When I pedaled on my bicycle to a large field on the edge of Middleton Park on the south east side of the town of Leeds, I had just turned 11 years of age and it was a beautiful warm June day. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky and there had been nothing but talk at school about a flying circus that was coming to Middleton and for the sum of five shillings you could go up for a 20 minute flight.

On the following Saturday I pedaled my bicycle as fast as I could go out to Middleton Park. On the downhill stretches when I did not have to pedal, my hand kept wandering down to my pants pocket to make sure my five shillings was still there. As I got close to the park I could see an aircraft with two wings, one above the other, rise up over the trees, circle and then disappear behind the trees. My heart began to beat faster and I stood up on the pedals to make more speed. A few minutes later I was at the edge of the field looking at two de Haviland biplanes - they both had open cockpits. One of them was just taking off, bouncing up and down as it ran faster and faster across the grass. Then all of a sudden it parted company with the ground and was airborne. It climbed upwards, kind of lazily, and after a few minutes it made a turn to the left. In the meantime the second aircraft was taxing to takeoff.

I thought to myself, "This is for Me", so feeling down into my pocket I pulled out my five shillings to make sure it was still all there - it was..

I looked around at the crowd and spotting a school chum I pushed my bike over towards him. I begged him to look after it for me whilst I had a flight. He told me I was crazy, but I was already heading for the small line up of people waiting to take a flight.

The first aircraft was loading a passenger for another trip. I was able to look it over better now, it had two open air seats, and the pilot sat in the rear one and the passenger up front. A man was standing on the wing strapping the passenger in. The propeller had never stopped turning as the man got down off the wing and walked towards our line up.

He walked slowly down the line taking money and handing out tickets in return. When he got to me he looked me over and asked my age. I told him I had just had my 11th birthday. He then asked me whether my mom or dad were with me. I replied in the negative. The next second my dream to fly collapsed all around me as he said "I'm sorry son but without your parents permission we cannot take you up".

Dazed, I went over to my friend and retrieved my bicycle. I felt so sad I went away from the crowd and spent the next few hours just watching the two biplanes do their thing. That night I hardly slept because I could not get those two aircraft off my mind.

Two months later our family moved to another area of Leeds which was about five miles from Yeadon Airport. During the war years Yeadon was to become an assembly area for Lancaster bombers which were built in underground factories.

I soon discovered the shortest route to take, through the countryside, to get to Yeadon Airport. I would bike out there on a Sunday at least once a month, weather permitting. My favorite perch to watch the comings and goings of the aircraft was on top of a stone wall which was common in the north of England for fencing off one field from another

At this time Yeadon was only a grass field and aircraft took off and landed into the prevailing wind. My happiest time was when the wind was in my direction and the aircraft took off away from me and came in to land just over my head. A small plane commonly in use at this time was called the "Flying Flea". It was about the most skimpily built thing possible to fly. Everything was wide open and you could see the pilots legs and hands. and for that matter, his total body. It was as if he was sitting on a plank on edge which had a little bit of padding where he sat. On a fine day there were quite a few "Flying Fleas" coming and going. They sounded more like mad wasps than fleas when airborne. The odd "Rapid Dragon", a twin engine plane, would land and disgorge a few passengers. As yet, Yeadon had not become the main Leeds/Bradford Airport but to me it was next door to being in Heaven.

A Brief Account of his Flying Career

February, 1941 to Air Force Recruiting Center in Leeds to volunteer. (17 yrs 3 months old)

April, 1941 had medical in Leeds, passed medical. Put on Volunteer Reserve for Air Crew Training.

May, 1942 to Cardington Airport for medical-written and oral exams (three days} passed all exams-told me I would be called when system could absorb me. Joined Air Cadets.

July, 1942 Sgt. Harrop arrived to take us to Scarborough in Yorkshire for I.T.W. November wrote exams-passed. Due to bad weather could not progress to grading school. Took extended navigation course.

Late February, 1943 to Scone near Perth, Scotland to commence grading school at #11 EFTS on Tiger Moths.

June, 1943 sailed to New York on Queen Mary (five days) then to Moncton, NewBrunswick-Canada.

