July fourth arrived. How I remember that date. For me, the date we started on was to be anything but a picnic. This would have taught Gertrude Bell just what the desert can be like.

The convoy consisted of three Rolls Royces and five special high chassis Crossleys fitted with secondary radiators in the back to conserve water, which might become a problem. Some crank had thought that it would be a good idea to get all forms of R.A.F. transport across, so a five ton Leyland lorry and a P.&M. motor cycle were included. The motor cycle, ridden by Flying Officer S. D. Culley, who had won the D.S.O. for bringing down a zep. during the war, actually completed the crossing to Cairo. The lorry, like the Crossleys, had had an extension radiator fitted in the back. Otherwise it was the standard hard tyred vehicle of the period. It was into this that I loaded all my equipment, and in which I was expected to travel. It was too much to have seventy foot masts on this, so I had to make do with easily erectable thirty foot masts. With the gear I had, everybody realised what a difficult job I would have in getting communication of any sort at some hundreds of miles range.

The reason for taking off during the heat of the summer was to ensure hard, or rather dry, going. We were to see by some of the ground we traversed that it would have been impossible during the wet season.

There were seven R.A.F. officers and fifteen other ranks, under Squadron Leader Welsh. All were from Egypt except for me. So it was left to me to carry the can for Iraq Command.

A dear old chap named Ball did the actual mapping and surveying. He had an assistant named Sullivan. Ball was on loan from the Egyptian Survey, and became Professor Ball to us. Throughout the trip, Ball nursed his chronometer on his lap, to ease any jarring. It was so important for him to have the exact time for his observations so as to plot our true positions. This meant that I had a very important job checking the chronometer. There was only one station in the world giving out a scientific time signal. It came from the Eiffel Tower, which transmitted a very gruff, powerful spark which merged into the atmospherics. These were vicious at night in this part of the world. The signal was transmitted around midnight from Paris. In the desert, I had to get out of my blanket at two in the morning for it. So I never got a good night's sleep. After each gruelling day, I badly needed it.

We had two Arabs with us from tribes who were acquainted with the parts of the desert we were to cross. I doubt that they were much help, because we were mostly going well off the beaten track.

We were seen off from Baghdad by King Feisal the First and Sir John Salmond. he had come out from Air Ministry for the event. Later, he became Marshal of the R.A.F. During the second world war, he was Director of Armament Production at the Ministry of Aircraft.

I have photographs of the party in which Feisal, in his robes and half white shoes, looks a kingly character. Another shows me looking from the lorry as I drive away. It shows the old acetylene gas headlamps and the oil sidelights then in use. I see the number L 8678, so it could have been the 8678th registration in Glamorgan. I wonder how many cars have been registered in Glamorgan since then.

We were soon in trouble with the lorry. After about thirty miles it sank into the sand up to its axles. Dragging and heaving and planks made little progress, so we abandoned it. I moved all my gear into one of the Crossleys.

We were on the ancient caravan route between the Euphrates and the Tigris. We passed by Khan Nucta caravanserai, in which Sheik Darrie had murdered Colonel Leechman shortly before I arrived in Iraq. The whole army was out hunting for Darrie. When I was in the Hit area, I had some exciting trips around the desert with an armoured car section which was out searching there. He disappeared into thin air and out of the news. Many years later in England, I saw in my morning paper that he had been caught in the Mosul region.

After discarding the Leyland, we soon reached the Euphrates at Falluja. There were no bridges, so arrangements had been made to get everything across in dhows. This was dicy with the heavy vehicles attempting to run on to the light craft. It was more by luck than anything else that w eventually got across without mishap. We still had daylight left when we reached Ramadi, where we stayed the night.

Our route from Ramadi was practically due west. Without any definite landmarks, it wasn't unlike being at sea, which meant travelling by compass. After Ramadi, the desert rises gradually, and soon the nights were comfortably cool. Water was strictly rationed from the start, and doled out a few times a day in what seemed miserably small quantities. There was no shaving or washing, and I was soon sprouting a full set. At times, the going was good, over the hard gritty surface. If it had not been for the essential map making stops, we could have covered many miles in a day. Every fifty miles or so we marked and numbered landing areas. This was done by using a rope as radius on some fifty yards for one of the cars to make a huge circle, around which two or three other cars would tear around to form a very clear ring. In the middle of these we pegged numbers made from empty shiny four gallon petrol tine which had been cut into strips. These enabled aircraft to report their exact position. So as to make a distinct track, all cars kept to the wheel tracks of the leading car. When I flew over the track later, I saw the horse sense of this. The track showed up very clearly from the air.

I wore a pair of shorts, and a cotton singlet with a spine pad and hola topee. I soon attained a rich brown under the dust. On my bare feet, I wore a pair of Arab sandals.

We struck an enormous stretch of dried mud, absolutely flat. During periods of heavy rain, this must be a shallow lake of hundreds of square miles. It was like sailing over a glassy sea, and reminded me of the South Indian Ocean on the trip from Durban before mentioned, but here no flying fish leapt out in front. We reported this as an ideal spot for a car speed record exercise to the high speed people of the day, and it was considered for this.

After the mud flat, we ran into stretches of wadi country, where the rains had torn the land into steepish river beds, and where the ground was not only very rough, but of loose sand. At times, it was necessary to manhandle the cars one at a time over long stretches/ This would have stood us in good stead as a tug-of-war team, had we run into such a competition after the survey was finished. We were in the middle of an extra big heave one day when the officer behind me pushed me for six. Picking myself up and beginning to shout; "W....," I saw him finishing off a sand viper that I was about to tread on in my sandaled feet. This is a deadly snake, and I was a little shaken.

A couple of nights afterwards, I did have something which caused me considerable pain for a day or two. A scorpion had crept into my blanket in the night, and it stung me right under the crutch. Fortunately, it was only one of the small sand variety, but even this was bad enough as the pain lasted for three days. We had no doctor with us; only a medical orderly, who did not know much about scorpion bites, or anything else for that matter. Fortunately, we did not need any medical assistance until we were within fairly easy reach of the Transjordan side by aircraft.

The ground had become undulating, which was a change of sorts. We would wonder what was coming after the ridge ahead. By the professor's reckoning, we were about half way. The difficulty I was having establishing contact with both Baghdad and Amman with the transmitter I had, brought this home to me. The evening before, I had the whole crowd in line grabbing the handle of the hand generator one at a time so that enough power could be got to get through two or three words, before one man staggered away and the next man took over.

All days were alike. Up at dawn, a few miles, and the mapping table would be out. The cars rushing round to make another circle, spells of heaving and pushing, and the longing for a long, cool drink of water. Then making camp at sundown. Then for me, getting my aerial up and into contact with civilization. For the mechanics, an hour or two having a good look see at the cars, which required a certain amount of servicing every day. Major Holt's party was still north of us, with his T Fords doing well. We made arrangements to meet him ahead.

One afternoon, there really was something over the next ridge. When we topped it, an Arab camp came into view. We gasped, wondering who the devil they could be. We had hit the spot which is now Rutba. Now, a staging place has been set up complete with hotel. The oil pipeline from Persia to the Mediterranean now passes there. As we approached the camp, bedlam broke loose. Nothing like our party had ever been seen by the Arabs there. We drove right in, and soon saw Arabs over wells from which they had been drawing water in skin buckets to water the animals. For these Arabs, the cars were something out of this world. At first, they looked scared to go near them. At last one of the braves plucked up courage and touched the mudguard. When it did not bite him, the others were soon stroking them. We didn't wait long before getting at the water, which we realised was clean, so we drank our fill. As we stood and watched, one of the chaps took out a packet of cigarettes and handed the packet round until it was empty. He threw the empty packet away. I saw the youths standing by look at it with interest. At last, one of them pounced on it and picked it up. Immediately, the others swarmed around, trying to grab it. Those who got pieces turned them over in their fingers, obviously wondering what it was. It was obvious that they had never before seen a packet of any sort. It would be very interesting to know how long those wells had been there. The leather thongs with which they had pulled water up for what must be thousands of years had worn deep ruts in the rocks around the top of the well. It was a small tribe with a few tents or lean-to shelters. In one, I saw a woman weaving rough cloth on a machine which must have been old in Mohammed's time. It was an amazing contraption. Women were spinning thread by threading from a bundle of wool held in the crook of the arm, and feeding it down to a spinning piece of stick fixed into a weighted base. There was a hook at the top of the piece of stick to hold the thread until sufficient had been spun to wind on to the stick. Every so often, the stick had to be given a twist to keep it going. I had seen exactly the same process being done in some of the remote places in India. I saw a chap start a fire using a flint and some fluffy stuff. I wondered how long it would take me to become as adept at this as he was.

It was summer, so absolutely nothing grew there. There was not a tree in sight. One can hardly call it an oasis, but we understand that a miserable existence is eked out by a few tribes along this semi-fertile strip running north - south down the central part of the desert. I suppose I should have said was eked out. Since then, the desert highway and the oil pipelines run through there. This must have made a big difference to the manner of life of these isolated tribes.

We would all have liked to stay at the well with its lovely water for a good rest, but the heads considered this might be a little dangerous. So we moved on before camping for the night. I keep saying 'camp', but it was nothing more than just to roll up in a blanket, sleeping under the open sky.

In a couple of days, we came to a known water hole, El Djid, where we had arranged to rendezvous with the Holt party. This really was a water hole. One could walk down into it, to the water. However, the water was a bit rank, and we did not risk drinking it. On the previous evening, I had told Major Holt that we would be there on that day. I had also received notice that a Vickers Vimy with Group Captain Brook Popham from the Air Ministry on board, already four days on the way from Amman, would also drop in on us. The Vimy had had a few breakdowns with engine trouble. As I watched Brook Popham digging into a tin of bully beef with four days' growth on, he looked a bit fed up with the whole business. When Holt drove in, he had an amazing story to tell. On the previous day, he had met a small tribe, in the same fertile strip as Rutba, who the previous day had been raided by another tribe and badly beaten up. Their camels and animals had been pinched, and their sheik had been badly wounded in the tummy. Holt suggested that it would be a fine thing if he could be got to Baghdad in the Vimy for good medical treatment. He would go back and talk to the sheik's wife about it. This he did. He brought the sheik, who went back to Baghdad, where he was cured and flown back. Fortunately, the Vimy had no further trouble after leaving us. This was the limit of Holt's meandering. He went back to Baghdad with his T Fords. Frank Lowry, the operator with the Holt party, was jolly good to be getting back to the comforts of civilisation. But I was to go on.

After El Djid, we ran into lots of wadi country. With its heaving and pulling, we began to suffer casualties. It was pretty hot. The long stretches in the sun began to tell. The transport corporal and one or two others went down with heat stroke. We were now much nearer to Amman than to Baghdad. I called for aircraft to collect the sick. It was easy to find a landing ground, which we marked. Aircraft came and took them off. I myself was not feeling too good, and would have liked to have been wafted out of it. One the other hand, I don't think I would have left the party while I was able to carry on.

The next luxurious spot was the Azrak pools into which we were really able to dive. But before we reached Azrak, we experienced a real spot of desert life. We met up with the tribe of one of our guides, who had been recruited because of his knowledge of this part of the desert. There was much rejoicing. The fatted calf was to be killed for our benefit. It really was a sheep. It appeared in an enormous, shallow bowl about four feet across and six inches deep. The head stood up in the middle, and around it was the rest of the meat and veges in a lovely stew. We knew all about eating with the right hand only, keeping the left hand out of sight. We all crowded round the dish together. We were told to just make a gesture of drinking the bowls of water which came round every now and then, as it was definitely doubtful. I don't know whether I could tuck into a meal of this sort now. But as it was the first cooked meat we had had for weeks, to me it was delicious. I've never forgotten it. When we had finished, the sheik and his chiefs got stuck in. After them, we noticed the women mucking it. Finally, all the children, when the dish had been carried out of the sheik's tent. What an amazing party to be able to look back on!

A morning or two after this, we crested a ridge. WE saw, in the distance, what I can only look back on as Hell. We were approaching the basalt rocky region, and very black and menacing it looked. Our super rapson tyres of the period got torn to shreds in the jagged edges of these rocks, which in places were only just under the sand. Planes had to fly over and drop replacements at frequent intervals, and recce for us from the air for ways and means to get through the stuff. At times, we did a few miles a day. But at last we got clear, and on the way to Amman. We had been seen off at Baghdad by Feisal, and we were to be met at Amman by his brother Abdullah, who had been put on the throne of Transjordan.

It was with a terrific sense of relief that it was all over. All the party felt the same. I felt very, very tired, and wanted nothing but a long rest.

e slept a few miles short of Amman so that we would arrive there fairly early. After a short walk with Abdullah, we were ready to push on to Jerusalem. As we left, I noticed we had picked up a lady passenger, who took a seat in the front car. We were told that she was a member of Peak Pasha's household, and was taking advantage of the opportunity to get to Jerusalem. Peak Pasha, as he was known, was the English officer who had formed the Jordanian army, and was in charge of it. Later he was succeeded by General Glubb, who was to become quite a big noise in the running of Jordanian affairs until King Hussein (Abdullah's grandson) was forced to retire him.

At last we were on a real road, even if it was rather dusty for a convoy of cars. The summer was passing, and the weather was perfect. The valley down to our left looked beautiful. We passed pomegranate trees. The fruit was just right, and we tucked into it. At about midday, we arrived at Jericho. As a gazetteer of the time said, we found it to be a miserable little village near the banks of the river Jordan. WE looked around for somewhere where we could get some sort of a meal. There was nowhere. All we could get were some bottle of warm beer. This wasn't to my taste because I was T T.

