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Someone had blundered and "They" were escaping!
Once again, Churchill hit the cognac and screamed at his beloved Royal Navy to stop the enemy ships from reaching the sanctuary of the Fatherland. The task fell to the Fleet Air Arm and their ancient 'Stringbags'.
These were the same Fairey Swordfish which Jock had lovingly tended during the good years of Peace at Donibristle. The 'Stringbags' attacked with a ferocity above and beyond the call of duty - unleasing their 'tin fish' from zero feet. Some eight aircraft and their crews 'Failed To Return'.
'Scharnhorst' and 'Gneisenau' escaped!
For Jock and his comrades in 233, the war continued. Jock's old Dundee oppo, Bert Stewart (now L.A.C.) had secured a niche for himself - with a little help from Jock - servicing and overhauling the Squadron's escape dinghies. This job was admirably suited to Bert's sense of responsibility. The aircraft dinghies were stowed in a bath-shaped compartment, integral with the cabin door and, in the event of an emergency 'ditching', a release handle could be pulled, activating a bottle of CO2 which inflated the dinghy, causing it to burst outwards and float on the sea ready for the unfortunate crew to clamber aboard.
L.A.C. Stewart set up a very efficient 'Dinghy Bay' and, in his own small way, contributed to aircrew morale by demonstrating the operating system and how to get the best out of it, also convincing the crews that it would not let them down. Once again, 'Jock's Luck' was to display itself before leaving 233? The occasion was during a rapid dispersal of aircraft, on account of the possibility of 'unfriendly visitors'.

With L.A.C. Galloway (ex Dundee) in the cockpit 'manning the brakes', and L.A.C. Brodie (ex Dundee) hitching up the tractor to the 'Hudson', Corporal Jock gave the order, "Brakes Off - Go Ahead!" All went well until they hit the slope, at which point the 'Hudson' started gaining on the slow moving tractor - then the 'dream syndrome' took over! In what appeared to be uncontrollable slow motion, the port tow cable somehow detached itself. The tractor driver turned in terror to see the lumbering 'Hudson' about to crush him out of existence.
The 'ice-cool' Jock was dancing like a mad Dervish and screaming, "Brakes! Stop! Brakes!" Slowly the 'Hudson' swung to starboard and stuck one blade of its three-bladed prop deep into the caterpillar tracks of the tractor.

Blind panic replaced the Dervish dance. What to do? Right! Chock up the 'Hudson' and ensure the brakes are full on. Jock's panic now subsided into despair. "Tractor, roll forward, slowly, and prise the prop-blade out of the tracks - we'll have to risk the damage." Jock's order sounded more like a whimper than a command. The recovery operation was carried out in complete silence as the erks knew Corporal Jock was 'right in it!' The operation was reasonably successful. The prop-blade was bent like a full-blown tulip - which would entail an engine change to check for secondary damage. All at a time when every aircraft was desperately needed!

The ensuing Court of Inquiry was conducted by none other than - Wing Commander Kydd (he of the 20mm cannon fiasco!) Chiefy Hudson, in 'Best Blue', and various other supernumeraries, provided the back-cloth. Corporal Jock, in mitigation, respectfully suggested that aircraft like the 'Hudson' should be towed backwards, using the tail wheel as a tow-point.
"Don't you know, Corporal, that aircraft are designed and, indeed, are meant to go forward?" queried the illustrious Wing Commander, with ill-concealed triumph!
"With all due respect, sir, surely the design intent was for AIRBORNE aircraft to go forward, not necessarily GROUNDED aircraft?" Jock, fearlessly, grovelled.
'Jock's Luck' held and the Wingco conceded the point, with the grace becoming an Officer and a Gentleman! The reprimand that followed was couched in advisory terms and the occasional allusion as to how respected the Ground Crews were. Stout Fellows!
Coincidentally, shortly after the above fiasco, all aircraft throughout the RAF were towed in reverse - on Air Ministry Instructions??
Some weeks later, No. 1 O.A.D.U. (Overseas Aircraft Dispatch Unit) was formed at RAF Portreath, some twenty miles down the coast form St. Eval.
Apparently, they had run into deep trouble due to the shortage of Fitters and Riggers with experience of American aircraft. Corporal Jock was duly posted to Portreath and, although the introduction to St. Eval was a bit of an eye-opener, it was nothing to what greeted him at Portreath - for entirely different reasons!
RAF Portreath was the nearest thing Jock had seen to compare with First World War photographs of R.F.C. Field Headquarters in France! The aerodrome was perched on top and on the edge of the Cornish cliffs, facing out towards the Atlantic Ocean. There was little evidence of the 'Domestic End' of the camp and the few Nissen huts available were occupied by a polyglot rabble of Servicemen whose motto was clearly, "What we have, we hold!" Suffice to say that Corporal Jock's address was -

