My first flight was in a Sunderland from Pembroke Dock during a CCF summer camp in 1953. I remember at least two eight hour plus (daylight) patrols over the Western Approaches, cooking eggs, bacon and sausages on the galley primus stove, watching the world (sea!) go by from the rear turret and shivering in the draughty front turret. On one trip we flew to Belfast, landed in the harbour and taxied over to Shorts. We were tied up against the dock for long enough to load quite a number of spare parts before returning low level to Pembroke Dock.
That was the year I caught the flying bug.
