大象传媒

"We've got a break due tomorrow, Jock" said Big Pete. "How about nipping down to Pentire Beach for a swim then a couple of pints?"
"I'm on Night Flying duty from 20.00 hours tomorrow, so we'll have to be sharpish." Replied Jock.
"Use your charm on Chiefy Buchan of Transport, he's a fellow 'haggis-basher'! - and borrow a wee Standard or a Jeep then we'll be back in plenty of time," was Big Pete's solution.
"O.K. I'll better get up there 'toot sweet'. See you in the Mess about 18.00 hours," Jock threw back as he hurried up to the M.T. section to get his claim in first.
But once again, Fate took a hand?
"Ah, Sergeant, been looking for you all over the place," came the voice of the Chief Engineering Officer. "Pick up your Small Kit right away and report to Flying Control at 16.00 hours latest - will fill you in on the details up there."
"Yes, Sir," said Jock, as he changed direction back to the billet.
On reporting to the Tower, as ordered, Jock spotted a lone 'Liberator' on the apron. "Funny, that wasn't there two hours ago and there has been no activity since then?" Jock's sixth sense caused a slight twitch of anxiety?
"Sergeant, this is 'your' pilot, Pilot Officer Ramsay. You're to 'help' crew him over to Tempsford. Know all about 'Libs', don't you Sarge? P/O Ramsay will see you get fully briefed on arrival," declared the Chief Engineering Officer.
"Yes, Sir!" came Jock's mechanical reply as he boarded the 'Lib'. Jock made his way to the Flight Deck, dumped his kit then noticed the pilot's map. Sure enough there was a vector indicating Tempsford - but is also indicated the 'Lib' had come from Chivenor, up on the north Devon coast. No mention of 'bouncing' at RAF St. Mawgan? Even more bizarre, there didn't appear to be any other 'crew'!

The two erks on the ground plugged in the Starter Trolley, the pilot settled down in his seat, gave Jock a quizzical smile then gave the ground crew 'Thumbs Up' for 'Contact'. All four engines were tested up to the 'Gate, chocks waved away and the 'Lib' rolled forward to the main runway. At the end of the runway the pilot carried out a full 'pre take-off 'check, with Jock apprehensively monitoring the pilot's every move. He seemed to know what he was about.
"You O.K., Sarge?" he asked and, without waiting for a reply, positioned the aircraft on the centre of the runway, slammed open all four throttles and took off. The flight was uneventful, almost pleasant, except the pilot never said another word. After about 70 minutes flying the pilot started to bank to port, as if he were looking for something.
Suddenly, he gave Jock the 'thumbs up', put on five degrees of flap and lowered the undercarriage then came in to land. There were no Contact Strip lights on. Jock looked around in the failing light, trying to quell the panic rising inside, then spotted something which completely distracted his thoughts!
For as far as he could see, in the almost dark conditions, there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of Tanks, Landing Craft, Troop Carriers - all the paraphernalia of war, lining the little country lanes in the vicinity of Tempsford. The pilot noticed Jock's surprise and nodded to show he was aware of what was going on.
Suddenly, the Contract Strip flashed into life and a tired old 'Liberator' sat down comfortably on to the runway. They taxied over to dispersal where a ground crew took over. The crew-bus arrived and Jock, with his pilot, were taken over to Flying Control. Jock was beginning to think the pilot had been struck dumb shortly after take-off, but no - "Thank you very much, Sergeant! The Corporal here will get you fixed up with a bed for the night. Report to Flying Control before 09.00 hours tomorrow and you'll be O.K. for the first 'Dak' back to St. Mawgan, Good Night, Sergeant!" A quick salute and that was the end of a short, but beautiful, friendship!
The Corporal couldn't shed much light on this mysterious episode, except to say, "There's a lot of rum things going on at the moment, Sarge. You are lucky you are going back to your unit tomorrow. The whole Station has been 'confined to Camp' for the last four days. Looks like the 'Second Front' is not far away!"
Jock settled down on the corner bed in the Nissen hut, as suggested by the Corporal. The hut was obviously occupied, but at the moment nobody was about. Jock lay down on top of the 'Mcdonald' to ponder the day's happenings. No doubt, 'Big Pete' will be quizzing everyone at St. Mawgan about what's happened to his oppo?
Come to think of it, what the hell was happening? Why this mad flight? Why me? What had happened to the pilot's crew when they landed at St. Mawgan? There's no way he would have been allowed to take off that 'Lib' from Chivenor - on his own? Jock's thoughts were rudely disturbed by a rabble of half-drunken aircrew bursting into the hut, flopping on to beds and - speaking a strange lingo! They were crews from the R.C.A.F. and were all gibbering in Canadian French! "A perfect end to a perfect day," thought Jock, as sleep engulfed him.

