大象传媒

ODDS AND ENDS. In looking back at my time spent in the Air Force, a kaleidoscope of events not already mentioned flash in front of me; some so dim that you wonder whether they happened at all, and others so bright that you will never forget them.
One not so pleasant event was the night strafing of our taxi by an enemy fighter plane on our return from Doncaster. Luckily a sharp turn in the road at the right time was the only thing that saved us from disaster, as the shells struck just where we would have been had we continued straight ahead. This shook us up pretty good, as there hadn鈥檛 been any fighter attacks in the Midlands for many months.
Almost as unpleasant was our middle of the night return from Nottingham in our crew car and running out of gas a few hundred yards from a British Army Motor Pool. Four of us in our befuddled state, and with a gas can and a piece of rubber hose, took off in the darkness, fumbled our way through a hole in the fence, reached a truck and eventually found and removed the gas cap. We wondered how any sentry could fail to miss hearing this racket; as to the sound of the gas striking the bottom of the can sounded like the Niagra Falls. Somehow we did get some gas, got out without being detected and made it back to base. Afterwards we thought 鈥� 鈥淗ow stupid could we be?鈥�; anyone of us could have been shot in that little caper.!
Most of our memories and flashbacks were of the very pleasant variety. Dances were a major social event in the lives of servicemen, and I enjoyed most of them. Sometimes when we were on leave, we even went to afternoon or tea dances, and then would go to another dance come night time. Being basically rather shy, I would sometimes be reluctant about asking some attractive girl to dance. No problem!. Before I had worked up sufficient nerve to ask, she or some other equally desirable young lady would have come across the floor and asked me first. It was pretty good for the ego to say the least. As with most boys, I was an ardent girl watcher, and if I had to present an award to the city with the most beautiful girls, it would have to go to our own Quebec City.
鈥淕oing to the dogs鈥� in Manchester with Joan M. was a memorable occasion. This particular day we arrived a little late at the White City track just as the dogs were being paraded to the post for the first race. A gaunt, hungry looking greyhound with number 22 on his side somehow appealed to me, and I quickly slapped down a quid bet on him. Then I observed the odds and realised I had thrown my money away, or so I thought. My dog was listed at twenty to one. But luck rather than science was on my side and number 22 came charging home the winner. That day, the first and last and only time at a dog track, I couldn鈥檛 miss and went home about a hundred and twenty English pounds ahead of the game.
Rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy at Wimbledon and being invited to a fox hunt (I couldn鈥檛 go) on his estate by Lord Duncan, were wonderful experiences indeed. But it was to the ordinary people, those whom we met and associated with on a regular basis that we really admired. The cooks, waiters, maids, clerks, bus driver, ticket sellers 鈥� in fact all whom we had anything to do with were efficient and friendly. It mattered little if it was in the country, the village or the city, they all tried to make our life overseas a little easier. Today I still retain those pleasant memories of the British people.