The country around the Dead Sea looked horrible, reminding me of the sulphurated country around the sulphur pools Flight Sergeant Dobson and I had come across during our memorable tramp into the desert from our desert wireless station about seven months before. The whole outlook was extremely uninviting. We did not think of going over and taking a dip in the unsinkable water. Withdrawal on the valuable mineral deposits had not begun, and Dead seemed a proper name for it.

We had dropped considerably coming down from Amman. It was curious to think that we were over twelve hundred feet below sea level. Somehow, it felt like that. I was not sorry to get over the Allenby Bridge, looking down on possibly the very spot where Christ was baptised. I was crossing the river Jordan . My thoughts flew back to my childhood, when I was asked whether I was over Jordan, meaning, of course, whether I had been saved.

I was very excited at the thought that I was going up to Jerusalem. How strange that I was going in by the back door, not by the conventional route via Palestine. Up and up we went. I began to wonder where the Good Samaritan incident took place. We passed the notice informing us that we were at sea level. We continued to rise, until we saw the walls of the Holy City. How I felt at this moment, words fail me. Here was the place we had sung about, and about which we had set all our religious thoughts. I did not worry that we were not stopping. I knew I would come again under more favourable conditions.

After a brief rest, we carried on downhill, round the hairpin bends. In a short time we arrived at the R.A.F. Station at Ramleh.

This was the end of the road for me. I did not belong to Egypt Command. After spending this last night with the team, which had been my little world for what now seemed ages, and with whom I had seen and done so much, I said goodbye. F/O Culley set off on the motor bike for the last leg to Cairo in company with the eight cars. They now looked the worse for wear. Everyone was copious with thanks to me for the part I had played. With the usual cheerios, the desert survey party was over.

After I had shaved off my beard and moustache, and had a good clean up, I felt at a complete loose end for a day or two. The Ramleh people were kind, and saw that I joined in any bathing trips that were going. When I expressed the wish to get to Jerusalem, I was taken for the day. I took long walks into the surrounding countryside. One day I came across an Israeli village, which seemed completely co-operative. I asked if I could get a meal anywhere, and was taken to a house where I was given an excellent meal. The young woman, who spoke fairly good English, was pleased to explain the whole set-up. At the time, it sounded a most satisfactory state of affairs.

I was told that I was to fly the first air mail to Baghdad. I was to go to Amman, where I would join it on its way from Cairo. A Handley Page dropped in to collect stores for Amman. I got on it, and off we took. We flew right over Jerusalem at no great height. I had a good view. I was in the big back bomb bay with the engineer. I was thoroughly enjoying the trip, when suddenly, over the Dead Sea, we dropped like a stone for some distance. We had hit an air pocket. This was then a frequent experience. It took some time to make sufficient height to get over the hills. I turned round to say something to the other chap, and he wasn't there. He must have fallen through the loading hole. I tried to shout to the pilot and navigator in front. This was useless. As soon as we landed at Amman, I dropped out to run round to tell the pilot, when the missing engineer appeared. He was so thin, that he was able to get through the bracing wires twixt the pilot's seat and the bomb bay, and this he had done.

I had a few free and easy days in Amman, waiting for the air mail. I was able to look around a lot. The aerodrome was on high ground, not far from Amman itself. It was a short walk to town. Except for the Roman amphitheatre, there was little to indicate what a centre it must have been during the Roman occupation period. It did not have the ruined palaces and archways that I was to see at Jerash later on. But to have warranted the building of this theatre, there must have been a large population. There was one small hotel. This seemed completely out of place. At this time, Amman was right off the map, compared with the number of tourists attracted there in recent years. Petra, with its rock temples and tombs, had not become the attraction it now is.

During a long walk northwards along the valley stretching that way, I passed some squatting Arabs. They were in conversational mood, so I squatted beside them. We spoke about the small fish in the small river and things, and then one said; "Aurens, he come back?" I hadn't the slightest idea what he meant, and bypassed it. After a time he said; "Where Aurens now?" Suddenly, it struck me. He was asking for news of T. E. Lawrence. "Did you know Aurens?" I asked. "Yes," he replied; "We," motioning the others, "Fought the Turks with him." Stumbling on with the chat as well as I was able, I certainly found out that they adored Lawrence, and hoped for his return.

Years later, when I spent a long time with Lawrence having many talks with him I often thought of mentioning this incident. But I always drew back from doing so, thinking it might be presumptuous on my part. But more of him later.

At last, news came that the air mail had left Cairo. Two D.H.10's! What a shock! But one of these crashed in lower Palestine, leaving one. A D.H.9a was top replace the crash, and I was to fly in the 10. Was I scared? But it was all right. I 'found' the wireless unserviceable, and said I must transfer to the D.H.9a. It was as easy as that, and I had no trouble in finding it serviceable in the 9a. The D.H.10 was getting a pretty bad reputation, and this was one of its last flights before it was taken out of service. On the test flight for the return journey, I saw this one crash in flames, killing the two officers on board.

The 9a, with its long range tanks, could just about do the trip Amman - Ramadi non-stop. Arrangements had been made for refuelling at Ramadi. I was with Flying Officer McDonald, who was later to become Air Vice-Marshall. I had no warm clothing with me, and took a blanket to wrap around me if I wanted, and wanted it was. McDonald went up to twelve thousand feet, and I got frozen. I had difficulty keeping the blanket around me. Eventually, the slip stream really got hold of it and whipped it out of the cockpit. I can only hope some wandering Arab eventually found it.

Aircraft W/T was pretty crude then. The H.T. generator was swivelled on a bracket. This was pushed out into the slipstream. It was powered by a small two bladed windmill about eighteen inches long. The aerial was one hundred yards or so of wire, wound on a reel, by which it was let through the floor via an ebonite tube. A lead weight was attached to the bottom of the aerial. Filament current was from accumulators. The receiver was self-contained, with its own accumulator and dry cell H.T. With the roar of a four hundred horse liberty engine a few feet in front, in a completely open cockpit with a borrowed helmet, this was a different kettle of fish from operating within a closed office on the ground. Conversation with McDonald, only two or three feet in front of me, was impossible. Fortunately, we had little to shout about to each other. Desert, desert, nothing but desert, stretched away as far as the eye could see. The monotony of it began to pall. I began to wish we could get a move on. I was stiff with cold, and thought it would not be a bad change to get down onto the baking desert for a warm up. The huge rings we had made looked very small from this height, and the car tracks the narrowest ribbon.

With economical cruising, we hoped to make Ramadi in six and a half hours or so. For me, time began to drag heavily. But at last, there was the Euphrates in front. Excitedly, I pointed Ramadi out to the pilot. We were down first, and anxiously watched the 10 land. I remember the co-pilot, standing up in the front cockpit, motioning with his arms to the pilot to drop her or lift her a bit before touching down. By now, I was feeling definitely groggy, and anxious to get on, and after we were refuelled, glad to get into the cockpit for the last bit to Baghdad. But just as we were getting off the ground, I felt the aircraft hit back onto the ground. and the engine switched off. I saw the rough ground ahead rushing towards us, and with great relief felt the thing pull up just in time. I jumped out, shouting "What's wrong?" McDonald had jumped out too, saying "Can't move the rudder." Some of the people had dashed over. We soon found what was causing the trouble, taxied back, and got off O.K. I was so glad to get down at Baghdad, where Steve and some of the others were there to greet me. I knew by then that I was running a temperature. With some help, I got to the hospital, where I was put straight to bed. How like the Khyber Pass picnic, when I collapsed at Peshawar in the same way.

It was now September. I had been away since the middle of February, except for a few days before I joined the survey party. I had had enough of the desert to last a lifetime, and wanted no more of it. I had lost a lot of weight. Fortunately, the fever was nothing like as serious as the malaria I had gone down with at Peshawar. After a few days, I was able to leave hospital and return to duty.

I was told that I was a corporal, which did not excite me in the least. I was patted on the back by the A.O.C. for a very good show. I was told to get fit as soon as I possibly could, because the football season was under way, and I was needed.

The accountant sent for me. He was concerned about all the pay and allowances that I was credited with. I had had but a few dribs and drabs since I flew away with Dobby in February. I told him I would have the lot, and he paid right up. I took a bundle of big old ten rupee notes from him. He must have told the C.O. of the squadron that I was attached to for pay and accommodation and rations. He sent for me too. "You have drawn a lot of money," he said; "Are you going to keep it on you?" "No," I replied, "I shall try to get to Baghdad and pay it into my account." "You've got a banking account?" he said with some amazement. "Where?" I said; "With the Westminster in my home town." "Good God," he said, as though it was the strangest thing in the world for an airman to have a bank account. He was very helpful, and said; "You can have my car, and go as soon as you can." He rang the transport officer, and told him to have me taken to Baghdad when I was ready to go. He certainly was not following in Group Captain B.C.'s footsteps. The last thing B.C. would have done would have been to allow an Other Rank to have his staff car for a private journey.

Again, just as had happened after my miserable time in the Khyber Pass, I came into another nice little nest egg. I was seeing the world alright, and, at this rate, not doing too badly. I could drop the R.A.F. just as soon as I felt like it. But I didn't feel like it just yet.

I managed to get fit enough to get my place in the first representative match of the season. This was against the army team. Sir Percy and Lady Cox were there with King Feisal and all the upper ten of the time. The Arabs were very soccer minded, and swarmed in in their thousands. We got well on top of the army team, and won 5 - 2.

Wireless personnel were headquarters staff. We joined in with them for sports, and together got a very good soccer team going. Squadron Leader Saul, a staff officer, was a first class centre forward, with whom I would have friendly connections long after our soccer days were over. We won the Iraq Championship, beating the Aircraft Park Depot, which had an establishment of a couple of thousand or so. We played the rousing match before a crowd of something like ten thousand. We had two semi-international weeks in which Southern Iraq played Northern Iraq. Early on, the pick of all the south came up to Baghdad and played two matches. Later on, the pick of the north went down to Basra and played two matches. Included in the Baghdad area team were two civilians who had played in big football. They were an Oxford blue goalkeeper named Glendenning, who was something in oil, and a Casuals player, who was on the Baghdad Times. The centre-forward was an army chap named Saggers. I think that later on he went onto the Norwich staff. I was one of the four R.A.F. in the team. We won all the matches, both at Baghdad and at Basra. But we had more people around Baghdad from whom to pick a team.

What an amazing life I was living. As in India, I never came into contact with any females. The only ones one saw were the Arab bints who were always hidden behind their yashmaks. They were only outside camp. No females ever came near our quarters. How different things were then from now. As soon as a kid leaves school or college now, it thinks about getting married. There were two dozen of us on the main wireless staff. Not one of us was married, and I was young compared with some of the others.

Christmas 1921 came, my second in Iraq. As is usual everywhere at this time, we made merry.

More squadrons had arrived. Baghdad West was not considered big enough, so a second aerodrome and accommodation was established at Hinaidi, some distance from Baghdad. Flying had increased so much that a separate channel was opened to cope with aircraft traffic. I took over this aircraft station. New sites were found both for the main station and for my box of tricks. I moved to Hinaidi, and Steve and Co. went to a site on the other side of Baghdad.

My new station was housed in an all-wood building, mostly made from aeroplane packing cases. It had a second stand-off roof raised about eighteen inches above, into which were packed rushes and stuff to give more protection from the heat during the hot weather.

I was in the habit of going to a cafe, run by an Arab, for a good supper. The cafe was only just outside the camp perimeter. One evening, I was enjoying a good supper, when the waiter rushed to me, saying; "Wireless on fire!" I rushed out, and saw the blaze. Dashing headlong in the dark towards it, I ran into a barbed wire fence, gashing my leg badly. But this did not stop me, and I arrived in time to see the place a roaring furnace. I shouted around for the duty operator, and found him badly shaken. He had only just managed to get through a small window, but his little dog, who always went on watch with him, had perished.

This was a how d'you do, which was to impress on me just how quickly things can be done when necessary. The very next day, a gang started building a mud brick building, which was completed before nightfall. I went to the main stores in Baghdad, where fortunately they had a 56B transmitter and motor generator, which I began to install right away. I ran loose wires all over the place, as there was not the time to cleat it all up tidily. That could be done later. I had two of my best chaps to help me. We worked through the night and all the next day. Although we began to feel tired, I felt we could go on, and after a snag or two, we got the thing humming around midnight. On switching on the receiver, the first dots and dashes that I heard were the Eiffel Tower time signals. These were the signals I had struggled over in the desert. So in two and a half days, we were on the air again.

Every twopenny halfpenny job in the service must have an officer in charge. An officer named Hartley from Eight Squadron was appointed in charge of the wireless station. He usually looked in each morning to see if I wanted anything. Since he couldn't help me if I was in difficulty with the equipment, I never wanted anything from him. He used to fly a lot. Although the squadron was equipped with D.H.9's, there was one dual-control Bristol Fighter. When all was quiet, I started flying with him. One morning, he came in and I was busy on a fault with the spare receiver. "Come on," he said; "Let's hit the sky." "Sorry," I said, "I must straighten this thing out." And so off he went. A short time afterwards, the telephone operator dashed in, shouting "Mr. Hartley has just been killed." It was an appalling shock. I had difficulty in controlling myself. Looking down at the receiver I was working on, I murmured to it; "You've saved my life!" I ran out on to the 'drome, and over to the still burning wreckage. "Who was with him?" I asked. "The fitter," was the reply. I could not but help thinking; "Why did it have to be him, and not me?" Anyone dying in the morning was always buried on the same day. At the funeral that afternoon, my thoughts can be better imagined than described. "In the midst of life we are in death" seemed very real.

