1933 (Pre RAF)

In my fourth year of High School, in Greenock, Scotland, I applied to sit the examination for entrance to the Royal Air Force as an Aircraft Apprentice.  The duly invigilated exam was taken at the head office of the Renfrewshire Education Authority in Paisley.

My passing rating was in the top 20% and I was instructed to have a preliminary medical examination and report to RAF Halton in Jan. 1934 for a final medical check and, if O.K. recruitment.

January 1934

Joined the RAF.  Reincarnated as 566834 Macdougall, M..  Opted for Wireless Operator Mechanic trade. Sent to the Electrical and Wireless School, Cranwell as part of 6D Entry.

January 1934 - December 1936

The first progress report to my next-of-kin (my Mother) stated "Malcolm is not amenable to Air Force discipline".  After some clashes with Sgt. App. Menaul (later AVM) and punishment (cookhouse fatigues, potato scrubbing, etc.) I saw the light and stopped fighting the system. I may not have been amendable to service discipline, but I wasn't stupid.

Later I was a Cpl. App. and in the final stages of our training, was interviewed on the short list for cadetship but did not make the cut.

January 1937

Posted to 269 Squadron, Abbotsinch.   The squadron was in the process of being formed.  Avro Ansons were delivered direct from the factory.  As the only Wireless and Electrical Mechanic on the squadron, I ordered, installed and tested the radio equipment.  At the same time, I started training as an Air Gunner.  This included air to ground firing at Leuchars.  The operational role of the squadron was coastal reconnaissance.

January 1938

Posted to 20 A.C. Squadron, , Northwest Frontier, India. The squadron was equipped with Hawker Audax aircraft. Continued training as Air Gunner, including air to air firing at drogues at Karachi Arnament Training Camp.
Spent 3 years with 20 Sqdn., two at Peshawar and one year at Kohat, with occasional detachments to Miramshah. During this time I was promoted to Corporal, then Sergeant.

January 1941

Posted to 27 Sqdn. Risalpur (Blenheims).  The squadron was being brought up to strength before being moved to Kallang, the civil airport at Singapore.  Moved with the squadron from Kallang to Butterworth (Penang) and a short time later, to Sungei Patani.  After the Japanese attack, retreated down Malaya with stops at Butterworth, Kuala Lumpur and assorted places until ending up back in Kallang (without any aircraft).

For a more detailed story of my time on the North West frontier and the retreat from Singapore click on the image of the handsome young fellow below.

 I a Young Airman

The title is from the barrack-room ballad of the same name. (See Note 1 below). The original article was written for the staff magazine in the Bureau of Management Consulting and Computer/Communications Services (phew, what a title!) of the Govt. of Nova Scotia.  On re-reading my original 20 year old draft it seems pretentious and preachy in places but my excuse is that it was aimed at a much younger audience and contains explanations that are not necessary for the present mature readers.  The contents are factual.

Note 1.     The ditty or ballad goes as follows:

I, a young airman, was bound for Iraq
My girl said to me, you must stay on the tack
And save all your money till you've got a sack
And we will get married as soon as you're back

But when out in Iraq a few months I'd been
I got a letter from my Blighty queen
Saying "I got married a fortnight ago,
Five years is a long time and goes very slow"

I took to the bottle, I took to the glass
I knocked back McEwens as long as they'd last
Until one night in Baghdad the S.P.'s caught me
And a hard-hearted C.O. said "Fourteen C.C."

Now Baghdad's a city of wonderful sights
The bints in the brothels they all dress in tights
They drink ginger-ale while you pay for champagne
Then they say "Not tonight dear, but see me again"

Just fourteen more days and the boat will be here
Fourteen more days and we'll leave Basrah's shore.
And the finest sight you can see of Iraq
Is from the arse-end of a troopship that ain't coming back.

N.B. This was usually followed by a heart-rending version of 'Shaibah Blues'

 I, a Young Airman

The Scene is Set

North of India's burning plains, in a land of snowy peaks and barren passes, of scrub and scaly-sided ravines, a handful of Britons carried out one of the Empire's toughest and most thankless tasks in the tribal territories of the North West Frontier. They were the District Officers, otherwise known as the Residents.

The Pathans who live in the area between Afghanistan and Pakistan (India, as it was then) are a virile, warlike people.  A man's most prized possession is a rifle, and when the crops are in and the work is done, there is nothing they like better than a good fight.  It might be just to set up an ambush on the only good road through the territory and rob a passing convoy, or it might be a full-scale raid on a village in the more settled areas then back to the mountains with their loot and a few choice kidnapped girls.  This has been their way of life since long before the days of the British Raj and it is probably the same to-day.   But the British, as usual, felt it was their mission to bring law and order to the tribesmen and to punish the transgressors.  Thus, each district had a District Officer who lived with the people and was normally on good terms with them.  He advised the tribal elders on the administration of justice and he arranged medical and financial help from outside when it was required.  But if the men of a particular village decided on full-scale raids with looting and killing, the District Officer would need support in restoring order and punishing those responsible.

To this end, there were forts at strategic locations in and around the tribal territories and army garrisons in some of the towns and cities of the North West Frontier Province.  At three locations there were RAF squadrons. No. 20 Squadron (of blessed memory) was stationed at Peshawar, the nearest city to the famous Khyber Pass.  Their duty was co-operation with the army.  Peshawar itself was a peaceful enough place with a very nice cantonment for the armed forces.  Up nearer the mountains and the Tribal Territory was a Foreign Legion type fort and an advanced landing strip used by the RAF when giving close support to the army during active operations.  The fort was Miramshah, the home base and recruiting depot for the Tochi Scouts of the Frontier Force.  The men of the regiment were from the mountainous Tochi district, their officers were mostly from the British Army or the Indian Army.   Air support for their training and for operations was provided by one Flight at a time from 20 Squadron. A,B and C Flights rotated on this duty.

The Action Begins

It was during a tour of duty with B Flight that the young airman of our story first saw action.  He had spent three years of study and training at the RAF's Electrical and Wireless School at Cranwell, followed by one year working on the build-up of a new squadron (269 Sqdn., Avro Ansons) while at the same time learning to be an air gunner.  The gun turret in the Avro Anson is reasonably comfortable and it had come as a shock to find that he would now have to operate from the open cockpit of the obsolescent Hawker Audax biplanes with which 20 Squadron was equipped.  Traditionally, squadrons in India were equipped with cast-offs from U.K. squadrons.  The Audax was an open-cockpit, two-seater biplane specially fitted for its army cooperation role.

A Vickers belt-fed machine gun, mounted alongside the Rolls Royce Kestrel engine, was synchronized to fire through the propeller arc.  The rear cockpit had a Lewis gun of first World War vintage, but modified for use in aircraft and mounted on a gun ring that gave an all-round field of fire (you could shoot the aircraft tail off if you weren't careful).  The ammunition pans for the Lewis gun held 98 rounds of .303 and four pans were carried on fittings around the cockpit.  Sixteen 20lb. bombs, on small bomb-racks under the wings, completed the armament for army co-op work.

The radio fitted in the aircraft was not suitable for close support work with forward fighting patrols and the army used a system of ground strips as a crude but affective means of communication.  If a patrol was being fired on, they used white canvas ground strips to put out a vee pointing in the direction from which the fire was coming.  Two or three patrols with vees out on the ground gave the aircraft a fairly good fix on the enemy position.  The standard method of attack on such a position was known as VBL-Vickers, Bomb, Lewis.  The pilot would dive the aircraft directly at the enemy position, firing his Vickers gun to keep their heads down, then he would release a couple of bombs and start climbing out in a steep bank to allow the rear gunner to have a go at them.  It was a difficult time for the rear gunner because at the bottom of the dive, the g force made the knees buckle, then, as the aircraft banked steeply he had to have a lot of faith in the monkey chain that held him in (from the bottom of the parachute harness to the floor of the cockpit) as he leaned over the edge to fire back and down.  The parachute itself was stowed on clips on the cockpit wall.
 