"No. 2 Cowshed
R.A.F. Portreath
Redruth
Cornwall."

For reasons completely alien to Jock, this address was the cause of much mirth and hilarity to his nearest and dearest up in Scotland! This billet had, in fact, been an actual cowshed, but was now prettied up with a new coat of limewash and the cobbled floor had been given a good hosing down.
The Service-Issue stove could not be used because it was continually water-logged. The six beds consisted of three planks each, wedged into a footboard and a headboard. The complete contraption standing about six inches above the ground - providing the end boards did not sink down between the cobbles!
Trust the 'Brylcreem Boys' to get all the cushie billets!
Jock had to report to the Flying Control Tower, the only building on the airfield, at 07.00 hours on his first day.
Once again, pandemonium greeted our Corporal! The lower offices were occupied by the ground crews, with Flight Sergeant Pett in charge (?) The room was full of smoke and packed to the gunnels with smelly airmen, all shouting at the same time! Chiefy Pett was doing his best to bring about some semblance of good order and discipline - but failing miserably.

Jock struggled his way to the front to report to Chiefy. The magnet which drew the Chiefy's attention? A Corporal in a clean-looking uniform, NOT needing a shave, and NOT in need of a haircut!
"Where the hell have you come from, Corporal?" queried Chiefy.
"Posted from 233 Squadron, Flight Sergeant," replied Jock.
"Are you the 'Hudson man' ?" was Chiefy's next question. The effect was electric! The babbling ceased and all heads turned towards this brand new shiny Corporal. (Who was this man who laid claim to actually knowing something about American aircraft?)

"I'm your man, Chiefy - what's your problem?" answered Jock. Whether it was emotion, or shock, or relief, or all three, but Chiefy Pett never spoke. He weakly pointed to the Aircraft Serviceability Board. There were nine aircraft, all U/S (Unserviceable) and the first five were Lockheed 'Hudsons'! Jock instantly recognised the majority of the defects and asked for two Fitters and two Riggers. The babbling immediately broke out again and Jock was inundated with volunteers. In the short spell of silence, Flight Sergeant Pett had assumed a new mantle of authority and brought the rabble to order.
"Anything else, Corporal?" asked Chiefy.
"Yes, Chiefy, I'll need a garry (truck) to go back to 233 at St. Eval and borrow a load of equipment - you seem to be a bit short of Yankee gear. Maybe you'd like to phone Chiefy Hudson at St. Eval and get his co-operation?"
"O.K. Corporal - L.A.C. Thorburn, get 'Knocker' Faulkner and Mattie Wanless and go along with the Corporal up to St. Eval - and, Corporal, take it easy with the 'garry', it's the only one we've got!" Chiefy sounded a bit apprehensive.

Although scarcely forty-eight hours away from his old Squadron, Jock was welcomed back like a prodigal son! Half an hour's talk with Chiefy Hudson and Jock's team were loading the 'garry'. Back to Portreath, via Bert and Bess Stewart's cottage as a diversion. They were delighted to receive visitors, especially Jock! Bess had taken a sudden bout of homesickness after Jock had left St. Eval and Bert was sure this unexpected visit would lift her out of it.