No. 1 Squadron had arrived from India with its Snipes, the single seater fighter used towards the end of the war. There was no opposition in Iraq, and they were no use as carriers. One wondered why they were sent to Baghdad. Now we had Vimies, D.H.9's, Bristols and Snipes at Hinaidi.

The summer of 1922 passed peacefully enough. I got none of the excitements of 1921. Since Baghdad was only a two year station, I began to look forward to the trooping season, and a change. I got into the station cricket team, mostly as a bowler, and played quite a lot. But I was glad when the soccer season started again. The army match to be played in Baghdad came along again. I was fetched by a headquarters car. Stupidly, I did not take a change with me, going in just my soccer gear. This would have been alright, but after the match both teams were entertained to a dinner in Baghdad. I had to clean myself and make myself as presentable as I could. But underneath, I still had my sweaty soccer shirt on. I was driven back to Hinaidi in the cool of the evening, and thought everything was O.K., although I had felt the chilliness of the drive. Next day, I felt quite poorly, and in the evening I went to see the doctor. He immediately sent me to the camp sick bay. I did not hang about there long, but was rushed by ambulance to the Baghdad General Hospital, where rheumatic fever was diagnosed. I had a very rough week or two, and cursed myself for my stupidity. I had only been in hospital for a few days when a caller came from headquarters asking if I was well enough to go and put something right at the wireless station. What a joke! I couldn't move, and certainly didn't care whether the station was working or not. England had managed to survive without Kitchener, and no doubt the R.A.F. could survive without S.E.C. It must have managed, because I took no further part in things. It was recommended that I be posted home by the first available boat. Strange that I had to leave Iraq a sick man, as I had left India. But again, I was to make a good recovery.

There was no boat trip down the Tigris on this homeward journey. The railway had been completed all the way to Basra. There was no lingering at Basra either. The Braemar Castle was waiting there to collect us. The usual trooping conditions prevailed. Down between the decks we went to the hammock issuing, and to scramble a sleeping bag corner, if, like me, you disliked being slung up in a hammock. The Braemar had passenger decks. Parts of these were allotted to the lower herd All the time we were in warm waters, there was a rush at sundown to bag a place on which to kip down for the night. This covered a large part of the voyage, well past Port Said. This was my second trip up the Suez Canal, so I knew what to expect.

The serious unemployment problem had hit Malta as badly as it had hit England. To ease it, a large number of Maltese carpenters had been recruited into the R.A.F. for service throughout the Middle East. Quite a number were on board, and nearer to Malta the excitement among them was terrific. The shout that went up from them at the first sighting was something to remember. They hugged each other, some cried, and some went down on their knees. To us cold blooded members of a northern race, this exhibition seemed fantastic. What meetings they must have had as soon as they were able to meet their families!

Again we had some very rough weather crossing the Bay of Biscay. Even if the rolling and dipping of the boat had not upset me, the propeller thrashing the air when it heaved out of the water would have done. We did not get lost in a fog in the Channel this time, and got to Southampton without trouble.

In those days, all returning troops went to the depot at Uxbridge before going on leave. When I arrived there, I was met with; "Glad you have got here in time. You are wanted to play against the guards on Saturday next." Sure enough, there in the centre half position (where I usually played) in the notice for this R.A.F. team was Cpl. Catt or A.N. Other. My fame had run ahead of me, and my name had been seen in the trooping list. It was all completely stupid, because, had I been well, I would not have been fit enough, after a few weeks cramped in a troopship, for a big soccer match.

One got a good leave after a tour abroad, and I soon got fit enough to play for Sandwich Town, a class of soccer which was just right for a work in.

I had a piece of luck in coming home by that particular boat. Had I been fit enough to come by a boat just before, I would have gone to Air Ministry. Being a job in the centre of London, I would have hated it. As it was, I was wanted on another job. I went to Old Sarum to carry out some tests involving the reception signals from aircraft using ground aerials and crystal receivers. Those old fogies who remember the first days of broadcasting with its crystal receivers and cat's whisker will know what I am talking about. A valve transmitter had been developed to give out tonic train signals which could be received on an audible frequency, as the crystal was able to do. I soon came to the conclusion that it was no good, but the stupid signals officer over me sent in reports that results were very good. So a try-out was arranged in the Farnborough area. I went, and was all set up on one of the listening posts. Trenchard and some senior officers from the Air Ministry came along, and he asked me how it was going. I asked if any aircraft were up as I hadn't seen any. "Yes," he said, "Of course they are up. Haven't you heard them?" "Oh no," I replied, "I shan't hear them until they are about there, well in sight," pointing up at an angle of about 45 degrees. "What's the fool talking about?" he said. A Wing Commander shouted at me; "What the devil do you mean?" I answered that I had done all the tests at Old Sarum for the past few weeks, and this is what I had found. Trenchard stopped the whole exercise, and ordered the party to break up. The fool at Old Sarum got his deserts, and I left there smiling.

Another interesting job was found for me. I went to Farnborough to work on the first telephony sets which were being produced at the Royal Aircraft Experimental Establishment there. I joined No. 2 Squadron, who supplied the Bristol Fighter for the tests. I fitted the transmitter. It was quite a small box of tricks on a piece of five ply wood, and a new double voltage generator by Lucas which supplied both H.T. and L.T. current was fixed to a permanent position on one of the wings. A ground transmitter and receiver was fitted at the R.A.E.

A Flying Officer Pratt was my pilot. He was on the last few weeks of his service. He finished the tests with me, and said; "Shan't be flying with you again. I've got a job with Imperial Airways." Very soon afterwards, on one of his first flights, he killed himself and seven passengers on a flight to Manchester when he hit a hill a little north of London. At the time, this affected my greatly, as did the death of Hartley at Hinaidi.

I finished testing the apparatus and fitted four other aircraft of No. 2 Squadron. Then I went to Tangmere to take part in some army manoeuvres taking place over Sussex and the surrounding country. A receiver was fitted up and operated by one of the squadron wireless people in army headquarters, so that my reports could be received direct. It was a binding job, searching for troops, guns and what have you among the woods and countryside, then looking up the map references to send back. I flew from early morning, sometimes until late evening. I would do a two hour stint, return, and jump into another waiting aircraft for another recce. At times, it was very bumpy over the downs. I got very air sick. On one particularly busy day, I was sick on the early morning recce., again after breakfast and dinner, and again after a spot of tea. After this last effort, I said to the ground operator, who was nicknamed Doc., "There goes my tea, Doc, as well as my gunfire, breakfast and dinner. It's been a vile day." The general happened to be there. As the receiver had been fitted up with one of the first Brown's horn loudspeakers, he heard this. Doc had to explain to him that I got air sick when conditions were bad. Apparently, he replied; "Poor blighter."

I like to think that I played with the first air to ground radio telephone, but as there is nothing new in the world, it may not be so. I certainly did the first R.A.F. effort.

My uncle Alfred was the harbour master at Shoreham. He and Auntie Isabel had open house for my frequent visits. So I never wanted for somewhere to go on free weekends or longer holidays.

Although the motoring craze had not started yet, both cousins Joe and Will Baker had cars, which was uncommon in 1923. The Morris Cowley was appearing. With the T Ford, it was to make for cheaper cars. I rode a pre-war New Hudson belt driven motor bike, which would be a real antique today.

At the end of the manoeuvres, 2 Squadron did not return to Farnborough, but went to Andover. I stayed with it. All the R/T equipment went back to Farnborough for the necessary modifications. One bad item was that I had used one of the old stand-up microphones which were in standard use on all G.P.O. telephones. There was no screening against engine or slipstream noises. It was no easy task to work the system. I had got the hang of it more or less, and for that reason I had to do so much flying. I never saw the stuff again. I was to have nothing more to do with R/T until years later when I caught up with Fighter Command. By then, short waves had become controllable, and completely new equipment had been developed.

Life during winter, for an army co-operation unit, was quiet. The army only played at soldiers during the summer. 1923 was a cold winter at Andover, and the weather at Christmas was Christmassy.

Every R.A.F. station was then linked by radio. Most of the inter-station communication was done by air. Teleprinters were to replace this later on.

One day the C.O. sent for me. He told me we were on a quick move to Germany. We had seen in the press that they were re-arming, and had marched into the Rhur in breach of some clause in the peace treaty. Some of the papers were calling for some action to be taken. We were to be part of the action. He said he would lead the squadron, who would fly in formation. I would fly with him. We would refuel at Hawkinge, near Folkestone. I think our destination was to be Wiesbaden. He gave me the relevant maps, and said "Get down to it right away." I got down to it, and told him about the various landmarks. We were all ready to go. I drew a lovely life jacket from stores, complete with spirit flask in a pocket. I began to look forward to some more excitement. We were inspected by the Air Officer Commanding our group. On the day, we went to the hangar all dressed, ready for the picnic. All kits were stacked ready for onward transmission, and the ground personnel paraded ready to leave by train.

Suddenly, the buzz went round that the whole show was cancelled. We returned, with our kits, to our huts. The Germans carried on, with results which were to turn the world upside down again. If the allies had clamped down then, who knows how things would have been years later.

Shortly after this, the squadron moved to Manston, in the Isle of Thanet, my third move in less than a year. There were no aircraft stationed there, but the old war hangars were still there, with all necessary accommodation. The main activity was a school of technical training, and a transport pool. Number Nine Squadron, with its Virginia bombers, soon followed us; also a small ab initio flying training set-up, with its original Avro 504Ks. An aerodrome then was just a very large field. No runways, no control towers. One just taxied from the hangar, and getting a convenient run into wind, took off. It became a habit to land as near as possible to the front of the hangar. I landed there years later, after the second world war, on its enormous runway which seemed miles from the hangars. It seemed unreal that such changes could have taken place in such a short time. It had been twenty years since I last flew out of Manston in a Bristol Fighter. But to get back to 1924.

I was to remain stationed at Manston until the autumn of 1926, travelling around the country on army cooperation jobs. For most of the summer of 1924, I was up at Catterick with a detached flight to cooperate in live shoots with various artillery units on the Yorkshire moors. Catterick aerodrome had been closed down after the war, but the hangars and buildings were still in pretty good shape. I found an unused stores shed in which to set up the wireless station and stores. In a way it was a nice holiday. I could please myself at to whether I flew, or went up on the moors with the wireless tender, acting as go-between for the aircraft and guns. In the open cockpit Bristol, it was lovely flying up and down the moors on a fine summer's day. It was also lovely to have a day out on the moors with the gunners. This all ended with a real bit of fun and games. We had been doing individual shoots with batteries of a brigade, which was to terminate in a grand finale on the last training day. I went along to do the ground work. I got all set up as near to the batteries as I could. The aircraft came over and carried out the preliminaries. We then settled down to get on to the targets. After a few minutes, it was obvious that the W/T in the aircraft had gone sick. This had happened before, so I was prepared for it. I had a map, and had plotted the four target areas. I carried on giving corrections, and the positions in which the shells were falling in relation to the targets, amusing myself immensely until I had all guns on target. I knew the pilot would attend the gunner's headquarters for the shoot inquest, so I scrambled everything together and hurried back to Catterick as quickly as I could to give the pilot the record of my shoot. I was too late; he had already gone. I expected a hell of a row on his return, and, sure enough, he tried to make one. I explained to him and to the Flight Commander (S. D. Culley, who rode the motor bike across the desert) that it would have looked a bit weak if I had told the gunners the W/T had gone sick, washing out the shoot. Whereas everybody had had a good time, and if I had caught Rybot with my shoot, nobody would have been any the wiser. That night the gunners had a party, to which the flight commander went. He said to me next day that the general had said to him, after the good laugh they had all had at being fooled by a corporal; "Tell that Corporal Batt, or whatever his name is, I'll kick him in the pants if I see him again." After this, I went further up the graphs, as the story soon got around.

I had never been north before, and found the people there very friendly and hospitable. I made some good friends. On an evening stroll with another chap, I met a party on an evening ramble who had rented a cottage for a country holiday. They were a youngish man, wife and baby, her sister and a cousin. They invited us to supper, and from that a long friendship developed. he was a Tyne pilot. The wife's father was superintendent of police at South Shields. I often visited them at South Shields, and became very friendly with the father. We used to go to see Sunderland play in the Warney Cresswell and Charlie Buchan days.

I mentioned Rybot, who nearly shot me out of a Bristol one fine day at Manston. We had been on a trip. Arriving back at Manston, he must have felt a bit lively, as he started throwing the machine about a bit. He went into a loop, and hung in it a bit. The accumulator flew past me. I just managed to hang onto the scarf ring (gun ring) to stop following it. There were strict orders about aerobatting with W/T gear on board, but I let him get away with it.

