264 Squadron News

September 2018 We Defy Issue 3/18

Comments: Well it took 6 months from selling our bungalow in Shipton Gorge with its lovely views to moving into a flat nearer to town and with no actual personal

garden, but we’re finally made it, but I have to say it hasn’t, and still isn’t, easy. The stress levels caused have been unbelievable, with broken chains, problems with the lease on the new prop-erty etc. and trying to download 62 years of accu-mulated articles and memorabilia (i.e.: Rubbish), has been a nightmare in itself and combined with our age has put some serious strains on our sani-ty!, but as the motto goes ”We- Defy” and so we persevere. If any of you are thinking of moving, a serious word of advice…...DON’T or get your children to do it while you go on holiday! However, I will try to make the Squadron News a little interesting, assuming I can find all, or indeed any, of my information that was packed carefully into boxes and that seems to have mysteriously evaded being found, but I live in hope.

Just a Thought: It would be nice if some of you could drop me a line and tell me how you are and if you’re doing anything of interest. I often think I’m sending Squadron News out to a total void. It would be nice to hear occasionally from you. But thanks to the very few who do send the occasional missive.

Other News: I spoke to Gwenno Boden the other day (please remember that from the time I start the edition it may be 3 months before you receive it) so some news is a bit late I’m afraid.. However, she seems to be coping well despite her sad loss and her se-rious eye condition, she is not only a very lovely but also a plucky lady and a privilege to call a friend. Our worthy President, Peter and wife Lindsay de-spite their many health issues battle on and in-deed went to the far north of Norway and Iceland. He tells me that although they didn’t do much sight seeing on land, they very much enjoyed the food. (whilst I slave over a hot keyboard with a slice of cold toast…..life can be cruel can’t it!) Whether you voted in or out of Brexit, and being the first one to admit to utter confusion over the way things have gone, I take comfort in the fact that our politicians seem equally or indeed more confused than me. What an awful shambles this has turned out to be. Come back Churchill or even Thatcher, at least they were decisive, even if tak-ing the wrong decisions at times! And I speak from my usual standpoint…...total ignorance!

Health: I haven’t heard of any specific health problems from members, but have no doubt we’re all suffer-ing a bit from the ravages of time and although all having led a totally blameless life (who am I kid-ding?), we all have their own health problems to cope with. I hope that that you find the strength to deal with them and best wishes to you all.

Editor: Geoff Faulkner 3 Brydian Court, Barrack Street, Bridport, DT6 3LN: Tel: 01308 538619 Email: squadon264@uwclub.net

Please Note:

There is a change of my home address, so that when you bombard me with pages of interesting information, anecdotes and photos, it won’t go astray, as I’m sure it has in the past. The email address remains the same but the phone number has also changed to 01308 538619, so there you have it. So now I can expect an avalanche of let-ters, Christmas cards, Photos etc. can’t I?

THANK YOU You’ve got to admit that most of you chaps relied on your ground crew to ensure your aircraft were safe and fit to fly, very often a fact overlooked. But as usual I have to thank Ken Burton, one of our older stalwarts Ground Crew men from the War to come up trumps with a suggestion that if I wasn’t getting any stories of “Life on and after 264”, would I be interested in one “Before and onto 264”, you got to be joking sunshine!, I nearly snatched it from the Postman’s hands. Thanks Ken you’re a hero!

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Continuing Desmond Hughes (ex 264 Squadron) fascinating story:

THE SOFT UNDERBELLY'

On the 25th June, 600 Sqn moved to Malta. We reached there in an exhilarating wave-top flight of about two hours, skirting Hammamet and Linosa on the way. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and nothing to be seen on the empty sea until the yellow-ochre smudge of the Maltese cliffs showed up on the horizon. A gentle climb up to circuit height and we dropped down on Luqa, each aircraft being marshalled into its individual blast-pen of soft yellow sandstone blocks and rubble-filled petrol cans. The island was choc-a-bloc with ships, aircraft, equipment and men. The Luqa Mess was full so we found ourselves most comfortably billeted in the Meadowbank Hotel in Sliema - a welcome improvement on our tented camps in Africa, especially the grotty one at Bone. Everyone seemed to be still celebrating the end of the long siege. Good food and drink were plentiful and, to us incomers at least, the fare and the service at the Union Club (lobster thermidor, no less!) were remarkably luxurious for wartime. We were glad, too, to be able to buy decent bush-jacket uniforms and suede desert boots - we must have been a pretty scruffy-looking lot on arrival. Luqa was commanded by Gp Capt 'Willie' (later ACM Sir Walter) Merton who personally wel-comed us on arrival; our month's stay was to be a very happy one. The AOC, Air Marshal Sir Keith Park, driving his scarlet MG sports car, was one of our first visitors. The airfield, considering the pounding it had received from the Luftwaffe and the Regia Aeronautica, was in astonishingly

