When I joined the R.C.A.F. in the spring of 1941, the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan was getting into full swing. The recruiting offices had long lines of potential aircrew waiting to sign up. I journeyed through all examinations, tests, Manning Depot, Initial Training (#6), Elementary Flying School (#12) and I received my pilot's wings at #14 Service Flying School like so many other volunteers from Canada and the United States.

Arriving overseas, I travelled the path of so many other RCAF pilots through Advanced Flying School and Operational Training Unit to be again posted overseas. We were kitted out with tropical gear, and assumed we were going to North Africa because the 'Big Push'had just begun there. But the huge convoy of battleships and aircraft carriers left us west of Gibraltar and our small convoy continued southward. Shortly after that we were attacked by U-boats, but escaped safely to Freetown, Sierra Leone, where we waited and melted in the heat for eight days aboard ship in the harbour. When the U-boat scare was over we dashed for Cape Town, where we had three days of social life ashore. Aboard again, we headed north and finally arrived in Bombay, India, after a total of eight weeks aboard the troopship.

It was necessary for us to get some refresher flying so thirty-two of us were sent to Poona where they had a few Harvards. Later, I ended up at Risalpur on the Northwest Frontier Khyber Pass flying some beat-up old Hurricanes that had seen better days. I thought: "What the hell am I doing here?" I had read about this place in my history books and I had read Rudyard Kipling: "Me, a Cree from Northern Ontario'" I made the best of it and after a few hours on Hurricanes I was on the move again. This time I went across the breadth of India to join 67 Squadron on the Arakan Burma front. My social life had so deteriorated by this time that everything was looking good to me - especially girls. I didn't care if they had rings in their noses and ears and bangles on their feet, they were beautiful!

When I joined 67 Squadron I found one other Canadian there - Aubrey Bond, who was later killed in action. There was one American whose name was Jackson, an English C.O. and five more R.A.F., two Australians and all the rest were New Zealanders who had come through the British retreat from Malaya and Burma. They were a grand bunch!

The squadron carried out every conceivable type of duty sent down by 224 Group Operations and Army Intelligence: Upper Air Observations (Met. Flights - it was primitive out there), Escorts of all types (supply drops, dive bombers), Long range strikes (we carried long range tanks and four 20mm cannon - poor Hurricane), scrambles and convoy patrols. One squadron even started chemical warfare by spraying the jungle with D.D.T. The irony of this was that it also benefitted the enemy. We also did a type of napalm bombing by dropping our long range tanks on target and in turn, staffing these with cannon that carried incendiary ammunition which fired the dropped fuel.

We carried on these duties during the late summer and on 1 December, 1943 we were withdrawn to Alipure, Calcutta for rest and the rumor of new equipment. We had done our jobs dutifully, although our poor Hurricanes were out-classed by the Jap Oscar which would come over at their best height of 10,000 - 14,000 feet on escorts and sweeps. I never saw one blow up in front of me, but I don't know how I could miss. One time we were scrambled after thirty-plus and we all became separated and there it was. A most beautifully coloured Jap Oscar fighter: bright pale green, dark green and light brown and the biggest red meatball on its side. It was a beauty! It was so close as he passed in front of me that I could see the pilot; I was in a shallow dive looking for the bombers which had been in and out of the cloud and it seemed a shame to shoot such a beautiful thing. I let go with all guns as he pulled around in front of me - how could I miss? I never claimed because in a short time there was one up my ass and I dived for the ground hanging on my straps. When, I straightened out near treetop level I was alone - whew! When I arrived back there were a couple of holes in the tailplane. The rest of my tour on Hurricanes was the same: scrambles, rhubarbs, convoy patrols, army cooperations, long range escorts and just before we left the front I had qualified for night intruder duties. This happened after three nights of sector reconnaissance and circuits. It promised to be a lonely job, but all the senior pilots had done them. Night Intruder sorties consisted of patrols along the rivers and coast until near the point of no return. We shot up river traffic which the Japs used at night and we only went out on clear moonlit nights, when we could see below - especially the wake of the boats in the water. A trip lasted three to four hours (with long range tanks) and when tired, our eyes played tricks on us. There were some funny tales of what we saw: for instance, one Hurri pilot came back one night and reported that he had shot up a large boat and had set it on fire. The next day he was summoned before the C.O. and he arrived anticipating a recommendation for a gong. He was told with good humour, that the boat he had set on fire and had presumably sunk was in reality a small island in the middle of the river. The swift current made wake-like waves off the island. He slunk out of the office amid great laughter - no DFC, only T.M.H.D.O. of the Finger.

