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These torches were masked with blue paper (blackout restrictions) and only owls and pilots could see them! The technique being to make circular movements with both arms extended, indicating 'Come Straight Ahead - Both Engines' and, as the pilot opened his side windows, Jock shouted above the engine noise, "First main runway on your Port side, Sir, Good Luck!"

The pilot acknowledged Jock with the usual 'thumbs up' sign and opened throttles to taxy forward. With a sigh of relief, Jock relaxed and watched the 'Dak' pick up speed? "Christ! he's missed the runway and he's taking off from the perimeter track!" Jock heard himself shouting to the whole world at the same time feeling he was the only person in the whole world!

What to do? At the end of the perimeter there was two or three hundred yards of grass and then a three hundred feet drop over the cliff into the sea ! Jock took a chance and looked up once more and saw the 'Daks' three navigation lights - all airborne. "Phew! Some pilot that!" Time for bed.

As he made for the billets, Jock took a last look - only to see a blinding red/orange flash where the 'Dak' had been and a few seconds later heard the muffled explosion! Either the 'Dak' had not been 'as clean as a whistle' or, one of those weirdies had, unwittingly, carried 'something suspicious' aboard!

Contrary to expectations, there was no immediate Court of Inquiry. In fact, everyone became extremely reticent. Twenty four hours later a search party was ordered down to the beach and recovered five bodies. The story broke by the end of the week, with the Daily Mirror revealing that, in addition to the bodies, considerable sums of paper money/bank notes were salvaged of various currencies, but mostly Yugoslavian.
Apart from his own oppos, Jock was never questioned by anyone in authority as to his version of what had actually happened - and discretion demanded he volunteer nothing! The whole incident evaporated as if it had never happened and, in less than a week, the strange affair had been overtaken by more pressing events.

Domestic conditions at the Station started to improve? No. 2 Cowshed was abandoned and Jock found himself in charge of a billet of thirty airmen. Commensurate with this responsibility went the privilege of the 'Right to the Corner Bed'! Such a change in fortune called for a pint in the 'Corporals' Club'. Accordingly, Jock set off to navigate himself through the black-out at 20.00 hours to the haven on the Camp NAAFI. Halfway there the Tannoys suddenly blared out "Red Alert! Red Alert! Enemy aircraft in the immediate vicinity! Take Cover!"

As Jock was musing to himself over how Gerry had sneaked in so smartly, there was a burst of machine-gun fire right above his head, followed by the 'swish/swish/swish' of a 'Beaufighter' hurtling past! (Funny thing about 'Beaufighters' - you never heard them approach, only when they 'whooshed' past).

The quarry, a Gerry Dornier ' Flying Pencil' had caught fire and the 'glass-house' type canopy was lit up like the front door of a peace-time dance hall. Trailing white smoke, he sank away over the cliffs in the same direction as that taken by the ill-fated 'Dak'
On reaching the NAFFI the Tannoy blared again - "Sdr/Ldr. Stainforth has just destroyed an enemy intruder - keep under cover!"
The beer, such as it was (at 3% alcohol) flowed freely in the Corporals' Club as this was indeed heartening news. In less than ten minutes the Tannoy crackled again, "Sqd/Ldr. Stainforth has just shot down his second enemy aircraft!" The Club erupted! The Tannoy continued, "All ground crews on Night Flying duties, approach the dispersal areas with utmost caution! Royal Marine piquets are searching the cliff tops for enemy aircrew survivors - believed heading towards the drome!"

This was building up into a tricky situation! Jock was due over at the far side of the drome in an hour's time to see off two 'Hudsons' and a 'Blenheim'. The Marines were notoriously trigger-happy and their challenge 'Halt!' didn't mean just 'Stop!', it meant 'Freeze!' However, all went well and Corporal and ground crew saw their aircraft safely airborne before tumbling into bed at 04.00 hours!

All this hurly-burly of the RAF on active Service had its occasional breaks or diversions such as odd visits to some of the local pubs in lovely little Cornish towns and villages. Places like Bodmin, Truro, Redruth and Perranporth etc Jock found particularly attractive. The English pubs were streets ahead of the Scottish pubs. They were cleaner and, with all their polished brasses, cheerier. Somehow, in winter they always managed to have a welcoming fire on (despite fuel rationing). With few exceptions, every landlord welcomed his patrons.

Once again, the inevitable happened - Jock was posted. Either Jock's expertise was in great demand , or various Station Commanders felt they could prosecute the War more effectively with Jock elsewhere! Whatever the deciding factor, 'Jock's Luck' held. The posting was to No. 44 M.U. R.A.F. EDZELL, less than forty miles form Dundee - and Gracie, son Iain and Ma Campbell! But 'Jock's Luck' was to manifest itself one more time before leaving Portreath.