FOND FAREWELLS. When it became apparent that 150 and 170 Squadrons would soon be disbanding, our popular C.O. (Commanding Officer) insisted that he was going to have a final drink with each of his 鈥淐olonials鈥�. One night he really gave it a valiant effort, but towards the end of the evening he suddenly went out like a light. An Aussie on each arm and leg, packed him off to his quarters and put him to bed. He tried several times in the next few weeks but never accomplished his objective.
It was sad saying goodbye to the station staff, to our fellow flyers and to our ground crew, because we knew that in all probability we would never meet again. I am sure there were lots of tears behind the wide smiles and loud goodbyes when we finally went our separate ways. Many of the promises to 鈥渒eep in touch鈥� were probably never kept.
Doc and Bill left the Squadron fairly soon, and were on their way home within a month. Rosie and I followed in about three weeks and moved to the Canadian Centre at Rufforth Air Station near the City of York. Time moved slowly, but the 鈥渞epat鈥� authorities did their best to keep life from becoming too humdrum. Courses were offered in various crafts; refresher courses given in many high school areas, and an active inter section sports programme was undertaken. I entered a number of horseshoe competitions and did pretty well too. Some of my competitors from Eastern Canada would say 鈥淣o wonder he鈥檚 pretty good; out home he used to throw the horse with the shoe鈥�.
Finally, in early August, I, with a trainload of repast from Rufforth, travelled through Glasgow to the port of Greenock, boarded the 鈥淚sle de France鈥� 鈥� a former passenger liner, and headed for Canada. It was quite a contrast to the previous trip across under blackout conditions and a zig-zag route. This time the ship was brightly lighted and no zig-zagging. In a way it was just like 鈥渙ld home week鈥�; I kept running into lots of lots of service acquaintances and old friends. I met John Hurley and Don Hoar, both officers in the Air Force, and Captain Freddie Beaton, all from Ponoka. When I observed the tug that was pushing us into Halifax Harbour, it was the S.S. Ponoka, and then I realised that I was going home.
On August 9th after a short stay at No 1 Repatriation Centre, Lachine, near Montreal, I was given a month鈥檚 leave and told to report to No 7 Release Centre in Calgary on September 11th. On the trip across Canada via C.P.R., I had as a travelling companion Flight Lieutenant Ivan Stonehocker, a former classmate from Edmonton Normal School, and now a Lacombe resident. Enthusiastic receptions were experienced at all stops. The Legion, Red Cross, Knights of Colombus and other organisations were on hand to welcome us and help us in any way they could.
It was great being home and seeing my family again. My mother seemed much older and Dad had passed away during the previous January. Life on the home farm, however, seemed pretty dull, and it was almost a relief after a few weeks to report to Calgary Release Centre. Here I was to find out that I could take as long or longer to get out of the service as to get in. Many counselling sessions were held to advise of changes in civilian life, and how to make the transition as smoothly as possible. I am pleased that I acted on the advive of one of the educational counsellors, and did eventually acquire several university degrees.
Life was fairly hectic as many friends and acquaintances were passing through and getting their discharge, and each time it meant 鈥渁nother party鈥�. Finally, the appointment was set for what should be our final medical to see if we were fit to be released to 鈥淐ivvy Street鈥�. I think several of us must have looked pretty rough that day, because one of the medical staff said to us 鈥淕entlemen, we would like to test your alcohol for blood content鈥�. Anyway we must have passed as on October 1st 1945, I received my discharge and became a civilian again.

IN CLOSING. Within a year or so I had lost contact with the British members of our crew. This seemed to have happened with other Canadians as well, despite the best intentions. For a few number of years, Doc flew as a representative of a heavy machinery company and I saw him occasionally on his western trips. Rosie did very well as a clothing merchant in Windsor, Ontario.
Doc passed away in the early 1970s, and Rosie about 1977, both victims of cancer. Bill Campbell was out west in 1978 along with his family. He was an alderman at Barrie, Ontario. We had a real pleasant visit recalling some of our Squadron experiences.
When I look back upon my Air Force career, I am looking back on some of the best years of my life. I was very happy to have participated in air crew and squadron life, and wouldn鈥檛 have missed it for anything. Although there were some rough times, it is the pleasant and humorous ones that we generally recall. I will always have a soft spot in my heart for the Royal Canadian Air Force.
In preparing these memoirs, I have used my log book to provide information relative to dates, aircraft used, times of take off and scanty information about the targets. The book 鈥淭he R.C.A.F. Overseas 鈥� The Sixth Year鈥�, provided me with data pertaining to strategic importance of targets, number of bombers involved, weather conditions, degree of success of the operation and bomber losses.
The above, combined with my somewhat less than perfect memory, helped to produce this work, which I hope anyone reading it might find interesting. It is basically the story of one airman, but many aspects of the story could apply to literally thousands of ex R.C.A.F. flying personnel.

THE END.

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