I did not really get my marching orders as that would have been ridiculous. Imagine walking from Toronto to Ottawa. No, I actually went by train, naturally, and on arrival at Air Headquarters had to report to one “Tiny" White, a high ranking New Zealander whom I had met previously while at Dunnville. Why was he called Tiny? Well he was only about 5'ft tall, but with a heart full of gold for his boys. So it was with trepidation that I went in to see him as after all it was not so long ago that he had told me what was planned for me now obviously he had something new for me.
  
On meeting the great small man, he informed me that, as I had been grounded and according to the medical advice he had received, I was suffering from pilots fatigue and would be off flying for a little while and was to report to a place called Muskoka, a convalescent hospital that catered for all ranks.       

So not having any time to spend in Ottawa, I caught another train immediately back to Toronto to catch another train to go further north to beautiful Muskoka, where upon entering the place I was told that from here on nobody in the place except staff would have any rank and that included the highest ranking officer who was a Wing Commander. We would all be required to pitch in do whatever was required but apart from that the most important thing was to relax and enjoy.      

At our disposal were two speed boats, one a Chris Craft - a magnificent mahogany built speed boat along with an open speed hack.

 
The Chris Craft boat at Muskoka

None of the patients were permitted to drive them, but we were taken all around the different lakes through locks to other lakes to sight see and cook meals via a camp fire.

 

Cooking at Muskoka

And everyone took turns at cooking including the Wingco and also a clergyman but we won't hold that against him. As a matter of fact both he and the Wingco were quite good at cooking.

In the barracks we were all as one, there just was no differentiating of ranks. Of course we were still required to participate in doing PT and other chores.

On one occasion a Grumman Goose [that's an aircraft] arrived with none other than Billy Bishop, who was a famous WW1 pilot, just to talk to us informally.

 

Billy Bishop arriving at Muskoka

You must realise that not all personnel were aircrew. One of our tasks was to build an entrance out of bricks and rocks, at the entrance of course, as this place had been someone's pride and joy before being annexed by the Air Force, and so I ”volunteered” to help build it.           

 

The team and the wall they built at Muskoka

One of the workers was also the Wingco who really got stuck in to the work. There was no shirking on his partners.

The Wing Commander mucking in and preparing food

On one of our trips we went through small locks, much the same as on the canals in England, onto different lakes, and on one lake we disembarked [boy have I got these nautical terms down pat] and then trudged up through the bush to another lake that was sitting in the middle of the lake we had just traversed. So here was a lake within a lake, and what a sight.

Again we had a cooked meal by courtesy of the vicar and the Wingco. This must sound like heaven to you reading this, but there was a madness to this pampering. First and foremost it was designed to take one's mind off one's work and of course a pilot's mind off flying. In other words, relaxation was the aim.

Was it working for me? Well yes, I suppose as I had never felt so good, not having to concentrate on flying. Of course one still didn't get out of PT as this was also a requirement of the rehabilitation process, and of course you were subjected to regular physical check ups. I found on one of these check ups that I had lost three pounds, or six kilos, and that was in only one week. Maybe it was because of all the Badminton, archery, etc., that I engaged in. On one occasion I did a canoe trip that lasted until 1.00am and it was very rewarding just gliding along in darkness and quietness. This was holidays at its best, and what's more all paid for by the government. Who said you couldn't get anything out of the government?

Well just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, my posting arrived. This was on the 28/7/43 and I was to go to a place called Jarvis the No. 1 B&G school [Bombing and Gunnery], and no I was not going to school but to fly. But there was still the gate to finish which we did on the 31st July and so on the 1/8/43 I said goodbye to my fellow patients and caught the train to Toronto, where I stayed overnight, and on to Jarvis the next day reporting there on the 3rd.

After getting settled in, I then reported to the flight commander at the Lysander hangar as this was the type that I was to fly.

Comes next day, and wouldn't you know it, the weather that day was terrible so I had to wait till the 5th before I was able to fly. And now came a shock, as the check pilot assigned to give me the rundown on the aircraft took me out into the hangar  and  then proceeded to explain the different things of interest in this new type of aircraft. An amazing thing about this aircraft was the way in which it could virtually be dismantled by the pilot without using any tools so as to be able to inspect all cables, etc. Then he took me to the front of the aircraft to where one would have to climb up into the cockpit and at this point he stunned me with his next statement.

“Whatever you were taught about flying, just forget it, because this aircraft is different."

With that he told me to climb up into the cockpit, easier said than done as on climbing up I finished up on the last step facing the rear of the aircraft. Now this is a great position to be in as at this point you could check the contents of the fuel tank without taking the filler cap off and also check the outer slots to make sure that they were out, then you would push the inner slots and watch that the flaps retracted at the same time as you pushed the inner slots, and at the same rate as they were interconnected and could not be controlled manually by the pilot.

Standing at the top of the wheel arch gave you a fantastic view of the whole of the top of the aircraft, so you could see if there was any damage. If satisfied with the condition of the top of the aircraft you then had to turn around 180º, by jumping around without falling. You were then in a position to get into the cockpit. The first thing you noticed was the position of the seat, in that it was level with the top of the cockpit sides.