good nick, though the sheer drop off the end of the main runway into a sandstone quarry gave one food for thought. The radar coverage towards Sicily was superb and the fighter controllers a formidable lot - the splendid Gp Capt Woodhall, from my Duxford days, in overall charge in the Ops Room; the former 601 Auxiliary, Roger Frankland, leading the resident team; 'Brownie' and Bill Pratley due to go ashore in Sicily with their mobile GCIs soon after H-Hour. All these people really knew their stuff and had our com-plete confidence. During the run-up to the invasion, code named 'Husky', the Axis scarcely ever tried ap-proaching the island, let alone attacking it; this was so by night as well as by day. However, during one precautionary night patrol I had a distant view of the

demise of a Wellington which was shot down in flames by a Ju88 night fighter off the Sicilian coast. At this time Malta's night fighter force comprised, in addition to us, 108 Sqn on Beaufight-ers commanded by Wg Cdr Jasper Read and a flight of Mosquitos of 256 Sqn under Sqn Ldr Ian Allen; they were not part of the Desert Air Force and the Mosquitos were not allowed to fly over enemy-held territory lest their Mark VIII AI should fall into their hands. During the night of the 1Oth July Sicily was invaded, the Americans on the left and the British on the right, and 600's 'purple patch' began. After a quiet start which suggested they had been taken by surprise, the Axis bombers showed up in agreeable numbers over the beach-heads and as our GCIs got ashore and deployed - which they did with quite remarkable speed - we inflicted grievous losses on them. 600 knocked down 25 in the first week; the most successful crews were Paddy Green and Reg Gillies with seven (including four in one patrol) and Johnny Turnbull with Sgt Fowler who notched up six. I was content enough with two in ten days. The morale of the squadron hit a new high and the competition between the crews to be allocated the most favourable slots in the night flying pro-gramme became intense. Over 1000

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hours were flown in a month, a high figure for defensive night fighters. Incidentally, the night after Paddy Green got his four bombers down, Ian Allen of 256 in his Mosquito shot down five in one patrol. Enemy losses at night were appalling, but they kept on coming.

The Allied armies made steady progress, the Eighth going up the east coast and the Ameri-cans sweeping through the west of Sicily towards Palermo. Enough airfields had been captured for us to follow the Spitfires into the island so, a fortnight after the initial assault, we flew into Cassibile, just south of Syracuse. We were to stay there for two months. The airstrip was mag-nificent long and smooth and cut clean through a very large plantation of olive and orange trees. There we found a complete Italian flare-path outfit, including a mercury-vapour floodlight and a searchlight to act as a homing beacon if required. We also acquired a cooking-trailer which we adapted to act as a mobile ops room. Sadly, we found on the shore a succession of bodies which had been washed up on the rocks. They were those of the airborne assault force whose gliders had been cast off many miles too far from the coast by their inexperienced DC3 pilots; according to some reports, these were ex-airline pilots shaken by their first experience of German flak. The survivors who did get down on terra firma took their objectives and held them with matchless heroism until relieved by the main assault force racing up from the south.

There was only one drawback to Cassibile — it was altogether too close to the Syracuse an-chorage and our dusk patrols were fired on by the assembled shipping every night as we took off and climbed away. We protested vigorously to the Navy by telephone but they swore blind that they were being attacked by Ju88s. It was not until one aircraft, flown by Flt Lt Raleigh Hilk-

en, was hit by a 20mm Oerlikon shell (fortuitously, not an HE one) that the Navy believed us — and then only because we were able to plonk the offending missile on the local Cap-tain's desk. Faced with this powerful evidence, he immediately offered Paddy Green and me large pink gins and a hot shower which we were very glad to accept. Mirabile dictum, we were not shot at after this. Oddly enough, the chief culprit proved to be a converted cross-channel ferry ('Ulster Queen', I seem to remember) in which I had travelled many times between Belfast and Liverpool before the war.

