大象传媒

ADVANCED FLYING UNIT 鈥� Our living quarters were the dull, drab Nissen huts and were situated on the coast of the Bay of Cardigan. Our closest town was Pwllhelli (pronounced 鈥淔woothelly if you moistened your lips and stuttered at the right time). It was a pleasant very friendly place, but I did have a problem understanding the Welsh dialect. The land was very rugged with the Cambrian Mountains and Mount Snowdon, 3550 feet high, lying across the bay to the east of us. In contrast to Bournmouth, the weather was often cool and damp, and I don鈥檛 think I鈥檝e ever been much colder than in the Nissen huts on the base. In fact, we hadn鈥檛 been there too long before the personnel in our huts was divided into two-man teams whose unofficial duty it was in the dark of the night, to raid the coal yard for additional fuel. This yard was protected by a high chain link fence, so it was necessary to put up a ladder, get over, fill a bucket with coal, and retrace your steps without alarming the station authorities.
On May 28, 1944, I had my first flight in over five months, flying with Sergeant Zmitrowicz, a Free Polish pilot. He literally flew by the seat of his pants; I never realised before how sturdy and manoeuverable the old Anson really was! Despite the language barrier, six practice bombs were dropped. Fortunately, the other pilots I flew with from Penhros spoke my language, and I did acquire some proficiency at bombing again.
We then moved a short distance to R.A.F. Llandwrog, where our main responsibility was to acquire greater proficiency using the aerial camera for both daylight and night exercises. At the same time we upgraded our skills in the different types of navigation and map reading.
I shall never forget the flight with Flight Leiutenant Manning on June 6. We were flying in the area of Worcester, when all of a sudden he yelled 鈥淕ood God, would you look at that鈥�? The sky was literally filled with Dakotas, hundreds of them towing Horsa gliders. We knew this was no practice, but the real thing and before we landed we received the news that this was the long awaited D-Day, and that the Allies had secured a foothold in France. It was great to be in on such an event, even if it was just as a witness.
On occasion our flights took us over Ireland from where the forebears of both Mom and Dad had come, perhaps a hundred years before. It was truly the Emerald Isle, and the most beautiful shade of green that one could imagine. I always regretted the fact that I never did get there while on leave.
My friend, Larry and I got to know some of the rural people in the area, and beautiful people they were too. One was Joan M., a tall shapely blonde who I thought was quite OK, and Phyllis K., a dark eyed, dark haired beauty who really thought that Larry was 鈥渋t鈥�. I can remember one Sunday when four of us were bike riding, and we came to the crest of a hill and started down. I was behind, but when I started to pick up speed, back peddled to apply the foot brakes. Nothing! Nothing happened鈥攁nd I was already past them and gaining speed!. Joan yelled something about 鈥渉andlebars鈥� and through fear or terror, I gripped down hard. The brake controls, which I later discovered were on the handlebars, grabbed; - I lost control and ended up about twenty feet down a gravel slope with knees, elbows and face very much the worse for wear. I realised then, that I was a little late learning about the intricacies of British bikes and how to manage them.
The friendly farmers near our station would sometimes invite us in for a meal, and then when we left, send us back to base with fresh bacon, eggs and homemade butter. It certainly was great, on occasion, to forget about mutton and Brussels sprouts, or kippered herring and sausage (sometimes described as being made out of sawdust) and tie into a real meal of bacon and eggs. Then, it was almost like being back in Canada. Once in a while the R.A.F. boys on the base would challenge the Canadians to a soccer match, and hopelessly outclass us. We would then turn around, challenge them to a game of softball and get our revenge. In general, the various nationalities, New Zealanders, South Africans, Canadians and British got along pretty well together considering their diverse backgrounds. A common factor showed up with all the Colonials, though. If one of their airmen allowed himself to become particularly grubby, then his mates would ask him 鈥� Are you R.A.F. or did you sleep in your clothes last night? I was rather happy to be posted away from Wales as I had the traumatic experience of twice being a pallbearer for different crews who had piled into the Cambrian Mountains during a ten day period. While in Wales, I had picked up an additional forty hours of flying experience. From Llandwrog, we were posted on July 15 to # 18 O.T.U (Operational Training Unit) at R.A.F. Station 鈥淲orksop鈥�

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