After getting seated the next thing that you would see was the position of the rudder bars. These were at an angle of about 45º and I was to find out the reason for this phenomenon later on. Now the check out pilot was alongside me and proceeded to tell me all about this aircraft.

“This knob is the pitch control. You can take off with it either fine or coarse - you will get off. This is the gill lever, you can take off open or closed. The mixture, you can take off in either rich or lean. The carb position, hot or cold, you will get off.

“BUT DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TAKE OFF IF YOU HAVEN'T SET THE TRIM”

This trim wheel was just below the throttle quadrant BUT was alongside your left hand so you could adjust it virtually without taking your hand off the throttles.

A hand-coloured shot of Trevor in a Westland Lysander

Now this wheel was very large and painted red so you could not mistake it for what it was.

The check pilot then told me that no excess movement must be made of the throttle without first adjusting the trim and then, and only then, adjust the throttle and only in small increments. It was most important that you did not make any big movements to the throttle, just use the trim first.

So with all this information in my head I was taken out to the flight line and given an aircraft to go and practice on. Now the aircraft had a small sliding roof about 12 inches wide, which you always kept closed. There were also side windows which when pulled up completely closed you in as they came up at an angle and were raised or lowered by a leather strap like the type you see in the old English movies on train carriages. You just pulled the strap and up it went, and to hold it in place you placed one of the holes cut in the strap over a screw in the side of the cockpit and low and behold the window was secure.

The windows were also divided half way up - the bottom half being plain but the top again divided into two with the front half able to slide rearwards halfway. Quite ingenious and you often see a Lizzie pilot flying with the windows down as per photos but it did make you wonder if you could fall out of this strange aircraft. So now I must take it up and see what I could do and the last thing that the check pilot said to me was, ''DO NOT POKE YOUR HEAD INTO THE COCKPIT ON TAKE OFF “ and I was about to find out why along with some other things that he, the check pilot, did not tell me.

So down to the take off area, do my take off checks, and wait for the green light of approval to take off and you must remember that there was no pre flight check flight available. You were just on your own. Now the green is given so I swing out onto the runway line up and advance the throttle, tail slightly down and we are going down the runway, and what's my speed! I had better check it so quickly looked in the cockpit but what's this! I failed to find the airspeed indicator and quickly looked out again only to find that I am climbing steeply and am about 200 to 300 ft off the ground.

I had just pulled the old pilots trick of accidentally easing back on the stick without thinking about it, so quickly pushing the stick forward I regained my composure and proceeded to test the aircraft out and what it would do, but of course at this stage I don't push it too far. And so after about an hour and feeling very comfortable with it, I called up for landing instructions. So I was given permission to land as No. 1 in the circuit. Strange, I thought, as this was a very busy field, still I must carry on and so came onto the into wind leg when I saw all the personnel on the ground outside their respective buildings. Must be a fire drill on down there. No matter I must just concentrate on the landing. OK but what is the landing speed as I had not been told nor did I ask for it so as a Tiger comes in at 60 mph and a Anson at 90mph I should be safe at 75 mph.

As I was dropping the speed down, just as I hit 80 there is a terrific bang - so what has happened? No problem and it still seems to fly alright so I'll just carry on and at about 75 mph there is suddenly two black things appear alongside me and the aircraft stands on its nose so opening the throttle again the objects disappeared the aircraft dropped its tail and everything seemed to be OK. So let's cut he throttle again, and again tail up, two objects in my sight. So again going through the process a couple of more times I decided that I would leave the throttle alone and concentrate on the landing.

Wait a minute, if this thing can fly at 55 mph I'm too fast, so as the speed was now getting very low and my wheels were just cutting the tarmac I carried out a landing Now we're down and I noticed that the people that were in front of the hangars and other offices were starting to disperse so I wonder what they were out there for. Well I was now told why they were there, and it was because of me. Apparently as I was on my first flight in a Lysander and everyone, and I mean everyone, knew what was going to happen. As this was not a training field for pilots it was not very often that a rookie pilot was available so the whole station could have the pleasure of watching the antics of said pilot coming in to land on his first flight in a Lizzie. And that was the reason why all the staff was out looking. It appears that I had done the classic coming down the stairs routine. This consisted of not being told what happens as the flaps are deployed as they are automatic and cannot be controlled by the pilot.

Now, pilots today wishing to fly the Lizzie are told what to expect but in my time no such luck. What of course was happening was that the first noise I heard was the outer slots popping out, the second noise and the two apparitions was the inner slots coming out and the flaps deploying and of course the usual thing that a novice pilot on Lysanders does and that is open the throttle which of course puts your speed up above the flap setting which now retract, and so on and so forth, and so you don't do a nice approach but you come down in what looks like coming down the stairs.

Now the answer of course was to shut the throttle right off, let the outer slots and then the inner slots and flaps deploy and then you could come in very sedate and land.

As I shut down and climbed out of the aircraft I was greeted by an erk who informed me that my presence was required in the flight commander's office immediately. So what have I done now? On reporting I was told that I was grounded again.

“What for this time?” I inquired.

“You haven't got a clearance from the doctor,” was the reply. But wait a moment; I had already been cleared for flying before I was posted here. Silly boy, this is the Air Force and you do things their way, so there. On presenting myself to the doc, he then asked me just why was I there.            