Shortly after we got to Cassibile, I was on patrol under GCI control near Mount Etna. The controller apologised for the absence of customers. The night was clear but quite dark; I was studying the stars when I saw a dull red light coming at me from dead ahead but seeming to be 1000 feet or so above. I chided Laurie sharply: "Get on your tubes — we've just had an aircraft go over the top, head on!" I went into a hard 180 degree turn, during which Laurie plaintively replied "I was on the tubes and they were clear!" Shortly after I had rolled out of the turn, I saw the light again which, as before, seemed to come at us head-on and above. Laurie had nothing on his tubes. Twice more I turned about and twice saw the light. I called the controller and asked if there was anything near us; he said that we were absolutely alone but that we would be relieved by another Beaufighter in five minutes. I asked him to put me in contact with the relief which he duly did. Laurie's Al worked perfectly so we returned to base in a very thoughtful frame of mind!

After landing I told the other crews "I think I have seen 73 Sqn's dreaded phantom light. It be-haved like an aircraft but neither Al nor GCI picked it up!" They roared

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with laughter and helpfully suggested that I might be in need of a rest. I said: ,.Just you wait - some-one else will see this baby!" - and I was right. Three nights.later another crew ('Togs' Mellersh and Bill Armstrong, I think), had a similar experience, so I felt a bit better. However, we never did find an explanation for this disturbing phenomenon. It was now the very height of the Mediterranean summer and midday temperatures were horribly high. We had to rig makeshift sunshades to shield the cockpits; this made them just about inhabita-ble as we strapped in for our flight tests but even so the temperatures ran away up above 120 de-grees by the time we started up and taxied to the end of the runway'. The ground crews also had their problems in tihis searing heat; they had to be very careful not to touch the flat surfaces of the wings and fuselage with their bodies as they worked stripped to their shorts. It was orly too easy to lose a large expanse of tender skin from the inside of the forearms. Peter Scurlock was intrigued to find that cuts and burns suffered at Cassibile were extremely diffi-cult to heal, yet dried up within a couple of days if people moved on elsewhere; we wondered whether there was some peculiar effect from volcanic dust from the nearby active volcano, Etna. For me, one side-effect of the scorching heat was sheer fatigue. I would be up all night, supervising the programme and taking my turn to-fly patrols of three or four hours when I tried to get some rest in my tent during the day, I would first sleep like the proverbial log but after an hour or so then would wake-up caked in sweat, often shivering as it evaporated. Towel-ling down would help for awhile but all too soon I would wake up again and the cycle of insomnia would' continue. What worried me particularly was that I was beginning too feel tired in the air and on one occasion, when required to fly a second sortie one night, I asked Peter Scurlock to give me something to keep me awake; he said "I have just the thing - some caffeine tablets.”, Despite taking these just before I flew, I had the greatest trouble keeping my eyes open as I returned from patrol. I had turned the Beau onto the approach path when I was many miles out to sea, for I could see the flare-pah clearly from an altitude of 4000 feet. I dropped the wheels, set the flaps at maximum lift and trimmed into a powered approach. All seemed to be going nicely but I clearly nodded off be-cause I was rudely awakened by urgent shout from Laurie. He was just in time for we had sunk well below the proper glide-path and would have hit the sea about a mile from the runway. Poor Peter Scurlock was very upset when I hinted that he had got his tablets mixed up and given me sleeping pills! I soon forgot about this little bit of excitement for a week later I was on patrol north east of Catania when a determined attack was mounted on a clutch of Spitfire airstrips at Lentini These were liber-ally scattered with incendiary and fragmentation bombs. Bill Pratley at the GCI put us into contact with a Ju88 which never saw us and was smartly sent down in flames. Pratley then put us on to an-other Ju88 which did see us and tried to evade; three of my cannons jammed but I was lucky enough to knock it down with a one second burst from the fourth cannon and the machine-guns, using a lot of deflection' we saw this crash and then Laurie re-cocked the cannons. He had no soon-er got back on his tubes than he picked up a third Ju88 without help from GCI - this one was happily wending its way home after dropping its bombs. Laurie produced another copybook interception; I hit the Hun in the starboard engine but it refused to burn'. The top gunner sprayed tracer around us hitting my starboard wing and engine air-intake as he dived away. I pushed the nose hard down (propelling Laurie sharply up into his Perspex dome!) and gave a very long burst, hitting him hard. He crashed into the sea, this being witnessed by Paddy Green who had arrived to join the fray. Pratley then put me on to a fourth target and I was closing on AI when it flew into the 3.7 AA bar-rage defending the airfields. I immediately received all the unpleasantness aimed at the Hun; when I began to hear the shell bursts as well as see them and could hear splinters tickling up the belly of the Beau. I decided that discretion was very much the better part of valour and broke away before getting into visual range.

