Now we had to go find us a train that will take us to our destination, Rivers. Will we find what we are looking for! Of course we will and so we boarded the train for our trip to Rivers, and not a very long trip either. And after about three hours the conductor came up and informed us that we were there.

 

The Railway Station at Rivers, Manitoba

On stepping out into the snow we were aghast at what we saw - or at least did not see - for apart from the shed standing in for the station there was nothing. On looking for the town we spied about half a dozen small ramshackle buildings covered in snow, for just as we arrived a good snow storm arrived also.

 

The township of Rivers, Manitoba, as Trevor saw it

Remember winter was only around the corner. The only photo I have of us arriving shows just how heavy the snow was.            

However time and tide waits for no one and we had to get to the Air Force station somehow. So now having got used to thumbing we cajoled a poor unsuspecting citizen into giving us a lift to the Air Force station, seeing it was on his way. Well he had to go that way anyway as there was no other road around.

 
The road to RCAF Station Rivers

On arrival we reported in, found our quarters and got a meal and settled down for the night, as tomorrow we would be getting down to whatever the Air Force had in mind for us.

Next morning we reported to the man in charge and was informed that we would be doing a crash - please don't use that word - course on the use of the sextant in navigation. Also how to use the Lorenz beam approach as this station was one of the very few stations so equipped.            
Now remember that I had got some time in the use of the sextant whilst on the ship coming over, hence the reason for being sent here. So this was going to be a breeze and it didn't take me long to get bored, bloody bored. As I had to wait for the trainee pupils to catch up I just sucked my thumb so to speak. Besides I was now a qualified pilot while the other blokes were still trainees although when they graduated they would be a very important part of a multi engine crew, a navigator no less.

But I'm a pilot and am eager to fly. So I went up to the CO [who else] and asked if he could put me to better use flying.

“Alright son, if that's what you want, you had better go over to A Flight and report to the Flight Commander.“

Well after reporting I was quickly taken out and given a check flight in a Mk 1 Avro Anson and then put to work. I was very surprised at how short the check flight was, but then after all I am also short. I was given the exalted title of “duty” pilot. In other words a gofer pilot. Gofer this and Gofer that. If it was a menial task you did it. But I was flying. Well, shortly after I started I was ordered to fly down to Winnipeg to pick up some bods.

 

Cockpit of the Avro Anson Mk I

So off I went and as the Mk 1 Anson had a hand wound undercarriage requiring between 145 and 175 turns to both raise or lower it I reckoned that as I was not going to be in the air too long and besides there was generally someone else to wind the undercarriage. I may as well leave it alone. There have been many arguments on just how many turns was required but there was a bloody lot, so to stop any arguments let me quote from the official pilots notes which I still have in my possession. On page 6 it states “approximately 160 turns being necessary “ unquote.            

Now the weather was not very nice, this being the middle of September with winter well and truly showing its ugly head. On arrival at Winnipeg I taxied up to the control tower to report in and standing at the base of the tower was a lone airman well wrapped up for the cold. Stopping the aircraft but not the motors, I was looking for an erk to put chocks under my wheels while I reported in when the airman came across climbed in and asked me if I was “from Rivers” and on being told that I was he climbed out went to the corner of the control tower and let out an almighty whistle and out of one of the hangers came an Air Force blue bus stopping at the aircraft door.

Out of the bus pops not one but a whole lot of bods and they all proceeded to climb on board, scrambling for the best place to sit, one bod went into the nose of the Anson and a Sergeant put the 2nd pilots seat down and sat on that whilst the rest had to sit on the floor. On a head count I came up with 13 bods plus me which made 14.in total.

“I can't take these," I painfully cried, “They have no parachutes” The sergeant sitting in the co-pilots seat answered “You won't be flying high enough to use a parachute. “ Now I noticed that no one had come down from the control tower to see me and I was then given a green light to take off

I am beginning to learn the tricks of being a staff pilot, so what the hell - let's go.

The hour's journey at about 50ft back to Rivers wheels still down with the motors singing in perfect unison and the bods also singing was very pleasant, although I was still hesitant about my bringing so many bods along On arrival at the field I was thankful that I was landing away from the control tower so it was easy to go around the end hanger to disgorge my cargo, out of sight of the tower. Now on reporting back to the flight commander he asked “Had I managed to pick up everyone”

“Yes sir," I replied, “But why so many?"

“Oh that's the easiest way of assuring that all the bods get back on the base on time and it also gives them a little while longer on leave.” See the Air Force did care.

This was my introduction into some wild and hairy practices.