“I've come for my clearance check doc."

“What do you mean clearance check?” was his reply, “You already have a clearance.”

See it's a good thing that the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing.

So back to the flight room I go, and give them the good news that I have been cleared to fly. This must have woken up something in their head as I was sent up for the next three hours, just to get used to the aircraft and to look at the area that I would be operating in. These hours were split up into three sessions, as of course the Lysander has a very short range, but never-the-less, the time had to be put in.

All this took place on the 7th of August 1943 and as I had now amassed sufficient time, I was allocated a winch operator and sent up this time to do the job I was employed to do. And so for the next 3 ½ hours I worked. Boy, did I work. And what's more just look at the hours that I had got on my first day, six hours, and that was only the beginning.

Here in NZ a drogue pilot was considered by many pilots to be of a low standard and to be looked down upon, whereas in Canada he was the pilot, most respected and was permitted to do things not normally allowed. You may recall that when I was first introduced to these aircraft that I was to forget about normal flying well this also extended to the circuit for a couple of reasons, and the most important one was that a Lizzie towing a drogue at high speed used an awful lot of fuel and so to get as much flying as possible the Lizzie pilot could and did cut corners, and look out any other aircraft in the immediate vicinity. And that was why the aircraft were painted in black and yellow stripes - for visibility for other pilots to see and stay away as there could be a 1000 odd yards of cable hanging behind the aircraft like a sting in a Wasps tail.

In NZ it was customary for only one aircraft to be on what was called the line at a time, whereas in Canada it was usual for at least four aircraft on the line at one time but if more aircraft were available then they just joined the line and I have flown when there was seven aircraft towing drogues and I know of one instance of eight aircraft on the line. Why so many could operate at one time was due to the very strict rules that we operated under.

Unfortunately accidents could still happen even when all precautions were taken as was the case one day. On these exercises we would fly at a set height with the drogue trailing 1000ft behind, and of course lower down and at the end of the line signal the other plane who was firing at the drogue to cease firing whilst you then dropped down 500 ft when the Blenheim would continue firing until you got to the other end, when you would again signal and then start your climb up the 500ft you had dropped. So you see you could be flying just above and slightly behind the said drogue of the aircraft in front of you.

While I was at this school we had an awful lot of Polish airman just dying to get their hands on the guns, so as to be able to get to England and blast the hell out of the Germans, and unfortunately most could not understand or speak English. So on one day as we were flying about six aircraft in the circuit, the flying was what was called tight and one of the aircraft was just above and behind the aircraft in front. And the gunner of the front plane should have fired at the drogue immediately in front of him, but in his excitement he fired not at the drogue, but at the Lysander, hitting him right in the fuel tank. This was of course right behind the pilot and was not bullet proof. So at that moment we lost two men and an aircraft in one hell of an explosion. So no-one, and I mean no-one, can tell me that towing drogues was not dangerous.

This of course was not he only accident to occur, although the next fatal one happened at our sister field along the peninsular from us. When we had finished one exercise we would come in to the field still with the drogue out and change to a new one whilst flying through a unique system {more about this system later]. If the exercise was finished then the old drogue would be dropped, the cable wound in and the pilot prepare for his landing. There were strict regulations in place when flying in such a small area which you did not disobey.

Well on one occasion at this other field the drogue plane came in while another one had just dropped his drogue and so both were on opposite courses and one of them was going the wrong way. Well as the top plane which had the drogue trailing went over the other Lysander neatly cutting its wing off and this in turn turned on its back and plunged to the ground hitting a Bolingbroke [Blenheim IV] in the process thus killing three members in that plane making a total of five men and two aircraft lost. They wouldn't have known what hit them. So you see, flying WAS dangerous when you had aircraft going in all directions and this is where the Lizzie pilot had to be extremely vigilant.

Of course not all accidents could be attributed to the Lizzie, as was shown on one occasion. Out on the lake {Lake Erie} in Canadian waters there was a high speed boat - similar to the high speed rescue boats that the RAF used - but this one was completely covered in armor plating except for two places, one being a slot for the helmsman to see out of and the other was the filler for the fuel tank which was about the size of a normal cars petrol tank filler. As you can see the hole was not very big .

Now this boat was used for target practice by the bombers {Avro Ansons] to train the bomb aimers on moving targets on, which they, the bomb aimers, dropped practice bombs onto, which upon impact emitted large amount of smoke. You could be forgiven for thinking that this was a safe practice but come one day when the bomb aimer made direct hits on the moving target and then tragedy struck. One bomb went straight through the tank filler without touching the sides and promptly erupted inside the tank which in turn promptly exploded and thus killing the crew and disintegrating the boat .

Modifications were carried out immediately on the other boats that were in use for this exercise but for these three guys it was too late. So death could and did come when you least expected it and from the most unlikely source.

Now the method of changing drogues without winding in the cable was very simple. All the pilot had to do was to fly over a set point on the Air Force station at a set height and with the cable still out and as the drogue came over the drop zone the operator clipped onto the cable another drogue which was wrapped up and held together with wool and let it slide down the cable to what was called the fish. When the ring hit the first protruding point it released the existing drogue which dropped to the ground, at the same time as the ring now caught the next point and the sudden stopping broke the wool which in turn opened the new drogue. So you see you could what we called 'stream' another target in no time and when the exercise was finished the operator just sent a ring down which released the last drogue at which point the cable was winched in by the very powerful winch, whereas the aircraft would be joining the circuit prior to landing and normally would be on the downward leg, so you can see just why we were painted with black and yellow stripes.