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On landing I found that my aircraft was not seriously damaged but did require quite a bit of patching up. Paddy Green got another Ju88 and Flg Off Ripley a fifth and one damaged, so it was a very expensive raid for the Luftwaffe. However, whether they knew it or not, they killed 12 men and put out of action some 20 fighters on the Lentini strips - which they might have consid-ered fair exchange. Just a week later, I was returning at dawn from the last patrol of the night. It had been totally un-

eventful and I was quietly gliding down towards Cassibile when the controller came up: "I have something for you - coming north off Syracuse, quite low." He then skil-fully proceeded to vector me so that the target would be silhouetted

against the dawn glow to the east. There was no need to use the AI - the Ju87 Stuka (for that is what it turned out to be) was clearly visible a couple of miles away at 2,500 feet. Turning gently to port, I was swinging in nicely behind him when, at a range of about half a mile, he spotted me. He immediately pulled into a violent lefthand turn. I hauled the Beau around after him, thinking this was going to be one helluva dogfight, and fired a two second burst with all guns. I saw no results at all from this but perhaps the awesome sight of the flames from the Beau's gun ports made some impression for he eased off the turn. The gunner fired some tracer well over the top of us but I now had an easier shot and the next burst hit him firmly in the crank of the port wing. The Stuka turned on its back and went into the sea with an enormous splash. I still can't understand why that Stuka crew allowed itself to run out of darkness, its only real protection against fighters. Half an hour earlier and it would have got home for our AI would probably not have coped at that low altitude. Enemy activity had now tapered off quite markedly, the only raid of significance being a massed Stuka attack on Augusta just after dusk. This was difficult to deal with because, first, the targets were so slow that the Beau-fighters tended to overshoot and, secondly, they were so concentrated that both GCI and AI pictures were very confused. Even John Turn-bull couldn't cope, which is saying somethingl Much later that night, I was on patrol and was put on to a bandit flying south towards Malta at 20,000 feet. Laurie was bringing me in beautifully when, at a range of 3000 feet, the AI died. Cursing our luck, I pressed on hoping that I might still get a 'visual' but 'Brownie' wasn't the controller so in the end I had to tum away. As we were de-scending towards Cassibile, Laurie reported an aircraft to the south going down in flames. This proved to have been the one we missed - a CANT1007bis destroyed by Ian Allen of 256 Sqn. Much grinding of teeth! The Axis troops had been thrown out of Sicily by mid-August so we were beginning to plan to cover the invasion of Italy. I flew to the north of the island to choose a forward landing ground in the Milazzo area and settled on the San Antonio strip - the idea was to refuel there to give us plenty of time over the distant landing beaches. The 8th Army went across the Straits of Messina on the night of the 2nd of September; To be continued in the January edition (assuming I can find it among the packing cases!) 73

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From the German Perspective: The day’s major successes belonged to the Third Gruppe. The mid-afternoon British patrol comprised No. 609, 213, and 264 Squadrons, flying Spitfires, Hurricanes, and Defiants respectively. At 1520 the Defiant crews saw a large formation of He111s, and turned toward it. As the bombers fled, the British fighters were hit by an estimat-ed “seventy” Bf 109s of III/JG 26, diving from the sun. The Germans burst through No. 213 Sqd. at 15,000 feet and continued on to No. 264 Sqd. at 10,000 feet. The Defiants entered a defensive circle; Messerschmitts downed one of them, and two of the Defiants then collided and crashed. Five Hurricanes were also shot down. The Gruppe claimed nine Hurricanes” versus an actual loss of three Defiants and five Hurricanes. The RAF pilots claimed nine Bf 109s, and actually accounted for two. Lt. Walter Hutter-Walleck was killed. Uffz. Helmut Brugelmann was shot in the hand and bailed out over the Channel; he was captured, but was released when Dunkirk was taken by the Germans. No. 609 Squadron’s Spitfires remained high above the battle until a section dove after some He 111s; the 9th Staffel then shot one of them down, claiming two.