June, 18th by train to Assiniboia, Saskatchewan (three days) to #34 EFTS. Commenced flying Cornells on 27th June and soloed at 6 Hours 45 Minutes. Cornell Course lasted 75 Hours 15 Minutes.

August 23, 1943 by train to #11 SFTS Yorkton, Saskatchewan. to commence flying on twin engine Cessna Cranes. Soloed at 6 Hours 40 Minutes.

December 10, 1943 completed course, awarded Pilots Wings. Cessna Crane Course lasted 160.00 Hours.

January 19, 1944 commenced flying Beechcraft Expediter. Soloed at 5 hours 15 minutes.

February 2, 1944 commenced flying Dakota (DC3), soloed at 1 Hours 0 Minutes.

March 24, 1944 course completed. OTU Course lasted 97 hours 40 minutes as follows: Beechcraft Expediter, 367 hours, 10 minutes and DC3 (Dakota), 60 hours, 30 minutes

May 29, 1944 from Pembroke Dock in Wales flew in Sunderland flying boat to Calcutta India, arriving June 15

June 21, 1944 commenced training for supply dropping on Dakotas with 117 Squadron.

January 29, 1945 completed tour. Being 504 hours and 15 minutes operational flying. Total of 132 sorties or missions as the Americans would say.

February 9, 1945 flew a plane to Alipore-Calcutta for overhaul then had a two week rest in Kashmir.

May, 1954 became a reserve instructor for the R.C.A.F. - flying Chipmunk aircraft located at Vancouver Airport. I acquired a commercial license endorsed with an instructor’s rating, instrument and night flying rating as well as the coveted DC3 endorsement.

Pilot Training in Canada

JUNE 1943

We were told to parade every morning including Saturdays and Sundays. On parade the following Thursday the Adjutant got up and said "you would be pilots are leaving for Southampton to go by boat for training in Rhodesia, South Africa". We were told to be back on parade by 10:30 A.M. ready to move out.

My kit bag only took five minutes to pack, another five to walk back to the Parade Ground. I sat on my kit bag, noting the time was 9:45 A.M. There were others just as eager to get out of A.C.R.C. By 10 A.M. just about everyone was there. We were clock watching, wishing the time would pass. 10:30 A.M. came and went, then 11 A.M. Everyone was getting fidgety and glancing in the direction of the gates looking for the buses which were to take us to the main railroad station in Manchester.

The Adjutant showed up at 11:15 A.M., climbed up onto the platform and made the following announcement: "Last night Southampton was bombed. The convoy that was to take you to South Africa was damaged including the ship you were to travel on. I regret to tell you that you are confined to camp, no phone calls allowed. In a few days you will be told where and when you are going. Meanwhile you are to parade everyday at 9 A.M. and 1 P.M." It was not until years later I realized this little speech would change the course my life was to take. I headed back to my quarters and padlocked my kit bag under bed number 5. This done I lay on the bed and tried to unwind.

The next day at 9 A.M. parade we were told once more to be back at the Parade Ground at 10:30 A.M. We did not rush to get back this time arriving there at 10:20 A.M. The buses were there; this time the Adjutant wished us Farewell and Good Luck. Not a word about where we were going or how we were going to get there. Our kit bags were stowed and we took our seats. The driver would only say we were going to the railway station in Manchester.

Boarding the train we headed north, changing at Carlisle on the Scottish border. The second train took us through Glasgow to Greenock where we disembarked in a siding overlooking the River Clyde. We marched down to a dock, boarded a lighter and headed out to a massive white and dirty gray colored ship anchored out in the stream. She bore no name but I knew from pictures I had seen in school that this was the famous Cunard Line Ship - "The Queen Mary". I also knew she ran between Great Britain and New York. As we grew close I was awed by the size of her.

Once on board we were assigned to our cabins, shown the dining room which had high ceilings supported by massive marble columns. We also toured the kitchen, bakery and laundry room. The size of everything was mind boggling. There were guns on the forward and rear decks. Radar discs on the top deck were already turning and smoke was beginning to increase out of the funnels. I thought to myself, `we must be leaving on the night tide' but where is our escort. The ship was almost devoid of troops. There were only about 300 R.A.F. personnel, plus the crew and gunners for the guns.