It was on this date September 1st, 1943, that while I was sitting in the flight room when a Harvard landed and pulled up in front of our hangar.

“What's the visiting flight doing here again?” one of the pilots asked. “They were only here a couple of months ago.”

Now it was standard practice for all staff pilots to get a yearly assessment on their flying ability. And as all the pilots {staff} had had their check they were all wondering what the visiting flight were there for. Well they did not have to wait too long as the door to the room opened and,

''Flight Sergeant Pearce, get your flying gear and report to the visiting flight at the Harvard.” And so the mystery has been solved. Well not quite as I duly reported at the Harvard and was told to get in the BACK seat  

“Why? what's going on?" I asked.

“You are to have an assessment," the check pilot replied.

“But wait a moment, I'm a multi engine pilot,” was my reply.

“Just get in the plane and do what I tell you."

Boy, you don't argue against these blokes as they think they are God, and woe betide you if you think that you can up them. So it was into the back seat I climbed. But why the back seat? What a silly question, as I was to find out.

“Now I will taxi out while you put the blind flying hood up,” was the command.

Now we are out at the take-off point.

“I'll line the aircraft up, you set the DI [direction indicator] and then I want you to take off under the hood but explain everything you do or are going to do and I do mean everything.”        
 So what the hell's going on? I'm no instructor but orders is orders - you just don't spit into the wind with these guys. Now I have to try and remember the patter to explain my movements and all the while listening for instructions from the front guy. Having given me lots of changes in both height and direction, and me dutifully obeying each and every command I flew much to my disgust a time of just over an hour and then he told me to release the hood and sit back while he landed it.

OK, so he doesn't trust my flying from the back seat so see if I care. On landing he just told me to report back for my normal duties and he walked away. A few minutes later the other check pilot climbed aboard the Harvard and away they went. Then an office wallah came into the flight room and asked for my log book which he then proceeded to paste a notice which stated that I was an average Harvard pilot, not assessed at night, and that was that. Oh well, again, see if I care.

At this time we had a Warrant Officer Bethune do a silly thing. Apparently he ran out of fuel or so he thought and so proceeded to perform a forced landing as he was too far away from the field to get down. And as the Lizzie has a gliding angle of half a brick his only option was to get down smartly. So picking a field, in he went and made a perfect three point landing, except for one thing - the field was too short and he could not stop before he hit a fence. No problem as the Lizzie has a very strong undercarriage and in fact if you see a picture of a Lizzie in an accident you will invariably see just the undercarriage left. But this time the Lizzie hit the fence and the undercarriage did not give way, but neither did the fence as the farmer had made this fence to last, so the aircraft did a somersault landing on its back and of course the pilot being well strapped in, suffered only a damaged ego, but not the drogue operator as he was held in by his “G” string only, so the floor was now the roof and the roof was now the floor and the operator now had a couple of broken ribs.

On being asked why he did not change to the reserve tank, he asked, “What reserve tank?” So it just goes to show how complacent one became.

At about this time it was brought to my attention that I had been “Mentioned in Station Dispatches” a high honour indeed , The citation reading, and I quote,

“Flight Sergeant Pearce spent 65hrs during the month of September towing drogues. He is a steady and level headed pilot and his spirit is highly commended.”

This was printed in the Station Paper called The Fly Paper. This was brought to the attention of the commanding officer also, who also added his comments and which I have a copy of.

It was now time for me to see if I could get a check out on the Bolingbroke as I had sufficient hours up. The RCAF liked a pilot to have 1000 hrs in his log book as it was considered this was the minimum for this type of aircraft due to the very precision flying that was required. It was considered a “HOT” aircraft to fly and only the best according to the powers that be would be considered.

This station was only one of two in Canada that checked out pilots, the other being in central Canada. Now to check a pilot out there had to be an aircraft that was dual controlled and so there were two such aircraft modified, ours here in Jarvis was 9961 and the main check out pilot was a Polish airman with over 15000 hours to his credit. and also something like 30 or 40 different types.

His assistant was a Yank [in the RCAF of course] and so I approached him asking to be put on the check out list. Well everything comes at a price and he wanted my flying boots. Now the KIWI boots were considered the best of the best, as they were lined with lambs’ wool and had a leather upper whilst the other types had canvas uppers. As you were required to do two hours minimum, a deal was struck whereas one boot for one hour, the other to be exchanged at the conclusion [successful] of the two hours.

Of course I had to lose these boots to be able to apply for another pair. No problem and I was surprised just how easy it was to get another pair without much hassle. So YANK got his boots, while I got the two hours required.

It was on the 14th of September 1943 that I was called over to the check out flight and was given the preliminary run down on the controls and performance and then told to get in the second pilot's seat, and my check out pilot was none other than the great F/L Widawski himself. He was a very hard man to understand and so if you were doing alright he spoke very little.