The incident when our young airman fired his first shots in anger came about as the result of an army column getting held up by snipers in the approach to a mountain pass.  The track the army column was following wound up a narrowing valley with steep rocky hills on each side.  When the column was held up, the advance patrols were only able to penetrate part way up on one side of the pass before coming under accurate fire from a group of tribesmen in an ideal position on the opposite side and able to cover all approaches to their "sangar" (fortified lookout post or breastwork).  The call for help came through to Miramshah and the duty crew (including our dauntless but inexperienced young airman) at once took off.  On approaching the valley it was plain to see from the numerous ground - strip vees exactly where most of the tribesmen were grouped among large rocks and bushes at a bend in the road. Because of the narrowness of the valley and the closeness of the peaks, the pilot decided on a variation of the VBL attack in keeping with the situation.  He would approach for the bombing run in a shallow dive but the rear gunner would have to spray the peaks on the east side to keep any snipers occupied.  The attack went according to plan.  The well maintained Lewis gun pointing over the right side of the aircraft sprayed the area with .303's.  As soon as the bombs were released, the pilot made a climbing 180deg. turn and came in to attack again from the opposite direction.  Once again the Lewis gun chattered as the gunner sprayed in and around the peaks along the side of the of the valley.   He was disappointed when the pilot suddenly waggled his wings, broke off the attack and climbed to a safe height.  Only then did the excited young gunner realize that his gun was still pointing over the right side of the aircraft and he had been firing towards our own patrols.  Our troops must have kept their heads well down, there were no reports of casualties from 'friendly fire' as it would now be called.  It turned out, the first attack had proved sufficient.  The tribesmen withdrew and the column was able to proceed.

In the months that followed, our young airman became quite experienced and proficient in all types of operations on the Frontier.  The wireless operator/air gunner did a lot of jobs in this type of aircraft besides radio operating and gunning.  By getting down on his knees and crawling under the pilot's seat, he was able to open a hatch on the floor and use a bombsight fitted there for high level bombing.  Towards the tail and pointing downward, a camera could be fitted for photo-reconnaissance sorties, or, before army operations, to make a high level photo mosaic of the operational area.  Spotting for the artillery was a special technique involving direct communications with the gun batteries.  The trickiest job of all, was message pick-up and message dropping with advanced units of the army.  Small units with no other means of communication could put out ground strips indicating that they wanted a message pick-up.  They would fix bayonets on two rifles and stick them into the ground about 20 feet apart. The message, in a small pouch was then attached to a cord which was held taut between the two rifle butts.  The aircraft was fitted with a rod about 10 ft long, hinged at one end to the undercarriage axle and, at the other end, normally held close up against the belly of the aircraft.  The free end of the rod was fitted with a spiral pick-up hook something like a miniature shepherds crook.  The hook was accessible through a small hinged opening in the floor of the rear cockpit.  With the message hook lowered, the aircraft had to be flown about12 feet above the ground and directly between the two rifles so that the trailing hook grabbed the cord with the message bag.  A steep climb to a safer height and the AG could pull the hook up to its storage position and retrieve the message.  When the pilot had read the message he would decide on what action was required.  If necessary, the rear gunner was given a message to drop in reply while the aircraft made another run over the ground strips of the pick-up point.  Message pick-up and drop was particularly tricky in hilly country or if there were trees or outcrops of rock nearby and even more so if the patrol was under fire from the tribesmen!   The tribesmen were remarkably accurate with their rifle fire.

Aircraft in flight had been hit on several occasions.  Our young airman's nearest experience in this regard happened on the ground.  The road between two of the larger centres in the tribal territory, Wana and Manzai, had been the scene of so many ambushes and hold-ups that it was closed to traffic except on two days per week.  On these days the army went out at dawn and set up posts at all danger spots then declared the road open and safe for traffic until the patrols were withdrawn at dusk.  On road open days there was a standing patrol of one aircraft from Wana to Manzai and back.  A second aircraft provided relief in the middle of the day while the first aircraft landed at Wana to refuel and for the crew to have a meal and a nature relief.  The incident referred to above happened when our patrol aircraft was returning to base in the fading daylight and ran into an extensive sandstorm.  The pilot decided to put down at an emergency landing ground near one of the forts.  This was achieved safely and the aircraft was taxied as close as possible to the fort wall.  At Miramshah there were huge metal doors that allowed the aircraft to be parked in safety within the fort walls at night.  In an emergency landing at other forts, the aircraft had to be left outside.  As darkness fell the patrols were withdrawn from the commanding points around the landing area and before long some "badmash" (rascal or hooligan) had approached close enough to open fire on our poor aircraft.  The soldiers from the fort returned the fire sufficiently to discourage any close approach but even then, at first light next morning, as soon as the troops had declared the area safe, an examination of the aircraft revealed several bullet holes.  The only one that caused real concern was a hit on the engine that had ricocheted around and damaged one of the hand-starter magnetos.  Despite this, our faithful old Rolls Royce roared to life after some vigorous winding on the other hand-starter and we were soon on our way back to base.

About this time in our tale the little yellow men, pleased with their victories in Nanking and elsewhere in China, were preparing to make their attacks on Malaya, Hong Kong, and Pearl Harbour.  Our young airman was transferred to a squadron bound for Singapore as reinforcements against the Japanese threat, and it was at Sungei Patani up near the Siamese border that he learned that it is certainly different to be at the receiving end of bombs and shells.

End of Part 1

© 2000 Malcolm Macdougall

Recap.: We left our young airman (now a Sergeant) after 3 years with 20 Sqdn, being posted to 27 Sqdn. in preparation for a move from the Frontier to the Far East (Singapore).
 

The Far East, the mysterious East--far away places with strange sounding names--Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore.  The name Singapore comes from Singhapura the Lion City and that is one of the mysteries. There are no lions in Malaya.  Tiger City I could understand since there are tigers in the more remote jungle areas.  Certainly the tiger name and symbol enjoyed great commercial popularity.  The best selling beer was Tiger Beer.  Tiger balm was the cure-all for whatever ailed you, everything from dandruff to broken legs, and for some mysterious reason, it seemed to work.

Be that as it may, Singapore is the Lion City and, to a young airman fresh from the barren frontier of India, it was like the Baghdad of the Arabian Nights.  No tribesmen, no Fakir of Ipi, no war.  Don't worry, be happy as the song said.

The dance halls were something else, the New World, the Happy World and the other Palais de Danse offered continuous dancing with two full dance bands.  When one band took a rest, the whole stage revolved and the second band came round already in full swing.  The taxi dancers cost only 10 cents a dance.  There were bar and restaurant facilities, etc. and the etc. was very interesting too.  The girls in the dance halls didn't really wear tights.   The Chinese girls wore long tight dresses with a slit up each side as far as mid thigh.  Their legs had to be free for dancing, etc.
 

To make things even more pleasant, the squadron was based at the civil airport (Kallang) which compared with present-day airports, was practically in the centre of the city.  But the fleshpots of Singapore were not for us. After a few weeks we had to leave the soft life and move up country to open a new airfield being built as Butterworth, on the mainland just opposite Penang island, about 400 miles north on the Malay peninsula.

We were housed in a most attractive series of very small bungalows that had just been completed in a clearing near the beach.  The complex had been built as a leper colony but 27 Squadron got there first -- or maybe Singapore Command didn't really like the upstart reinforcements from and they were trying to tell us something. Maybe to them, we were lepers! Regardless of what the reason was, it was a superb location.

