大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War Website by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Leslie Landells and has been added to the site with his permission. He fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

My next move was to the Glasgow area, where we were to be transferred to Canada for further flying training. We eventually sailed from Greenock, escorted by a large number of American warships in convoy. We were on the middle one of three ex-luxury liners. Very close by were two heavy cruisers and an even larger warship. Later we were joined by some destroyers. It was said later that there were perhaps 10/12 ships in total. R.A.F. personnel couldn鈥檛 say for certain, as we were very rarely allowed above deck. During the voyage, which took about 4/5 days or so, only the odd destroyer was seen in the vicinity. The rest were positioned on the horizon. On occasions however more came in closer at speed. Sirens would be heard so we thought German 鈥楿鈥� Boats were about. For this reason, the convoy changed course many times during the crossing, which of course was why it took so long.

Then the weather deteriorated and we suffered a gale force storm. Initially, as we left the Clyde estuary, I had gone to the canteen for my first meal on board ship. Being an American ship, there was plenty of food and a wide variety available. Somehow I chose a portion of sauerkraut, as it looked so succulent, but one forkful was enough, as it just didn鈥檛 agree with me. Unfortunately at the same time, the ship had started to roll somewhat. I ran for the heads (toilets), but they were so far away and I only just made them in time. How I made it back to my bunk I just do not know. From then on I felt so ill; I couldn鈥檛 even enter the Mess for 3 or 4 days. I existed on a few slices of bread or roll with something or other, which was sometimes brought to me in my bunk by a fellow airman. About 1 to 2 days from America I managed to eat the occasional British type snack in the canteen.

I remember one incident, which occurred before we were due to disembark. About 36 hours out, a liner in front of us seemed to be emitting a lot of smoke. It left the convoy and was last seen to be slowly proceeding with 2/3 destroyers as escort. The rest of the convoy just sailed on. Later we heard this liner had aboard many Italian Prisoners of War and arson was suspected. We were allowed on deck for a short time afterwards and saw in the distance the liner seemingly on fire. Sometime later we read a New York news report on the burning liner. There was no mention of sabotage.

After a day or so, we saw the New York skyline with its skyscrapers and docked somewhere near Manhattan Island, I think. After disembarkation, we first travelled on the New York underground, and then changed to take a train on a normal train line.

Skirting the Great Lakes, we travelled to Canada and ended up at Monckton, New Brunswick. I remember the scenery was spectacular. We saw the first bananas we had seen for years at some underground stations (we bought some of course). The American equivalent of our W.V.S. also served us refreshments at nearly every stop. They made us feel very welcome.

Monckton itself was quite a small town, and I cannot remember much about it. But the camp itself was obviously in a holding area of sorts for service personnel in and out from England, USA and Canada.

As usual the local people were very kind. With a friend I was invited through a WVS unit to visit a Finnish family some miles away. Mother, father and daughter seemed to me to be living as they had lived in Finland. Their log cabin home was situated in a clearing on the edge of a very large pine forest alongside a lake. I pray and trust the war never caused them any harm or grief. They really were innocents in a world in torment, not of their making. As I write, it has just come to mind that they could have been refugees from their 1939/40 war with Russia, who had invaded Finland. Helen their daughter, 12/14 years of age, couldn鈥檛 wait to take us out in their rowing boat. She treated this very large lake as if it was only a large pond, but with respect. I recall to this day the song 鈥淥h My Darling Clementine鈥�. Although I had been brought up in the countryside in Cumbria, the immensity of the scenery was breathtaking. And how the family appeared to accept being part of it and make it their home so very moving.

Incidentally, I think it was Gordon Wright, a fellow Pupil Pilot 鈥� who was with me when I met the Finnish family. Then he was posted to Pensacola, Houston, Texas, an American Flying Boat Training Base. I was posted to De Winton, Alberta, Canada. I think the next time we met was when he called 鈥榦ut of the blue鈥� when I was on a special Government Training Scheme. (A most pleasant surprise). At the time he was attending a Teachers' Training College in the South of England. He specialised as a flying instructor throughout the war. (I was pleased he didn鈥檛 fly with Bomber Command. He really was such a gentle, kind and Christian person. He would have found it hard on his conscience to accept the moral consequences of bombing towns and cities). He eventually became Headmaster of a private school until he retired. Unfortunately for quite some years now, both he and his wife have suffered serious health problems. Gordon suffered a number of strokes. But he still presses on and we still correspond, exchanging memories and news, especially at Christmas. (It is a privilege to be a friend of such an unassuming and genuine character). I was a little envious when he was posted to Pensacola, USA. I thought he would be piloting the American designed Catalina flying boat (a beautiful looking aircraft). But it was not to be for, as I have said, he qualified as a flying instructor on Tiger Moths Magisters.