Now the visibility out of the aircraft from the pilot's view was very bad in all directions but while in the right hand seat it was diabolical. The pilot sat with his back virtually against the main spar and as the motors were just about the same diameter as the fuselage you can see that side ways was bad but to see forward the windscreen had been scalloped down, and so the navigator could sit on his little seat side ways and doing his calculations under the scalloped section It was not a perfect position to be in but it did work.

This position of course enabled the pilot to see the place where he was supposed to land and also because the aircraft sat so low when first flying it the pilot or at least me thought that your backside was going to scrape the tarmac. So off we went on what was to be a very revealing flight. All the usual drill was carried out, that is single engine flying both the port engine and then the starboard engine and then a run through the fuel system with cross feeding being carried out, etc .

After about an hour, I was instructed to join the circuit and do a landing, so I went through the usual procedure prior to landing and everything appeared to be OK.

Now flying from the right hand seat ,the view forward was absolutely diabolical because of the front right hand nose section which of course was not scalloped and as the nose came up your view forward just disappeared. Scary to say the least.     
Well I am making what I think is a good approach and F/L Widawski just leaned over and said “Lower, much lower.”

Stick forward to lower the nose a bit then level off again. And again I am told to go “Lower, lower oh much lower.” So again I push the stick forward and then back and by this time I think that the tarmac is going to come into the cockpit. But by this time the stick is starting to feel very mushy and I knew that we were on the point of stalling and sure enough the stick came back into my chest and the aircraft stalled but before anything happened F/L Widawski leaned over and quietly said

“You are going to bounce."

There was no need for him to tell me for at that moment from about twenty feet up we went down and we bounced and bounced and bounced down the runway in ever diminished bounces until we were traveling along smoothly. Again the check pilot leant over and calmly said, in his very quietly spoken voice,

“You bounced.”

AS if I needed any reminding of the incident. Still we were safely down and so I now owed the Yank my right hand boot, as I had flown from the right so that was the one he was going to get. So there.

That was on the 16th of September 1943 and I was very surprised when on the 17th I got a call from no other than the great man himself, F/L Widawski, requesting me that I get my butt over to the check out flight smartly. Now the check out flight was mainly concerned with getting pilots ready for them to join a squadron flying Bolingbrokes either on the East coast or else on the West coast and they had the distinction of sinking a U-Boat. So I was pretty chuffed to think that I would be checked out ahead of these guys. Apparently from what I was told later on the man himself thought that I had good potential in flying the aircraft so didn't want me hanging about.

So over to the flight I ambled [well how else could you go whilst carrying a bloody heavy parachute that kept banging on the back of your legs?] and duly reported to the man.

“Get in on the left hand side,” was his command.

So I am going to fly from the pilot's position while he sat on the awkward side. Checks done we await the green from the control truck. Even though all operations were controlled from the tower there was also a control truck called 'checkers' because it was painted in a checkered paint scheme and had a cupola on top in which sat an airman watching the traffic [air traffic that is ], while on the ground was a duty pilot who gave out commands to the airman who promptly executed them either by Aldis lamp or if in a panic firing off a flare.

Having received a green to proceed I lined up on the runway and opened the throttles in the approved manner. Down the runway and then gently lifting the aircraft off the ground, retracting the undercarriage and we were airborne and off into the wild blue yonder. Well where else would you expect me to go? After about an hour of doing all the usual checks, as well as some single engine flying, I was instructed to go in and land and on the final approach the man leant over and quietly said,

“Remember lower, much lower.” End of discussion

So after a pretty good landing, even though I say it myself and I will, I was instructed to taxi over to the conversion office.

“Just keep the motors running and wait," was all the pilot said, and with that he climbed out of the aircraft and went into the office so I just sat there expecting him to appear with the next pupil. But no he appeared without his parachute but with a white form in his hand and proceeded to climb up onto the wing and then pushed the form in front of my face .

“Sign please and remember, lower much, much lower.”

And the form I signed well it was for me accepting responsibility of the aircraft and permitting me to take it up solo.

OH good. “I'll just do some landings to improve on them," I said

“OH no,no, no no no no no no no no no noooo no no, one landing, one landing only,” was all he said and obviously he meant one landing only. So after nodding my head to let him know that I did understand what he meant he climbed down and I went out to the take off area, did my checks and then swung onto the runway and eased the throttles forward. Yes there was a very good reason for only doing one landing but I will not bore you with the reason for it.    

At last we were airborne flying a magnificent machine and there was no-one else in the aircraft so I am definitely on my own. After about an hour, I came in for a landing and guess what, I did go lower, much lower, and I must admit with pride and I will - the landing was just a textbook landing with three points touching the ground at the same time and not a sign of a bounce.

So reluctantly I took the aircraft back to the hangar, shut it down and climbed out. And of course I now had to hand over my left hand boot as I had got the two hours in and I had gone solo, and a deal was a deal in the Air Force. Now I knew that I would have a hard time getting a Bolingbroke to put in the hours required [5] to be able to take up a crew and besides I was not in the gunnery flight but assigned to the drogue flight. And with that in mind I went over to the gunnery flight cap in hand so to speak and asked,

“Please sir, can I borrow an aircraft so I can get some hours in?” As the Bolingbrokes were in short supply and every one was virtually brand new, I was pleasantly surprised when on the 19th when I asked that question I was told to help myself and I could have it for an hour. Wacko! I didn't need any more encouragement and promptly got my backside into the aircraft and took off, putting in an hour and it wasn't until the 25th that I conned another aircraft for an hour.