It should be noted that the British Defiants of 264 Squadron - although massively outnum-bered by the German fighters – successfully employed their ‘spiraling defense’ and only suf-fered one plane actually shot down.

Once more we were kept at readi-ness at Manston until late in the af-ternoon we were again sent over Dunkirk. This time there were more enemy bombers (in addition to the usu-al hordes of fight-ers) seriously trying to bomb the men and boats by the

beaches. I had one or two inconclusive spars with fighters and then, when climbing towards a V formation of three Heinkel 111k bombers, came near a solitary one which we attacked. Wil-liams gave a long burst of 100 rounds which could be seen entering the under part of the cabin, after which the Heinkel dived rather slowly towards the sea, and at about 1,000 feet two para-chutes appeared and the plane crashed into the sea. We then attacked the formation of three which we had earlier seen; attacking from below we saw rounds going into the fuselage but with no apparent effect, apart from return fire from the bottom gunner, when "Whoosh!" the cockpit was filled with steam and I concluded that a bullet had hit our coolant system somewhere. I throttled back and just then another three He 111k's were seen - at which Williams gave a 30 round burst. I aimed for the Kent coast, having jetti-soned the cockpit canopy. I tried to maintain the original altitude of 7,500 feet with minimum revs but it was obviously unlikely that we could reach the English coast

Williams and I had a discussion as to whether we should bale out (i.e. use our parachutes) or ditch the aircraft. Williams would not put his own ideas forward and said I should decide. I considered we should

ditch, and my reasoning went something like this: I was already keeping in sight the thin line of boats and ships stretching between Dunkirk and England and so we should need to be picked up by one of these; but if we bailed out we might drift some distance from the line, and then could we rely on one of them diverting, possibly into a minefield? Anyway, they were doing a magnificent job of work. If I ditched I should be able to choose a spot near a boat to ensure be-ing picked up. Williams said, "OK!"

Continuing the fantastic story of Eric Barwell, written from his memoires by Mark Wood-rull and Jerry Martin both ex members of the United States Marine Corps. Somehow they have made this so vivid.

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I had of course been using only enough throttle to maintain a reason- able altitude but slowly the oil temperature rose until it was off the dial; the engine began to slow down until finally it was go-ing at only a fast tick-over, but at full throttle. I looked to see where to put down. I saw a few [pleasure/motor] cruisers and I thought, “They probably wouldn’t have room for the two of us. And then I saw some fishing boats but, “I don’t want to be picked up by one of those; they smell so much!” And then, there were two destroyers, only half-an-hour apart, go-ing toward each other, so I thought, “Oh, that’s good. If I go between the two of them, one may have the decency to stop and pick us up.”

The directions for ditching a fighter such as a Hurricane or Spitfire included having flaps up (so as not to make the nose dig in) and for the pilot to have his Sutton (safety) harness tight to avoid his being thrown against the windscreen. I did not agree with the latter for the Defiant as it only had a Perspex windscreen, the con-ventional fighter having thick bullet-proof glass: I was sure the Perspex would break over my head. Consequently, I undid my Sutton harness and parachute straps and, having told Williams to sit on the fuselage with just his legs in the turret, I stood on the seat and bent down holding the "stick" with one hand and the top of the windscreen with the other. The engine seized up completely and I glided to make a wheels-up landing on the water (the sea luckily was smooth, although that made height-judging difficult).

I next found myself deep down in the water and although I had previously put a few puffs of air in my "Mae West" (buoyancy jacket) I swam up and up for what seemed an age before breaking surface. I then looked round for Williams: he was nowhere to be seen but I suddenly recognised an object floating as the backside of his parasuit (Defiant gunners wore a special zip-fastening suit enclosing a loosely-packed parachute and a rubber stole inflatable from a C02 gas bottle. Williams had accidently inflated his after the earlier patrol and had not replaced the gas bottle).

