waves of the North Sea.
My Dad described how seven of the nine planes were picked off by the German fighter plane until, out of ammo, the German pilot pulled up alongside my Grandad’s plane, gave him a salute, then banked round to return to his base.
I can only imagine my Grandad witnessing his friends and comrades killed, helplessly watching and waiting for his turn until this last second reprieve.
I can only imagine his walk through the front door on his return home, sitting at the dinner table, exemplifying the values of the day, pretending that everything was fine, and saying, ‘Thank you, the potatoes are lovely.’
Diving Silent Beau
Fast-forward to August 2025 and the island of Naxos, Greece, with its bustling but laid-back tourist centre of Chora.
The island’s ‘old town’ and charming inland villages create a happy hybrid economy of tourism and traditional industries such as goat farming, pottery and marble quarrying, all surrounded by beautiful beaches and friendly people. Naxos really is a gem within the Cyclades islands.
I had come on a family holiday, with a fantastic schedule including days at the beach, cycling around the coast, souvenir shopping in the labyrinth of quaint back streets in the old town, and sampling the local food, wine and beer.
This time, however, there was a special draw to the island of Naxos – a dive site with a story that captivated my imagination and a link to my own family story.
Lying at the bottom of the Aegean Sea at a depth of 33 metres, about a quarter of a mile off the coast, lies the wreck of a RAF Bristol Beaufighter, the same type of plane my Grandad flew.
Shot down in 1943, the crew of the Naxos Beaufighter were rescued, but the wreck was left undiscovered until 2007. With my Grandad’s stories of daring raids in the North Sea and of crashed planes from his past, I felt this was a site I had to visit and pay my respects to.
I emailed Panos, the owner of Bluefin Divers on Naxos and explained my affinity with the local wreck. He replied quickly, optimistic that a dive on the Beaufighter would be possible in the coming days, explaining that calm conditions are important for the dive site.
As chance had it, we cycled past Bluefin Divers’ shop the next day, so I parked up and went inside to follow up my email in person. I met Panos, and he promised to confirm by the end of the day if conditions were looking favourable for the most likely opportunity, based on the weather forecast, in two days’ time.
Panos told me about the Bristol Beaufighters – and he knew his stuff. He described what I know about their slow speeds and vulnerability to German attack aircraft.
I told him about my Grandad, even showing him a picture of him as a young Flight Sergeant, hoping this would seal the plan to dive the site in the coming days. When Panos told me the dive site’s name, ‘Silent Beau’, a wave of emotion went through me.
The name was instantly very evocative yet respectful. It instantly connected meaning to my Grandad, now long passed, and the wrecks of his comrades, whose ill-fated planes now also lie at the bottom of the sea, far out of reach for recreational divers; the thundering twin engines having long been silenced.
Having received the thumbs up for the dive, I returned to the dive shop on a public bus, ready for the 9:15 am start. The shop was already a hive of activity. Two groups were setting off on a dive that morning, one group heading out to another wreck and one group diving ‘Silent Beau’.
I did the usual round of awkward hellos, not yet sure who was who, or who was going to be on my dive, but I was soon greeted by the dive centre crew. They showed me to my already assembled kit, complete with my name on a masking tape tag.
The ‘Silent Beau’ team was the smaller of the two groups that day, comprising four recreational divers and three professionals from the dive centre – one instructor piloting the RIB, another leading the dive. and a trainee dive master.
I was buddied up with Richard, an Irishman who, coincidentally, we discovered, lives less than 10 miles from my home – the seemingly obligatory ‘small world’ incident when on your scuba diving travels!
We surface-swam to the RIB moored 50 yards off the beach and then set off for the dive site. As Silent Beau is not marked with a buoy, the boat skipper located the site with GPS. A buoy line with a spare 5-litre cylinder was deployed into the silky calm water for safety, and the divemaster trainee tasked with descending just far enough to confirm we were above a plane wreck.
The lead instructor gave a very clear and safety-conscious briefing. With the wreck lying at 33 metres and the divers breathing standard air, a maximum bottom time of 13-15 minutes was established, with additional safety measures including a series of safety stops planned for our ascent.
We rolled off the RIB in buddy pairs and assembled at the top of the buoy line to make our descent. The familiar void of a midwater descent surrounded us, only to be replaced with the perfect cross of the plane’s wings and fuselage emerging out of the blue below as we reached a depth of around 15 meters.
The wreck is remarkably intact. The whole plane is in one piece; the twin engines, one on each wing, are clearly visible. The propellers from the starboard engine are missing but remain in place on the portside engine, although bent, presumably from impact with the surface of the water when the plane crash-landed.
The cockpit hatch is open, showing the pilot’s escape route, with the navigator’s seat further back also clearly visible, and ominous bullet holes along the fuselage.
The plane looks for all the world like it was deliberately landed neatly and upright, there on the sea floor.
Besides the rhythmic, bubbly sound of my own breath, the Beau was, indeed, silent.
Lionfish were dotted around the site, and a small dark coloured moray eel had set up home under the tail. The view was peaceful, surreal yet deeply moving.
Here, first-hand, was the evidence of the risks the aircrew were taking in their daring raids against Nazi Germany. Like my Grandad’s story, here lying at the bottom of the sea, was a Bristol Beaufighter, shot down.
Fortunately, Silent Beau is not a war grave like the planes from my Grandad’s story, but still a tangible link to the reality of the War of 80 years before, and the lived experience of my Grandad and many like him.
Daniel was diving with Bluefin Divers in Naxos: www.bluefindivers.gr; Facebook @bluefindiver; Instagram @bluefindivers.gr. You can follow Daniel’s adventures at @i_am_just_going_outside
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