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At the time we did not know that disaster loomed for our Squadron, for General Montgomery came up with this plan to overcome the stalemate of our advance into Europe. General Patten was advancing on a broad front towards Paris whilst the British and Canadians were trying to advance through Belgium and Holland and into North Germany and the Ruhr industrial centre, but Eisenhower did not have enough supplies to satisfy both Generals. Monty proposed a very daring plan for by then our 30 Corps under General Horrocks was rather static in North Belgium. This plan was to drop the 82nd American paras at Eindhoven and capture the bridges over the rivers and canals in that area and then fight on northwards towards the 101st "Screaming Eagle" paras who would be dropped at Nijmegen bridge. The 101st were to capture bridge, fight back south to link up with the 82nd and fight north to the Last objective - the bridge at Arnhem over the Rhine where the 1st Airborne Division were to be dropped. Their object was to capture the bridge and hold it for two days until the 30 Corps had rapidly advanced up the corridor of para troops and relieve the 1st Airborne Division. There was great enthusiasm for this bold plan especially by the members of the 1st Airborne Division, for the 6th Airborne Division had been used at Normandy on D Day with great success and the 1st were anxious to prove that they were their equal if not better. The Allied advance had been so swift that every objective planned for the 1st Division had been taken before the 1st could be used. They enplaned and disembarked from twelve planned operations so the whole Division was becoming very frustrated, so much so that when I asked General Sir John Hackett many years later at a reunion, he told me that if they hadn't let them go to Arnhem there would have been a riot, their feelings were so pent up. There were doubts expressed that we could be going "a bridge too far" for it had been discovered through a Spitfire reconnaissance flight that there was evidence of armour being at Arnhem whereas Browning had stated that Arnhem was only defended by third class troops.

So on September 17th 1944, the whole of our 46 Group comprising 271 and 48 at Down Ampney, 512 and 575 at Broadwell and 233 at Blakehill Farm supplemented by a newly formed Canadian Squadron, 437 RCAF, took the Horsa gliders full of troops, jeeps, guns etc, on a bright Sunday morning on Operation Market Garden. It was a very impressive sight to see all of the Dakotas towing their Horsa gliders rising under an hour, forming up in huge columns and roaring eastwards. Unfortunately we did not have enough Dakotas, Albermarles and Stirlings to drop the whole 1st Airborne Division, so a second lift had to be planned for the next day. When my skipper P/O Len Wilson returned I asked him how the operation had gone and he was most enthusiastic about the gliders going in, the paras falling in their thousands, the most spectacular sight he had ever seen.

On the Monday morning, off the squadrons went again with the second lift. When Len returned from his second lift, again I quizzed him on his reaction. Fantastic sight, again the gliders flying in, the different coloured chutes to indicate ammunition, food, clothing, medical supplies as well as the remaining thousands of paras. I couldn't contain my excitement and asked if I could accompany them on the next mission. "No problem" said Len. "When you put the pins in tomorrow, jump aboard". Again, Chiefy was agreeable for me to go as there was nothing for us to do whilst our aircraft were away. The pins which Len referred to were the locking pins on the undercarriage which prevent the undercarriage being raise whilst it is stationary on the ground. My last job when my aircraft took off was to remove the chocks from the wheels, take the pins out with their long red streamers, show them to the pilot who acknowledges the signal, then I place the pins in the box just inside the open door frame, for as I have said before we flew without any doors fitted.

The next morning I stood by our aircraft ready to go when Len came over to tell me that another Dakota on our flight had developed a trimming fault and as we needed as many aircraft as possible and as he was a senior pilot, he would be taking FZ626. However, he had had a word with the pilot who was going to take our Dakota and he agreed to take me but when the pilot came to our Dak I recognised him as a peace time officer always in full officer uniform and insisted on being saluted to at every meeting. So I backed off and told him that I wasn't allowed to go. I waved him off little knowing that he would not be returning to base, for what we didn't know was that there were two Panzer divisions at Arnhem, the 9th and 10th, who after taking a pounding in Normandy withdrew to Arnhem to refit and re-equip. They reacted very quickly to the Airborne drop and on the Monday evening captured the dropping zones where our Dakotas had been briefed on a re-supply mission, identifying the markers which had been laid out by the ground reconnaissance troops. As we were short of parachutes, wickerwork freefall baskets were used to drop non-breakable or non-explosive supplies, so our aircrews were briefed to fly in at 500 feet at 120 mph in a straight line for two minutes, broad daylight, no fighter escort. The DZs (dropping zones) were surrounded by every anti aircraft gun the Germans could get hold of, mounting hand held machine guns even on supports like piles of orange boxes.