Now I had two hours up but I was still required to carry out my normal flying duties flying the Lizzie and it wasn't until the 5th of the next month that I got in another hour of flying, now making a grand total of three hours.

You must not think that it was all work and no play as about every two weeks one would receive what was called a 48. In other words you had two days off, but of course travelling was also included in the leave and so you would have to plan your leave very carefully, unless of course you were only out for a good time somewhere close.

As Jarvis was not far from Hamilton, and of course Toronto, it was easy to catch a train into Toronto and go sightseeing etc. Well on one of my trips into Toronto I went to the ROYAL YORK HOTEL, a magnificent structure, and tried to book in but oh no there were no rooms at the inn.

“Just a moment Sir," the desk clerk said, “Wait here and I shall see what I can do for you." And with that he picked up the phone and rang someone, and so I just had to wait. Well a few minutes later a woman came down and approached me, and no she was not that kind of woman, but she asked me all about myself and then turned to the clerk and said,

“Give him room ----- on the third floor.”

It transpired that all the rooms on both the third and fourth floor were fully booked at all times for both the Kiwi's and the Aussies who happened to be in town, but, and it was a big but, both parties were kept apart the Kiwis on one floor and the Aussies on the other. What this arrangement cost her I do not know, but apparently it was her contribution to the war effort and it was a god send to have somewhere to sleep.

Before going up to my room I was asked if I was hungry and to come into the dinning room, and what a sumptuous place it was. Sitting down the waiter came around and took our orders. And then the Quartet, or at least I think they were called a quartet, came up and started to play real high class music. And then the leader, or so I supposed he was, asked me what I would like them to play. So putting in my request [Do you think that I can remember what I asked for after all these years? Who do you think I am Houdini?] and so I was serenaded .You have no idea just how good it felt.

So after the meal I retired up to my room and decided that next day I would go sight seeing, but for now I would just relax. But next moment the door to the next room burst open and some airmen followed by some girls [not WAAF’s] burst in and then out the main door. Stopping the last bloke through I asked him what was going on.

“Oh we're just looking for a party," and with that out into the hall he went to disappear into another room still looking for that elusive party. It appears that you did not lock you doors and could expect a party to develop at any time that it suited the crowd. And that was one of the reasons that the Aussies and Kiwis were kept apart as you can imagine the ruckus if they got together. Oh yes, parties were held alright and what parties they were too.     
  
So next day I went sightseeing and taking photos. One of the places was a place called Casa Loma. This was a huge castle, so big that I had to take several photos in sequence to get just one side in. (see photo on page 43)

I also went to the zoo to see Bison [not pudding basins] roaming about. Yes these were very satisfying times as growing up in these times was a bit rugged. Remember that I had now missed out on my 21st birthday and also have now spent a Christmas away with another coming up so it was a bit upsetting at times. Still I had a duty to perform, and come what may I would carry it out to the best of my ability or die in the attempt. In between these forays to the big cities just to let off some steam, it was back to the station to relax.

Now every so often there was a ruckus at the station caused by someone having a bit of fun. Well on one such occasion I was lying on my bed when all of a sudden the door was flung open, someone came in and up-ended my bed with me now laying underneath it wondering what hit me, when again the door was flung open and a couple of Air Force Police ran into the room demanding to know what and who was responsible for the mess. How the hell would I know, as I am only just getting over the shock of hitting the ground. They didn't wait for a reply but went off down the passage way looking for [it could have been the lone ranger for all I know] and left me to sort myself out.

So what was happening? As apparently some of the rooms had also been soaked with a fire hose through the window, and this carnage did not just happen to the NCO's as the Officers barracks also got done over and this was what the MP's were after. So who was responsible? It could not have been an officer as they were gentlemen. So tell that to the Marines as on looking in the officers quarters the only room not affected was a certain Padre who was reading the good book and no, no-one has been near him or at least that is what he said.

Was it him who caused all the fuss? You had better believe it, as he was well known as a practical joker and did the MP's believe him when he pleaded ignorance. Of course they did as butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, or would it? After all, if you couldn't believe a padre who could you believe?! Now he was not the only high up to cause a furore, as it was well known that on each Friday the CO held a hangar inspection, and so the stand-by pilots did not play cards until he had done his rounds as of course playing for money was strictly against the Kings Regulations.

OK on any other day it was usual to get the cards out and go for it, so on this day, a Wednesday I believe the cards were out, money on the table and the game was in good progress when low and behold the door to the room we we're in was flung open and in walked the CO straight past the table we were playing on.

“Deal me a hand I'll be back in a moment,” was what the man said and out the other door he went to do a quick inspection of the drogue flight, and true to his word he was back and grabbing a spare chair he sat down and joined in the game. After about ten minutes he stood up and informed us that he "must be off to complete his tour and have a good game.” With that he was away, leaving us with our mouths open but having a much greater respect for him. And did he put any money in the kitty? Well yes he did. So you see there were some high ups who thought about their men.

So it was normal duties until the 6th of October 1943, when F/L James who was the flight commander of the gunnery flight came over to my flight and asked me how many hours had I got on the Bolys. “Three hours Sir, “ I replied.