After dinner we were told to stay behind in the dining room. An Army Officer told us we would not be here on a holiday but would be given Guard Duty. He divulged we had 3,000 German and 2,000 Italian prisoners down in the hold of the ship. They would be allowed up in groups to eat and when out at sea would be allowed up on a closed off area of deck to exercise twice a day. The Italians were to be kept separate from the Germans and would eat and exercise at different times. From a list of names he called your name and your designated times for Guard Duty. I was put in charge of 20 men, given the 4 P.M. to midnight shift then given a 38 revolver and told to shoot any prisoner who gave trouble; no warnings to be given. I was also told not to wear my gun when mingling with prisoners while doing a head count. Also I was told there would be Army men with sub-machine guns close by, and if shooting starts get yourself down and stay down! We had no trouble throughout the whole voyage.

Some of the Germans could speak good English and asked me what ship were they on, I told them "The Queen Mary". To which they said, "Germany sunk her over a year ago". No words could convince them otherwise. They had been brought aboard in the black of night and therefore did not see the size of the ship.

I was right; we pulled up anchor at 10 P.M. and left on the night tide proceeding down the Clyde slowly escorted by tugs on each side. It was pitch black out, not a light to be seen anywhere. About midnight the engines worked their way up to full speed, this told me we had cleared the mouth of the Clyde. My guard shift being over I went to bed.

The next morning, after breakfast, I ventured on deck, there was nothing but sea all around us and the ship was zigzagging back and forth. Spotting one of the crew I asked him when we would be meeting our escort. He informed me the ship did 38 knots (44 M.P.H.) and did not need an escort. She was too fast for any submarines. He also told me we were well past the northern tip of Ireland. I was told it would take five days to reach New York because of the zigzagging.

About noon on the second day out the Italians were allowed up on deck in the exercise area. About 20 minutes later the forward deck guns and the stern guns fired off about 10 practice rounds each. The Italians though they were being rescued, threw their arms around each other and started shouting "Savior, Savior". When the guns stopped they were disappointed when the ship kept going full speed and there was nary a bird, let alone a rescue boat to be seen.

The Germans were next allowed on deck. They looked around the sea in every direction and were bewildered when no escort ships were to be seen. The size and speed of the Queen Mary overwhelmed them. I was walking amongst them - minus revolver - when a German who spoke fluent English said to me "This is the 'Queen Mary' and we are without escort". I said it was true. I could see he was having a hard time comprehending this because his government had told the German people the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth had been sunk the year before. They had also been told Germany ruled the seas. To cheer him up I told him he had been fed nothing but propaganda. It did not help matters when a Sunderland Flying Boat appeared on the scene and stayed with us for the rest of the daylight hours.

On the third day out the weather turned for the worse. It was colder and we saw the odd iceberg. Rain came down in torrents. One of the ships crew informed me during the night we had changed course to the north and were then south of Greenland. That night about 10 P.M. we came to a dead stop. The engines and pumps stopped, we drifted for about two hours and then the engines started again and with a shudder she was under way. Later, one of the ships Officers told me that radar had picked up what appeared to be a surfaced submarine ahead. In the morning, at day break, a Catalina Flying Boat appeared and spent the rest of the day scouting the sea all around us.

Icebergs were still to be seen, and the next morning which was the start of the fifth day, the weather was warmer and we were in fog. I was told by a crew member we were only 300 miles off the mouth of the Hudson River and New York. At 2 P.M. in mild fog we stopped and waited for the Pilot Boat to bring out the Pilot who would take over the ship and pilot us up the Hudson to where we would dock. Because of the fog our progress was slow. We could faintly make out the Statue of Liberty on our left and soon after we were joined by half a dozen tugs which did a ballet around us before taking up positions to push us towards the dock. Their engines would snort like mad bees and then become quiet. Each tug pushed in turn to maneuver us to the side of the dock. Ropes were thrown and were tied to the dock. Two or three gang planks were put down.