1925 training season saw me in Devon. A flight had been sent to a large field about seven miles from Okehampton to do live shoots on the moors there. As I had lots to do in the Manston area, a L.A.C. had gone to look after the E/T gear. A panic signal was received, asking for me to be sent down, as the W/T was useless. I left right away, and caught the midnight train for Exeter. Arriving at the flight's camp, I found everything haywire, and nothing working. I put a set in a machine for a test, and immediately saw that the accumulator hadn't the power to light the transmitter valves enough/ So I sent the L.A.C. for another, and this was the same. I thought this was a funny kettle of fish. Going to the accumulator charging lorry, I found all the accumulators flat. I tested for acid strength and the usual things one did, and told him to put them all on charge. I went and told the flight commander that there could be no flying that day. I went back to the charging lorry to check up, and, to my amazement, found that the fool had put the acs. in the wrong way round for charge. On shouting; "Have you been doing this all the time?" he replied; "Yes. Isn't it right?" We had sent a L.A.C. who couldn't even charge an accumulator. I experienced other cases of R.A.F. trained tradesmen quite as bad as this.

I was at dinner at Manston once, and the motor cyclist dashed in, saying that an aircraft was on the tarmac waiting to fly me to Colchester. A flight was there on the polo ground doing some coop jobs. Again, trouble with the W/T. "What's the matter?" I asked the operator. "Can't tune the receiver," he said. Sure enough, the tuning knob of the receiver would not move. The shaft had seized in the bakelite front. "Go and get some paraffin," I said. He looked a bit dazed, but went and found some. "Got a match?" I asked. He produced one. Turning the receiver on its back, with the match stick I put a few drops of paraffin in so that it would run down. In a few moments, the thing was absolutely free. I called Manston, and that was that. It seems incredible that these faults that I have mentioned could happen. The number of deaths that must have been caused by similar incompetence by flying personnel gives on pause for thought.

Airships were always in the news. At Manston, we nearly got caught up in a dramatic incident with the R34. During a gale it was blown out well over the North Sea. In the afternoon, we heard that it would try to make Manston. We all stood by on the 'drome to help make it fast. But the gale abated, and it managed to make its base at Cardington.

While at Tangmere, I had badly twisted the cartilage in my left knee playing against a local village on a very rough ground. This had given trouble ever since. The medical people did not think an operation would be as successful as the one I had in India. I carried on playing, being nursed up for important matches, but the end was in sight. Playing for the Manston team against Cranwell in the 1926 senior R.A.F. cup final at the stadium in Uxbridge, we were one all at full time, and during extra time my knee went. As we were still one all, it was decided to play again the next day. My knee was too bad for me to attempt to play, and a sub. was brought in. Manston lost.

I had enlisted for six years, and was due for discharge in April 1926. I had been promoted Sergeant, and in the autumn of 1925 I went to the School of Wireless, Flowerdown, to be examined for confirmation in rank. It was all double dutch to me. All I could do was to make a copy of the exam paper for future reference. The school sent a report to the Air Ministry requesting an investigation into how such a stupid clot like me had been promoted to Sergeant. R. E. Saul, who had played soccer with me in Baghdad, was now my C.O. He sent for me and handed the file to me, saying; "What the hell's this all about?" I explained to him that I knew nothing about the stuff I was examined in, and told him I had made a copy of the paper. "Go and write it all up," he said. I did this, with a few extras which I knew would bite. He sent this to the Air Ministry, with reports on me from my documents about my work in Iraq, and also in England, and my annual trade assessments, which were all 'exceptional'. Before it went, I saw his reply. all I could murmur was; "You make me blush, Sir." This caused the first reshuffle at the Wireless School that I had a hand in.

Signing On.

I had kept in touch with Feast, the outside right with whom I had played in the R.A.F. reams, and also in Baghdad and Basra with the combined North Iraq team. He had left the R.A.F. and gone to Australia, where soccer was getting a grip. He was playing for the Western Australian team as a semi-professional. He had been given a good job as perks. They could do with a centre half, and he had fixed it for me. I arranged to be available for the 1926 season. But it was not to be. Early in March, I was playing for the squadron in a twopenny halfpenny local cup match, when my knee went badly. I had to go into hospital with it. Squadron Leader Saul, who knew I was soon due for discharge, had approached me about signing on, as I would do very well in the R.A.F. I thanked him, but replied that I had no intention of making the service my career. One morning the P.M.O. (Principle Medical Officer) came to me and said that my squadron had received a request from Records that I be encouraged to re-engage, and that my C.O. had asked him to tell me to give the matter serious consideration. He asked me what I was going to do, and I told him about the Australian offer. "But," he said, "Your playing days are over. You will never play again as you have been doing." This was a fine kettle of fish, but I realised that he was right. "But," I said, "In that case I'm not fit enough to remain in the R.A.F." "Oh," he replied, "I will make that all right. You will always be fit enough to carry out your work. You will just have to take sports a little easier." I just did not know what to do, and asked him to let me have a little time to think it over. I finished up by tossing up; heads I stay and tails I go. It came up heads. The times I have wondered what I would have done had tails come up, and I had left the R.A.F. The P.M.O. came to me in the afternoon, and I told him I would stay on. He was delighted, and immediately rang the squadron. A despatch rider soon arrived with the papers, which, it seems, had all been made out ready. And so, in that hospital bed, I re-engaged for another six years.

I wrote to Feast explaining everything, which caused some disappointment there, as he had obviously built up a bright picture about me. I thought it might be a temporary measure. If it became feasible after all, I could always get out of the R.A.F.

There was a lot to be said for the life I was living. Lots of travelling around, the excitement of flying, all for free. Except for the occasional snag or awkward job to be done, nothing to worry about.

The new Triumph motor bike had come out. I had got one a few months before. It enabled me to spend enjoyable breaks with the relatives at Bognor and Kingston on Sea, or to hound off anywhere I fancied. Life was pretty good.

My uncle Jim Woodward, of sealion fame, had returned to his native Ramsgate. It was only just down the road from Manston, so I spent much time with him. He was always interesting company. I made a wireless receiver for him. To save him from taking the accumulator for recharge, as was necessary then, I fixed him up with a charging circuit. What times those early days of 2LO were, with the aerial masts at the bottom of the garden! By law, an aerial earthing switch was outside the window. One took turns with the headphones, or put them in a basin so that all could hear faintly.

My frequent stays at Shoreham with cousins Joe and Anna enabled me to make many charming friends. Joe often drove me on visits to the Sangars estate, where the permanent training sheds were for the training. Marjorie and Tris, the two daughters, were delightful company, with whom I had many happy times. Mr. Sangar was, for me, Uncle Jim. He was still Uncle Jim the last time I was with him at Cousin Joe's cremation after the second world war. I had wonderful parties with them, particularly the annual dinner parties at one of the London hotels. Not only all the celebrated circus people would be there, but other celebrities of the time. Marjorie was to have an early tragic death, when she did not survive a simple tonsil operation.

Cousin Joe was a great fan of Wilhelmina Stitch. He often drove her around on her lecture tours. With him, I used to visit her in her lovely Hove home, where people of letters would congregate on a Sunday evening. Fortunately, my travels enabled me somewhat to hide the fact that I did not belong to their set. Her doctor husband was a cricket fan. I was good company for him to go to see Sussex, who had Duleep Singh in his prime at that time.

What a lot happened during 1926. I was still paid Acting Sergeant, and didn't care two hoots whether I stayed that way or not. But I was told I was to attend the Wireless School again for confirmation. I argued the point, saying it was a waste of time for all concerned, since I had made no effort, or wasted my time trying to get the hang of the rubbish they wanted me to know. I had heard from the C.O., who kept me well posted, as he got copies of what went on, about the rumpus the Air Ministry had made over my first fiasco there. Sqdn. Ldr. Saul said; "You will not be examined this tome. It's a matter of form. They have to sign your papers." And so it turned out. I was met with smiles, but I did notice that they seemed a little wary of this chap who had pulled a fast one on them. I felt as though I was the examining body. I came away a full blown Group One Sergeant, but in my heart I felt extremely sorry that the Royal Air Force was still a shambles in some quarters.

I began to have mixed feelings about the whole business. I knew in my heart that I would never 'belong' as B.C. of Uxbridge and many similar men did. The idea of giving up one's body and soul to a service of any sort did not make sense to me, but this was the attitude of some fanatics that I came up against. Beyond my job of work, I found that my interests were outside service life, especially if any music centres were within reach, which was often the case. I made an effort with myself to justify this by giving of my best in everything I was called upon to do, and this satisfied most people. I was no disciplinarian in the service sense, but I never had any trouble with any underlings, whether in my own section or in others.

As a teetotal, non-smoking, non woman chasing Group One Sergeant, I found I was getting more money than I knew what to do with. Except for a few pence mess charges a day, everything was on the taxpayer. As my wants always seemed to be few, money did not enter much into my scheme of things.

When the General Strike broke, I was on leave. It meant little to me until I saw the news that the army were being mobilised. After a couple of days, I thought I had better return to camp in case the R.A.F. were wanted. I went into the orderly room, and the adjutant said they had been trying to find me to recall me. he asked me what jobs I would be willing to do. I said I could help in a generating station, or drive a train. As it turned out, the strike collapsed, and I was not called upon. I really would have liked to have got a railway train under my thumb.

Cousin Joe Woodward's sister, whom I had never met as she had remained in America when the rest of the family returned to England, arrived with her husband and three children for a long stay during the summer of 1926. I saw quite a lot of them because they stayed for much of the time with Uncle Jim at Ramsgate. They were keen that I should visit them in America. I said I would do this on my next long leave. I was at Tilshead, on Salisbury Plain, when they left Southampton on the old Majestic. I slipped down on my Triumph to see them off, with Cousins Joe Anne and others.

I was at Tilshead, in camp with a detached flight, for shoots with the Larkhill Gunnery School, and various artillery units encamped thereabouts. It was a lovely summer for weather. It would be difficult to find a more pleasant spot for a nice holiday, which was what this was. From the air, and tootling on the ground, I got to know all the distinctive features the plain had to offer.

I ran a cricket team from the flight to play the surrounding village teams. One Saturday morning, I received a note from Lavington asking if we could play them that afternoon. There were no telephones, and no way to let them know in time. I suddenly had a bright idea. We used to use message bags to drop messages to ground units. They were little bags with coloured streamers about two feet long attached. I went into the flight tent and told the C.O. I wanted to fly over Lavington and drop a message confirming the match. There was a young pilot officer who had just joined us, with whom I had never flown. He said he would take me, so off we went. Over the village, I pointed to where I wanted to drop, and he dived down. I dropped the message, looked up, and saw he was still in a dive. "Up!" I shouted, as I saw a huge tree coming at us. We went right through the top of it. Had there been any tough branches, I would not be writing this now. Bits of tree flew in all directions, and I was badly shaken. As soon as we landed, I asked him what the dickens he was up to. He meekly apologised, saying he wasn't used to Bristols yet.

The flight sergeant and I had been noticing that flying discipline was getting a bit haywire. We both went and saw the new flight commander and told him so; that if he didn't stop some of the antics going on, there would be trouble. In any case, I said, I was flying no more there. He laughed it off, saying we had nothing to worry about. So we stood by waiting for it to happen, which it soon did. A chap named Reedman was taking an army major up for a joyride. We were all standing by when he did something absolutely stupid, and dived in. I was actually standing by the crash tender. With a couple of airmen, I was the first to get to the crash, with the ambulance behind me. Immediately, I saw that Reedman was finished, but I heard the major moan. Others had arrived by now. I shouted; "Don't worry about Reedman, but help me get the major out, as he is still alive." We did this as carefully as we could, and I ordered the ambulance driver to hurry as fast as he could to Tidworth Hospital. I rang the hospital to be ready for him. The flight commander and the other officers seemed to be in a stupor, and just left everything to us other ranks. We got Reedman out by hacking stuff away. When the ambulance returned, we sent it back with Reedman's body. On enquiring as to what this flight lieutenant had been doing, I learnt that he had been off flying and on some staff job. What I had to tell the squadron leader when I got back to Manston was not in time to save Reedman's life, but it may have saved others. I am glad to say that the major did recover, but it was a long time before he returned to duty.

I often ran down to Bognor for weekends, but Cousin Marjorie was no longer there. She had gone off to Italy for singing lessons with a recommended teacher. She had a lovely soprano voice. She often tried out her songs and her favourite bits of opera tête à tête on me, which I loved. She had gone to Florence, and I was getting letters from her indicating that life was not altogether a bed of roses. She was able to tell me much more than she felt the older ones would understand.

On one of these weekends, Cousin Will Baker asked me if I would go to Italy with him for a longish holiday. I said it might be possible; I would find out, as I would love to go with him. I checked up the regulations on foreign travel, submitting a request to Air Ministry through the squadron, asking for permission to visit France, Switzerland and Italy. This was O.K.'d, but I had to report to the relevant embassies when I got to places. Off I went to Bognor, and we got out the itinerary; Paris, Lucerne, Milan, Florence, Rome, Perugia, for Assisi and Venice. Will wanted to go to Assisi. In 1026, pilgrimages were being organised worldwide. He was a keen high churchman. He had never been abroad before, and asked me to arrange everything, which I was glad to do. Lunns, the travel people, had recently started business. I went to their London office and asked if they could do anything. I gave them all particulars as to where and how long we wanted to stay. We had arranged to pick up Marjorie in Florence, and she would continue on with us. Lunns were just the thing. In a couple of days or so it was all settled, right up to being taken across from Folkestone, and where the different couriers would pick us up and hand us on, and fix us up in the various hotels. .I took a full month's leave for it, so I was able to allow a week at Florence and Rome, with shorter stays in Milan, Perugia and other places. This satisfied Will Baker.