“Well there's an aircraft sitting out there. Get it and get your hours up.” Would I what, just get those chocks away and let me loose. So after I had put in just over two hours I came in as daylight was failing and I would have to wait till tomorrow to get some more flying in. Comes the 7th and I was given an aircraft to do another hour. Well, as I was now feeling more confident flying this aircraft and having seen the country side extensively I decided to do something different. Now down to Niagara Falls, a quick line up then a wing over to port, throttles wide open and down I went underneath the famous bridge and down low down to the whirlpool.

 

The bridge at Niagara Falls which Trevor flew underneath

And then up and out over the lake to the other side fast, where I made my presence known by flying within the vicinity of Trenton Air Force Station where they would have seen me and most likely made a note in their log book. So I eased the throttles back to a gentle   cruise  and proceeded   past Toronto, then down to Hamilton and so on home.

If anyone had reported me, I could claim that I was over on the Western side of the lake so no way could it have been me. But upon landing there was no-one to greet me with bad news and so I had got away with it, again. So I now had two bridges under my belt.

Upon landing I was greeted not by bad news but by F/L James who signalled me to keep the motors running while he climbed aboard and settled down in the navigators seat.

“Take me up and show me the line," was his command, and so off we went and when I had shown him that of course I knew where the line was he then asked me to go to the area where splash exercises were carried out, and on finishing it was back to the field and park up.

So much for now. “Just go on back to your flight," was all that was said to me, so picking up my tent [parachute] I trudged over to my flight and prepared for another battle with drogues and the mad Poles and hoped that their aim was good and they were aiming at the target and not my aircraft.

This was on the 7th of October and on reporting back to the drogue flight I was now informed to pack up my gear and report back to the gunnery flight, as I was now to be attached to them, and get your backside into gear because your crew is waiting for you. I've only just come from the gunnery flight and now I have to go back which just goes to show you how the Air Force works.  

On reporting, I was immediately sent up on my first mission and then I did another couple of trips and during this time I clocked up my 1000 hours. At this stage it was usual at least on this station for every pilot in the flight to sign your log book and put in a message. And why was this?! Well if you got to this magic number then you were considered bullet proof. Some of the comments were;

Keep one bounce a day for O'Hara and WISE

Keep your nose clean

Many hundred more

Luftwaffe Beware

...and so on. There were about three periods in a pilot's life that, if you got past them, then your chances of surviving was vastly increased and so I have passed the magic third mark, but of course no-one would have told the enemy or other things that could bring a pilot back down to earth, literally. I have now arrived in the 1000 hour club as each one of the pilots in gunnery flight had amassed that amount of hours. Now you would think that I was now established in the gunnery flight but the Air Force had other ideas and so every now and then I would be asked, no instructed, to report to the drogue flight and to do at least one trip as I was the only pilot in both flights that was checked out on both types and so I was sure as hell kept busy.        
Now on one of our off days, that is when the cross wind was too great for the Lizzie to handle, we were on stand by of course when one of the boys said;

“Let's go duck hunting.” Well you can count me in as I had not done duck hunting before, plenty of rabbit shooting as rabbit meat supplemented our usual meat supply and rabbits abounded a plenty, this while I was still a teenager at home. OK out the door we go but wait aren't we on standby. No worries we will just go up for a weather check. But I thought we were going duck hunting!

“Yes we are just follow us," as we made our way over to the armoury where we were given two Browning machine guns plus two drums of ammunitions for each pilot and there were four of us. So what next?

“Just get in the plane." Now two of the pilots got in the rear entry and proceeded to install the guns while I got into the navigator's dickie seat and the pilot, who had signed the aircraft out, lowered himself into the - where else but - the pilots seat. So we set sail for a round of duck shooting. OK, we get to where the ducks hang out and then all hell breaks loose as the guns opened up and the aircraft stood on its side in a very tight circle trying to get the ducks who were proving better at turning than we were. Next moment the firing stopped while the gunners changed over and we attacked again. So the firing stopped again and “Your turn Shorty."

So I climbed over the main spar and climbed into the turret while one of the other pilots came forward. Boy was it fun firing those twin Brownings, but I would not have liked to have been a gunner, but at least I now knew what it was like in the turret and what forces one had to endure. So now comes the pilot's turn and although we all had parachutes they were of the seat type, not the chest type the gunners usually had. Now the pilot had undone his chute and started to lift himself out of his seat and he poked his head out the entry hatch, accidentally of course. We often flew with the entry hatch open but this time the wind got under his helmet and tried to pull him out of the aircraft, but he was holding on to the stick as if his life depended on it and it did. All this time the pilot trying to get into the pilots seat was holding on to the stick with one hand and trying to pull the official pilot back, all the while the aircraft was pursuing a wild ride of its own and the ground was not very far away.

Still normality prevailed and the change over was completed without any more incidents occurring.

So after the last pilot had had his shot we returned back to the station with another pilot flying the aircraft but no one seemed to question this anomaly. Now I must admit that chasing ducks was never going to get us any, and besides we didn't have a dog with us to retrieve any even if we had managed to shoot one, but the exhilaration of this type of flying has to be experienced.