Then our journey was over. We were not allowed ashore but spent many an hour looking over the scenery for the fog had lifted and the sun was out. At the dock immediately to the north lay the "Normandy" on her side. It was rumored that she had been sabotaged, hence the heavily armed guards around the Queen Mary. At the dock, north of the Normandy, the Queen Elizabeth was tied up and, noting the smoke coming from her three smokestacks, I figured she would be leaving on the next high tide. In the morning she was gone and so were we!

***

A Strange Experience in Assiniboia, Saskatchewan..

The cookhouse staff was Canadian and the majority of the girls who waited on the tables were French. One of the girls had black hair, good looks and spoke with a cute French accent. She took a shine to me and made conversation whenever she had a chance.

I asked her where she lived in Quebec and she told me she came from a farm in the far north. In winter her father had a trap line and most of the winter they had moose meat for dinner. Evidently wolves were quite predominant in winter.

Appearing at my table after dinner one evening, she produced some snapshots of the farm where she lived. The farmhouse was made of logs, smoke was coming off of the chimney and children were playing in the front yard. Upon closer scrutiny I could see a coffin, with the lid off, leaning against the wall close to the front door and the body lying within it was that of a bearded old man.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face for she quickly explained it stayed at -50°F for four months of the year and a grave could not be dug. The coffin lid was removed during the day so the children would remember granddad who was 90 years old. Each night the lid was nailed back on so the wolves couldn’t eat him.

She also told me that a gun was necessary when visiting the outhouse after dark. This reasoning made sense to me me.

***

A Close Call

July 10, 1945 I flew 12 passengers to Allahabad, New Delhi and Cawnpore. When we were 20 miles out on our approach to New Delhi we ran into a sandstorm. I immediately called the New Delhi control tower and notified them we were inbound, as well as our altitude and location.

The tower told me we were the only aircraft in the vicinity of the airport, landing approach was into the west and to pick up the beam then land at my leisure. I bracketed the beam and started to let down towards the outer marker beacon. I no sooner thought I had the approach in hand when I looked out of the windshield to see a British Overseas Airways Corp. passenger plane bearing straight for us.

My reflexes reacted immediately; I chopped the throttles, at the same time putting the Dakota into a steep dive straight ahead. I would bet that we missed each other by no more than 20 feet. I leveled out, turned 180° to find the beam and start the approach all over again. While I was doing this I told my wireless operator to call the tower and ask him if they had anymore surprises in store for us. The tower came back to say their radar was not working.

I picked up my mike and told the tower to call the B.O.A.C. pilot and tell him we were two miles out on final approach. After we landed and parked I went to the control tower and had very strong words with them.

Alan was a pilot with 117 (RAF) Sqdn. flying D.C. 3's supplying the 14th. army with it's needs as they pushed further into Burma. As 1945 dawned their activities increased and presented Allan with many interesting memories .

Jan. 2nd, 1945 Alan and his crew along with a 7,000 lb. load were headed for the west side of the Kaladan valley two miles north of Teinnyo. The DZ (drop zone) was close to the main road running north and south. His was one of ten aircraft, so they had a very large circuit to contend with , the drop taking almost an hour to do and with no fighter escort they did not enjoy spending this much time on a DZ. After the drop they headed north back to Hathazari. That flight took three hours.

The second load of the day was a split load destined for two different DZ's. It consisted of 7,400 lbs. of rations and gasoline. The gasoline was for the tanks at the second DZ. Both drop zones were in the Kaladan Valley, the first was at the 500 foot level on the west side of the valley, three miles north of Awrama village. A small jungle trail ran up the hillside and over the top. It was in a small clearing on this trail that they were to make the drop. The DZ was not hard to locate and Alan decided the best approach was north to south and then swing around into the east to approach again. This put them over the edge of the valley where it would be easier to put the aircraft down if anything went amiss.

This drop went off successfully and they turned north following the Kaladan river until they reached the village of Munhdaung. The valley narrowed to about eight miles wide at this point and as they swung into the west over Munhdaung, mortar shells started bursting all around them. It took Alan about two seconds to dive from 600 feet to about 100 feet! Their fighter escort moved in quickly and strafed the village while Alan flew about five miles to the west to the DZ. The recognition letters were out and the tanks were clearly visible blasting away at the enemy.