A separate building near the trees at the edge of the clearing was ideally situated for our ground radio station.  It was the mortuary.  We moved out the slabs and moved in the transmitters.  For the next few weeks we worked hard at getting the airfield and the squadron up to full operational standard.
 

The Blenhiems were modified to take four Browning guns in a pack under the belly.  The newly-fitted guns were tested on air to ground firing at targets set up on a small uninhabited island just north of Penang. As soon as everything was working well and we were ready to relax, we were moved again.  We exchanged our leper colony bungalows on the beach for camouflaged huts among the trees of a vast rubber plantation where another airfield was being constructed.

Sungei Patani was only about 30 miles further north but was well inland and closer to the Siamese border.
 

The possibility of war with Japan appeared to be increasing daily.  A large Japanese convoy, escorted by major units of their Navy had been sighted cruising in the South China Sea.  We were brought to full war alert but, in those pre-Pearl Harbour days, the needs of diplomacy and good international relations were such that no positive action could be taken.  In fact, the Chiefs of Staff back in London had instructed the Commander-in-Chief Far East "Avoidance of war with Japan is the basis of Far East policy and provocation must be rigidly avoided".   Nevertheless, when the Japanese convoy turned north up the Gulf of Siam and seemed to be heading for Bangkok, 27 Squadron was alerted for an armed reconnaissance at first light next day -- the 8th. Dec.1941.  (Our young airman was not flying.  As is sometimes the way in the armed forces, having become fairly experienced and efficient as a WEM/AG, he had been promoted and was now doing ground maintenance and communications duties.  In addition, with previous experience as Sgts. Mess caterer in 20 Sqdn, he was now doing the same thing in 27 Sqdn.!)
 

When the squadron was safely airborne and on their way to check on what the Japs were up to, the ground crews headed back to have a well-earned breakfast.  Before anyone could sit down to break their fast they were surprised to hear the squadron returning and hurried back to see them safely in.  The aircraft maintained excellent formation as they approached and it was only when bombs came tumbling out of their bellies, that the mistake was realized.  It was every man for himself on the way to the slit trenches.  The bombs appeared to be a mixture of anti-personal and incendiaries.  Escorting fighters straffed at leisure.  The incendiary bombs were an explosive type that scattered small pieces of phosphorous over a wide area.  From the enemy's point of view this was an excellent choice as all the buildings were constructed of attap (woven palm fonds) on a wooden frame and the burning phosphorous started hundreds of fires over a wide area simultaneously.  Shrapnel penetrated the attap walls easily and had the expected effect. In that one raid, Station H.Q., the telephone exchange, the communications office and many other buildings were destroyed.  Loss of life was particularly high among the local workers who had just arrived to check in for their day's work on the runways still under construction.   The fire in the maintenance hut that housed the large oxygen cylinders was particularly spectacular.  When the brass fitting at the bottom of the cylinder melted,it released oxygen under pressure which promptly ignited and blasted the whole thing into the air like a rocket.  As soon as the oxygen was exhausted the cylinder crashed back to the ground.
 

Firefighting and clearing up were still going on when our own aircraft returned, that is, those that were left.  They had crossed the East coast of the peninsula at Kota Baru, just south of the Siamese border and found the Japanese already in the middle of landing operations.  The same thing was going on at Singora in Siam.  The subsequent action was confused, to put it mildly.  Jap Navy Zeros and anti-aircraft from warships accounted for half our total strength.  Some of the aircraft that made it back to base were badly damaged and in some the wounded crew members had to be hauled out.  The Japanese pilots had proved to be resolute and skillful.  They were flying far superior aircraft and had long experience in their war attacking China.  We worked like mad things to get the remaining aircraft serviceable, refueled and rearmed but before we were finished the Jap bombers were back again, this time with a few more incendiaries and high explosives aimed at the runway.  The crews with serviceable aircraft tried to get airborne but without success.  In the excitement, the undercarriage of one of the aircraft taxying out suddenly retracted, and the aircraft promptly settled down like a ruptured duck and sat there with bombs bursting all around.  This time our ack-ack defences put up some flack but without noticeable result.  The Japs maintained perfect formation and were over and gone in no time.  When it was all over we got back to work again and were able to get three aircraft serviceable and they immediately took off and moved to emergency landing strips further south while we got on with the clean-up.   It was a heartless task.  Any local workers who had not been killed or injured in the first raid had disappeared into the jungle at high speed.  They couldn't be blamed for that, some of our more recent recruits had disappeared too, but it meant that filling up holes caused by the bombs and salvaging stuff from the burnt-out buildings was an unending task. Intermittant low-level strafing by Jap fighters didn't help either.

Our young airman set up an emergency W/T radio station in the Sergeants mess using aircraft equipment to try to make contact with HQ in Singapore (without success).   After a few days of relative chaos and wild rumours we were ordered back to our previous airfield at Butterworth.  We had become the most useless of all things in the Air Force, a squadron without aircraft.

While we waited at Butterworth for further orders, the Japanese bombed Georgetown, the city on Penang Island, and the shipping in the docks.  They did this every day at their leisure since we had no fighters and there was practically no anti-aircraft fire.  The one occasion when we were able to retaliate was a great morale booster.  Two Brewster Buffalos, little fat bellied fighters, on their way North for co-operation with the Army, had stopped at Butterworth to refuel.

When the Japs appeared for their leisurely bombing of Penang, the two fighters went after them.  The Japs never knew what hit them.  With two-second bursts from below and behind, three of the bombers were hit and exploded in flames.  A fourth took evasive action but was last seen going down with smoke pouring out.  The remainder suddenly became aware of their danger and scattered in all directions at high speed, chased by the two fighters who later claimed a fifth destroyed.  From our position on the mainland side of the channel we had a grandstand view of the whole action.
 

In the few days since the war had begun, the Japanese had gained a reputation for infiltrating behind the lines and, since we had no aircraft to look after, we were given a stretch of coast to patrol at night.   The main road North and South ran through this section with the shoreline to the west and the rubber trees or jungle to the East.  Checking on the patrols on the road wasn't too bad.  You could get a ride in a supply truck from the south edge of the area Northward and back South again in an ambulance.  It was the East and West sides that were a problem.  Approaching patrols of trigger-happy, scared airmen in the jungle or on the sand-dunes near the beach was hard on the nerves.  An old oil drum ,or a large piece of drift-wood floating in, was likely to be greeted with volleys of rifle and Thompson sub-machine gun fire.   During the daylight we worked at filling our trucks with all the movable valuable equipment that we could find.  After several days of this, the orders came to move South again and so we continued our retreat with frequent stops to dive into the nearest ditch when low-flying aircraft came overhead.  During an overnight stop at Kuala Lumpur, the army headquarters, we handed over all our arms and ammunition for use by those who were staying to continue the fight and next day we continued on our way south, back to our original base at Kallang on Singapore island.

Four of our original aircraft that had been diverted to other airfields and landing strips eventually managed to make it back to Kallang.  These were soon joined by all the remaining Blemhiems of other squadrons that had just been re-equipped with Hudsons.  The newcomers were bombers, the original four were fighters.

With the Jap advance continuing steadily down the peninsula, nearer and nearer to Singapore, it wasn't long before the squadron was ordered to relocate to a place called Palembang, about 200 miles away, across the Strait of Malacca, in Sumatra, Dutch East Indies.   Our four original aircraft that still had the gun-pack underneath were left behind to be modified for use as night fighters.  This meant painting them black, increasing the amount of ammunition carried and re-wiring to take new fighter-type radio equipment.  Naturally our intrepid airman was one of the few left behind to complete this work.