Unsuspecting, our Squadron flew in and were met with a tremendous curtain of exploding shells and tracer bullets. Many Dakotas were shot out of the sky and Len Wilson in his FZ626 as he pulled away from the DZ over Arnhem was hit by a flak gun. Badly damaged he tried to crash his Dakota on the gun site in an attempt to wipe out the gun to make sure it did not shoot down any other following Daks. As he aimed his stricken plane, three parachutes were seen to leave. Len Gaydon, the navigator, and two Air Despatchers, the RASC soldiers who were responsible for the Army supplies we were carrying. Len must have died for at the last minute of this drama he must have slumped over the controls and the aircraft suddenly swung to port, slicing the top of a tall tree, hitting a house in Bakenbergseweg and crashing into the back garden. Their bodies were interred in the garden before being re-buried in the Airborne Cemetery at Oosterbruck.

One of our pilots, Flt Lt David Lord, was hit in the starboard fuel tank as he approached the dropping zone and whilst his wing was burning the despatchers pushed out the panniers. After his first run David asked his navigator, Harry King, to make sure all the panniers had been delivered. Harry found that the rollers in the Dak had been damaged by flak and two panniers had missed the drop, so David elected to fly in again to drop these two panniers. As he circled Arnhem with his starboard wing now enveloped in flames, the whole battle stopped on the ground and friend and foe gazed in wonder at this supreme act of courage. As the two panniers went out, the wing collapsed, the port wing reared up and threw Harry King out of the open door. Harry was the sole survivor. For this action, David Lord was posthumously awarded the only Victoria Cross of Transport Command.

"Professor" Jimmy Edwards managed to avoid the flak in KG444 and cleared the Arnhem area on his way back to base. He told his wireless operator, Bill Randall, to get the sandwiches and coffee flask then suddenly there was a tremendous noise and the aircraft shook violently. Jim thought that they had been hit by flak but looking out of his window he saw the ugly snout and yellow spinners of an FW190, who proceeded to rake them again. The engines suddenly went into fine pitch - Jim gave the order to bail out, which second pilot Alan Clarke and navigator Harry Sorensen promptly obeyed. Then Jim collected his parachute, put the automatic pilot in and raced down the aircraft to bale out through the open door. But lying near the door were the four air dispatchers and Jim yelled "Why haven't you jumped." "Can't, sir" came the reply, "all wounded in the legs". So throwing his chute down, Jim went back to the cockpit but he couldn't see through the windscreen which was now covered in black soot and oil. So he knocked out the escape exit in the roof and by standing in the seat with his head in the slip stream he brought the aircraft down into a small wood where the small saplings broke his speed without breaking the aircraft up. As he landed the nose dug in and catapulted Jim out of the top hatch and on to the ground where he was joined by Bill Randall who had also stayed on board. Jim said that they felt very vulnerable lying there in the yellow Mae Wests but as the Fokker came in for the kill, he ran out of ammunition for only three rounds were fired. Jim had many burns to his face and ears, his ears shrivelled like cockleshells (the reason he wore his hair long to hide them) and for his brave action Jim received the DFC. The greatest disappointment of this gallant sacrifice by our aircrews who flew these suicidal missions for four days on the trot, was that less than 20% were received by the paras on the ground for there was no radio communication to tell our pilots that the DZs had been captured.