When I handed in the request to the flight commander, with the necessary pass form, for forwarding to Manston, he looked up at me very much as the C.O. had done in Baghdad, when I told him I had a bank account. This was years before the rush to the continent had started. To think of doing Italy on this grand scale was completely beyond his comprehension, as it was with the heads at Manston. He mumbled something like; "Gosh, you're lucky to be able to do this. How do you manage it?" Although I had insisted that I pay for my expenses, since by now I had lots of spare cash, I said I was lucky in having some well off relatives who liked to take me around. In a way, this was true. Usually, when they took me around, neither the Bakers nor the Woodwards would let me pay for anything. I had a good figure, and Will Baker got much fun out of fitting me out in the latest thing in clothing. Plus fours came in, and soon he was having me measured for a real splash up. I was a proper Jekyll and Hyde. My R.A.F. life had nothing to do with the life I lived away from it. Plus fours were all right when it came to visiting people like the Sangars, but would have looked a little out of place in the anteroom of a sergeants' mess. And the Oxford bags I had to slip into one time. What a stir they would make in Oxford Street now! I was an advertisement. I would be asked; "Where did you get that nice suit?" I would nod to Cousin Will, and say; "Oh! He does all my clothes."

I have had many lovely holidays on the continent since, but that first one remains in my memory as the highlight. To describe it all would be a book in itself, we did and saw so much. The wonderful scenery of Switzerland after Paris; Rome, Assisi, Perugia, Villa d'Este with its fountains and waterfalls. We had cars and guides to wait on us and show us everything worth seeing, and first class hotels all the way. I was not to complete all I planned to do. At Perugia, I received a wire calling me back to Manston. I replied with one asking for three days' grace so that I could do Florence, but on arriving Florence another wire waited, telling me to get back at once. It all seemed rather strange. I wondered what the dickens it was all about.

Third trip eastwards.

Back at Manston, I learned what it was all about. I was for posting overseas. The necessary medical, inoculation and vaccinations were to be got through before sailing. I was sorry to leave 2 Squadron. I had had a pretty happy time with them. But I did not forget that I had joined the R.A.F. to see the world. Who knows what this jaunt might bring.

On the 7th December, 1926, I left the depot at Uxbridge with a large draft for Southampton. We embarked on the troopship Derbyshire, which sailed that afternoon. The senior N.C.O.s had a small corner of the troop deck to themselves, but we were still cargo, and very crowded. I bagged the mess table as my sleeping place. Being December, we struck the usual rough seas. Like most of the others, I got very sick.

The news soon got around that Shaw (T.E. Lawrence) was on board, and I was impatient to get a glimpse of this famous character. So much had been written about this 'uncrowned king of Arabia' and his exploits with the Arabs, assisting, to great extent, in clearing the Turks from the Hejaz. It was general knowledge that he was in the R.A.F. as an aircrafthand, and an air of mystery was being built around him.

I first saw him sitting on the deck reading a large book which I later found was a volume of Pepys' Diary. He would queue at the ship's canteen and buy an apple, or anything that was going, with the other troops. He seemed quite contented with the life he had chosen. The weather had turned as lovely as it can at this time of the year in the Mediterranean. Sailing along the coast of North Africa and seeing Tangiers shining in the sun in the distance all come back to me now, as does the remembrance of watching the endless chain of coolies with their small baskets, with endless chanting, coaling the ship at Port Said. The port was arrayed in glad rags because, we were told, King Fuad was making a visit there. We dropped about 360 chaps who were for Egypt and Palestine.

Although I had come up the Canal twice, this was to be my first time to go down it. The Canal organisation must have been very good, because we only arrived at Port Said at 4 O'clock in the afternoon, and yet we were coaled and had taken on the necessary stores to sail at midnight.

I was orderly sergeant. next day, going down the canal, when inspecting No. 2 Troop Deck, I asked which mess Shaw was on. he was on the corner table, and I asked the Mess Orderly where Shaw slept. Ho nodded to the corner, and said that Shaw curled up there. I guessed that it was as comfy as many places he had slept in during his desert days. As I came on to the deck, Shaw was standing in the hatch, gazing out over the desert. There was no one near him. I looked at him for a bit, then went up to him and said; "A lovely picture, isn't it." He turned to me and quietly said; "Yes. And to think that I was the commanding officer there at one time." I could have made conversation by mentioning my desert experiences, but I did not like to do so. After a few inane remarks I left him to his thoughts. I thought of the Arabs who had spoken to me near Amman, asking if he was coming back. I wonder what he would have replied to that.

I was to speak to Shaw again. I was Orderly Sergeant as we travelled across the Indian -Ocean. I paraded all aircrafthands and asked them where and what they wanted to do on arrival in India, where they all seemed to be going. Shaw just replied, when I asked him what he wanted to do; "I really don't mind at all." in that beautiful, quiet voice that I was later to become so fond of listening to. I have a diary written at this time. I see that we passed Aden on December 23rd, and it was very hot, the temperature in our troop deck being 80oF. As I wrote, it was not a bit Christmassified.

This was my fourth Christmas on a troopship, and we were sailing along the coast of Arabia. It seems to have been the best of the four. I see that I enjoyed the dinner of roast turkey etc.

Hereabouts, I saw my one and only whale at sea. It was sighted from the bridge. The skipper changed course so that we could run alongside it and watch the magnificent beast blow. It did not appear to be at all scared that the ship was close by it.

Into the Persian Gulf again, with the weather getting much cooler, until here we were again, disembarking at Basra. It was the 30th, and the journey had taken three weeks and three days. Nowadays, it takes a few hours by plane. What a difference! I see that for the railway trip to Baghdad, we were accommodated in dirty trucks. I remember that well.

For my second stint in Baghdad, I arrived on new Year's Day, 1927. As it turned out, this stay was to be a very brief one. I was met by Flight Sergeant Hibbens, and taken by car to the main wireless station. It was a different place to the main station I had known before, which had been on the other side of Baghdad. Now, this was the receiving and transmitting part of the works. The transmitters were some miles away, operated by remote control. So several channels could operate at the same time. Hibbens took me to the small sergeants' mess , and a 'boy' came to take my baggage. He stopped, stared, and then said "Seed sahib," and a smile broke over his face. I replied; "Yes, Syd Sahib." To the surprise of those around, I went and took his hand. I felt deeply touched when one of the others said; "H
e knows you." I replied; "All the Arabs in Baghdad know me. I was their idol." I asked the 'boy' who he was. He said he was at Nammo's, and many times gave me supper. I remembered him, although he had grown somewhat. When he asked; "You still football?" I replied; "Not the same, as bad knee now."

Trouble had broken out in Aden. No. 8 Squadron were preparing for a hurried departure. The Flight Sergeant in charge of the transmitting station was to go, and get the communications set-up going there. I had to visit the transmitter end. He seemed very unhappy about the whole business, and had a big moan about it to me. It didn't appear to be his cup of tea. I said I'd take his place if H.Q. would agree. I went to H.Q., saw the head of signals, and fixed it. The job at the main station was going to be routine work. The job in Aden looked as if there were going to be things to get my teeth into. In any case, I had done my Baghdad, but had not done Aden. I had a week or two to spare. I was not to leave with the main party, but would follow with a few details.

I had just a month before I went to Hinaidi to join the Aden party. During this month, two interesting things happened. One was the first direct link between Air Ministry and Baghdad, by the new short waves, which had been found to be possible on relatively low power. I did this myself. When I asked who the operator was at A.M., I got the reply S.E.W. 'ere. It was my old friend Steve, and when I replied S.E.C. ere, the excitement at A.M. was only equalled by that in Baghdad.

The passenger service to India was opened by a flight which included, I believe, Sir Samuel Hoare. When the aircraft was contacted, I took the Morse key and asked the operator his name. This was because I knew many of the early airways operators. Back came Booth, and I replied "Syd Catt ere, will meet you at the aerodrome." I had a good party with him and the crew.

This time, my stay in Baghdad had really been short, just eight weeks. Here I was on the way back to Basra, en route, with the remnants of * Squadron, to Aden. For a change, we had comfortable carriages, and enough room for comfort. We turned out at Ur Junction at half past three in the morning for an early breakfast, and arrived Basra at ten-thirty, after twenty hours' journey. This was a ridiculously long time for such a distance.

At Basra, we went straight on to the Varsova, one of the three boats of the B.I. Company which plied between Bombay and the Persian Gulf, the other two being the Vita and the Verrella. As there were only a few of us, we were accommodated comfortably. We sailed next day, a Sunday, at 8 a.m. So the whole river trip was in daylight, arriving at the Bar at 5 p.m. We dropped a lot of pilgrims at Bushire. They were en route for Mecca. The boat made only a short stop for this. The trip to Karachi took four days. We left the Varsova and boarded the Vita, which was leaving for Bombay that evening. Karachi to Bombay was only a day and a half, so we were soon there. We had two days to wait for our Aden boat. This was spent at the army barracks at Colaba. Although it was only early March, I note that it was so warm that I was able to sleep without bedclothes.

We left Bombay for Aden on the P&O Rasmak. This was doing the Bombay to Aden mail run at the time. This was trooping par excellence. We travelled second class. There were so few passengers that we practically had the boat to ourselves. For me, the four day trip went too speedily, and we were soon in Aden. It was a short lorry ride to the aerodrome at Khormaksar. This was on the narrow isthmus which joins Aden proper to the mainland. The sea was near on both sides; that of the harbour on one side, and the open ocean on the other. The huts we went to were most crude affairs; simply bamboo and tattie shelters. As it never rained (or so it was said,) these wee ample. In the distance, one saw what looked like small hills of snow. These turned out to be heaps of salt from huge salt pans. This was the one and only time I saw Archimedean screws in use. Windmills drove them to lift the sea water up into the pans.

The squadron had not brought the machines from Baghdad. New ones were arriving crated from England for assembly. When I arrived, this was being done. It was still to be the old liberty D.H.9a. Like the Bristol this was having a long run in the R.A.F. There was lots to do, and little spare time. The aircraft were urgently needed for the job we had been hurried there to do. I was not only responsible for getting the ground station going, but also for the installation of the wireless gear in the aircraft. In a couple of weeks or so, things began to run smoothly, until the rains came. It hadn't rained in living memory. I was awakened by Ali, my boy, bringing my early morning tea, and was amazed to see he was ankle deep in water. "Plenty water, Sahib," he said, as I jumped out of bed top get my boxes and things out of the water. We carried my stuff to the canteen building. This was a few steps up out of the water. Others did the same.

It soon became clear that we must rescue what equipment we could. With the rest of the W.T. section, I waded to the stores and workshop. We lifted all the vulnerable things, such as generators, wireless sets, accumulators and what have you, above the highest point the water was expected to reach. Nothing could be done with the aircraft, which were left in the hangars.

As soon as the waters subsided sufficiently, parties went out to the aerodrome for rescue purposes. I lost little equipment. Even the generators and suchlike were soon made serviceable, after being stripped down and baked in the hot sun for a couple of days. The water did not reach the engines of the aircraft, so these had not suffered serious damage, and were soon flying.

Shortly before leaving Baghdad, I had received a cable telling me that my cousin Anne at Shoreham had died. This was a sad blow. The lovely times I had had with her and Cousin Joe Woodward were still very fresh in my memory. I was now getting the follow up letters about the sad affair.

On a level ground, not far from our camp, the army had a nine hole golf course. It was completely bare. There was not a sign of a blade of grass, or any other vegetation of any sort, anywhere. The 'greens' were flat dried mud, with a loose covering of sifted sand to slow them up a little. In a way, it worked. I had no clubs with me, so immediately sent home for some, and some balls, which took two months to reach me. It was nice to be able to take up golf again, even under such poor conditions. One could not play without the help of 'boys'. Without them to pounce upon the ball, kite hawks would swoop down and snatch the ball up and carry it away. This is the only time I have played golf under such conditions.

At this time, water was in very short supply in Aden. Drinking water was condensed from sea water. The ration was three gallons per person per day. This had to serve all purposes, including cooking etc. A supply of brackish water flowed in from the mainland via a crude aqueduct, but this had to be severely rationed too. I got used to having a shower by sprinkling a couple of cigarette tins of water over me, lathering down, and then swilling off with a few more tins of water. There was the warm sea, but this was very salt, and not very refreshing.

This was before cold storage. Food was a problem, as everything had to be fresh. There was an early morning market in Aden, where beef and mutton of very poor quality were obtainable, as were eggs. Fish was plentiful. Indeed, sharks were very plentiful. I ate many shark steaks there. Tinned food had not reached the standard we expect today. Vegetables were almost non-existent, and were sorely missed. We were not there long when signs of beriberi began to appear. Weekly pin sticking parades by the medical people were considered necessary. One lay on the table and shouted as the M.O. stick a pin into legs, arms etc. If one shouted, one was O.K. Unlimited quantities of Beemax, marmite and other vitamin foods were then issued, until we got heartily sick of them.

Not long after the floods subsided, plague broke out. It was one of the worst outbreaks Aden had ever had. The natives died in their thousands. Lorries went round collecting the bodies for burial. It was reminiscent of the plague of London. This greatly curtailed our activities. Everywhere was out of bounds, and the port was quarantined. It was several weeks before the plague was got under control. No service personnel were involved, thanks to the stringent measures taken by the medical authorities. We certainly got very plague-minded. We paid great attention to the condition of the spleen, where we were told the complaint was first felt.

As was happening elsewhere, the R.A.F. were taking over in Aden, and the army was on the way out. The Indians left the Crater, and the Welsh Regiment were preparing to quit Steamer Point. Only the Garrison Artillery were to stay to man the forts. A regiment of Arab levies was set up as replacement for the infantry.