Now I was to get a very quick shake up in the way of the Air Force 's way of operating. First and foremost now that I was a qualified pilot albeit only a few weeks old - four weeks to be exact - when they wanted something done they meant not now but yesterday, so just pull your finger out from wherever you had it and remember that you are now a pilot so don't give us any excuses why you cannot comply with orders which you will get, at some time or other.

Now on this station all operations were carried out as if you were actually on active service and so when doing a long navigation exercise you took not one but two navigation trainees [these had to check on each other while you the pilot was supposed to know exactly were you were at all times] .

You also carried a fully fledged radio operator who was equipped with a fully functioning radio transmitter and receiver while you had balancing on the ledge besides you a receiving radio set for the LORENZ beam. Now the transmitter and receiver for the radio operator were huge and heavy and all radio messages to and from base was done via the radio operator in morse code. He in turn would write down the message that he had received and then would pass it to you the pilot who would give him a message if required to transmit back to base. It was obligatory to send a MTB [message to base] every 15 minutes.

Now on these exercises you also carried eight small practice bombs for you to drop on an enemy target [a large circle painted on the ground] when if all went well with the navigation was your target for tonight. You as pilot had to report, via the radio operator, your progress and the accuracy of the bomb dropping. Exciting wasn't it. But you [me] as the pilot had to make sure that you flew the cotton picking aircraft very accurately on the run up to the target.

Now fate was about to present itself again as while still some way from the target the port [left hand] motor decided to quit with a loud bang, and so knowing that I would lose height at around 50ft a minute, I turned for home after having sparky send a message and informing the navigators to set me a course for the base. But after a few minutes and some wild calculations I knew we were not going to get anywhere near home before we made contact with the ground. Fortunately the navigators found out on their map an emergency landing field on our way back, but we were going to be hard pressed to even make that place.

Now I was thinking how to lighten the plane just to give us some leeway and thought that seeing as to how the radios were very heavy they could be dispensed with, but was then informed that we would just make it to the field so decided against throwing the radios overboard. Now I had one of the navigators doing rapid turns on the undercarriage handle and then I spied the field or at least what was supposed to be the field and knew that we were safe.
 

But wait, this is not a field as there were miniature hills all over the place so I thought that a wheels up landing was more appropriate, and sang out to the man winding the handle to stop but at that moment the locks clicked into place and as I could not let the stick[wheel] go so that I could release the undercarriage lock which was to the left of me and slightly behind, I was committed to the landing. Surprisingly the landing went very smoothly except that on the final approach the tail clipped a cone and tore a hole in it. The tail that is. So my second forced landing is now under my belt. But wait there's more. Forced landings that is.

While standing on the ground reflecting on the past event, I thought how stupid I had been to even think of getting rid of the radios as I was also carrying bombs and just where were these at this moment? Still in the bomb bay stupid. A lesson learnt. There was no danger from them as they all had the safety pocks in place.

Now the men who replaced the motor also had to repair the hole in the tail and so using their initiative a piece of tin and some nails, they bent the tin over the hole and nailed it down. After all it was a wooden tail. And so with the change of motor the hole covered up the aircraft was flown back to home base.

That was on September 18th, 1942, and life had to go on. I was checked out for night flying and sent out on different exercises both day and night. Now on one of the day trips I, together with plenty of other pilots, got caught out with a very bad case of ground fog which blanketed everything in sight so we had to abort the exercise and head for home using the LORENZ beam. Remember that I had practiced using it in the Link trainer and now I was to put it to use for real and hope that all my training was going to pay off and not let me down.

Remember that if anything went wrong in the Link trainer one had only to lift the hood open the door and step over the side of the trainer onto TERRA FERMA, but now if things went wrong stepping over the side meant that there was one helluva way to reach Terra Ferma, so it was best to trust your instincts and see how good your training had been.

So starting to look for the beam, through my earphones of course as the beam was invisible to the naked eye [as every one knows] to see my position in relation to it and so adjusted my position in relation to it . The sparky in the meantime was getting messages from base. Ah the wonders of modern technology. His note to me read “How much fuel have you got left?” So on checking it I notified him of the amount which he promptly relayed to base. Message from base “Go to 3000ft throttle back to slow cruising speed put mixture into lean and proceed towards base maintaining your height”

But wait a minute, I can head for Winnipeg so I got the sparky to inform base of my decision.

“No you can't," was the reply. Oh well I can head to Saskatoon, but oh no that was vetoed also. Now here was a golden opportunity to fly to the States. See I'm not one to miss an opportunity. There I could find a field to land on but again was vetoed and told to do the original plan and head for Rivers using the beam, as all fields within your range are blanked out. BUGGER. I was looking forward to a change of scenery.                