Flying wide circles around the DZ and studying the situation, it was apparent that the Japs were in control of the ground situation. But once again the fighter aircraft appeared and began beating up the enemy ground positions. Moving his aircraft to a safer distance Alan had his navigator warn the "throw out " crew to do a maximum drop each time they could go over the DZ.

Shortly one of the fighter escort appeared and rocked his wings to signal that it was OK to attempt the drop. While the fighter planes continued to beat up the area the supply drops were made. As the gasoline packs hit the ground the ground troops busily retrieved them and it was obvious that the fuel was badly needed. In all it took ten runs to get rid of their load before Alan and his crew high tailed it back up the valleys and over the mountains to Hathazari

It was a 3 hour and 45 minute flight that according to Alan was "one of the more exciting ones"

Jan 15th. 1945, The army had taken Akyab and it's airport during; the night and we were headed down the coast bright and early with 4,200 lbs. of Red Cross supplies. We were the first aircraft to land at Akyab since it had been taken, and the Japs were still lobbing mortar shells on to the field. The runway was still in one piece as we landed and quickly taxied to the unloading area as directed from the makeshift control tower. Upon stopping we ran for the comfort of a slit trench. The army took about 25 minutes to unload our aircraft and put six stretcher casualties and 10 walking casualties on board. Our crew ran to the aircraft and I started the engines and taxied to the end of the runway for takeoff. As we got close to the end of the runway the control tower called and said we should hold position until an American DC3 landed.

We held, and as tile American touched down a mortar shell hit the plane towards its tail. The aircraft stopped about half way down the runway. The crew scrambled out and ran like hell to put as much room as possible between themselves and the aircraft. The next minute the plane blew up shooting flames 200 feet into the air.

More mortar shells began to explode close to the runway as I taxied out and lined up on the runway centerline. The guy in the control tower screamed over the radio "You're crazy, you'll never make it”. With part flaps down, I stood on the brakes, brought the engines up to full power, released the brakes .We rolled forward like a bullet out of a gun. I coaxed the aircraft into the air turning ever so slightly to the west. We passed over the right side of the burning aircraft at about 400 feet and could feel the intense heat inside our own aircraft.

Up came the wheels, then the flaps. As we turned north over the sea we could see the burning aircraft and four or five aircraft circling the airfield trying to figure out how to get down. We followed the coast north for about 120 miles and landed at Cox’s Bazaar. We were to pick up five passengers and take them to Chittagong, where we were taking the wounded. We arrived without incident, unloaded, took off and fifteen minutes later were back at Hathazari. Flying time 3 hours and 15 minutes.

One night in mid‑January I was told to attend a special briefing and to bring only my navigator with me. At the briefing there was only the CO, an army liaison Captain, my navigator and me. We were shown a location on a map approximately five miles northwest of the village of Kaboing, which lay on a small river that fed into the Chindwin to the east. Our cargo was to be 7,000 pounds of pure silver Rupees especially minted for the purpose of rewarding local tribal people for spying on the Japanese. On the receiving end of the drop would be a Captain Stewart who had been born to missionaries in Burma and could speak various tribal languages. He had a small detachment of soldiers with him and they had spent months behind the Japanese lines. We were told that the villages in the valley was infested with enemy troops.

Upon hearing this I suggested some dummy bundles with parachutes attached be put on board so we could occasionally break away from the true DZ and drop the dummies at various points in the valley to distract the Japs into thinking that there was more than one contingent of the army in the valley. The Liaison officer thought this was a good idea and he would attend to it.

The next morning we were up at 5:30 AM and after a quick breakfast we drove out to the aircraft. On climbing aboard we found a Lieutenant Colonel sitting on top of the cargo. I asked him who he was and what he was doing here, to which he replied, "the name is Grimm and I'm here to make sure you bastards do not steal any of this cargo”. He was nursing a submachine gun on his lap and had the brains to bring along a parachute. I invited him into the cockpit but he refused. I told him of our non smoking rule and why. He said he did not smoke.