The R.A.F. took over the army headquarters at Steamer Point. This was in a pleasant situation, right on the sea, near the entrance to the harbour. I left the squadron and the Khormaksor strip with all the short wave equipment and half a dozen operators, and set up the station there. There were only a few staff officers to start with, and no R.A.F. accommodation for the other ranks. I got settled in a lovely bungalow up on the hillside, with a view of the harbour entrance. I joined the artillery mess, where I fitted in very well with a fine bunch of chaps.

At Lucknow, I had experienced one or two sandstorms. They were very unpleasant affairs. But Aden produced the real goods, which were horrible in the extreme. It is an awesome sight to see the storm approach. It looks like a solid wall of sand against the blight sunlight. Everybody rushes around to cover up as much as possible. As there are no windows, it is impossible to keep the stuff from burying everything. It is so thick, that darkness almost falls. One ties a wet towel around one's face to save being choked with the stuff. A howling wind, red hot, accompanies it, to make it all the more unpleasant. After it is over, it is days before the effects of it are cleaned up completely

Locusts always pass Aden during their migratory season. During the 1928 season, they really showed us what they can do. They came in their clouds. The air was thick with them, and they dropped, covering everything in their millions. Boats arriving told us the surrounding sea was thick with a coating of them. It was easy to appreciate what terrific devastation the can wreak on a cultivated area.

A few tennis enthusiasts ran a court. I played with them most afternoons. Due to the heat, we could not start before four O'clock. There was very little twilight, so we could not play long after six.

I had been in touch with two other cousins of mine. I had seen neither for years, but I was able to see both in Aden. Cousin John Catt, son of my uncle Alfred of Southwick, was the chief electrical engineer in Malaya. He lived in Kuala Lumpur with his wife. I had short but happy times with them when they passed through on home leave. My cousin Will Jordan had gone to New Zealand, and was a member of parliament there. He was the son of my father's eldest sister. On political jobs and holidays in England, he and his wife and two children spent a few hours ashore with me. I would see a lot more of Will Jordan later, when he was High Commissioner in London for many years. Like my first cousins, they were much older than me.

I continued to rise in the world, finding myself a flight sergeant.

I got friendly with the 'Works and Bricks' people. The Clerk of Works was an Italian. I had an amazing party with him and the 'under officers' of an Italian warship which called in. They gave us a magnificent dinner, with wines and everything. Although my Italian was nil, I enjoyed every moment of it. I repaid it by having them out to our mess.

At Steamer Point, I was able to get a good English meal. Along with another flight sergeant clerk, we went onto the P&O boats on their outward and homeward trips. The outward called in early on Sunday morning, and the homeward on Wednesday afternoon for the evening. In time, we got to know the head stewards. As most of the passengers went ashore during the stay in harbour, we had the dining room to ourselves. These meals were a wonderful change from the meagre diet of Aden.

One Wednesday evening, the steward said to us; "We have a notable character of yours on this trip; that chap Shaw." I had seen the press connect his name with some how d'you do on the Indian frontier. I thought it was all rubbish. But things had reached such a state that it was thought best to send him home, and this boat was taking him. Later on, as we strolled on the deck, we did pass him. He was strolling too. I thought it best not to approach and say anything to him, although I had met him on the Derbyshire going out.

As usual with a headquarters, it began to expand. More clerks and staff officers arrived. A large barrack block was converted into offices. I took over the end top rooms. On a flat roof, using quite a bit of engineering know-how, I got my masts and aerials up. The army hospital nearby had been taken over and staffed with R.A.F. nurses and medical staff. Now that there was quite a number of R.A.F. senior N.C.O.s, a mess was started.

One of the sergeant clerks was an organist. He took over the job in the church. I soon got working on a choir with him, which I felt improved the services a lot. In particular, I remember one Sunday morning when Lord and Lady Irwin, en route to India, came to church. Walking up the aisle, he looked a magnificent specimen, and a typical viceroy.

There was a railway, which ran from the port to Lahej, and trains puffed by Khormaksar once or twice a day. Lahej was only a few miles into the mainland. This was the nearest sheikdom. We had not been there long before the sheik invited the sergeant's mess to his 'palace' for a day, and we went along. We were met by the foreign secretary. He spoke little English. He put on what he thought was European dress for the occasion. In reality, it was a most amazing outfit, in which he was obviously very uncomfortable. The sheik was pleased to have us there, and we really enjoyed our day there. We were shown round the 'garden'. In it there were a few palm trees and semi-tropical plants of sorts. After the barrenness of Aden, even this was a change. We had a meal. Unfortunately, an effort had been made to Europeanise it, so it was nothing like the meal I had had some time before in the desert, in real Arab style. The railway went out of use some time before I left Aden. I last saw the engine rusting in its shed.

Quite a few times, I made the climb to the top of Shum Shum, the barren mass rising almost from the sea, on the top of which was Lloyds signal station. There was a long mule path of from the crater. After several failures, I finally made the difficult climb up the harbour side, which I did alone. The signalmen always had glasses of water ready for their sweating visitors. I was always glad to give the expected tip.

Soon after I left Manston, No. 2 Squadron had been rushed off to Hong Kong, where trouble had broken out. It appears to have been a storm in a teacup, and they were on their way home again. I was off to it as soon as their boat dropped anchor. I was soon having a rousing time with both the officers and chaps I knew so well. They were all sorry that I had not joined in this trip with them. They thought it would have been much better than stooging in Aden. I suppose they were right. Their stay was very short, but it was nice to see the old squadron.

I was to become entangled in another display of inefficiency, which demonstrates what jobs for the boys can lead to. Flight Lieutenant Charlie Attwood, the H.Q. Signals officer, came into my office one morning and said the Works and Bricks could not get the X-ray set, which had just arrived from England, working. It was being returned to England. The medical people were very concerned, because it was badly needed. He told them that I would have a look at it, and would I go and do so? I replied He told them that I would have a look athat if the highbrows couldn't get it going, it wasn't much good me having a go. In any case, I had never seen an X-ray machine. However, after a bit of arguing, I went to see the Principle Medical Officer, a wing commander. I told him that although I knew nothing about it, I would have a quick look see. I got the operator. He knew nothing about the works, but understood the switching. There was no pamphlet with the thing, so I thought it best to start from A. I plugged it in, and there was no response from any needles, so I unbolted a plate into which the lead went. This was the transformer box, and I shouted with glee. The braided copper connections to the transformer windings had corroded away, just like rotten string. I was now on ground I knew something about, and it took a couple of seconds to have the thing wired up. We now had some needles flickering. After a few more minor faults, which, with the help of the operator were soon cleared, I went to the P.M.O. and told him everything was O.K. He went crazy. Patting me on the back, he asked me what had been wrong. When I told him that any hall-baked electrician could have done it, he told me to write a full report on it. On the strength of my report, there were soon a few empty chairs in the office of works and bricks electrical department. I wrote to the makers with a few suggestions. I got a curious explanation. They said that some highly corrosive substance must have got at the transformer connecting wires and eaten them away. What it was remains a mystery.

I had saved the expense and delay of the complete equipment being sent back to England. As I told the P.M.O., any half baked electrician could have done what I did. I wonder how the salaries of these people were compared with mine, since they were civilians with hefty expenses.

Some time around |October 1928, the Prince of Wales took a trip to East Africa. He dropped off at Aden on the way. he Resident meeting him asked him what he would like to do. "I'd like a game of tennis," he said, so he was taken off to the tennis club. The Aden football cup final was being played that afternoon. It was decided to get him to present the cup. He agreed, continually pulling up his stocking, which would not stay put, as he arrived at the ground. All the drinks in creation were on the table, but to everyone's dismay he said he would like a cup of tea. This caused panic, but some bright spark immediately dashed off to the officers' mess. His cup was a long time coming, but he did get it.

The prince was not long in Africa when his father became so ill that it was decided to get him home as soon as possible. One of our fast cruisers was in Aden at the time, and rushed off to collect him. The prince had obviously hurried to the coast, leaving all his kit behind. He was picked up in just the loose shooting jacket he had landed at Aden in. The cruiser, with blackened funnels because it was going full out, only stopped for a short time in Aden. I was doing the traffic with the cruiser. A signal from Cairo asked the prince to call in there when the ship passed through the canal. He said he would, but since he had no clothes, everything must be very informal.

Squadron Leader Cochran, one of the few really upper ten in the R.A.F., had joined headquarters staff. In October 1928, he came to me and said he was making a trip into the hinterland, and I was to go with him. I didn't like the idea at all, and recommended a good operator I had, if that was what he wanted. It wasn't only a good wireless operator he wanted, he said, but you. It was bad enough being in Aden by the sea, so goodness knows what it would be like up in the desert. As there was no getting out of it, I got together a load of W/T gear, and got ready for a miserable time. We were five in all; Squadron Leader, Flight Lieut. Ginger Williams, the best driver we could find, and the Squadron leader's own servant to act as interpreter, and do for us. We had a six wheeled truck for the job. The idea was to mark out landing areas towards the north-east. We kicked off by doing a considerable distance east along the cost. This was easy going, but then we turned north before reaching Hadhramaut. There were supposed to be tracks. We were on one until it ended by running under a huge sand dune. You could see the fine wisp of sand being blown over the top of the dune and settling on the lee side, showing how enormous dunes creep across country, swallowing up everything in their path. We got round it, going over its shallow end, but had to use the mats and planks we had brought for this. This was really hard work for all of us. After this, we had easier going, until we reached a dried up wadi. We had no tent, but slept under the stars, as I had done with the survey party. The squadron leader did have a camp bed and a camp canvas bath. The drive made himself comfy in the truck, as did Abdul. it was not all barren. We did see permanent villages around oases. We camped near one. The sheik was very friendly. He arranged for skins of water to be brought so that the sq. ldr. could have a bath. I thought to myself; "Luck blighter," but when he had finished, he said, "Like to jump in, Flight?" In a moment, I had my shorts and shirt off, and was truly in. We arrived near another settlement, surrounded by nearly flat land, and decided to mark out a strip. The Arabs looked a fantastic munch. Most of them carried rifles of antique makes. They had slung around their necks bandoleers full of the most antiquated types of bullets. They looked a murderous crowd, and we were to find that they were. We got everything laid out, and while Williams and I stayed to finish things off, the sq. ldr. said he would reconnoitre ahead a bit. He went off with just the driver. I had fixed up the W/T, and had already spoken to Aden. We stopped to have a meal, and the mob crowded round us. I said to Williams; "I think the poor lot are hungry," and I started to give bits of the sandwich I was eating to the ones crowded near to me. They were certainly hungry, and ate like wild animals. Then they started making aggressive noises, and I made a move towards the wireless set. They pushed me back with their rifles. I said to Williams; "What do we do now?" I then saw the sheik at the back of them, and so I said to Abdul; "Tell him that if Aden doesn't hear from me soon, the aeroplanes will be over to look for us, as they know where we are." This was a shot in the dark, as no one knew where we were. It seemed to work. They quietened down, and we called the sheik forward, and had a chat with him through Abdul. We dished out a little more food, but had to keep enough for ourselves. I said we ought to get out of it and follow the boss. I asked the sheik if he would let us have two camels. This caused a pretty big argument, but at last two camels appeared. I dismantled the wireless and strapped it on the camels' backs. As soon as the camels got to their feet, they bucked and reared all over the place. I screamed, fearing the whole lot would go for six. The accumulators did fly off, but were not damaged. At last we were off. We had two Arabs of the tribe with us, and the only thing we could do was to keep going up the wadi, hoping for the best. The heat was terrible. I said; "Aden will be a picnic after this." Willy agreed. I could not have had a better companion. He was a great chap. It was sad to read a few years later that he had been killed, as a wing commander. I remembered this trip then, and again, I remembered sharing the bath of Squadron Leader Cochran when he was killed as The Hon. Sir Ralph Cochran, Air Vice Marshall, some time later. I may be the only one left to talk about it, and I wonder why.

We had gone some distance, and were having a rest, when I thought I hear the car. Gosh, I was glad to see it, and to meet up with the boss. We had a pow wow at once. As we had done quite a lot for a preliminary survey, the sqdn. ldr. thought it unwise to risk any more meetings with the locals. So we made tracks for Aden. Again, the slogging with the planks and mats through the dunes. At times, we would have done better on foot, and certainly better with camels. I was jolly glad to get back to Aden. Freyer Stark and Co. can have their Southern Arabian trips for me.

I was looking forward to leaving Aden soon, as my two years were nearly up. I even knew who my relief was to be. I would go to Egypt for three years to complete my five year tour. But, again, the best laid schemes of mice and men can go wrong. The admin bloke came to me and asked me if I would consider staying another year in Aden. He said we might be getting busy, and all were keen to have me stay. This was asking a lot, but I said I would stay if, at the end, I could be posted home. The reply was as I expected it would be. "Oh, that could be arranged all right." So I said I'd stay, and I did. It was a gamble. I knew perfectly well that the Aden Command could have no control over my movements when I was due to leave Aden.

Sqdn. Ldr. Cochran left H.Q. to take over the squadron at Khirmaksar as he wanted to get back on flying. So he did not drag me into the hinterland again. As no more expeditions were arranged while I was in Aden, neither did anybody else. So Southern Arabia was left to Freya Stark, Philby and the others who have written such glowing accounts of their travels therein. I do wish we had had Freya Stark on our picnic, so that she could have given her tough hands to help us to get a six wheeler through the sands dunes and wadis. She seems to have met with none of the aggressive, starving mortals who caused me to get more than a little alarmed at the time.