The subsequent adventures of 27 Squadron at Palembang, Sumatra are therefore hearsay evidence only, so, for this story, we will stick to Singapore and first-hand reporting.
 

Up to this time, the retreat southward had been a kind of orderly confusion but now it was gradually changing to utter confusion as headquarters was unable to keep pace with the rapidly changing circumstances.  By the time the Blenhiems were modified to be night-fighters, the Japs didn't have to bomb by night.  We had so few fighters and such a poor early warning system that they could bomb in daylight --- which is much more efficient.  After four days and three nights of working without sleep, the modifications were completed and the four black Blenhiem night fighters stood ready for action.   That morning, while an exhausted young airman slept soundly, 27 bombers in perfect formation pattern-bombed our corner of Kallang airport and destroyed all four aircraft.
 

This was the start of a phase which was even worse than being a squadron without aircraft.  We now had no aircraft and no squadron.  Trying to rejoin them was going to prove very difficult.  Aircraft from the squadron were supposed to return to Singapore to pick us up but there was a series of false starts with continuing Jap raids and airfields being made temporarily unusable.  Eventually we received confirmation that we would definitely be picked up that evening from Sembawang airfield on the north side of the island.  Grabbing our pitifully few belongings we piled into a truck and set off for the rendezvous.  As we waited nervously at the edge of the deserted airfield we were suddenly diving for cover from what we thought was a bombing raid.  It was our first experience of shellfire.  The Japanese had set up long range guns on the mainland and had just ranged in on the nearest airfield.  There was no way that our aircraft were going to land under shellfire, especially when, after a few salvos, the armoury was hit and the remaining stock of signal rockets,  Verey cartridges and small arms ammunition exploded producing an amazing fireworks display.  We were unhurt and our truck undamaged so we came out of the ditches to make an undignified but hasty departure to get out of the reach of the guns.  That night, on being told of the possibility of getting out by ship, we moved to a deserted school building nearer the docks.
 

The next few days and nights were rather uncomfortable.  The Japanese landed on the north end of the island and it wasn't long before all the city was under shellfire.  The burning oil storage tanks at the naval base spread a pall of thick smoke at about 1000 feet over the whole island.  Being adaptable animals, we soon learned to tell from the sound of the guns whether the shells were coming in our direction --- and our stone-built school gave us a sense of protection.
 

Since there didn't seem to be any official action going on to get us on board a ship, we decided to try and make it on our own.  We knew there were several native boats moored just off the perimeter road of our old base at Kallang but first we needed food, and transport to get there.  At the docks it was easy to acquire a suitable car from among the many left by the evacuees.  A tour round the bombed and looted shopping area provided us with as many cases of canned goods as we wanted.  We even acquired canned water, another mystery of the East.  A rapid reconnaissance that afternoon allowed us to select a suitable junk which we could take over (steal?) as soon as it got dark that night.  But the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley.  On returning to the school we were told that if we presented ourselves at the docks immediately we might still be in time to get the space that had been allotted to us on one of the grossly overloaded refugee ships.

We went as we were, complete with all our loot.  The army guards on the docks seemed to take a dim view of this scruffy group of airman being included with the official evacuees.  The cry of "Make way for the women and children --- and the Royal Air Force" was intended to make us feel bad but we were beyond that.  Our only baggage was the cartons of tinned beef, stew and other foodstuff that we had acquired for our solo departure.  And so it was that we boarded the small coastal vessel Sungei Gonlan? (can't really remember the second part of the name, but it was Sungei something !) to set sail for the Palembang river.
 

As we lay off the harbour that night, the 15" guns of the outer island fortress of Blakang Mati were hurtling their giant shells over our heads at the advancing Japanese now half-way across the Island.  The sequence of action with the guns was weird.  First you would see a long tongue of flame come out of the muzzle of the gun, followed by the crack of the explosion, then the shell would rumble overhead, in apparently leisurely fashion, and the shock wave would rock the ship.

At midnight we realised that our escape attempt was going to be made on Friday the 13th. February 1942.  We didn't know at the time, but Singapore surrendered two days later, on Feb. 15th.  Nor did we know that half the ships leaving that night would be sunk or set on fire next day by Japanese bombing.
 

Will our rapidly aging young airman escape or will he end up a prisoner of war of the Japs, perhaps building the bridge on the River Kwai? Don't miss the next thrilling installment!

At the end of our previous episode our young airman was on board a small ship lying off Singapore harbour, under a pall of black smoke, with 15 inch shells whining overhead and the Japanese getting closer every minute - now to continue -------
 

The good ship Sungei Gonlan was grossly overloaded.   There was scarcely enough space for everyone to lie down at one time.  But rank has it's privileges; instead of sleeping on the steel deck with the others of our little group, I had real luxury, a small space on the wooden upper deck, outside the radio cabin.  That night as I lay there trying to sleep in the midst of that Dantes inferno, I became an accidental eavesdropper on a scene that could only occur in a novel, but was happening within feet of where I lay.  A man and woman stood at the rails. You could feel the tension in the air.  He was an Australian infantry Captain who had left his regiment in action, ostensibly to ensure that his wife was safely on the evacuation ship.  In the confusion at the docks he had managed to stay on board until we sailed.  Now, as they stood there, his wife repeated quietly but firmly that she was finished with him - she couldn't live with a man who had deserted his men in the face of the enemy, just when they needed him most.  His reply that the situation was hopeless and to return would have meant certain death or capture, cut no ice with her.  He had a duty to do, his men needed him, he had deserted them, how could she ever trust him again.  No, don't touch me, no I won't report you, but don't come near me again, please, please go away.  And he went; and she wept, then she too went and I was left to wonder.
 

The larger and faster ships quickly left us behind and at day-break we were alone on a sea dotted with islands.  The captain of our little ship knew that he didn't stand a chance of making a straight run for it, so, very wisely as it turned out, he pulled in to the lee of a well-treed island and anchored as close in as possible.  Soon we saw the Japanese Air Force out in strength attacking all ships on the move.  We lay there all day watching them fly over and either they didn't see us lying in so close to shore, or else they ignored us for bigger and better targets.  At dusk, when the last sorties had returned, we up-anchored and set off at full speed.  Friday the 13th. was nearly over!!!   The islands thinned out but our night run was plotted so that we were approaching another island suitable as a hiding place.  Once again we anchored and the ship swung in close to shore and the sheltering trees.  We felt naked lying there in the bright sunshine but the trick worked again; we heard many planes go over but none came to attack us.  Meanwhile on board ship the food and water situation was not good.  Our little group from 27 Squadron, with the food that we had collected for our planned solo escape, could have managed fairly comfortably but the hundreds of women and children and the R.A.F. Headquarters types had no food of their own and had to depend on what little stores were available on the ship.  We were asked/told to subscribe all our loot to the general pool of food and accept the same rations as everyone else.  For messing purposes we were divided into groups of eight and a meal consisted of a mug of water each, 1/8th. can of stew or bully-beef (usually one spoonful) and a hardtack biscuit.  But at least we were alive and reasonably well.   As we lay there that day, the 14th, we were unaware that, not far away, at the northern tip of Banka Island, the Japanese had assembled a large convoy for a planned landing at the mouth of the Palembang River - and our destination was Palembang. I learned later that the Japanese attack was proceeded by a successful paratroop landing at Palembang 1 airfield, but the R.A.F. bombers operating from Palembang 2, a secret airfield 20 miles away, hit the ships of the seaborne landing, sank and set on fire six of them and scattered the remainder.  27 Squadron was among the attackers on this successful operation.  The remains of the convoy reassembled during the night, but throughout the next day were once again attacked by our bombers and fighters until only a few surviving ships made the landing.  Unfortunately, this highly successful counter-measure had no sequel.  There were no troops or naval craft available to exploit the victory.
 