I promptly turned Williams the right way up; he was unconscious and had a gash on his head. Shortly af-terwards a landing wheel from my aircraft bobbed up beside me, but was no use to hang on to. Looking round I saw that both destroyers had apparently stopped a little way off; but I decided which was the near-

er and started to swim towards it. I could not use the traditional life-saving method of swimming on my back and holding Williams under the armpits ( his parasuit interfered with my legs), so I tried to swim more or less on my side holding him by the front of his parasuit. Sometimes his head would go under the water and I would lift him up, then my head

would go under, so I thought it would help if I were to blow more air into my "Mae West" as it did not seem to be helping. I unscrewed the valve but, with a hiss, what little air was in it came out. I tried to put in more but

had no puff left.

Williams soon came round. He was lying down and in front of him, framed in a doorway with what appeared to be flames behind him, was Mike Young. Williams immediately thought he had joined Mike in Hell. What looked like flames was in fact the setting sun, but one could under-stand Williams' wrong conclusion as we had thought Mike had been killed earlier.

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I was getting a bit near my limit in trying to tow Williams to the destroyer when I saw it was coming very slowly towards us. I tried to shout (it was probably only a whisper): "Why the bloody hell don't you lower a boat?" Anyway, as I got near the bows a sailor made a wonderful dive and relieved me of my burden. I went towards the stern where there was a scrambling net, but could not climb it un-aided and someone tied a rope round me to help me up. As I reached the deck I was astounded to see Mike Young there to welcome me (We had given him up as lost during the earlier patrol but in fact when his aircraft broke up it took him some time to leave the cockpit, and he did not operate his parachute until down to 2,000 feet. He landed in a bomb-crater in Dunkirk, unhurt but for a sprained ankle, and caught the first destroyer home). From the deck of HMS Malcolm, Mike had a grand-stand view of my ditching. Apparently I stalled the Defiant at about 15 feet above the smooth water.

One of the officers of "Malcolm" was very kind and lent me a shirt and trousers. I was somewhat stiff, having bruised my knees and left arm; also had a cut lip, caused by the microphone/oxygen mask I was still wearing when we ditched (I still have the scar).

We docked at Dover, and Mike and I waited for some hours in a naval mess (I believe the Nelson Hotel) before transport arrived to take us to RAF Hawkinge; I carefully hung on to my sodden uni-form and flying helmet. We spent rather a short and, for me, sleepless night and were sent to Dux-ford the next day.

One ear was troubling me. As there was a query as to whether my deep immersion in the water had burst the drum, I was sent to see a specialist in what had been a Transport & General Workers Union rest home (Ely RAF Hospital had not been completed). It was decided no perma-nent injury had been caused, but I was grounded for seven days. On my return to Duxford the CO gave me 48 hours leave, which I felt a little unfair and should have been for the 7 days. He was short of an adjutant and wanted me for that job.

I went home that evening and telephoned Ruth to say I would drive over and see her the next day. I was of course very tired and was talking so much in my sleep that Marjorie or John stayed at my bedroom door most of the night. There was an argument in the morning when I said I would drive to Martlesham to see Ruth and return that night. Despite my knees being bruised and left arm almost useless I was adamant that no-one else was to drive or go with me. I managed to get there, chang-ing gear with my right hand.

I collected Ruth and near Woodbridge we had the rather fine picnic lunch she had organised. It took me some time to understand how she knew so many of the details of the 31st May: I had told her on the telephone the previous evening almost every detail of my day. This amazed me, as I was normally very security-conscious and would not have said anything over the telephone.

I had no recollection …I knew I’d been on the telephone for quite a long time to her, but I had no idea that I’d told her all sorts of details. She surprised me so much when I saw her: and she said, ‘Well, I know all about that, of course!’ when I started to talk. And I said, ‘How do you know?’ and she said, ‘Well, you told me!’ (Barlow, 2005)

We went into the open country somewhere and spent the afternoon lying in the sun. Ruth said later that I was in a pretty bad state, but slowly came round just chatting and relaxing in the sunshine.

We spent quite a bit of the day …it was fine weather and we spent quite a bit of the day, sort of on a hill or something and just talking. Just resting, really. It was just one of those things. It was proba-bly a jolly good thing that I did so and got it all off my chest …and I did.

Back at Duxford I started my stint as Squadron Adjutant. It took me no time to realize that I knew nothing at all about "Admin, but the CO was very patient with me. I had to be present when one or two airmen were brought in on charges: I would stand at the CO's elbow when a man would be marched into the office between two other airmen by a Flight Sergeant or Warrant Officer ("Left-right-left-right-halt-right turn. Aircraftman Bloggs, Sir"). The charge would be read out ("Whilst on Active Service you failed to report on time at your place of work,"), a witness or NCO would speak and the penalty might be pronounced (sometimes merely the next 24 hours free period being stopped). I got into the way of dealing with paper work and so on which I had not known existed: airmen's and officers' records and all sorts of different forms.This experience stood me in very good stead as I had almost nothing to do with such matters until I was a squadron commander myself.