As 1929 progressed, I saw no reason why I had been asked to stay. Life continued more or less free and easy. I seriously considered asking for a spot of leave to get over to Addis Ababa. Ginger Williams said he would fly me over to a landing strip we had in British Somaliland, and I could get up to Addis Adaba fairly easily from there. But little snags kept cropping up, and I was never able to make it, for which I have always been sorry. I stayed in Aden for three years without a break of any sort. So by the end of 1929, I was quite ready to quit the place.

Second Egypt.

On the 29th of February 1930, I waved goodbye to Aden from the deck of the troopship 'Somersetshire'. As expected, I was bound for Egypt, not England. I put on a slight act of remonstration to Borthwick Clark, the admin. bloke, but he said; "Don't worry, they want you at H.Q. Middle East, and it will pay you to go." I really didn't care two hoots where I went after Aden. Cairo would be a great change.

Not long before this, Borthwick Clark had come into my office. Sitting on the corner of my table, he said; "I've been looking at your docs., and I see you are not going to be in the R.A.F. much longer." I had been unable to get some of my good operators signed on, although they were keen to do so. I replied; "Not that I want to, but even if I did, I couldn't stay on now. The R.A.F. appear to be cutting down considerably." I mentioned my chaps. "Ah," he said, "You are different." He went on to say that I would be a fool to leave the R.A.F. There was nothing to stop me from getting anywhere I chose. I said; "We can settle this," and handed him a signal pad, saying, "Go on. I hereby apply to re-engage to complete 24 years." and laughed like a drain. It was just a joke on my part. I thought I was taking the mickey out of him. The last thing I would be able to do was to sign on for a complete spell. Saying, "I'll get the old man [A.O.C.] to add something to this," he went off. He was back with the signal to R.A.F. Records. Taking it, I said; "I'll send this." I got the set, and did so. He smiled, and so did I. While I was at dinner that evening, the runner came with the message which, to my amazement, read; "In reply to your so-and-so of so-and-so date, F/Sgt Catt is accepted for re-engagement for 24 years." I went straight to the phone and rang the officers' mess, asking for Borthwick Clark. I read the signal to him, saying, "What the hell did you know?" He said he had been on the staff at records before coming here, and roared with laughter. It made little difference. I could walk out at any time if I wanted to. If I didn't, I had a likeable job for some time to come. At that time, I certainly had no intention of remaining in the R.A.F.

I was still cargo on the Somersetshire, but is was fairly comfortable, and I was only going to Port Said. We stopped at Port Sudan, which my diary said was a miserable hole. I did go ashore, and had a good look at the place. The whole trip to Port Said was only six days. By now, being used to sailing up and down the canal, it had nothing exciting to offer me.

As my accommodation was not free at Cairo, I went temporarily to the mess at Heliopolis. From there I went daily to headquarters. I relieved a warrant officer, and started getting down to what was going to be a far busier job of work than I had left in Aden. We dealt with hundreds of signals a day. The first class crowd I had to handle it made it rather easy. They were the pick of the command, and a pleasure to work with. I wonder what they are doing now. For years I was able to keep in contact with some of them, but the years have gradually swallowed them up.

Squadron Leader Tait was a wonderful boss. He had a lot of horse sense, and was kind and considerate to a degree. I look back on the two years I spent under him as a very bright spot in the whole of my service. I don't know if he was R.A.F. trained, but being under him was like working with the average good army types I had been with during the war. He had a second dicky, a Flight Lieut. Lloyd Williams, but I had little to do with him.

there were other staff officers, who became big names later on, with whom I had almost daily contact. Wing Commander Harris, who was to become Bomber Harris and Marshal of the R.A.F., often played under me in the cricket team I ran. Wing Commander Babbington, as he then was, was another of the real type who had horse sense. I was to see more of him later when I had become somewhat elevated, and also his charming wife and daughter in their lovely home. Then there was the Earl of Bandon. As a Flying Officer, he was personal aid to the A.O.C. he was to go to the top eventually. I was to box his ear once under strange circumstances.

I used to like the occasional weekend at Aboukir, where I had friends, to enjoy a spot of sea bathing. Sqdn. Ldr. Tait took me at times in the old 504 Avro, which was the staff officers' run about aircraft and was kept at Heliopolis. One weekend I particularly wanted to go, and could not find an officer who was going. I went in to Air Staff and enquired. Someone said; "Try Bandy. He'll take you." So in I went to 'Bandy'. As soon as we could get clear, I went with him to Heliopolis, and we left in the Avro. For some way the route follows the Sweet Water Canal. We were flying gaily along when I noticed an Egyptian standing on the bank of the canal. We were flying quite low, enjoying the scenery, when suddenly he started a dive right at the poor gyppo. If he had not taken a header into the canal at the last moment, he would have had his head knocked off. I biffed 'Bandy' on the side of his helmet, shouting "For God's sake, get up!", and made a motioning movement with my thumb upwards. On landing, I said "You overdid it a bit there, you might have hit him." At which he laughed, and said; "Oh, no, Flight, we wouldn't had hit him." But I noticed that on the return flight on Monday he kept well up. I never met the Earl after Cairo.

After a few days, my room in the flat in Shawaby Pasha was free, so I moved right into Cairo. I must have been athirst for things civilised. I notice that in the first week I went to three different plays, including The Admirable Crighton, The Informer, and also my first 'talkie. Talking films had been developed during my stay in Aden. Like most other people, my first talkie was Sonny Boy, which was all the rage. I also got great pleasure walking in the public gardens, lying on the grass and stroking it. It was wonderful to see it again, and to fondle the flowers. I had been very silly to stay in such a barren hole as Aden for longer than necessary.

On my first Sunday, I made a beeline for the museum, and had a good look at the marvels of Tutankhamoon. This had been world news since Lord Caernarvon discovered them in 1922. Words cannot express my feelings as I gazed on these objects for the first time. The inlaid gold coffins fitted one inside the other, until the very large outer one. All were worked in the same exquisite manner. The golden headpieces could have been made yesterday. This alone was worth coming to Cairo to see. I went again and again, and during the quiet season, found myself almost alone with these treasures.

I had only been in the flat four days when I made my first quick dash to the pyramids. This was high on my lists of musts. I did not have time to climb to the top. Although I must have gone there dozens of times, swimming at the Mena House Hotel nearby, I never did climb to the top.

I was having a cup of tea on the veranda one afternoon when a chap in a dog collar appeared. We got chatting, and I learned that he was Archdeacon Swan of Cairo Cathedral. I had been to the service there once or twice, and noticed the good choir. I asked him if there was any chance of getting into the tenor line. I explained that I was a trained chorister, good at music, knowing the psalter and the usual stuff very well. He said I could go along to a practice if I liked, which I did on the next Friday. I fitted in all right, and became a regular member of the choir. There were no boys; just women and men. I was now getting with people outside the R.A.F. I found this very refreshing after Aden, where I had nobody but service people around me morning noon and night. There was only the mess and my room, and I'm afraid I had spent most of my spare time either in my room, wandering around on my own, or in my office. The operators worked 24 hours a day in shifts, and I could always find something to do.

Archdeacon Swan was one of the famous rowing blue brothers of the twenties. We became great friends, which lasted for many years until his death. One Sunday evening in the vestry after the service, he said he and his wife ran a small madrigal group, and it would be a great help if I could find the time to come and join in, as my voice would help a lot. I said I had done a bit of madrigal singing and loved it. I would certainly come. We sang at his house. As most of the party were choir members, I was no stranger. I was fitting in very well with Harry French, the other tenor from the choir. General Dobbie's wife and daughter were in this select little party. The archdeacon was very proud of his rowing exploits. The three oars he had used were strapped up on the wall of his sitting room. These were lovely evenings, which were to lead to many more for me; hundreds and hundreds of lovely evenings.

The Swans were within walking distance to our habitations. One after the other there would be 'goodnights' as I went off here and there, until I found myself alone with French and Enid M. "Hello," I said, "Where do you live?" When she replied, I said; "We are close. My flat is in Shawabi Pasha." So, week after week, we three went 'home' together. She was there with her father, a teacher under the Egyptian government. She was not a member of the choir. We began to meet after supper some evenings, and to go for a quiet stroll together. We even went out to the pyramids on the tram, which went all the way. Again, this was a complete change from Aden, where the only women I met were the few wives who had joined their husbands there. One evening, I suggested a trip to the Barrage. This was a well known picnic place some way from Cairo. I understood a boat went there. We decided to go next Sunday. I got the cook to prepare a nice meal, which I had in an attaché case. But when we got to the supposed place where the boat left, there was no boat. There were a few large sailing falukhas there. I suggested taking one, which we did. There were two gippos with it. As we sailed off, I got comfortable on the cushions on the port side, and Enid M settled on the other side. I had taken Ten Sixty-Six and all that to read on the way. The weather was marvellous. We had got some way north of Cairo when one of the gyps came back, pulled the boom tight fore and aft, and put a hitch round a cleat. I thought to myself that he wouldn't do that in Pegwell Bay. Neither should he have done. Soon after, when we were in the middle of the river, where it was about four miles wide, I felt a lurch, and saw that we were going over. "Can you swim?" I cried. "No." was the answer, so I said; "Hang onto me." And we found ourselves in the water. Somehow, I managed to get her up onto the bottom of the boat, and began looking for help. The lunch and Ten Sixty-Six had gone to the bottom. Soon I saw a large falukha in the distance. Eventually it saw my distress signals and came to us. It was loaded to half way up the mast with coal, but we scrambled on the stern. It was going to Cairo, and before we got there we had dried off. Even my cotton suit was quite dry. I thought it a good idea to get a meal, so we went to the German café. Then I saw her home. This all sounds a bit of a joke, but it was far from it at the time. What it did do was to make us both think differently about each other. We passed from being just good friends. But it was not until one night after we had had a lovely stroll by moonlight round the pyramids, that I realised fully how little Enid M. felt. We had left the tram and were strolling home, when she suddenly clasped hold of me, saying, "Why don't you kiss me?" I must have been an idiot, because it gave me quite a shock, but I kissed her. She was devoted to her father, so I thought I should go to meet hi and talk things over. I called on him one Sunday afternoon, and we had a long talk. I explained how Enid and I had got mixed up together, and that we had more than a little fond of each other. I explained fully my background, and what I now was; just a ranker in the R.A.F. He then told me of her brilliant academic career; that she had won all the highest honours at London University, including the Lubbock Prize as the top mathematics student of her year. I learnt a lot about her that she had kept under her hat. She had got a first class honours degree in maths. "But," he said, "I have noticed how happy she has become in the last few weeks. She has changed a lot, and it is obviously because of meeting you." He seemed surprised I had what money I had, until I explained how it had happened. Money had not meant a great deal to me, as I was not at all ambitious. He wanted the big armchair he was sitting it moved, and asked me to do it. When I picked it up as though it was a bag of feathers, he said; "You are very strong." I replied that it was because I had very strong forearm muscles from kneading loaves of bread by hand in my youth and signalling with large flags in the army. Pulling my sleeve back, I showed him the muscles of my arms, still bone hard. After a long chat, he patted me on the back, saying; "Don't worry. Everything will be all right." We were to be good pals until his death, which happened under my roof.

I joined the Wilcocks Sport Club, where I could get all the tennis and cricket I wanted. I even played a few games of soccer with them. 'Jock' McRea, the Scottish International, had come to Cairo to manage the All Egypt soccer team, and he played with us. He was a great guy to get on with. Although my knee was still apt to be a little shaky, I found I was able to fit in with him. These activities kept me from golf for the time being, although there was a respectable course there. I found tennis mostly satisfied my needs, although I did play cricket regularly for both the club and the headquarters team. Right from my army days, I had been a first class rifle shot. I automatically fell into the small rifle team. Fortunately, it did not take up too much of my time, although I did have to practice a lot before any important match.

Singing in the choir led to my being asked to take part in the Cairo Dramatics. They were always well staged shows, given in one of the large theatres to packed houses. They were always good fun. I did 'Ambrose Applejohn's Adventure' with them, a piratical farce. We on stage got much more fun than the audience. Our small madrigal group gave small rehearsals where we thought they would be enjoyed most, but we did not make a habit of doing this.

At this time, Cairo was a grand place to be. There was always something going on. We saw many of the great virtuosos of the day who found Cairo a happy hunting ground. There was the opera. For the season, we found on our doorstep the best that Italy could produce. I saw the great opera stars of this period, getting to know the operas which I had only heard about so far. Verdi composed Aida for Cairo. You have to go to Cairo to hear and see Aida at its most spectacular. I do hope that lovely opera house is still functioning as it did in the early 30's, when I was privileged to go.

Although Enid M and I had very little in common academically, there was the music which we both enjoyed. We could talk Tallis, Byrd, Morley, Bach and heaps of others we got to know. This was the great tie. Otherwise, it was a case of one of the first laws of magnetism; 'unlike poles attract, like poles repel'.