But of course you can't hang the next episode on us. Now on one fine day a truck pulled into the camp in control of the RCMP and they wanted to know just who had shot a deer. Oh it cant be any one of us can it as all our firing is done out to the lake, but of course the deer could have been swimming or maybe it was trying to emigrate to the USA and was trying to avoid the custom dept. A good excuse but not one the RCMP would accept. I don't know why! Anyway we explained that it could have been a stray shot that got it.

“I don't think so,” replied the officer “ As this deer had quite a few holes in it. I suppose you don't want the carcase do you?”

Well now how about asking the cook and see if he would like some venison. Would he what. This was a gift from the gods and what he could do with it. So that was the first time that I had ever tasted venison and it wasn't until I came back to NZ that I was to taste it again.

Now as we had a Menasco Moth on the station, normally only the CO flew it with his scrambled egg hat back to front. As I wanted to fly and get another type into my book I asked for and was given permission to fly it. In other words it was a Tiger Moth but with a few subtle differences - these being a Menasco motor, hence the name, a tail wheel, a canopy and best of all, brakes, and if it was winter, skis were fitted. And now I had another type added after taking it up without a check flight of course.

Well on one of my flights in a Lizzie, I was doing a sweeping turn to get in early and this Moth was on the inside of me. No worries, I thought as I cut him off, it is only the CO, but unfortunately I had misjudged my speed and no way in hell was I going to be able to land so I had better go around again. So opening the throttle and doing a split arse turn with the Moth doing the same I came in for my landing and the Moth did the same. Strange. Still I will just go and park up and I headed for the hangar when I noticed that the Moth was coming towards me the wrong way and stopping in front of my aircraft.

On climbing down I see a finger beckoning me from out of the cockpit of the Moth and so I wandered over to the side of the Moth and guess who was not flying it. Well it wasn't the CO but just the CFI, one S/L Marigny with a very senior WAFF in the front seat. He had just been showing her the sights so it seems.

“Who ever taught you to do a circuit like that?" he asked.

“No one, sir” I replied.

“I should stick you in the control tower for a week,” was his reply, to which I just laughed.

“Two weeks,” to which the smile came off my face as I realised that this time he was not fooling.

“But you know that I cant afford to as I am short of pilots, so don't ever do that again." And with that he taxied up to the tower. On reflection I think that he was just trying to show off his authority, and it worked.

Even though I was stationed a few miles away from my old station I still used my PFT [private flying hours] to go on down to visit them flying either an Anson or Lysander and on one sad occasion flew down to attend a funeral of a couple of Aussies who had killed themselves, not by fooling around but by a quirk of fate. Death was never far away and it didn't matter how vigilant you were the grim reaper was always hovering over you.

Just to show how things could go wrong very quickly when you were least expecting it, let me explain the layout of our field. It was laid out in the form of an L with the runway in front of the hangars level but the runway running at ninety degrees went down hill away from the hangars. Both runways were rather short as they had originally been built for Fairey Battles so when the Bolingbrokes arrived these required a much longer runway not so much for landing but for the take off.

When I left they were in the process of lengthening them but this did not help on this occasion. This pilot came in for his landing and as usual made a good landing and so proceeded down the runway applying his brakes. Now the brakes on the Bolingbroke were controlled from the spectacle [control stick]. By using your left thumb you applied air pressure to the brakes which in turn were equalised. That is providing you kept your pedals level, both brakes were applied equally but if you moved the pedals then the pressure was applied to the side you were pushing in while the pressure on the other side eased. It was a very good system provided nothing went wrong. Well on this occasion just as the pilot got to the point of no take off ,the nipple at the end of the cable decided to part company with the cable.

Now the aircraft was converted into a runaway roller coaster. Thinking faster than Superman the pilot cut the motors, turned the fuel supply off and prayed all in sequence. So to the end of the runway, over the grass verge, through a fence, across a paddock, through another fence and then came to a very gentle stop. On examining the aircraft the only damage done was some paint off the oleo legs. Thank goodness for the Dowty undercarriage which was very strong. Mind you the pilot did have to change some of his under garments. What was remarkable was that the aircraft stayed in a straight line.

On take offs I used to like it when we used the runway in front of the hangars, as heading south we had to fly over the town and it was important to hold the aircraft down until you got up safe single engine flying speed before you started to climb. Boy it always amazed me just how long it took to get this speed up and how low you had to be when going over the town!

Now things went well until the 31st of October 1943 when I was grounded and sent to a huge old house in Hamilton just a few miles from Jarvis. This house being under the control of Jarvis. So why am I here?

Apparently I had had a blackout in the flight room and it was considered safer for me to cease flying for a while. Now in this house I was asked what I would like to do and as I still had my trusty Argus camera I thought that I would give them something to worry about.

“How bout a dark room and film studio?" I asked with tongue in cheek. No sooner said than done, and the next day there was delivered everything you could imagine to set up a darkroom, etc. Boy the Air Force didn't do things by half, so for the next three weeks I played at being a photographer and I was getting pretty good at it till I was told that it was decided to keep me off flying for at least three months so it was also decided to send me back to New Zealand and I was to report to Vancouver. "So pack your gear ready to catch the train to the coast".

So this was the end of my attachment to the RCAF...

 

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