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I was flying again on the 9th June; several days were spent in various practices: firing at drogues, practice attacks on other aircraft, squadron formation practice, experience on a Defiant with con-stant-speed airscrew (until then Defiants had two-pitch props). I see one entry in my log-book on the 21st June was for flying a Magister aircraft to Martlesham and back (I do not know what was the ex-cuse, but no doubt I saw Ruth there!).

On the 3rd July we moved to G1, Duxford's satellite airfield a few miles away at Fowlmere. Despite the fact that it had been an airfield before Duxford in World War I it had no permanent buildings and we lived in Nissen huts. I also remember that our comfort was affected by the wind direction: there were pig-styes next door! My first operational patrols by night were flown at this time, when we were controlled by the Sector Operations Room, and we would fly back and forth along a particular line in case German bombers came over. We would also fly convoy patrols by day, when we were di-rected to a convoy in the North Sea flying round it to take on any enemy aircraft approaching it. I was not lucky enough to be around when the enemy were present.

On the 23rd July we moved north to Kirton Lindsey in Lincolnshire. We did not like the idea of get-ting farther from possible activity, but when there we flew more convoy and night patrols. Our origi-nal squadron CO, Wing Commander Stephen Hardy, was Station Commander there and was keen on giving the AA guns defending that large airfield some practice; we enjoyed this, an excuse to fly low over the airfield, but some pilots, notably one Hugh Percy, did not need the excuse, and were always getting into trouble accordingly. Some time before this Ruth and I had obtained a special marriage licence, which meant that there need not be the usual delay when banns are called in church, and so immediately it was practicable we each got a week's leave. I was flown down to Fowlmere in the squadron Magister and we were married at Swavesey the next day, the 6th August (my 27th birthday). I do not remember a lot about the ceremony, apart from Ruth's bouquet shaking beside me. Someone had told me it was unlucky to turn round as the bride came up the aisle, and Ruth almost felt like turning back and walking out again when I, one of the few people in the church she knew, only showed my back to her! Anyway, we were married and had the usual photos taken, first at the church porch and then in the garden of the Old House. I was in uniform and Ruth had a short dress, rather a nice red, white and blue one. A number of the guests were in uniform, all from Martlesham except for Phil, then a Wing Com-mander, and Polly (otherwise Mary), Ruth's sister who was in the WAAF. The wedding had been arranged to be at Swavesey, my home, as Ruth's parents, having sold their home at the outbreak of war, were living in a hotel in Surrey. The only members of Ruth's family present being her parents and Polly, she knew so few there, and she first set eyes on my cousin Herbert Topham only as she and her father arrived in a large Rolls Royce at the churchyard gate. He opened the car door, asked if she were the bride, slammed the door and rushed towards the church gesticulating and shouting, having been briefed to give warning of the bride's arrival. Ruth wondered if all members of my fami-ly acted like that! We had decided to have our honeymoon in the Cotswolds and after the reception set off in Dad's Rover 12 car (something was wrong with my old Vauxhall), which of course had been decorated and had tin cans jangling behind. Somehow I was quite mad and managed to take the wrong road be-fore reaching Bedford, even although I had been that way many times. We were away only for 5 days, staying at Northleach and Cheltenham, and it seemed no time before we were back at Swavesey and I had to go back to Kirton Lindsey, Ruth remaining with her new in-laws for a day or two (I believe it was soon after I left that she dropped her wedding-ring which rolled through a gap in the floor- boards and Dad had to take up the boards to look for it!). Air activity around the southern part of England had steadily been increasing and fighter squadrons were really feeling the strain and, worse, were losing too many pilots. Our turn was coming after some peaceful weeks at Kirton Lindsey, and on the 21st August the squadron moved to Horn-church, to the east of London. The next day we were sent on patrol, personally with no engage-ment, and then I was allowed 24 hours off duty. Ruth met me in the West End and we spent the night at the Cumberland Hotel, having a room on the fifth floor; this was about on a level with the top of the Marble Arch across the road, on which was mounted an enormous air-raid siren. There were several warnings during the night, the up and down wailing of the siren being followed later by the steady sound of the "All Clear." On each occasion it felt as if one was being blown out of bed: we did not have a very good night.