Our destination was changed to Batavia, the main port in Java, and that night we headed down past Banka Island and on towards Java.  Back in Singapore things had gone from bad to worse until finally, on the 15th. hemmed in on all sides and with no hope left, the troops of that supposedly impregnable fortress laid down their arms and surrendered.   In my deluxe accommodation outside the radio cabin I could chat with the ships wireless operator and listen to the Morse broadcasts from Army headquarters in Singapore and thus was aware when the end came and the station went off the air. The remainder of our voyage to Batavia was uneventful if a little hungry.  People in our little ration group must have hated me because I had a spoon that was slightly bigger than standard issue and thus my spoonful-meal appeared to be more than theirs.
 

The Japanese reaction to the destruction of their Palembang invasion fleet was rapid.  There was another and larger paratroop landing at Palembang One, plus an uninterrupted re-assembly of survivors from the seaborne landing until eventually Palembang Two was in danger and, with stores of bombs and ammunition dwindling rapidly, it was decided to abandon our last airfield in Sumatra and withdraw the serviceable aircraft to Java.   As refugees and retreating troops poured in, Batavia rapidly came to resemble the Singapore that we had left so recently.  On our arrival we were given some space to sleep on the concrete corridor floors (no bedding) of a Dutch army barrack block.  The Dutch civilians were very kind and did their best for the hordes of airmen, soldiers and civilians who had suddenly appeared in their midst.  However, when the nearest Army Paymaster issued pay in the local currency, guilders, many of the troops were soon playing the part of "the drunken and licentious soldiery". (Was it Lady Astor who said that?).   Luckily for our young airman, the Air Force was once again given priority for evacuation.  After about a week or more in Batavia and before the Japs could switch their attack to Java, the truncated remains of 27 Squadron together with a number of other R.A.F.units, joined the civilians on board the P & O liner Orcades in preparation for departure for Colombo, Ceylon.  And once again those that we were leaving behind were, in the main, fated for capture or death and in many cases for both. As we sailed down the Sunda Strait between Sumatra and Java and out into the Indian Ocean, the North-East monsoon broke over us with thunderstorms of unbelievable violence and torrential rain.  It seemed to be a fitting farewell.  Three Japanese invasion fleets which were approaching from the Java Sea made their landings on March 1st.  One week later, the Dutch Commander-in-Chief ordered an end to all organized resistance and Java was lost.
 

When we arrived safely in Ceylon, the operational units of the R.A.F. disembarked at Colombo and our young airman was soon busy organizing a ground signals station at a place called Ratmalana, a few miles along the coast from Colombo, where a new airfield had been hacked out of a rubber plantation.  And it was about this time that we heard the first rumours of a Japanese fleet being sighted in the Southern Indian Ocean.  I had a distinct feeling of deja vu.!!

Recap.  Our young airman is now in Ceylon at Ratmalana airfield near the coastal road south of Colombo.
 

An interesting sidelight of our communications work at Ratmalana was the carrier pigeons that we kept (and bred) for emergency use on the long-range Catalina flying boats.  With the airfield being so new, the recently cleared land was still full of snakes and there's nothing a snake likes better than pigeons eggs or a helpless young newly hatched pigeon.   Naturally their activity made the corporal in charge of pigeons irate.  He asked if we could get a mongoose to keep the snakes away from the pigeon loft.  I spoke to the C.O. and he agreed to the suggestion but couldn't or wouldn't provide enough money to buy a fully trained one.  The corporal searched round the local villages and eventually bought a young, untrained but eager mongoose at the right price.  Monty the mongoose was taken on strength.  We alerted everyone on the station to let us know when they saw a snake.  We would then leap into a jeep with Monty and confront the snake with our trainee killer.  He was a quick learner and his technique was intriguing to watch.  He would dart in and out, just keeping out of the snake's striking range.  When this game had gone on long enough to tire the snake and slow down its recoil, Monty would suddenly do a side-step instead of a retreat and then fasten on just behind the snake's head.  There would be a great thrashing around but he would hang on until the snake was dead.  Then, just to make sure, when all was still he would let go his grip at the head and quickly dart along the length of the snake biting at the spine (if there is one) every few inches.   Monty reduced the snake menace around the pigeon loft but shortly afterwards blotted his copybook by himself entering the loft one night and killing the young pigeons that couldn't fly.  He was given a dishonourable discharge, but I was sorry to see him go Mongooses are clean little animals and friendly to humans but a killer to snakes and frogs.
 

Meanwhile back at the war, the Japanese had assembled an impressive fleet in the Southern Indian Ocean in preparation for an attack on Ceylon.  It was made up mostly of carriers accompanied by battleships of the Kongo class, 8 inch gun cruisers and destroyers.  A strong Royal Navy fleet based in Ceylon searched in vain to bring the Japs to battle and eventually had to put in to Addu Attol in the Maldive Islands to refuel, leaving behind only two cruisers and one carrier.  That, of course, was precisely the time when a Catalina on patrol reported sighting a large enemy force 350 miles South-East of Colombo. The Catalina was never heard from or seen again, but at least the warning had been given.   (See Note 2 at end of Part 5.)    Of the mass of shipping in Colombo harbour, 48 sea-worthy vessels put out to sea, sailing West and North away from the approaching attackers.   The air attack developed early in the morning of Easter Sunday, 5th. April.  50 Japanese Navy bombers escorted by Zero fighters dropped their bombs on shipping and dock installations and on our airfield at Ratmalana.  There was no radar advanced warning but we had been alerted to expect an attack and this time there were Hurricanes to fight back.  We emerged from our slit trenches when the bombing was over to find that no great damage had been done and the sky was filled with fighters still dog-fighting.  Zeros and Hurricanes were well matched and both had losses, but the poor Fulmars were sitting ducks for the Zeros.  One Fulmar with his engine dead and his prop motionless, made it back as far as the airfield only to stall in from about 200 feet.  Other aircraft shot down in the dog-fights crashed in the jungle and among the rubber trees surrounding the airfield.
 

At the Colombo docks there had been a spectacular explosion when a destroyer with depth charges on deck received a direct hit and practically disappeared.  Another naval vessel was sunk, a merchant vessel set on fire, and the workshops seriously damaged, but all in all, the attack had failed to achieve the result that the enemy had hoped for and he had lost at least 23 aircraft.
 

Other efforts by the Jap carrier-borne aircraft met with greater success.  The cruisers Dorsetshire and Cornwall, which had been detached from the main British fleet, were both intercepted and sunk.  In the next few days 15 merchant ships were sunk by air attack and 8 by surface craft.  On the 9th. April, some 60 bombers, escorted by the same number of Zero fighters, attacked the naval base at Trincomalee on the North-East coast of Ceylon. Once more a patrolling Catalina had spotted the enemy (and once more had been shot down immediately) and on this occasion there was radar to give early warning, but only 17 Hurricanes and half a dozen Fulmars to attack the horde of raiders.  The few defenders managed to shoot down 15 of the attackers and it is probable that more did not make it back to their carriers.  Half the total strength of the Hurricanes and Fulmars was lost in their gallant fight.
 

Meanwhile, back in Colombo, two Jap reconnaissance aircraft, met by a fierce anti-aircraft barrage, turned away out to sea and thus discovered the aircraft carrier Hermes just 60 miles from port.  The subsequent attack on the Hermes was carried out relentlessly and she sank in 20 minutes.  Her escorting destroyer was also sunk.  Our fighters had gone to reinforce the naval base at Trincomalee in anticipation of further attacks there.  The Japanese losses in aircraft had been heavy and their fleet now withdrew Eastward to refuel and re-equip, and we were left in peace to consolidate our strength with the first arrivals of Flying Fortresses from the U.S.
 