In Autumn 1942 I was then posted to 31 EFTS - De Winton, Alberta. We travelled on the Canadian Pacific railroad. A long journey over four days or so. The train stopped mainly to take aboard fuel, water and general provisions. The only major stopover was at Winnipeg, the capital of the prairies. The train stopped on the outskirts of the city about lunchtime. We then marched into the centre and were allowed to see the sights for a few hours. It looked like a typical western township, just like as shown in films, although quite large.

The length of the train and carriages was formidable. Then, I seem to remember more freight wagons being taken on, together with an extra large engine. The extra freight wagons may have been connected with the wheat crops and the many large granaries spaced out alongside the railway line throughout the prairie. Most of the crops by then had been harvested, leaving endless miles of stubble, which were so uninteresting to look at, although the vast landscape itself was quite breathtaking. Most, if not all of the passenger carriages had 鈥榣et down鈥� bunk beds. Also there were special observation carriages. But alogether it was a long, long haul to Calgary, Alberta our final destination.

On arrival on 6th October 1942 at 31 EFTS De Winton, I commenced flying the American single engine Stearman biplane. The Stearman was radial engined with a sheet metal airframe. Much more powerful than the canvas airframed Tiger Moths. (Very much like the WWI fighter aircraft). We also flew the Canadian Tiger Moth, which was different from the British, in that it was fitted with a perspex hood over the cockpit. (Presumably because of the winter weather). Interspersed with flying we were instructed and tested on all the usual ground subjects. The Stearman was a delight to fly. In addition to previous training, we were instructed on aerial combat and even dive bombing.

There was a further tragic accident during this time. A Czech pilot was killed when simulating aerial combat with an English pupil. The English pilot parachuted and landed safely. he Czech pilot who died was said to have been an 鈥楢ce鈥�. So his death came as a great shock to everyone. He was buried with full military honours in a cemetery on a hill overlooking Calgary. I had been in his company on more than one occasion. He really impressed me with his personal crusading spirit to free his homeland from the evil Nazi regime. I can still recollect him in my 鈥榤ind鈥檚 eye鈥� as I write.

The Czech pilot was one of the many European nationalities on our course. They came from Poland, Holland, Czechoslovakia and France. Also from Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. (I felt I was in another world which I found difficult to digest). But I knew I was growing up fast and that somehow the magnitude of the war was reaching me. I found that the Dutch kept together in a group off duty. But in the mess and rest rooms they were very friendly to me when I sat down near them. I can only recall well one French man, with whom I spoke at times. He was well over 30 and wore a French Air Force uniform with pilot鈥檚 wings and medals. He was married with children. Rather sad in his outlook and you could sense that wherever he was stationed, his heart would always be with his family in his homeland. I trust and prayed he would survive and see his loved ones again. Actually quite a few of these European pupils wore their country鈥檚 medals and brevets denoting their skills and bravery, but were there because they needed to be instructed and trained in basic R.A.F. procedures to comply with R.A.F. standards (especially in the English language). The Polish airmen, as was well known, were a rather wild bunch. But were really dedicated characters to their cause, which was to liberate Poland and its people. As a group they were way ahead of us Englishmen when it came to training to gain our wings.

Incidentally when our Czech comrade was being buried and the bugler sounded the 鈥淟ast Post鈥�, we were interrupted by what sounded like fireworks exploding. Then, on the far side of the cemetery we saw a long procession of Chinese mourners following a parade of their customary symbolic dragons etc. The intermingling of the 鈥淟ast Post鈥� with the noise and firecrackers coming from the Chinese procession were surreal with the vast lonely backdrop of the Rocky mountains seemingly, so close by.

Once again, I, a village boy from Cumbria had a brief but profound experience of coming close to yet another nationality and culture. How many countless numbers of times did others have similar experiences 鈥� to a much greater extent 鈥� during the war?

The Chinese no doubt would have been descendants of the many thousands who had worked on the Canadian and American railroads as they were being built.

Go to, " Memories of further Pilot Training in Canada in 1942/43 and in the UK Part 1" by Leslie Landells

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