Next morning, one of the 'Canucks' gave Jock a lift up to what appeared to be a Transit mess. It wasn't a Sergeants' Mess in the true sense of the title, but rather a mixed hotch-potch of Senior NCOs and Warrant Officers, some aircrew, some ground crew. Breakfast was surprisingly good! Porridge, Egg and Sausage, Bread and Marmalade!

It was only a short walk from the Mess to Flying Control, so Jock was there for 08.45 hours. Sure enough, there on the Flight Board was 'Dakota', LG451 from Lyneham to St. Mawgan via Tempsford. On reporting to the Duty Officer, Jock was told, "O.K. Sergeant, you are 'listed', but you'd better move your arse, she'll be off in ten minutes!"
This time the flight took just over one hour compared to the 90 minutes getting to Tempsford. At lunch, Peter Starling and Freddie Ward bombarded Jock with questions! "Where the hell did you get to yesterday?" "Why you?" "What the hell was it all about?" Jock's inability to supply plausible answers was immediately misconstrued as 'Classified'! "We'll get it out of you tonight, in the Mess, if we've got to get you pissed to do it!" was the duet.
In the event, that night was spent discussing all the possible reasons for this bizarre flight. Jock noticed the questions were not being pressed so hard, also, every so often 'Big Pete' would give him a pleading, almost hurt look. To make matters worse, Fl/Sgt. Johns gave Jock a knowing look in the passing!
Whatever was behind this weird assignment, Jock will never know, and all his conjectures came to nothing. Was it a private deal between two fellow Officers? Had the young pilot suddenly got the 'shakes' and needed company? Was Jock going on some assignment that was suddenly aborted? One thing sure, a nightmare it was! A dream it certainly was not!
The next two or three days were fairly routine, servicing outgoing aircraft, ensuring unserviceable aircraft were properly picketed down, checked out, and engines covered - until ready for 'Air Test'.
But at 07.00 hours on the fourth morning, the usually phlegmatic Sergeant Pete Starling could hardly contain himself as he greeted Jock coming off Night Flying. "The invasion is ON! The troops started landing at 03.00 hours!"
The long-awaited 'Second Front' was now a reality!
When Jock and Peter reached the Mess for breakfast, everyone was crowded around the radio greedily devouring every morsel of news. And everyone from the Station Commander down to the lowliest A.C.2 had the same thoughts - "We are about to be inundated with Ambulance Aircraft loaded with casualties." ('Cas-Evacs' as they later became known). Everyone was keyed up, waiting for some stirring announcement, a battle-cry from the Station Commander. It never came.
All the Site NCOs took steps to ensure their Site and ground crews were ready for the deluge. They were, in fact, very easy steps as every airman had suddenly become re-dedicated! Everything was in order - so they waited. And waited.
During this 'waiting' period, the routine 'Staging Post' activities continued. After almost a full week the indications were, Allied High Command's worst fears may not, after all, be realised.
Losses on the beach-heads were grievously heavy, but the troops were gradually moving inland. The dreaded initial slaughter had, so far, been avoided. What awaited the Allied Armies after the Enemy regrouped, didn't bear contemplation. Surprisingly, this anti-climax did not reduce the dedication of the ground crews. Everyone still worked with a will.
'D-Day' could be the start of that 'Last Mile Home' - to Peace!
The Ambulance Trains gradually disappeared from the nearby sidings, the Medical Units dispersed elsewhere but the aircraft activity on the drome continued unabated. Transport Command were still the main 'customer', but he U.S.A.F. were making more use of St. Mawgan than previously.
Douglas 'Skymasters' and Curtiss 'Commandos' on their way from the States, via the Azores, began 'lobbing' down and unloading their cargoes. Occasionally, these 'cargoes' were VIPs or replacement Air Crews. This traffic was mostly handled by U.S.A.F. ground crews but from time to time the RAF lent a hand. This led to ugly rumours that some of the Yankee kites were loaded with crates of Coca Cola and even deep frozen Ice Cream! Jock never personally witnessed such cargoes, but in the light of his own personal experiences of our American allies, felt it was not stretching the imagination too far!

As the months raced by the news from Europe became more and more encouraging. The Allies were advancing on all fronts - at a cost! This 'cost' was repeatedly confirmed with each visit into Newquay. 'Walking Wounded' became increasingly obvious - in their 'Hospital Blues' - as they hobbled about the town.

These boys were hospitalized in what had been the 'Headlands Hotel' but it was now a fully equipped Military Hospital. What Jock and his oppos had been seeing in town were only the tip of the iceberg, as only those who were sufficiently recovered were allowed out unaccompanied. This evidence was enough to prompt a spontaneous call for a full meeting of the Sergeants' Mess. Main item on the Agenda - 'What can be done to give the Headland boys a day out on the Mess funds?' All proposals were accepted unanimously and plans set in motion.