The occasion was on a particularly cold and murky day in November. Jock was ordered to come up from his dispersal site to the Flying Control Tower to 'stand by' for a 'Hudson' coming in. The aircraft would taxy up to the Tower and Jock would board, then direct the pilot in taxying to the correct site.
Jock took up position by the side of the runway and waited, snugly wrapped in Sou'wester, balaclava, gumboots and a black oilskin, long enough to cover the tops of the gumboots. Sure enough the 'Hudson' lumbered into sight, just clearing the tops of the cliffs and heading for the first runway she could find. Jock felt a bit uneasy? Something was wrong about her approach? She was yawing too much and ominously, her tail was far too low - O.K. for the traditional three-point landing but the 'Hudson' was meant to 'motor in' with the tail in normal flying position then touch down on the two main wheels and gradually lower the tail. This was considered the best approach due to the effect of the slipstream 'upwash' from the large landing flaps which created an upthrust on the huge tailplane.

Suddenly, the 'Hudson' hit the deck and bounced about sixty feet back up into the air! Down she came again, like some giant playful kangaroo, but this time she was heading for the Tower! Disaster seemed unavoidable when, at the last minute, the pilot gave the starboard engine full throttle. The gambolling 'Hudson' wheeled round and headed - for Corporal Jock! Time to run - if only the legs would respond and the gumboots get clear of the mud, and the bloody oilskin give him some freedom of movement! As in everyone's nightmare, Jock's brain was running at 60 miles per hour, but his legs could only manage walking pace!

A quick look round revealed the 'Hudson' with her two massive, shiny, whirling props desperate to decapitate him! "Down! Jock, down!" came the voice of the Patron Saint of all Erks - and down Jock went! But in an instant reflex action, to dodge the mud, Jock's head bobbed up again, only to be struck by the 'Hudsons'' flap and banged down into the mud again? Nearly a full half-second later he looked up once more to see the aircraft doing flat spins across the airfield as if the kangaroo was now learning to waltz! Jock picked himself up and trotted towards the now exhausted aeroplane. Opening the cabin door Jock went aboard and made his way to the cockpit. In common with his crew, the pilot sat silent, his fingers trembling over the throttle controls. "Give me a minute, Sir, to check the undercarriage, then we'll have to get the hell off the runway!" Without waiting for a response Jock nipped out and carried out a quick mandatory check for a 'Heavy Landing'.

Back inside the cabin, nobody seemed to have stirred, apart from the Wireless Operator, who sat there muttering something like 'Stupid Bastard'.
"Come on, Sir," said Jock. "Let's go - straight ahead!"
The pilot looked Jock straight in the face. "What happened to the guy we hit?"
"Oh, him Sir, he's all right - that was me!" It was obvious nobody was going to move the aircraft off the runway, so Jock leaned forward, released the hand-brake and gently opened the throttles, heading for the dispersal site. On arrival at the site, Jock was greeted by 'Geordie' and 'Knocker' who demanded to know where his 'Brevet' was - a 'Mickey-taking' reference to his taxying skills!
"Anyway, Corp, thought you had 'f------ ' bought it out there!" The banter was silenced by the arrival of the 'Blood Wagon'; The aircrew were bundled aboard, then Jock heard the M.O's voice, "You too, Corporal."
"Me? I'm O.K." started Jock.
"Get inside, Now!" the M.O. repeated.
Still protesting his physical fitness, Corporal Jock arrived at Station Sick Quarters - and promptly passed out!
The rail journey to Scotland was a nightmare not only because of the 'standing room only' conditions, which was the norm at the time, but for the massive and frequent delays. The main problems were 'Enemy Air Activity' which meant diversions due to 'damaged tracks' or 'Air Raids in Progress'. The unscheduled stops were never at stations but always 'out of the blue' - in the interests of safety. This meant that the normal bodily functions had to be severely controlled and, as the corridors up to the toilets were crammed with 'bods, the Servicemen gave the Servicewomen priority! - the men 'holding on' until the train got underway again, then having a 'pee' out of the window and hoping no one was stupid enough to poke their heads out of the next window!
This journey, Truro to Bristol to Crew to Preston to Carlisle to Perth to Montrose was to cost Jock twenty six hours of his life!
Once more, deposited at the Main Guardroom, Jock was directed to his new billet and told to report to S.W.O. Brooke-Webb at 09.00 hours next morning. Now 'Brooke' was something else! Short, clipped moustache, ramrod back and quite the little martinet! After a short and crystal-clear lecture on the high reputation of RAF Edzell and the dire penalties that awaited anyone who besmirched this reputation, Jock was ordered to report to the Orderly room. From there, Jock was informed he would be attached to 'Main Site' and under Flight Sergeant Thompson, an 'old sweat' recalled from the Reserves. Chiefy Thompson's urgent need was for some young blood with experience of modern aircraft. (It transpired later he would have preferred some young W.A.A.Fs!)
There was an over-abundance of work for all concerned, with several mighty Short 'Stirlings', a mixed flock of Bristol 'Beauforts', 'Vickers', 'Wellingtons' and Armstrong-Whitworth 'Whitleys' - all awaiting urgent modifications before returning to Service. The other three sites were equally overloaded, mostly with Hawker 'Hurricanes' and Handley Page 'Hampdens'.
All of this was meat and drink to Jock so, with a team of Fitters and Riggers, he started right away, breaking only for the ever faithful NAAFI wagon or the quick lunch. Chiefy would chase them all back to the billets before 23.00 hours, not because of any concern for the physical well-being, but so they would awake refreshed for an even harder day on the morrow!

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