It was about this time too, that our young Warrant Officer was advised that his commissioning (originally recommended back in Malaya) had been approved by the Air Ministry in London, and he would be transferred to 222 Group Headquarters in Colombo pending entry to an O.T.U..   The return journey to the U.K. via Bombay, Durban and Capetown will have to wait for another installment. The action moves to Croydon, in buzz-bonb alley just south of London, with Hitler's V1's and V2's crashing all around. Ah, those happy, happy days!
 

End of Part 5

© 2000 Malcolm Macdougall
 

Note 2

Extract from Ottawa Citizen, September 12, 2004 Obituaries. Birchall, Leonard J Air Commodore (retired) On Friday Sep 10, 2004 in Kingston, Ontario, in his 90th year. On April 4th 1942, while on patrol southeast of Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) he and his crew gave the warning that prevented the Japanese fleet from surprising the Allies as they had done at Pearl Harbour. For this action he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Shot down, he spent the remainder of the war in prisoner-of-war camps in Japan

Since leaving Cranwell our young airman had always worked on squadrons or on stations with squadrons.  The transfer to a Group HQ was a new experience.

222 Group had only recently been set up.  The HQ was housed in a fine solid government administrative building and included a joint Naval and Air Operations Room.  The RAF's responsibilities included the two new airfields at Ratmalana and China Bay, the latter being near the naval base at Trincomalee on the north-east side of the island.  The racecourse at Colombo had been converted into a fighter station with one landing strip.  There was a flying boat station at Koggala, north of Colombo and the flying boat squadron had established refueling facilities at various islands in the Indian Ocean.

Our young W.O's time at 222 Group was in the nature of a hiatus in his more active life so far.  Perhaps the memories of this period are best illustrated by a few anecdotes.
 

Burma Bound?

Up in Burma the Japs had forced the Army and RAF back as far as Imphal.  But the Army, and Windgate in particular, was already planning for the re-conquest and the use of new tactics.  The plan called for the infiltration of army columns to operate behind the Jap lines and be supplied from the air. Training was already going on. Each column would need an RAF liaison officer for communications and to arrange the supply drops.  Since these were special high-risk duties, volunteers were called for among suitably experienced people.  Our YWO was asked but did not volunteer!!
 

Bofers Demo.

Across the road from the H.Q. building was a stretch of Indian Ocean beach.  For gunnery practice (and I suspect as a morale booster) about 8 Bofers guns were set up at intervals along the beach.  At an appointed time an aircraft towing a drogue target on a long line flew over the water and parallel to the beach.  The gunners opened up one after the other and the graceful arcs of their tracers produced a real fireworks display, much to the enjoyment of the spectators on the road, at office windows and on the roofs of some of the buildings.
 

Availability of Equipment.

I believe that a lot of equipment originally en route to Singapore was redirected to Colombo.  To replace the Colt .45 automatic that I had to hand in at Kuala Lumpur when we retreated to Singapore, I was issued with a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver covered in grease and wrapped up as if it had come straight from a factory in the U.S..   When I asked for transportation to get me from the receiving room at H.Q. to the transmitter station out in the boondocks, I was immediately given a 500cc Norton motorbike and a card for filling the tank at any fuel supply depot.  So unlike the RAF store-bashers that I was used to. (That bike was my pride and joy).
 

Do you believe in coincidences?

Before being issued with the motorbike, I was walking one morning from my billet to H.Q. when a car pulled up and I was offered a lift.  In chatting , the driver told me that he was a tea planter and had been in Ceylon for X years.  I said I was a recent arrival from Malaya, to which he replied that he had a younger brother who managed a rubber plantation in Malaya, up near Penang.  I said I had played rugger for my squadron against the Penang Sports Club and had subsequently been the weekend guest of a planter by the name of Ian Macdonald.  "That's my brother" he said".
 

Homeward Bound.

I had briefed the operators in the receiving room that I wanted to see the boat list as soon as it came in.  In due course it arrived and there I was, scheduled for the next troopship leaving Bombay.   I waited for the summons to pack my bags and when it didn't arrive I made enquiries.  Eventually I saw the Chief Signals Officer (a fellow Scot, a Wing Comm., a Cranwell Officer's Long Course alumnus), and asked why my name had been removed from the list.  After a long discussion about the need for someone with my experience and background etc. etc. I managed to convince him that I needed/wanted to go.
 

After that my feet hardly touched the ground until I was on my way by train/ferry/train to Bombay.  Incidentally the railway from the south to Bombay goes through Poona the home of the 'pukka sahibs'.
 

They say there's a troopship just leaving Bombay
Bound for old blighty's shore
Heavily laden with time expired men
Bound for the land they adore
 

When our young W/O checked in at the Bombay Transit Base, he was told that the Base Personnel Staff Officer (BPSO) wanted to see him 'tout de suite' before he was processed for onward travel.  In that interview, the BPSO said that he had received a message from Air Ministry and I had a choice to make.  He had on hand the authority for my immediate commissioning, provided I was willing to be posted direct to Burma for special duties.  The alternative was to stay a W/O and continue my journey home and I would still be scheduled for a commissioning course.  I could see the reasoning behind this move but, with very little hesitation, I decided that after five years overseas, it was time to go home. (Also, I'd never been brave from choice and I really didn't want to put myself in danger's way. I learned about the bravery and horrors of the Chindit columns in a book that I read years later).
 

A few days later I was on board the Stirling Castle bound for Durban.  The ship was still staffed as it had been in peacetime.  W/O's (and equivalent ranks) joined the officers (and their equivalent ranks) in First Class.  The dining room tables seated eight.  At our table we had an army bandmaster and his wife, another married couple, an unaccompanied married lady and three single men.  Stewards provided excellent service.  Wine was available with dinner and liqueurs with the coffee afterwards.  By the second night out we were a friendly and cheerful group.  Some impromptu dancing after dinner made for a pleasant finish to the evening, except that we had not reckoned with our bandmaster being a possessive and jealous husband.

We were awakened that night by the shouting and noise coming from the bandmaster's cabin.  We learned later that he was berating his wife for enjoying herself and dancing with these strangers.  As punishment, he slashed and cut up all the dresses that she had bought for going home to the clothes- rationed U.K. and threw them out of the porthole.  He also complained to the senior officer on board about the young whipper-snappers at his table who were "annoying" his wife.  We were up on the carpet and had to promise to have no direct conversation with her for the rest of the voyage.  Actually it was rather fun thinking up ways of getting round that obstacle, much to his frustration.
 

Durban was a lovely city and the people were very friendly to the troops.  At the transit camp the RAF contingent was small compared to the Army. A daily morning parade and roll call was the extent of our military activity.  In collaboration with the airmen and NCO's, we made our roll-call parade a model of good drill and downright bull----.   Lots of Cranwell parade ground bumph, loud commands and a quick dismissal for the rest of the day.  Setting a good example for the brown jobs.  

We were moved to Capetown in preparation for the trip home on the Queen Mary.  We had been spoiled with the comfort of the Stirling Castle.  The accommodation and messing arrangements on the Q.M.quickly brought us back to earth.  A cabin that had previously housed two passengers now had bunks for six people, and that was down at the waterline, and the porthole could not be opened.  The former main dining room was filled from side to side with trestle tables with one aisle down the middle.  I don't know how many sittings there were.  But what the heck, we were on our way home.  I acted as caller for the housey-housey game (bingo in civvy life) until my throat gave out and I was too hoarse to shout.