The C.M.C. (Chairman of Messing Committee) Warrant Officer 1st Class Macpherson, V.C., would approach the Station Commander and, on approval, Jock and Pete would request Matron at Headlands for her blessing.
Sergeant 'Freddie' Ward and the two WAAF Sergeants would organise 'volunteers' from the Airmen and WAAFs to act as guides and ushers. (There was no shortage of volunteers!) Sergeants Davis and Loveridge would see to the Station Cinema show etc etc.

Matron was more than pleased to give her blessing, but with a rather macabre caveat? "Remember, don't bring any of my boys home 'legless'!"
In fact, some of her boys were already legless - due to Enemy action.
The day was a huge success and after the film show the Sergeants' Mess was thrown open to all their guests.

Each Mess Member took responsibility for one guest and Jock adopted a 19 year old Private Soldier of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The laddie hailed from Dunoon and had been in the Army for a mere 18 months. He had 'copped his lot' advancing through the Black Forest, resulting in 18 shrapnel wounds in both legs. Still barely able to walk he was desperate for a ,"Wee dance wi' ane o' they WAAF lassies!"
This could present a problem thought Jock, bearing in mind Matron's warning. Suddenly, there was the answer! WAAF Sergeant Joan Bradbury, all twelve stone of her, would be able to support this young Highlander with ease.
"Yes, certainly," was her reply to Jock's timid suggestion and, without further ado, she whisked her wounded 'Jock' out of his chair!
For over a full minute, Joan shepherded her charge around the floor 'to the manor born'. Her 'partner' was very gently deposited back in his chair - his eyes swimming with tears.
"Christ, Sarge! Wull ah iver be able tae dance richt again?" Jock had to swallow hard before answering, "Nae bother at a' Sodger - jist gie it time!"
Big Pete arrived just at the right time to save Jock from any more 'white lies'. As the young Soldier was perspiring freely from his dancing exertions, Big Pete brought over three pints of (weak) beer, which all three sipped slowly while the Highlander related the grisly story of how he came by his wounds.
His platoon had reached a crossroads where their advance was being held up by a very determined Enemy, who would have to be winkled out before the advance could continue. Gerry was well entrenched in the basement of a wrecked 'Schloss' and the numbers of British lying in the road meant - "This wis gonna be a hard ane."
The Platoon Sergeant didn't give his men time to dwell on the situation but ordered a bayonet charge - himself taking the lead. The Sergeant and the young Argyll reached the heavy front door at the same time, lobbed a grenade over the top and somehow scrambled inside.
They were confronted by a 15 year old boy Soldier, astride a machine-gun, screaming, "Me kill funf Englanders!" To Pete and Jock's combined, "What did you do then?" the laddie from Dunoon replied, "Ach, ah jist gied 'im the bayonet!"
Before leaving the 'Schloss', several mortars scored direct hits and the young Argyll woke up in Watford Hospital.
The beer was finished and, after a genteel sing-song, "Good Night, Ladies", was sung as a hint for the opposite sex to leave before the songs got rough. However, at the end there was WAAF Sergeant Bradbury and her dancing partner doing a duet of 'Bless 'em All' and 'Cats on the Rooftops!'
All members saw the liberty buses off with 'Auld Lang Syne'. Jock, Pete and Freddie went with the buses down to Headlands Hospital and returned their charges to a relieved Matron and her Staff.
Jock was full of mixed emotions as he watched the 'Walking Wounded' straggling and being cajoled back to their wards. It was like another Dunkirk - only everyone was happy!
Still, he couldn't rid himself of that young Argyll's casual response," Ach, ah jist gied 'im the bayonet!"
The ensuing months saw St. Mawgan activity once more undergoing subtle changes. The last U.S.A.F. operation of any consequence to occur on the RAF side of the drome was the sudden arrival of Major General Arnold - amidst a flurry of 'Snowdrops' (the accepted slang for U.S. Military Police).
This particular 'show' was an all-American performance, with Jock and his highly amused erks sitting in ringside seats watching the antics. The opening scene was a highly polished rehearsal of U.S. Army rifle drill, followed by six North American 'invaders' taxying in to pre-marked positions on the apron. Although there was no customary military band to give a sense of occasion, the U.S. soldiers put on a brave show, especially when the Curtiss 'Commando' with its precious cargo of VIPs taxied to a standstill. It was at this point the RAF spectators couldn't believe their eyes?
The coloured Top Sergeant, who was conducting the aircraft into position, broke one of the RAF's cardinal rules - 'Never turn your back on a taxying aircraft' - and walked straight into the spinning airscrew of the port engine! It was all over in a couple of seconds.
The ambulance arrived, a cordon was thrown around the area, the remains gathered up and rushed off to the USAF mortuary. The apron was hosed down while the American VIPs were being escorted down to the Officers' Mess. Jock and his erks shook their heads in their disbelief that such a tragedy could result from such an elementary mistake!

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