Memoirs of a WW2 Typhoon pilot -part 4
The story continues...
As we sailed past the Statue Of Liberty into New York harbour, the rumour grapevine was as active as ever - we were going to train in the USA; we were only calling in to refuel and would then go to Argentina, and various even more unlikely scenarios.
What happened next was completely unexpected and a perfect example of the bureaucratic mind at work. We were paraded on deck and then marched down the gangway. At the bottom of the gangway was a strip of coconut matting which led off towards a train drawn up on the quayside. This matting was lined each side by American Marines, and we were warned not to try to step off the sides. The train turned out to be Canadian, and thus we did not in fact step on to American soil at any time. The reason apparently was to allow us to circumvent the American customs and immigration controls.
By the time we were all aboard the train it was midday. Our destination was Montreal in Canada, some 350 miles directly north. The scenery, especially during the late evening, as we travelled through the Adirondack Mountains, was magnificent.
Most of us slept on and off and we were a very untidy and bleary eyed lot when we arrived at Montreal. We had, of course, been sleeping in our uniforms whilst on board ship. We were taken by bus to Lachine just outside Montreal where we were allocated barracks and told that we could sleep in the next morning as we would not be paraded until midday. Breakfast would be optional at 0800 hours!
Next day we paraded at midday, a sad looking bunch, in very creased uniforms and unpolished boots. We were greeted by an RCAF WO2 (Warrant Officer 2nd class), a rank which did not exist in the RAF which only had one class of WO. His badge of rank was a cloth crown on the sleeve where an RAF WO would wear his 'Coat of Arms' badge. He surveyed us in silence for a few moments and then, in a strong Scottish accent said, "You're a scruffy lot. Is there anyone here from Dumbartonshire?" Since there was nobody from that locality with us we never found out any more about him.
The next stage in our welcome to Canada was to be completely re-equipped with Canadian uniforms and flying gear. This included light summer weight uniforms in khaki as well as two sets of flying coveralls, summer and winter weight underwear and shoes as well as boots. The uniforms were even complete with the LAC propeller badges which indicated that the powers that be were really 'on the ball' in their reception. Even the kit bag was bigger than the equivalent RAF type. We were told to go and change into our new gear, pack up our RAF uniforms, label them with our names and numbers and hand them in. We naturally thought that this was the last we would see of them until we returned to UK, but no, next day they were all returned having been dry-cleaned and pressed!
During the next two weeks, no doubt whilst all our paperwork was being processed, we had a few sessions on drill and orientation lectures which gave many of us our first real ideas about Canada. A lot of the lads did not even know that Quebec was mainly French speaking and had assumed that Canada was a sort of English USA. One thing that really impressed us with the size of Canada was that there were some Canadians on the camp from Vancouver who were even further from home than we were! They told of a five day train journey of which it seemed that two or three days was travelling across the same wheat field!
My next posting however was much nearer Montreal, to No.4 E.F.T.S. at Windsor Mills in Quebec, about 80 miles west. The actual location of the airfield was outside the village of St.Francois Xavier de Brompton. This is a large name for a very small village consisting of a few houses and, in common with most of Quebec, a large church. Windsor Mills itself was not much more than a large village but had a very large paper mill, hence its name. The one thing that anybody who has ever been there will remember is the 'wet cardboard' smell. This was so strong you could smell it even when flying overhead at several thousand feet. The nearest town of any consequence was Sherbrooke, about ten miles away.
The setup here was somewhat unusual. It was not a normal RCAF station but a civilian flying school. The weekly totals in my log book were stamped with 'Windsor Mills Flying Training School Limited'. The administration was by RCAF personnel but the instructors were civilians. They wore a uniform that looked more appropriate to a civilian airline. They also had the courtesy title of Sergeant. Most of them were, to our 18 year old eyes, quite old! My instructor, Sgt. Farrell, was about 43 and had been flying for years as a 'bush pilot' in Northern Canada. However we did not start our course straight away since it was the end of winter and the airfield was snow-covered. The course previous to us was coming to an end and the aircraft were fitted with skis instead of wheels. It was decided that we would wait until the 'break', which is when the snow disappeared, so that we could start our course on aircraft fitted with wheels. Consequently, although we arrived on the 13th April, I did not get my first flight until the 28th.
The aircraft were not Tiger Moths but were Canadian made 'Fleet Finch II's. These were larger and heavier than the Tiger Moth with covered, sliding hood cockpits, and a five cylinder radial engine. As soon as the snow had cleared sufficiently, the skis were removed and the aircraft fitted with wheels. Almost at once the reason that our course had been delayed was made obvious. Landing an aircraft on skis is similar to landing on wheels but with one important difference - drift! With skis it is not necessary to make sure that the aircraft touches “straight” since the skis will slide sideways to take up any misalignment. The pupil pilots who had thus far only landed on skis very quickly found out about the difference. I witnessed at least three 'ground loops' where the aircraft touched down and immediately swung viciously to one side. In all the cases the tip of one bottom wing was damaged and in one case the aircraft finished up on its nose with a broken propeller. Fortunately no one was injured, but it gave us a salutary lesson on landing with drift.
More soon.