Back at Down Ampney we all felt very depressed by this severe setback to our Airborne operations and were appalled by the state of our battered aircraft staggering back from Arnhem with huge holes in the wings and fuselage and engines smoking through over-boosting. On the neighbouring airfield of Fairford, their Stirlings were also streaming back and one day we were horrified to see a Stirling coming in against the circuit firing red Very flares indicating a request for priority to land because of casualties on board and this Stirling crashed head on with another Stirling on the circuit. Locked together in a lethal embrace, they plummeted to earth leaving a long thick black column of smoke hanging in the sky. We, the ground crew, felt very sorry for our aircrew who carried out this re-supply mission knowing that although many of them were flying to their deaths, the supplies had to be taken to the beleaguered paras who needed them so badly. I have always maintained that this was the most courageous flying of the war. Broad daylight, no fighter escort, no guns to defend themselves at 500 feet and 120 mph into an inferno of anti aircraft gunfire was absolutely suicidal. Nevertheless, without stress counselling, work continued with our Transport duties, flying in all weathers with urgently needed supplies and the return of casualties.

Christmas came and went, memorable for the severe weather with ablutions frozen, no hot water, melting snow in the fire buckets to get shaving water. Not enough blankets to keep out the cold, not enough coke for the single stove in the Nissen huts. One of our airman had brought his racing bike back to camp and the frost shattered his frame. Then on March 22nd 1945, a list went up for about 30 flight mechanics to report to the Airmen's Mess at 3.30 pm with small personal kit. When we assembled at the Mess there were several lorries which we boarded, not knowing where we were going. Eventually after a few hours on the road eastwards we arrived at an unoccupied airfield, God knows where, where we disembarked and moved into the huts. Very few electric light bulbs so many of us were in the dark. We did have a welcoming gesture, for as we bedded down, we heard for the first time the drone of a V1 buzz bomb which exploded with a shattering roar not far from the camp.

The next morning, it was a brilliant day, sun shining and a clear blue sky. We inspected our Dakotas which had been filled with fuel on the previous night and stood by to wave them off as they towed the Horsa gliders to Germany. I stood on the airfield in absolute awe as Lancasters, Halifaxes, Stirlings also towing gliders hundreds of them at different heights, Mosquitoes, Marauders, Mitchells, Mustangs, Lightnings, Typhoons, hordes of them all roaring eastwards in all directions as far as the eye could see. High above, a lone Fortress would drop an orange flare and from all points of the compass other Fortresses formatted in this flare until they build up a 12 block formation and off they would wheel towards Germany whilst another Fortress dropped another flare. This continued until mid morning. I felt very privileged to be part of this enormous demonstration of air power, as we took part in the last Airborne operation of the war Operation Varsity (the Crossing of the Rhine). About 40 years later I learned that our mystery airfield was Gosfield in Essex.

So ended the war but whilst Bomber, Fighter and Coastal Commands were standing down, as we in Transport Command became more busy than ever for there were ex-prisoners of war from Germany and Japan to bring back to the UK and for this purpose Transport Command set up a number of staging posts from the UK to India and Japan and for the next twelve months our Dakotas brought back hundreds of thousands of time expired personnel. I left 271 and Down Ampney to join 575 Squadron on this air route, stationed at Bari in Italy where I took over station sports.

So I thankfully survived the war, to organise a stained glass memorial window in the village church at Down Ampney and now have a thriving Association of ex Down Ampney personnel, but that's another story. To conclude the Down Ampney history I must record that on VJ Day 1945 when everyone was so relieved that we were not going to Japan because of the atomic bomb being dropped, there was a huge celebratory party and beer, wine and spirits flowed like water. Even our officers were in their alcofrolics and they decided to make a huge firework. So they obtained a 3' 6" clay drain pipe from a nearby builder鈥檚 store, and filled it fully of Very cartridges and prepared to light it. At that moment Lt. Col. Joubert, our 271 South African Commanding Officer, who had flown every dangerous mission the Squadron had executed, and had also been a fighter pilot in the First World War, pulled his rank and claimed the right to light it. Unsteadily, for he was "in his cups", he bent down to light it when suddenly it exploded. The clay pipe shattered and a piece removed the back of Joubert's skull and he died two days later in Wroughton Hospital. So tragically ended the days of a very brave and greatly respected officer who had left his native South Africa to fight for us.

Last year our last remaining RAF building (our gymnasium) was demolished to enable a small close of houses to be built. Cirencester Council invited suggestions for naming the Close and I submitted the name: 'Joubert Close' to honour and perpetuate his name but unfortunately they decided to name it after a popular farm house. The way of life I suppose - the once busy airfield has returned to peace time agriculture and war time deeds of 'daring do' have receded in peoples' memories.

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