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About this time, the name 'Arnhem' became synonymous with disaster. For some mysterious reason the British High Command was specifically linked to this very costly setback, despite the fact it was a combined Allied operation, with US, Canadian, Polish and British units participating. St. Mawgan was, once again, ready to receive the 'Cas-evacs' and, once again, suffered an anti-climax. However, within a few weeks Jock and his comrades heard another ominous name filtering through the grapevine - 'Ardennes'!
This time St. Mawgan would be called on to lend a hand. The 'Ardennes', later known as the 'Battle of the Bulge', was the most critical reversal for the Allies since 'D-Day'. Gerry had somehow foxed the US Commanders into over-stretching their advancing Front then, suddenly, the Wermacht, reinforced with young fanatical Nazis fighting for the Fatherland, punched a huge hole into the Yanks Front Line! The debacle was only halted by rushing troops from further North to stiffen the American resistance.
The first Jock and his oppos knew of this was when they were told, " All ground crews to work right through - all shifts cancelled until further notice " ! For nearly 72 hours airceaft came and went like a national bus service !
" Skymasters" ,"Liberators","Dakotas",carrying U.S. troops of all descriptions - Paratroops, Rangers, Marines, and a smattering of British Commandos - anything to plug the gap! All aircraft involved were Serviced by the R.A.F. - refuelling, repairing, replacing suspect parts, and all other requests that Operational Pilots feel more comfortable about ! All of those whims were seen to without a murmur - morale was of paramount importance !
Eventually, the hectic hours subsided and in the early hours of the fourth morning Jock was 'stood down'. Setting off around the perimeter, almost as if he were sleep-walking, (the 'wide-awake' pills beginning to wear off) he made for his billet and his faithful 'Macdonald'.
At the domestic end of Camp, life was just beginning to stir. Halfway between the drome and the Sergeants' Mess, a brand, sparkling new young Officer - just out of the packing case - alerted Jock, in a high falsetto voice, "Sergeant, do you realise you have just failed to salute me?" Jock turned round to respond, opened his mouth, but fatigue took over and no words came out!
"Pull yourself together, Sergeant! Look at you, you're a disgrace! You need a shave! Your boots and uniform are stained with oil!" (Hydraulic fluid, actually).

Jock, now an old sweat of six years service, knew the value of 'no witnesses' so, when the words did come out, they were in the form of that well-beloved Service repartee - "F**k Off!"
Jock ambled off, marching was out of the question, leaving "P/O Prune" fulminating.
Next day, Jock was back at dispersal when he received a visit from the Chief Engineering Officer, "Morning, Sergeant, had a rough time over the last few day Eh? Eh?"
"Not too bad, Sir," replied Jock.
"Mmmmmm, yes, it's been pretty hectic all round. " 'nough to make us all rather short tempered, eh?" ventured the CEO. Then he continued, "One of my fellow Officers was a bit put out yesterday. Seems he had occasion to reprimand a rather scruffy Sergeant? The Sergeant was most rude to him. No idea who that might have been, have you?"
"No, Sir!" replied Jock, standing stiffly to attention.
"Mmmmmm, thought not, don't suppose we'll ever find out, Eh? Well, good Morning, Sergeant, keep 'em at it!" was his smiling adieu.
Things were slowly slacking off, the Allies were advancing on all fronts. The Soviet Army was knocking on Berlin's back door - without the desired response from the incumbent!
Visits to the Cornish beaches were becoming more frequent and the 'Gen' word was - 'Demob!' Some of the more Senior Warrant Officers had already departed to 'pick up their bowler hats!'

Coming off the drome one morning, Jock was greeted by his oppo, Sergeant 'Pete' Starling. The normally laconic 'Pete' was gibbering like a drunken Dervish! "It's all over, Jock, it's OVER! Gerry has packed it in!" But in their well-deserved euphoria - they had overlooked the Enemy - in the Far East!

The ensuing weeks saw the departure of Senior Reservists. Married WAAFs and sundry other 'Special' cases - headed for the 'Demob Machine' and 'Civvy Street'.
The 'Demob Machine' was, in fact, several RAF stations set up especially for 'processing' Service Personnel out of the Service and into civilian life.
One of the first was our dear 'Wee Jeannie ' - our comrade-in-arms, LACW Woolles. Her husband was a Serving Officer in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers and this, of course, entitled her to early release. Jeannie's waygoing was the start of the break-up of the 'Good Comrades'. Jock would be next, by virtue of 'Time Expired' Service.
Sergeant Eric (Pete) Starling still had a few years to serve. Sergeant 'Freddie' Ward would be next for the 'Bowler Hat', followed by 'Sammy' Carnahan - Sgt. Pay 'Bob' (and pianist extraordinaire) - on his way to his beloved Glasgow. But Fate felt obliged to give Jock a parting souvenir?
The mandatory 'Demob Booze-up' included a last visit to the 'Smugglers'. A nice wee dance hall, complete with bar, to which Jock and 'Pete' repaired before heading back to the Mess. The dance was in full swing when Jock spotted the fair Miss Sylvia, a voluntary worker with the local W.V.S. Miss Sylvia had, on more than one occasion, served Jock up with double helpings of chips to reinforce his one fried egg entitlement! Such consideration could not be allowed to go unrewarded! "Can I have this dance, Miss Sylvia?" asked Jock, with his usual aplomb.
"Certainly, Sergeant," was the reply, but they had hardly gone three steps before they were interrupted by, "Excuse me, Sergeant, my dance now," said the Fl/Lt.
"Sorry, Sir, this is not an 'Excuse-Me' dance," was Jock's very proper reply.
"You heard me, Sergeant (with the emphasis on the rank) Piss Off!" A riposte hardly becoming an Officer and a Gentleman. But discretion was always the better part of valour, so Jock stepped aside. Only to go straight up to the Band-Leader and report the laggard's behaviour!