67 Squadron was finally pulled out of the front line on 1 December 1943 and took up residence at Alipore aerodrome Calcutta for rest, but Japanese Airforce were still harassing the squadron. On 5 December 1943 the Jap Airforce carried out a devastating punch at Calcutta harbour to slow up the flow of supplies to the offensive on the Imphal Kohima area where „they had penetrated into India. They came over at mid morning in two waves of 36 bombers with a mixed escort of 100-plus Oscar and Zero fighters. I scrambled with the lead section unaware that my radio was unserviceable - I thought it was a practice; Japs wouldn't raid Calcutta in daylight - too far from their bases, and especially, we wouldn't expect to meet their fighters. It was a well-planned raid and their intelligence was aware of the fact that the lone Spitfire squadron (136) had just departed the day before.

Four of us climbed line astern and soon I saw my section spread out left and right in battle formation. I was on the extreme right of the section and still didn't know what was going on - I had no radio. I should have returned, but kept on as I didn't realize it was a true scramble. I kept checking all knobs and connections with my head in the cockpit for only a few seconds and when I looked up I was all alone. I had not heard the 'Tally Ho'. I spotted my section away below and gave chase - looked around, and in disbelief saw two grey radial-engined fighters on my tail getting ready to clobber me - Jap Zeros? Once again I rolled on my back and dived inverted, hanging on my straps, as the engine coughed and the aircraft shuddered. On roll out, I looked behind and was alone againbut the engine was very rough now. Crossing my path was another Hurricane crash landing in a paddy field and above me was a body coming down in a parachute - ours or theirs?

I pranged in a paddy field in a cloud of dust and as I jumped out, the cockpit filled with fumes. I thought there was a fire, but it turned out to be the hot glycol. As I stood there, trying to piece together what the hell had happened, some natives came up and took me to their village and put me in one of their bashas. After a while, I was summoned outside. "Good show", I thought, "Now I would get a lift back". Instead, I was confronted by two Indian Army officers and a few soldiers. As soon as they saw me, the officers drew their pistols and the soldiers came to readiness. "Damn", I thought, "They think I'm Japanese because of my likeness". I had no I.D., except my dog-tags which I kept waving at them as I jabbered at them that I was a Canadian - RAF! They were very apprehensive, but I finally convinced them when I told them where my Hurricane was. It was getting late in the evening and I guessed that I was reported missing. Finally, they got through to someone and I was given a lift back to the squadron. I had been gone ten hours by this time. We had lost three Hurricanes out of that section with one pilot, Aubrey Bond, RCAF, killed in action and my No.1 and myself pranged but OK. The squadron immediately had two cannon removed from each aircraft until we got our Spitfire VIIIs. I suppose they thought that would improve performance?

Our Spitfires arrived slowly and we began to familiarize ourselves with our new aircraft. The Japs never raided Calcutta again - their raid had been a well-planned one-punch operation. The bomb damage was negligible, but the population was panicked and the Calcutta papers roasted the RAF - "Where was the RAF"?

Those were the highlights of my Hurricane tour, and I stayed on to do some more operations on Spitfires, which is another story. My social life, however, was improving. A madam of a swank social club fell in love with me - I had promised her a fur coat. Why do they think Canadians all own fur coats? I hope she didn't get too cold because it could get cold after dark during their winter. When I wasn't flying I spent many hours relaxing and she treated me royally - I guess I was young and dashing - and a fighter pilot! We got along marvelously and I had many fond memories to dwell on when I returned to operations and that God forsaken jungle.