As we approached Freetown, we had a demonstration of the efficiency of the ships radar and A.A. armament. I believe the Q.M. had more AA guns than a cruiser and she certainly had more speed than most surface vessels.  An alarm was sounded and within seconds we could see all the AA guns elevating and swinging round to point in one direction.  Scanning the sky in the direction that the guns were pointing, we were eventually able to spot a tiny dot approaching and as it came closer, identified it as a flying boat.  It stayed a safe distance away while it circled the ship and presumably identified itself. We put into Freetown later that day and I must relate a sight that has stayed in my mind.
 

Hundreds of P.O.W's, mostly Italian, but a large number of Germans too, were lined up waiting to be boarded.  As a last check before boarding, they were lined up in four separate queues to be searched for anything that might be used as a weapon.  Each search point had one person i/c and 3 or 4 searchers.  It shortly became obvious that one queue was producing more knives and other forbidden items than all the others combined.  The i/c just kept pointing out the ones that he wanted to be thoroughly searched and his heap of contraband grew faster and higher. I'll swear he must have been an ex Customs Officer!
 

The German POW's were well behaved but surly.  The Italians were more cheerful and co-operative and later made good workers serving meals in the mess and clearing up.  I didn't see it myself, but heard that more than one Italian had committed suicide by jumping overboard.  I do know that we were ordered not to throw life-saving rings to anyone going overboard as the Captain had no intention of turning the ship round to carry out rescue operations.  On one or two occasions when an alarm was sounded you could feel and hear the engines going to full speed and you got the impression that the stern of the ship dug into the water like a motor boat as it increased speed.
 

After a detour out into the Atlantic, we eventually came into the Clyde where we anchored off Greenock.  We were put ashore by tender and loaded straight into a train for the disembarkation base where we were photographed and issued I.D. cards, together with ration cards and any other bumph required in wartime Britain.
 

This was followed by disembarkation leave and in my case, after leave, reporting to No.45 Course at Officer's School where the C.O. S/Ldr. Patrick Waddington, attempted to transform us all into Officers and Gentlemen.  He spent a long time teaching us how to salute properly.  On completion of the course in July 43, our young P/O, with his thin blue stripe was posted to 23 OTU, Pershore.  And that is where he met the love of his life, well actually it was in the Dirty Duck at Stratford, but that comes in the next episode.
 

In our previous episode we left OYA on 8th. July 1943 being granted a commission in the rank of Pilot Officer, on probation, in the Technical Branch of the Royal Air Force.  When he turned up at 23 OTU Pershore in his brand new uniform, he was indistinguishable from the flow-through of sprog P.O's under training, except that he didn't have pilots wings above his left breast pocket, just a solitary campaign ribbon for India with the bar North West Frontier 1937-39.

The OTU was equipped with Wellingtons and the trainee aircrews were mainly from Canada.  In the previous six months the trainees had sometimes been sent on real operations to make up the numbers for the 1000 bomber and other large saturation raids and had suffered casualties accordingly.  Things were quiet during my time at Pershore and most of the crews completing their training were sent to North Africa to join RAF squadrons operating against Sicily and mainland Italy.

After a few months at Pershore I was transferred to the satellite station at Atherstone, just outside Stratford-on-Avon. I should mention that I had never seen, let alone worked with, WAAFs until coming back from overseas.  I learned later from someone who shall be nameless (but whose name begins with Sall-), that I wasn't the most popular of Signals Officers, much too strict and stodgy (that is what comes from having been a Corporal Apprentice at Cranwell). It took me some time to relax --- but I soon had help.
 

In Stratford, almost opposite the Shakespear Theatre, there is a pub known as The Dirty Duck.   I think it started life as the Black Swan. ( This is the "how did you first meet your wife" part of the story.).    I was on my own in the Dirty Duck, sitting there, contemplating life, with the aid of a pint of best bitter, when the place began to fill up with trainee aircrew and WAAF's.  The noise level soon went up several decibels and I was scanning the crowd at the bar when, click, there she was.  That's the girl for me, I decided and decision was followed by action.  Getting up for another beer, I squeezed my way thru' the crowd toward my target and did my best to separate her from the herd.  But it wasn't easy, she had other plans.  There were plenty of young pilots in the crowd.  I persevered and by the end of the evening we set out to cycle back to the airfield together.  On the outskirts of Stratford we were stopped by a local policeman checking bicycle lights.  Mine were OK fore & aft but the rear light on Sally's bike wasn't working.  I admired her ready wit and quick thinking as she explained to him "Oh, I have a dynamo. see, there it is on the front fork, it only lights when the bike is going.  I'll show you." and with that she hopped on the bike and cycled off at high speed.  I was left to explain that I had never met her before and didn't know who she was.

At a party in the mess a few nights later I met her again.  She had accepted invitations to the party from two of the trainees and was now having a problem sorting out which to give her attention to.  I solved the problem by cutting in and monopolizing her as much as possible.  Our energetic polkas practically cleared the floor.  From then on she was my girl.  And the rest is history.  I asked her to marry me.  I met her parents, she met mine.  We started making plans.

When we met with the padre to ask him to perform the marriage ceremony, he asked if we had both been baptised.  I told him that I was no longer an active church goer but I had been baptised and brought up as a Presbyterian.  Sally replied that her father did not believe in organised religions and churches and neither she nor her brothers had been baptised.  The padre said that Sally ought to be baptised before he performed the marriage ceremony He offered to baptise her and that is how I ended up being Sally's godfather.

The ceremony of baptism for those of mature years took place in Pershore Abbey with myself and a friend from the OTU as the godparents.  My friend, John Mackay, had a large blond moustache and I, in those days, had a fairly large black moustache.  In our uniforms on either side of Sally with her white veil on at the font we made an unforgettable picture.  When I married my goddaughter I wondered if I might be charged with incest!!
 

I was promoted to F/O and transferred to Croydon Airport in buzz-bomb alley.  A Dakota squadron there provided transport for VIP's to places on the Continent as soon as they were liberated (the places, not the VIP's).  I managed to find excuses to do 'check' flights to Paris (Le Bourget) and Brussels.   In Paris the flight crews used cans of coffee instead of money to get meals & drinks in cafes.  In Brussels we were accommodated in a very posh hotel in the centre of the city.  The British Army had taken over the place and seemed to be running it efficiently.  My main memory of Brussels was the weak and watery beer.  You felt that you might drown in the stuff before feeling any sense of inebriation.  On the return journeys I operated the radio for a time, identifying ourselves and getting M/F D/F fixes etc., mainly to clear my conscience that I wasn't just going along for the ride.  Later that year when our daughter was born, the C.O. laid on a training flight that included a stop at Lyneham so that I could hop off and make my way to Beckington Castle, near Frome, to see Sally and our daughter (the Castle was a Nursing Home at that time).    It was only a hurried visit as I had to return to duty the next day.

I had been searching for furnished accommodation near Croydon Airport and had found a place in Shirley.  As soon as Sally and the baby were ready to travel we moved in to a nice bungalow.  The roof had been damaged in the blitz but had been repaired sufficiently to make it weatherproof.  On our first night in our new house we decided that the baby would be safest in her carry-cot in the open drawer of a chest of drawers in an alcove by the bedroom chimney.  I was already well versed in the peculiarities of buzz-bombs.  They were OK if they were not coming directly overhead and even then it was OK so long as they kept going.  That first night the sirens sounded the alert and then the Air Raid Warden's whistles sounded for imminent danger and we knew that the buzz-bomb we could hear was on track overhead.  Then the put-put engine cut out.  We pulled the quilt over our heads and held on tight to one another; suddenly we remembered the baby, leapt out of bed, grabbed her out of her cot, jumped back into bed, put her between us and pulled the quilt up again.  And still the bomb hadn't exploded.  Actually, in this case, instead of diving vertically as they were designed to do, it had glided on and, when we heard the bang, it was several streets away.  Every day after that when the V1's and V2's were daily occurrences, I would phone Sally from the mess at lunch time so that we could assure one another that we were OK.