The Band-Leader had just been demobbed the previous week and, with ill-concealed glee, requested over the tannoy - "Would the Officer dancing with the lady in the green dress, please leave the floor!" Honour satisfied, Jock returned to his table where 'Pete' sat grinning his face off. Unfortunately, Jock noticed the Fl/Lt. making for the 'Gents' and decided he was in need of some advice on good manners! On reaching the toilet door Jock said, "Excuse me, Sir I'd like to have a word with ------" The sentence was never completed. Jock saw a myriad of tiny lights and heard little bells tinkling all over the place!
"Shit! He's belted me!" thought Jock and looked up to see the said Officer grinning in triumph! With no more ado, Jock went in, fists flying in all directions! (when in doubt - lash out!). The recalcitrant Officer lay uncomfortably in the 'pissoir'! Suddenly, Jock was grabbed from behind by a very strong, very stocky Squadron Leader, "Control yourself, Sergeant!" came the order.
"Me? Me? Control myself? Who's got the f------- black eye? Me!"
A cubicle door opened, "The Sarge is right, the Officer hit him first!" said the erk, sitting comfortably - then slammed the door! The Squadron Leader relaxed his grip and told Jock's adversary to stand up and pull himself together.

The second round began! With big 'Pete' bursting in the front door, two S.Ps draped around his shoulders! "Where's my oppo?" he started off, then, weighing up the scene - Jock's rapidly closing eye, the Fl/Lt's burst lips, 'Pete' immediately jumped to his own conclusion - and promptly smacked the Fl/Lt again who, equally promptly, reassumed his position in the 'pissoir'!

"You are on a charge, Sergeant!" said the Squadron Leader to Jock, whose instant response was - "BOLLOX" I'll have by Bowler Hat tomorrow and YOU'LL be calling me 'Sir', Sir!"
Turning to the two SPs he said, "Get these two B----- the hell out of here. See them right back to the Sergeants' Mess. I'll deal with this in the morning!" That was the last Jock and 'Pete' ever heard of the matter. Jock often wondered if it was the strong Scottish accent that he and the Squadron Leader shared which favoured the outcome?
So it was, "Good Bye" to a great bunch of comrades and off to RAF Kirkham - the 'Demob Machine'.
"Partir, c'est mourir un peu".
Kirkham was quite an eye-opener for Jock! Special billets with plenty of room and no rank differentiation. Maximum stay was planned for two nights and there was no record of this ever having been exceeded! The food was good but there was no Sergeants' Mess for those in transit. Any need for alcoholic refreshment involved a trip in to town, and this applied to all ranks.
The organisation was first class. A brief talk on Civvy Street practices - Ration Books, Clothing coupons, Employment Exchanges etc etc. The Accounts Officers detailed Gratuities, Length of Service Emoluments, Discharge Leave Entitlement and all the other little rules and requirements so dear to the Service mind.
To Jock, all of this treatment was quite baffling? Were they, after all, really 'Returning Heroes'? Or, was this some big 'con'? The service foisted on them in the 'Clothes Hall' was almost embarrassing. "Try this suit, Sir." "No, Sir, I think this hat is more your style." "Make sure the shoes are really comfortable, after all you won't be able to bring them back!" And so on.

Jock returned to the billet laden with - one charcoal-grey suit with fine red and white pin stripe, one Air Force Blue Fedora, One Burberry Raincoat, One Pair of Black Shoes (plus his Service boots), two pairs of Socks, two sets of Underwear, and two Civilian Shirts. In addition to this, Jock was allowed to retain his old Battle Dress, but his Number One Blue had to be handed in! Why? Ask Lord Tedder, he must be the only guy who knew!

Next morning, Jock breakfasted as a guest of the Royal Air Force for the last time, and the 'garry' took him and twenty others to Preston Railway Station.
Jock arrived Home in Dundee late that afternoon to find Gracie, Iain ,two year old Malcolm and 'Ma' Campbell, waiting for him - each one equally apprehensive, including Jock!
'Pete's' words re-echoed in his head to reassure him - "It's All Over!"

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