Ten minutes later we were airborne and swung around onto an easterly course. I told my navigator I wanted a course to take us about 50 miles north of Gangaw in case the Japs still had any Zeros at the Gangaw airport. A direct route to the DZ would take us within 5 miles of Gangaw and would have been too risky and asking for trouble. It was a bright clear day and as we climbed to 8,000 feet to clear the mountains we could see the valleys below still covered with fog.

After flying at 8000 feet for 25 minutes, I began a slow let-down to 4000 feet and started flying east through one valley to the next , staying as low as possible when passing over a village in case it was occupied by the Japs. This way we would be well past them before any guns could be trained on the aircraft. After just over an hour of flying we came to the valley at the south end of which lay the Gangaw airport. We were 50 miles north of Gangaw and our course took us over the village of Sihaung Ashe, which lay on the west side of the Myittha River as it wended its way north up the valley then east to join the Chindwin river. The valley was only 10 miles wide at our crossing point and we were across in three minutes and heading into a valley through the next mountain range. Seven minutes later, clinging close to the mountainside I turned south into the valley where the DZ was located.

Flying south for 20 minutes brought us to the area where the DZ was supposed to be. We flew circles in the area looking for a small hole in the jungle which Captain Stewart and his men had created during the night to make a drop zone. After much zigzagging back and forth we located the target. I quickly looked around the area for points of identification so we could quickly return to the DZ when we left to do dummy drops around the valley. To the south, a small river took a sharp turn to the northeast and I chose this as an identification point. The jungle clearing that formed the DZ was only about 150 feet by 150 feet. Flying over it once more to verify the identification letters, I swung around to start the drop. There was not a soul to be seen on the ground and with such a small target we could only drop a couple of bundles on each run.

After three drops we headed up the valley about ten miles and made a dummy drop. Heading back to the real DZ we came too close to a village and some puffs of smoke coming up towards us indicated that someone did not like us being there. Fortunately we were not hit. Back at the DZ we dropped another six bundles into the clearing, then headed east about five miles for another dummy drop. This time we stayed close to the ground and away from any village. Then back to the DZ.. Rupees being heavy, it did not take many bundles to make a 7000 pound load. This time we dropped the rest of the load.

When this was done I chose two more places to do dummy drops and then headed for the protection of the mountains in the northwest. I instructed the crew to keep a sharp outlook for Zeros because the Japs knew we were in the valley and had possibly alerted their air force of our presence. We passed from one valley to the next and climbed to 8000 feet to negotiate the next mountain range. Clinging to the mountainside we had reached 7000 feet when I saw what appeared to be three Zeros about 10 miles away heading in our direction.

Knowing that at the speed they would be traveling, they would be on us within two minutes I did a steep diving turn, heading for the valley bottom at the same time telling the crew to keep an eye on the Zeros. Seeing a small valley heading west I turned into it. It was exceptionally narrow so I quickly took off some speed so that we could negotiate the turns in the valley. The adrenaline flowed and I and I could feel the perspiration building up at my belt line. Six or seven minutes passed and nothing happened so I came to the conclusion that we had not been seen. The narrow valley led us into another valley heading northwest. Climbing to 7000 feet we cleared the ridge at the end of the valley. A quick scan of the sky told me we had not been spotted by the Zeros and they must have gone hunting elsewhere.

And now it was all downhill as mountain slopes gave way to flat land and rice paddies. We landed at Hathazari having a flight time of 3 hours and 50 minutes.

We bid farewell to Lieutenant Colonel Grimm as crews began loading the aircraft with cargo for our next flight.

