大象传媒

AIR OBSERVERS SCHOOL - I had my first flight from Stevenson Field on November 17, 1943 still in the venerable Anson. Our basic job at A.O.S. was to acquire skill and familiarity with the aerial camera, and to become adept at several types of navigation including pin pointing and map reading to Dead Reckoning Navigation (D.R.). Our flights from Stevenson were normally three to four hours in length as contrasted to earlier ones of about an hour. We did drop a few bombs on our navigation trips to maintain our newly found skills.
Weather was intensely cold most of the time we were at A.O.S., so cold, in fact, that a number of navigator trainees were frost bitten while taking star shots from the astrodomes of the Ansons. We were quite taken aback the first morning we went flying; the ground crew, that is the crew that serviced the aircraft and started the engines, pulled wheel chocks, etc. were completely covered with heavy winter clothing and looked just like mummies. The trainees were cursing the weather and making free with four letter words, when to our complete surprise, we discovered that our ground crew were not only civilians but female civilians at that. Obviously they had heard the language before, as they took it in their stride.
Someone soon discovered that the civilian girls were billeted directly across from our quarters in a new barrack building, not yet equipped with drapes or blinds. In the evening, windows of our darkened billets were lined with eager spectators watching the nude parade to and from the shower rooms across the way. Some spoil sport in our group turned on the lights to reveal the crowded windows of our barracks. The fun was over, as drapes were fully installed the next day.
One of my classmates went on a navigational stooge (exercise) one very cold but clear morning. After several hours very dense fog moved in and the plane did not return. After three hours the fog cleared and a number of planes took off to search for them. About half an hour out we spotted a hayfield with a number of stacks, and there with it鈥檚 nose between two stacks and its wings just touching the ends of the stacks, was the missing Anson. The crew had set her down safely; no damage had been done but less than five minutes of fuel remained. Station personnel were able to fly it back the next day.
Graduation from A.O.S. was a vital step in our career. Those who did so would graduate either as sergeant or pilot officer rank and would be given their wings (bomb aimers, navigators or gunners) in a very impressive ceremony. It was traumatic for those who did not graduate; some would be allowed to continue in later courses but others would be 鈥渨ashed out鈥� of aircrew altogether.
I was happy and proud to return home on embarkation leave (which in this case coincided in Christmas and New Years) as a newly commissioned officer. My friends and family made a big thing out of this and naturally I enjoyed it to the utmost.
After two very enjoyable weeks at home, I and the rest of the graduates reported to Lachine Manning Depot on the edge of Montreal to await overseas posting.

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