One incident that remains in our minds was Sally's first attempt at shopping.  She had Sheila in the pram but being in unfamiliar territory, eventually got lost.  The sirens sounded for another raid.  She phoned the airport and managed to get hold of me.  I said I'll come and get you, where are you?   Her reply "In a phone box" wasn't exactly helpful.   But her knight in shining armour asked a few more questions, leapt on his bike and cycled like mad to the rescue.  I found her, calmed her down and returned with them to the house.  We decided eventually that I would ask for a transfer to an airfield closer to where her parents lived in Frome, Somerset.

About this time my Flt/Lt. promotion came through and then my transfer to Merryfield near Taunton in Somerset.  I acquired a little 2 stroke motorbike and was able to spend most weekends with Sally and Sheila at her parents place in Frome.
 

Our Young Airman's time at Merryfield, Somerset is mainly remembered for being the finale of the war in Europe.  The Allies had gained air superiority.  German aircraft now appeared rarely over the battle area and most of the bombing could be done by day.  The main targets were tactical strikes against pockets of resistance that had previously been by-passed and, in preparation for crossing the Rhine, concentration on any means of transportation that could be used by the Germans to bring up reinforcements.

After a daylight operation the crews often had little time left to get to the local pubs before closing time.  I made a point of being available and ready and willing to leap on my bike and race along with them to our favourite pub.  After sampling the local beer we could usually be tempted to try the draft cider.   That Somerset cider can be powerful stuff!!   The bike ride back to the base was sometimes a wobbly affair.
 

V.E. day was a cause for great celebration.  The sergeants invited the officers to their mess for a celebratory drink.  The officers returned the compliment.  Then some fool suggested a victory parade around the camp.  From somewhere trumpets and drums were produced and with much noise we set out.  Soon everyone on the station joined in.   OYA, with no previous experience as a drummer, carried the big base drum and thumped it with such vigour that he discovered later that his wrist watch (and a good one at that) had come loose and flown off into outer space never to be recovered.

Two months after V.E. day I was transferred to Valley in Anglesey.  Transportation from Merryfield was by Halifax.  Valley was (and may still be) a Transport Command station.  I remember that the Station Signals Officer was a Sqdr/Ldr Curtis.  Things were very quiet and I was able to go on leave to see Sally in Frome.  While I was there V.J. day was announced by Mr.Attlee and we were wakened by church bells ringing.  Sally and I joined in the celebrations in the Frome Market Place where everyone danced in the streets.
 

It was about this time that we began to discuss my future inside or outside the RAF.  We considered all the pros and cons of an extended commission versus a job in civvy street, at home or abroad. I wrote to a relative who was a farmer in New Zealand to ask about life there.  He was very anti-government and pessimistic and really put us off.   I applied for a job in Malaya as a Staff Officer (Civil Affairs) Telecommunications and luckily didn't get it.  That was just before the trouble with the communists began.  In the meantime I was doing the usual joe jobs such as O.i/c No 1 Flight on the Thanksgiving Service Church Parade and checking with the Education Officer about sitting the AMIEE exam.

I had left my motor bike at Merryfield and wanted to collect it.  The C.O. was planning a flight to St.Mawgan in his Oxford.  I asked him if he could drop me off at Merryfield and he agreed.  But the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley.  The weather clamped in all over the South West shortly after we started out.  The C.O. decided to go direct to St.Mawgan.  When we got there the cloud base was nearly resting on the cliffs on the approach path.  Nothing daunted, he approached in the space between sea and cloud base and at the last minute rose to clear the cliff top and landed with marginal visibility amid wisps of cloud.  We stayed overnight at St.Mawgan, the weather improved next day and I was dropped off (not literally) at Merryfield on the return journey.  I collected my trusty little 2 stroke and, after an overnight stop in Frome, headed back to Valley.

Nothing much was happening at Valley and I was pleased when a posting came through to HQ 44 Group, Transport Command, in Gloucester.   I lived in digs for a while until I managed to rent a suite in the Northfield Hotel at a reasonable price and brought Sally and our daughter Sheila up to join me.  I had disposed of the motor bike and now owned a Morris Minor of pre-war vintage.  We called her Daisy and loved her dearly.

One memory of my time at 44 Group will stay with me for ever.  Taff Walsh, a pilot who had been injured, was attached to the HQ as an assistant Adjutant while he continued hospital treatment as an out patient.  We often played liar dice while quaffing a pint in the Mess and I got him to tell me the story of his injury.

On the Burma front he had been flying Dakotas and taking plane loads of troops to advance locations. Immediately after take-off, with a plane load of Ghurkas, his starboard prop came off and sliced into the front of the fuselage, starting a fire.  Fully loaded with troops and fuel, he managed to do a circuit on one engine and landed.  All the Ghurkas and his crew got out safely, except for the wireless op. who was trapped by the prop.  Taff struggled amid the flames to get him out until he realized that the man was already dead.  He then went out from the cockpit emergency window and dropped to the ground (which in a Dak is quite a drop).  Getting up from his awkward fall he tried to run away from the flaming aircraft.  As he described it, his progress was a f---ing small circle, he had broken both ankles.  Help was at hand and he was carried out of danger.  His uniform had been burned off his back and his back was badly injured.  He was hospitalized and then transferred back to the UK.  He had completed his sessions of skin grafting and when I knew him was going regularly as an out patient to get the joints in his grafts gradually "blue-stoned" down.  A rather sad end to the tale is that a new rule at the hospital required that all patients had to have a routine chest X-ray.  He had one on his next visit and was diagnosed as having T.B.
 

It was about this time that I applied for a job as an Asst.Signals Officer with the Ministry of Civil Aviation, and was accepted.   About the same time I was offered an extended service commission in the RAF.  Decisions, decisions!!   I was nearly 30 years of age which meant if I stayed another 7 years in the service and didn't get a permanent commission, I would be looking for a job in civvy street at age 37.  I told the Chief Signals Officer that I wanted to take my discharge from the RAF to work for MCA.

He arranged a meeting with the AOC who tried to persuade me to stay on.  He said that I would get my permanent commission when things settled down.  I said, "If I could have that in writing, I'd stay on".   He said, "You know I can't do that at present", and with that my decision was made.

I went to Uxbridge for the discharge procedure on Nov.8/46 and then returned to Gloucester.  The following day I had a farewell luncheon party at the Mess before heading off to Scotland to take up my new duties.  On Nov.13 I reported for duty as Asst.Signals Officer at Prestwick Airport and at the Overseas Aircraft Control Centre.  I became the Station Telecommunications Officer i/c with effect from 9 Dec. 46.  But that is another story

Officially my last day of service was 15 Feb. 47 and the date that I finally relinquished my commission was 1.7.59.

Thus endeth the Royal Air Force service of a young airman.
 

While working for the Ministry of Civil Aviation I was transferred from Prestick Airport to the Scottish Division Headquarters and then to London Heathrow Airport.

On Dec 1952 I was hired by Trans-Canada Airlines as their telecommunication manager for the European Region and later moved to Canada as office manager for the Telecommunications Shop and Laboratory.

In 1977, after 25 years with Air Canada, I retired and went to work for the Government of Nova Scotia for the next six years.

After that,I really retired.