Oh well. I had better settle down to some real flying, as I am a big boy now and they trust me to get the aircraft and the crew safely back to base all in one piece.

All the time I was flying the aircraft the sparky was receiving and transmitting MTB [message to base] just to let them know that we were still airborne. At this point I had arrived over the field according to the beam and was advised to just keep circling until it was my turn to land. It appears that aircraft with less fuel than me had preference and there were some aircraft stacked every 500ft above me

Well comes my turn to land as they had cleared all aircraft lower than me and I had clear air all the way down to the airfield, so with some trepidation I started the authorised version of getting down. Descending fairly quickly to a 1000ft level, I started my search on the beam and proceeded to do my approach for landing. On the final approach, wheels and flaps already down, I passed the cone of silence so knew that I was on track and then let down to 300ft. All this time without sighting any land.

Now according to the books I should be able to see the airfield so where is it as I have now passed the inner marker according to my ear phones, so down to 50ft and hope, hope to hell that there was something beneath me, and yes, what was that dirty smudge just below me? Could that be the runway that I so desperately need. Too late anyway as I have decided to land and thankfully there was a gentle rumble from the wheels and so I am home. Boy, am I good. But where on the runway am I! Then out of the murk appears a staff car . So nice of the Air Force to greet me like this. Out of one of the windows of the car was a bod signaling me to follow him, the car that is.

So off we go following the car hoping that there was no other plane in our immediate vicinity but no we successfully negotiated the other parked aircraft and finally stopped on our spot and proceeded to shut the motors down. Another successful exercise had been carried out and I am thankful for all the time that I had spent in the link trainer practicing for just such an occasion.

Imagine if the airliners of today were allowed to fly in such appalling conditions.

Now our beloved CO had some strange habits which I found out on one occasion. On one of my exercises, whilst coming in for a landing having completed the exercise, I was on the final approach and was suddenly confronted by a Piper Cub cutting across my bow. The side window [entry] was opened with a figure out the side, with his left hand on the stick, left foot on the right hand rudder bar - foot under the leather strap, right foot on the starboard strut and a shotgun in his right hand. To say that I was shaken is putting it mildly as you can imagine for by this time I am taking evasive action rapidly wondering what kind of a fool would pull a stunt like that. After going around again and this time successfully landing without incident I asked the flight commander just who the fool was. “Oh don't worry about him that's the CO doing a spot of Jack rabbit hunting. We meant to warn you about watching out for him. Still, you're all right.” Casual buggers!

Now the next episode didn't affect me but I was to see what happened. We were visited by some high ranking USA personnel who wished to find out just how good the RCAF's training in navigation was, as Rivers was considered the best navigation school around. Well the aircraft carrying them duly arrived and the Adjutant and his entourage was there to meet them, but where oh where was the CO? No worries, as around the corner on a push bike, scrambled egg hat facing the rear, there appeared the CO who promptly fell off at the feet of the Yanks who at this time had there mouths wide open!

Scrambling to his feet, twisting his cap around to face the front, then coming to attention, he gave them a right royal salute, and apologized for his tardiness then stepped into the staff car that the adjutant had so thoughtfully ordered for this occasion. And so off to inspect the station they all went. At least no one could say that he was not courteous.

Then one day I saw on the DRO's [daily routine orders] that I was to report to the CO for further instructions on my next posting. Very strange as normally your posting and or rise in rank was posted on the board and as I was still a junior it just had to be something important for why would the CO want to see little old me. So down to the orderly room I went and was sent into see the man himself.

“You wanted to get overseas in a hurry didn't you?” I was asked. This must be it, I thought, I'm on my way. Never think you know better than the powers-that-be, because he informed me that I would be going to a place called Dunnville in Ontario reporting on the 15/10/42, allowing me 3 days to get there - so no leave - just go. The CO then told me that it was No. 6 SFTS, a fighter trainer school flying Harvards. Oh good, they are to give me a conversion course for fighters! Boy was I brought down to earth quickly as he informed me that I was to be seconded to the RCAF and would become a full time staff pilot.

Ah well, what the hell, it must be warmer there than here. “So what's the temperature there Sir?” Notice I'm still polite. “Oh about -10 degrees." That's OK, it's better than the -40 + here. “If you think it is warmer there you are in for a rude awakening as it is a damp cold whereas here it is a dry cold." Boy was he ever right, as I was to find out.

 

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