A very strange follow up to this story:

On June 2nd. I did a flight to Calcutta and stayed overnight at the Grand Hotel. My navigator spent the evening at one of the missionary temples and my wireless operator‑ Scotty‑decided to do some shopping. After dinner I wandered into the bar to see if anyone I knew might happen to be there. There was not , so I sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a Tom Collins. Later when I was halfway through my second drink I noticed an Army Captain enter the bar. He came towards where I sat and I noticed he walked like a cat – always on edge, nervous, head on a swivel as though watching for the unexpected. I thought to myself "This one must be fresh out of the Burmese jungle". He sat down next to me and ordered a double "scotch on the rocks”. We struck up a conversation and upon noticing my pilot's wings and Burma Star ribbon on my uniform, he said, "What squadron are you with?" I told him I had just finished a tour with 117 Squadron. With a hollow kind of a laugh he said " One of your boys went to one hell of a lot of trouble a few months ago to do a special drop to me in the jungle and it was all a wasted effort ." I studied him for a couple of minutes and said "You must be Burma Stewart". He had a long sip of his drink before replying. "How the hell do you know me ?" I told him that I was the pilot who had dropped the silver Rupees and asked him if they had picked them up to pay off the natives. He ordered another round of drinks and then proceeded to tell me what had happened that day.

They had chopped the hole in the jungle during the night and then withdrew to a small hill about a mile away to watch the drop. He said it was a magnificent sight to watch us doing our stuff to put the money in the hole. Talk about "money from Heaven". When the drop was finished they decided to come down to the drop and pick up the money. Suddenly they heard machine gun fire nearby and they soon realized the valley was swarming with Japs. They decided to forget about the money as the risk was too great. All week they had been having close calls with Jap patrols and they were getting quite nervous. About 20 minutes later three Zeros appeared on the scene and that clinched it. They climbed all day and all night until they reached the floor of the next valley. A couple of days later they were picked up by a flight of L5 aircraft landing on a dried up rice paddy.

I just about choked on my drink . “You mean to say the money is still there?". "Yes" he replied "and you and I are the ones who know where it is because Colonel Grimm was killed about three weeks ago while out on a jungle patrol". We made a pact right then and there to come back after the war and get the money. We finished our drinks and I bade Stewart "goodnight and good luck".

I have not heard of Stewart since the chance meeting. I often wake up at night and think about all that money lying in the jungle. With the heat and dampness, the parachutes and packs would have rotted long ago. The jungle growth would have closed the hole within a year or two. On occasion I still think of going back to see if I could locate the money. But then I think of those Naga tribesmen still chopping off heads ‑‑ and I would like to hold on to mine fur a while longer !

Final memories of flying his beloved D.C.3 with the R.A.F. in Burma and India.

January 16, 1946^. I took D.C.3-KJ900 up for a 25-minute air test and the next day flew it to Jodhpur taking 4 hours 50 minutes whereupon I bid this aircraft farewell. We stayed in Jodhpur for two days, and then on January 19^th flew D.C.3-KJ874 to New Delhi.

To my regret, this was the last time I flew with the Royal Air force.

My discharge from the Royal Air Force took place at Uxbridge on the outskirts of London. I was told I was Class "A" Reserve and would be one of the first to be recalled if they needed me. I was given six months leave with full pay, told I could return to the R.A.F. within the six-month time frame if I did not like being a civilian.

I was offered a short term commission for five years at my present rank which meant at the age of 28-1/2 years, the Air Force could dispense with my services and no hope of enough time in the R.A.F. to qualify for a pension. My reply was that I might consider a permanent commission but this was turned down.

In 1954 I became a reserve instructor in the Royal Canadian Air Force flying out of Vancouver Airport. The aircraft I flew was the de Haviland Chipmunk, a small two-seat, fully aerobatic aircraft. After hours spent flying the D.C.3, the Chipmunk felt like a toy in my hands. Anyway it was lots of fun doing aerobatics again and I was soon to receive my commercial license with an endorsement that I was qualified to fly a D.C.3. This endorsement I kept on my pilot's license until the year of 1994 when, due to ill health I voluntarily gave up my license.

For a number of years I flew for pleasure in a twin-engine Piper Apache, a single- engine Grumman American and a single-engine Cessna 172. But, alas, they were not the beloved D.C.3, with which I had such a long romance.

And a parting word:

She was part of me and I was part of her, and together we became as one. When I demanded the almost impossible of her she never murmured.

And when I pushed the envelope close to the edge --- she would let me know it was time to ease off just a little.

D.C.3., wherever you are now, I would like to tell you my love for you is still as strong as ever. I thank you for letting me be one of your pilots.

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