With cries of, "See you when we bring back the borrowed gear! Keep your chin up! Thanks for the 'char and buns!" the team made track for Portreath. Arriving at approximately 20.00 hours they made directly for dispersal area and started work. Mattie to the 'garry' to pick up something from the cookhouse and by 23.59 hours two of the crippled 'Hudsons' were serviceable and ready for Test Flight. Chiefy Pett came over to the Site and, with obvious pride, told the gang to 'Stand Down' and get some sleep. "But be here at 06.00 hours for Flight Testing!" was Chiefy's parting word of thanks! The heroes eventually hit their 'Macdonalds' (beds) at about 01.00 hours for a good night's sleep - of four hours!

By the end of the second week all the 'Hudsons' had been repaired and Flight Tested and were on their way to the Far East with fresh aircrews. The counter-offensive against the Japs had started at Kohima and Imphal and every conceivable type of aircraft that could possibly fly was top priority.
Clapped out 'Blenheims' were made fly-able, Martin 'Marylands' and 'Marauders' were modified and serviced. Bristol 'Beaufighters' just needed refuelled and 'bounced off' again - Portreath was a madhouse for the next three months!

Even in this madhouse some events beggared description! One such was to stay with Jock all his life.
After the usual hectic day, Corporal Jock was ordered to have an early tea and be back on the Site to receive a 'bouncer'. These were aircraft which dropped in, refuelled and took off again as soon as they had been finally briefed. Normally they were civilian 'Dakotas' with civilian crews but, in this case, it turned out to be an RAF Transport Command 'Dak'.
Having dined, sumptuously, on three cold sardines and an exhausted piece of lettuce, Jock was once more ready for the fray and arrived in time to see his 'Dak' land at the far end of the runway and taxy round to the Site. Jock's Duty Crew immediately pounced on her and started the refuelling process at the same time checking engine oil levels, tyre pressure, hydraulic reservoirs, flying controls etc - all in accordance with 'Between Flight' inspection procedures.
Just as L.A.C. 'Geordie' Thorburn reported, "All buttoned up, Corp." Chiefy and an unknown Squadron Leader happened on the scene, complete with two civilian gentlemen, 'dopplegangers' for the Gestapo! "Corporal, started Chiefy, "is she all OK and ready to go?" Jock turned smartly, saluted the S/Ldr and replied, "All fuelled up, chocked up and controls locked, Flight Sergeant!"
"Good," interjected the S/Ldr. "Now gather round your Ground Crew and pay attention! I want every piece of cowling removed, every inspection panel opened and searched for any suspicious article of any description. If you find anything, DO NOT TOUCH IT! - But report it to our 'friends' here (indicating the two 'Special Branch' visitors). "Be especially vigilant in the undercarriage nacelles - Understood? Good! Carry on, Corporal!"
"What about the floorboards, Sir?" ventured Jock.
"Excellent, Corporal, good man, good man!" They set to with a will and Chiefy stood by, almost blushing with pride, "What's it all about, Chiefy?" asked Jock.
"Buggered if I know!" muttered Chiefy. "I was just about to start my first pint when the S.W.O. told me to report to the Officers' Mess, at the double. When I got there that S/Ldr and the two civvies were standing with the oddest bunch of buggers you ever did see!"
The Duty Crew was stood down for the usual 'cuppa char 'n wad and a quick drag' whilst Jock kept sniffing around for the 'suspicious article' but the 'Dak' was clean as a whistle?
Ultimately, at approximately 01.00hours the crew bus arrived and unloaded the air crew, also 'the oddest bunch of buggers' that Chiefy had ever seen! Jock had to admit Chiefy had a point!
There were some five or six of them, the men wore old-fashioned, velvet 'Fedoras' and Victorian type suits, whilst the two ladies in 1922 style clothes and cloche hats pulled hard down to the eyebrows were reminiscent of the 'Charleston' era!
Not a word was spoken by anyone, including the Ground Crew who could only stand and gape. The eerie silence was broken by the command from the cabin window, "Contact Starboard," followed by "Contact Port" and the aircraft became alive. The motley gang of passengers were shepherded aboard and the cabin doors closed.
"Corporal, get your crew spaced out with torches down the length of the perimeter track and you, personally, see him onto the runway. This poor bugger's not getting a Flare-path!" There was genuine concern in the Chiefy's voice.

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