大象传媒

DRUMMED OUT. At about this time I was grounded for three or fours days due to a heavy chest cold, and another bomb aimer took my place on the crew on two enemy raids. It seemed awfully strange staying behind, and I really worried about my crew until they returned safely. While grounded, I was selected to act on the jury of a court martial case being held on our squadron. Really, we had very little authority insofar as determining the guilt or innocence of the defendant, but could make recommendations as to the punishment to be meted out.
The defendant in this particular case was an R.A.F. flight sergeant air gunner with a number of serious charges against him. Both civilian and military authorities had laid charges against him. The court martial found him guilty on all charges and the sentence was pronounced. He was to be dishonourably discharged and drummed out of the service. The 鈥渄rumming out鈥� ceremony was scheduled for ten days hence.
On most parades, reasons could be found to excuse one from attendance. Not so with a 鈥渄rumming out鈥� parade. On the scheduled day all personnel, with the exception of the hospitalised and control tower operators, were assembled on the parade square in their dress blues. About six hundred men and women were lined up in ranks in a hollow square when the Group Captain and his cortege of assisting officers marched in. He gave a quiet order to the station Sergeant Major who bellowed 鈥淢arch on the prisoner鈥�. It was then that the slow roll of drums started; a sound that penetrated to the very depths of one鈥檚 feelings.
The prisoner, between two burly service police, was marched on and halted at stiff attention in front of the Group Captain. The Officer鈥檚 arm shot out, and the wedge cap was snatched from the prisoner鈥檚 head and thrown unceremoniously to the ground. Again the Officer鈥檚 arm shot out and ripped off the already loosened stripes and crown and threw them on the ground. And all the time, the slow measured roll of the drums was sounding. If this was traumatic for every airman on the parade square, how much more so for the prisoner who was the focus of all attention. It was terrible to see the final vestige of dignity removed when he was marched off , still to the roll of the drums, through the ranks, through the guardhouse and to be delivered to the civilian police who placed him in handcuffs, assisted him to a van and drove him off. Anyone who had ever been on a 鈥渄rumming out鈥� parade, would, I鈥檓 sure, give very serious thoughts to any activity that would put them in a position where it could happen to them.

KLEVE, AN ABORT. On February 7, our crew was scheduled, along with nine others from 150 Squadron, to attack Kleve in a close support job for the Canadian Army south east of Nijmegen. Earlier in the day, IQ-Sugar checked out fine, but when we climbed aboard with our gear the intercom system was absolutely dead. Technicians worked frantically, and finally got the problem solved, but the Control Tower would not give us the green light to take off as we were over 15 minutes late. We were most disappointed, as it was likely to be the only chance we would have of helping the Canadian Army. The attack, though, was quite successful, and definitely was of great value in assisting with the Allied crossing of the Rhine River which occurred about a month later.

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