Evening star., 1941-06-22

the car, picked up my parachute, helmet
and Mae West jacket and looking across
the road whom did see coming toward
me but my squadron leader. He was
just as startled as was, and said: what
the hell are you doing here?" so I an
swered, "Well, what are you doing here,
sir? was shot down"
We'll, so was l."
My C. o. had been hit through his
glycol system just short time before
I had dived down through the clouds
and came out right over that r. A. F.
airdrome. So all he did was to down his
wheels and land.
My third engagement was my last.
We mixed it with a large enemy for
nation of 100 bombers and fighters near
the Thames Estuary. We were hard
at it when shell from the cannon Of
one of the enemy fighters crashed
through the side of my cockpit cover and
glanced off my radio earphones.
1t took helmet, goggles, oxygen mask
and my radio microphone right off and
exploded practically in my lap, setting
my aircraft on fire. I bailed out, let
myself drop 1000 or 5000 feet and pulled
the ripcord.
The parachute opened at about 10000
feet and I started coming down. The
air was so nice and cool up there that
nearly dozed for little while. I f1oated
down safely and landed at place which
ironically enough was called Graves
end
Hands Strung Up.
For two months I was in one Of thc
best Canadian hospitals in England, thu
18th Canadian General. which, as you
may know, is a Canadian-staffed hos
pltal, and I would like to pay special
tribute to the doctors and nursing sisters
who were so kind to me and gave me
such wonderful treatment
All the doctors are specialists in their
own spheres. My eye specialist was one
OF the best in Canada and so was the
plastic surgeon who attended my burns
and did an excellent job of work. The
sisters and male orderlies also were ex-
ceedingly good to me.
My hands had been rather badly
burned and silk threads had been put
through my flngernails so that my hands
could be strung up to the ceiling to
keep the wrists from bending.
mat was in the early fall, and the,
were an awful lot of flies coming i?
through our ScreenlesS windows. As
couldn't move my hands, I used to blow
at them as hard as could to shoe them
away when they longingly rested on and
roamed all over my face I was so weak
that I would soon get tired and wouldn.
even have sufficient strength to blow at
them. So would call the nursing sister
to come and kill few At other times
my nose would get itchy and I would
have to call the nurse back again to
scratch it. I think that this hurt me
more than anything else While I was
safely tucked away in bed the boys of my
squadron were hard at it in the heaviest
phase of the air blitz.
You might be interested in the de-
Scription of how the fighter command
operates.
Fighter command assumes the defense
of all the British Isles 1t is divided into
groups, and each group is subdivided into
the coast of France our observation posts
and secret means of detection spot the
enemy and transmit Immediately their
direction of flight, height and number to
the fighter command control room.
Command control passes this on to the
proper group control who orders the
sectors concerned to send so many fighter
squadrons to intercept the enemy. Sector
control, knowing the exact state of pre-
paredness of each squadron under its
jurisdiction, sends up the squadrons Sc
lected. From the moment the observa-
ton post or other detecting sources have
informed fighter command of the i'm
pending raid to the time the squadrons
have been ordered up, few seconds only
have elapsed.
The aircraft are ready. the motors
warmed up. Placed in such a position
that the pilot can put it on instantly, the
flying helmet. with the attached oxygen
mask, microphone and radio earphones,
is inside the cockpit. The parachute,
placed on the tail of the wingtip of the
aircraft. awaits the pilot.
The control room phone rings: "Scram-
BILE" shouts the squadron leader. The
pilots run out, the ground crews spring
into action, the mechanics start the
motor. The pilot arrives, puts on his
parachute. The mechanic jumps out of
the cockpit. The pilot jumps in, straps
himself in, puts on his helmet, attaches
his oxygen mask, places his radio at the
receive" Two or three minutes have
elapsed. The aircraft taxi hurriedly TO
the take-off position, take their place in
the formation, each pilot lifts his hand
to show that he is ready. The squadron
leader looks them over. All hands are!
up. He lowers his. That is the signal
for take-off. The motors roar and, with
he same breath, the squadron scars into
he sky and soon disappears into the.
blue.
What pen could describe the stirring
light of a squadron dashing off to COM,
Dat. One may have lived such moments
lime and again, yet the emotions which
rip ones heart seem always new. One
eels that the great game of life and
leath will be played in the skies. But II
he onlooker's heart tightens up a bit it.
S not from fear of the dangers that
wait these gallant fighters, but from the
- t1af,1 ,r-,f4I