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Some matters of interest…….Perhaps

I expect that you have all read the MOD’s latest strategy and they are selling off RAF Scampton and our

old base RAF Linton - on - Ouse. So if any of you have large back gardens, I think the Red Arrows might

be interested in ren'ng it, so that they can have a home base. I can’t help think that our super archivist

and Avia'on Ar'st, Clyde Anderson’s fer'le brain could come up with a

super cartoon about that!......

Any thoughts Clyde?

It’s odd how one gets a+ached to the memories of a place, only generally

remembering the good 'mes. I remember on our first reunion, returning

to RAF Linton on Ouse and our now President, saying he was sorry to have

gone back on the visit, as it had changed so much, garages on the parade

ground (what would the Sta'on Adjutant have said to that?). A nursery in

the old 264 airman’s block, although there is possibly a remote connec'on

there!!!

Are any of you in touch with old colleagues that you used to work, fly, drink with, who might just possi-

bly be interested in our Squadron News. Most Squadron Associa'ons have folded up but we seem to be

able to carry on and I know that some remaining Squadron Associa'ons have told me they envy us for

carrying on as we have done.

To you Golfing Buffs, something for you to share in the Clubhouse (19th Hole?) over a drink.

A golfing buddy of Donald Trump told him that he had a fantastic dream the previous night:

There was a really big, huge parade in Washington celebrating Trump. Hundred of thousands, perhaps even millions, lined the parade route, and cheered and cheered when Donald went past. It was the big-gest celebration Washington had ever seen. Really huge!

Donald was very impressed and said, "That's really great! —The best! By the way, how did I look? Was my hair OK?"

His friend said that he couldn't tell. As the casket was closed. If I’ve upset any of you, especially our American friends, I apologise, but I bet you had a little smile!

Reminisces: Do any of you remember X Ray being parked rather unconventionally after Dick Grant and Joe Edwards had a brake failure on landing after Night Flying. I remember being asked to search for the missing air-craft. After finding it and going back to report it th ‘Chiefy’ Lamb. Dick and Joe walked nonchalantly into the crew room unhurt and where Dick Grant said “brakes U/S on X Ray Chief!”

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Married Bliss

Pharmacist to customer: “Sir, please understand, to buy an anti-depression pill you need

a proper prescription

... Simply showing marriage certificate and wife’s picture is not enough."

A bookseller conducting a market survey asked a woman – “Which book has helped you most in

your life?”

The woman replied, “My husband’s cheque book !!”

A prospective husband in a book store “Do you have a book called,- ’Husband – the Master of

the House?’"

Sales girl: “Sir, fiction and comics are on the 1st floor!”

Someone asked an old man: “Even after 70 years, you still call your wife – darling, honey,

luv. What’s the secret?"

Old man: “I forgot her name and I’m scared to ask her."

Wife: I wish I was a newspaper – so I’d be in your hands all day.

Husband: I too wish that you were a newspaper. So I could have a new one every day!

Husband to wife – “Today is a fine day."

Next day he says: “Today is a fine day.”

Again, next day, he says same thing – “Today is a fine day."

Finally, after a week, the wife can’t take it and asks her husband –

“Since last week, you have been saying 'Today is a fine day.'" I am fed up. What’s the matter?”

Husband : Last week when we had an argument, you said,

“I will leave you one fine day.” I was just trying to remind you ......” Bum Bum!

THESE ARE ACTUAL COMPLAINTS RECEIVED BY "THOMAS COOK VACATIONS" FROM DISSATISFIED CUSTOMERS: "On my holiday to Goa in India, I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry. I don't like spicy food." "They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax." "We went on holiday to Spain and had a problem with the taxi drivers as they were all Spanish." "The beach was too sandy, We had to clean everything when we returned to our room." "We found the sand was not like the sand in the brochure. Your brochure shows the sand as white but it was more yellow." "It's lazy of the local shopkeepers in Puerto Vallarta to close in the afternoons. I often needed to buy things during 'siesta' time -- this should be banned." "It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems very unfair." "When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners."

Maybe more in the next edition, (and you thought you were going silly!!) And worse still, they breed!)

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