Life became very pleasant. By working in the evening, I was able to go to the club for a game of tennis or a swim every afternoon. I became friendly with people I had known in the R.A.F. I had met Bill Foyle at the Air Ministry when I visited Steve Wills there. He was in charge of the Marconi transmitting station some miles outside Cairo. I was always welcome there. There was also an old R.A.F. friend at the receiving station at Maardi, with his charming Greek wife. Life was very full. I had very few dull moments, but there were things and places that I wanted to see. I really wanted to get to Cyprus and Greece. Getting on top of things at the office, I said that, since I had not had a break for over three years, a spot of leave would do me good. Sqdn. Ldr. Tait agreed immediately, but seemed surprised when I told him I wanted to go to Cyprus and Greece. He thought I could be spared for three weeks, and I thought this enough. I took a garlic smelling boat from Port Said to Famagusta. After a look see there, I went on to Nicosia. I booked in at the first hotel that looked suitable, and after a clean up went down to supper. I was the only visitor in the whole place. The manager seemed interested in me, and wanted to chat. He asked later if I had anything on. I said no, so he asked me it I would like to go to his club with him. This seemed all right, and off I went. On entering and being introduced, I was amazed to have one blurt out; "Hobbs and Sutcliffe, what great game." We were playing a test in Australia, and our two openers had made a big score. These chaps were full of it. I had a very lively evening with them, which ended with a moonlight car drive into the country with some of their girl friends.

Like many other English people working in Cairo, Enid M's father went home for the hot summer months. The time came for them to leave. This time, he was not coming back because he had decided to retire. He asked me to go to Alexandria with them to see them off. I got leave for this, and off we went, me wondering whether that was the last I was to see of my Enid M. He had booked rooms at the Windsor Hotel. At that time it was an upper ten place. Although I wanted to pay my own exes, he insisted on doing so. I spent a lovely day there with Enid M., taking a very long walk along the Corniche, and on the morrow I took my lonely way back to Cairo, just wondering.

The summer of 1931 was coming. I was due home next trooping season, so I should be home for next summer.

About this time, the squadron leader said to me "I've been looking at your records. You seem to have done quite a lot. I think you ought to be more than a flight sergeant." I replied that to reach group one flight sergeant from aircraft hand in the time I had taken would be the only case in the R.A.F. In any case, I was not ambitious. He laughed at this. On his enquiring, I said that I could never pass the higher education certificate. I had not done the maths, and in any case I didn't want it. He said he could get me some coaching, and would very much like me to do it. I was always keen to please him, so I agreed. He got on to Major White, who was on the Ed. side, and asked him to spend the time with me. So I spent a lot of time learning the rudiments of mechanics and other such stuff.

Soon, I got a letter from Enid M. saying she was coming back for the winter alone, to be with me. She had been teaching in Egypt, and had now arranged to come back to it. She arranged lodgings with an English woman, who had married a Russian named Pasvolsky. I had been in Cairo for about nine months before Enid M. arrive originally. She had come straight from Königsberg University. She spoke German pretty well, so she left me far behind in languages and in maths, ad in most academic subjects. We seemed a peculiar couple, but again, unlike poles attract.

I got leave to go to Port Said to meet the Dempo, a fine Dutch boat of the time, when Enid M. arrived. She looked 'sparkling', and all seemed right with the world. We got rooms at the Hotel on the front, and spent the afternoon and evening sightseeing Port Said, and gabbling about what we had been doing during the weeks apart.

We left on the morning train for Cairo. We must have looked the part. The conductor, seeing we had got into an empty apartment, pulled down the corridor window curtains, closed the door, and locked it. I think I gave him the tip he expected for his thoughtfulness when we arrived in Cairo, and he came and freed us.

We now began to talk seriously about getting married, even to do it in Cairo, and not to wait until I got posted home. We told the Swans in a day or so. They were delighted at our engagement, and the fact that we had met under their roof. He would have liked to have married us. Enid M. disturbed me, one evening, by saying; "We must not have anything to do with mother." I laughed, saying that if I married her, I must be friends with her mother. How I wish I had taken her advice. So much anguish and unpleasantness would have been saved. I was to have the same warning from people in Barnsley who had known my mother in law since early womanhood. It was said that she had been an unholy terror, and this turned out to be true. I am so glad she was not in Cairo when Enid M. and I got to know each other.

During the summer I had been getting boils. An enormous one appeared in the middle of my back. I must have looked poorly, because the Sqdn. Ldr. said; "You are looking rough. What's the matter?" I told him, and that I was getting treatment. The P.M.O. and he decided that I should go away somewhere cooler and have a good rest. Dear old Tait said he would fix it. He said; "You know Coward at Jerusalem, don't you?" I said; "Yes. We were in Baghdad together." He phoned though to Jerusalem H.Q. and arranged for me to go to stay at the Palestine Police H.Q. It was outside Jerusalem in a very healthy spot on Mount Scopus. He told me to get off as soon as I could, and not to worry about anything until I was fit again. End M. understood, thought I should go, so I packed my bags and caught the night train.

Jerusalem was much cooler than Cairo. The boil soon cleared up, and I had a marvellous holiday to recuperate. I spent days doing every nook and cranny of the old city. I discarded any form of transport, and walked the road to Bethlehem. It was out of season, so I had the place to myself. I strolled down to the Garden of Gethsemane, and sat and rested there, thinking of all I had read and been taught about it. Somehow, it all became very real.

This police force was the aristocratic force it had the reputation of being. Its educational standards enabled it to pick and choose, and get the best type. I fitted in well, and found them helpful in all I wanted to do. Howard and Tait arranged some sort of detachment, so the whole thing cost me nothing, with the understanding that I did nothing.

After two weeks, I thought I ought to get back to Cairo. I went down to H.Q. to see Coward. While talking to him on the flat roof when a dust covered Crossley drove up. I asked him what it was. "The weekly run from Amman," he said. "Amman. Gee, it would be nice to see it again." He said; "We can fix that. Half a mo." and off he dashed. He was soon back, saying I could go back with the party if I hurried and got my luggage. I said goodbye to what police there were around, thanking them for everything they had done.

We left in good time to make Amman by daylight. This time I took the road down to Jericho and crossed over the Jordan going east. It was ten years since I had come down from Amman with the convoy on the last leg of the desert trip. We were getting on nicely along the heights of Gilead, when suddenly the road slipped away from under us, and the car seemed on the verge of crashing down into the valley below. No car ever shed its occupants quicker than did this one. We were soon pondering over how to get the thing back onto the road. It was impossible to use its engine, and we found it impossible to manhandle it back. So we waited. Just before it got dark, a car with four Arabs came up. It was going to Amman, so they took a message for us, and we sat down again, hoping it would be delivered. WE were quite high, and I was only in cotton dress. I began to feel the cold, and we made a fire. The message was delivered, and a six wheeler appeared which soon had us back on the road. WE soon reached Amman and had a welcome meal in the mess. I got talking to an old friend. He said he was sorry he would not see much of me. He was leaving on the morrow to go to Jesr Majami up on the Jordan on a detached flight job. He was going with the ground party cross country. Thinking this would be a nice trip, I said; "Can I come? I'd love to." He said he would ask the C.O. I said that would be awkward he mentioned my name, or if I saw the C.O. myself. I explained about my time in Kyrenia. But there was no trouble because he said an old friend of his had appeared on leave.

We made an early start in gorgeous, springlike weather, going north-east towards the Sea of Galilee. There was a profusion of flowers, including what looked like a little orchid. I had not been told what to expect. Late in the morning, we crested a brow. Before us lay a wonderful sight; the ruins of Jerash. None of them knew anything about it, and they were not interested. But I said we had to stop for a look see. As it was time for a meal, we did see. I didn't care about the meal, and dived through the triumphal arch along what must have been the main street. To my joy, I found a man with a tripod, who was surveying. He was an American, and delighted in showing me the most important aspects of the city. It must have been a wonderful place in its heyday. There was everything a Roman city should have. This was well worth giving up Amman to see. We got to camp before dark. I was told that the large building I could see in the distance was the power station that was being built on the Jordan. I had read that the Jordan was being harnessed for a hydro-electric scheme, and this was it. The chief engineer who was there was pleased to take me round the whole works. The huge generators and propellers were already installed, and the damming of the river completed. It is unlikely that anything remains of this scheme since such havoc has been played with everything within reach of the River Jordan.

At supper that evening with my friend and the two officers of the flight, including Flight Lieutenant Williams, we got talking about the vast number of interesting places of historic value in this part of the world. I mentioned Petra. "Have you been there?" Williams asked. When I said no, he said; "You must. I will take you. When can you come?" He was just crazy about Petra, having made a study of it. It would have been fine to have gone with him, but I had to explain that I had to be getting back to Cairo. He asked how I was going. I said I had to find a way back to Ramleh to catch the train. He said he would have me flown there. He sent for a sergeant pilot and handed me over. he said that if I wanted to see anywhere at the same time, to tell the Sergeant. I said I would like to have a look at Mount Hermon and fly right down the coast, seeing Haifa, Tel Aviv and Jaffa. This we did before landing at Ramleh, where I said goodbye to Sergeant Bell. This wonderful tour around Palestine and Transjordan had cost me practically nothing. Also, during my stay in Jerusalem, I had been able to hear concerts by the Jerusalem Orchestra, which was beginning to make its name.

On the train journey to El Kantara, I shared a compartment with a fascinating woman who told me she was the wife of the C in C of the Chilean navy. She spoke beautiful English, and I am sure she was what she said she was.

I had had a lovely time, but it was nice to get back to Enid M., and tell her about my wonderful holiday.

1931 was now slipping away. I expected an early posting home, so we decided to leave our wedding to that. Major White, who coached me, had given Sqdn. Ldr. Tait a good report about me, and he had given me an inkling that I would have a surprise soon. He was right. I landed in England to find myself a Second Class Warrant Officer, posted to Mount Batten, Plymouth. It happened quickly, and Enid M. was left behind to follow on. In any case, she could not have come with me. I had some leave to come, and went to Brighton to see Enid M.'s parents. She was an only child. In spite of her age, 25, her mother was trying to keep a fast grip on her. I saw from the start that I would not mix with her as easily as I had with Enid's father. He had taken a liking to me, and it was a pleasure to be together.

Mount Batten

How lucky I was to get to such a delightful spot as Plymouth, and to find myself with an interesting job of work. It was my first connection with seaplanes and flying boats, there being no land planes at all. From the wireless point of view, it was the same as other places, with one exception; it had one of the three direction finding stations in the country. The other two were at Andover and Bircham Newton. Compared with modern direction finding equipment, these were crude affairs, with large frame aerials suspended on a 70 foot mast, working on the long wave band.

Unlike land plane stations, there was a large marine section for the necessary boats needed, and on the strength of this was Leading Aircraftman Shaw. I had caught up with him again, and from now on I was to see him almost daily in one way or another, meeting him to talk with him on matters in which I was involved. I tried hard to get to know him, but he was a bit of an enigma. I doubt if anybody really got to know him. He was fascinating to talk to, if only to listen to his voice and look into his wonderful blue eyes. He was musical, so I was able to talk music with him. I remember discussing the B.B.C. with him one time, when he said the B.B.C. could close down and we would still pay our receiver charge and get its worth from the foreign stations, which were so much better. He had a lot of records, and if I was on duty and stuck in the mess for the evening, I could always go to him and borrow some.

There was a bad crash in the Sound, and Shaw was in the first boat to hurry to it. He realised that if he had had something faster than the antiquated dinghies and pinnaces then in use, lives might have been saved. After much discussion, Air Ministry agreed, and Shaw, who had some very good ideas about speed boats, went to work at Southampton with Scott-Pain, to produce a high speed power boat with its stepped bottom, which was one of Shaw's ideas.

One day, as I was going into a hangar, Shaw was in a dinghy cleaning up the filth and grease and oil from under the engine had just been removed. I couldn't help but say to him; "Do you have to do that, Shaw?" He quietly said to me; "Somebody's got to do it, Sir."

He was ten years older than me, and therefore quite old to be in a barrack room with a crowd of young airmen, but on my asking some of them how they got on with him, they always said; "Fine. He's one of us."

He had one of the powerful Brough Superior motor bikes with the huge V twin engine, which he changed every year for a new one. One time, the discip. was on leave, and as his office was opposite mine, I did some of his work. Late on morning, I heard Shaw's bike hounding down the road, to stop outside. He came in and handed me his pass form. He said he had been to London to see Sir Philip (Sassoon was Air Minister at the time). "What time did you leave London?" I asked. "Soon after breakfast," he said. He had done London - Plymouth in a forenoon, and I quietly said to him; "You will be killing yourself on that bike at this rate." How I thought of that conversation with him when he did actually kill himself on his beloved Brough.

The troops always called across to him for the meaning of any awkward word they might see. One day, one of them said to him; "Gee, Shaw, you must know every word in the dictionary." "But I do," he quietly replied.

I wish I had kept some of the letters he wrote about electrical equipment, which I handled, and had to talk to him about. His writing was beautiful, and all the things he tried to get done were sane and sensible ideas.

Warrant Officers took turns at being Orderly Officer of the Day. Since I was living just outside the gate, and staying put for Xmas, I did the duty over the holiday so that as many as possible could go. One of the duties was to inspect all flying boats at moorings to see if any were making water. About midnight on Christmas Eve I noticed a light in the marine section shed, and found the door unlocked. On making my way through the boats, I saw a light in the office, and was amazed to find Shaw scribbling there. "God, Shaw," I said; "Having a Merry Christmas?" "Oh yes, Sir," he said, "Just passing the time." After chatting a short time with him and pointing to the sheets of paper on the table, I said; "You seem to be busy, so I'll buzz off. Night-night." I wondered what the dickens he was doing, and found he was working on the Odyssey, which was published later. I just cannot understand a brilliant brain doing a work of this standard in a boat shed on a scruffy table on a cold winter's night. As I walked away, I thought, What a pity!

I am sure of one thing about him. He was much happier hobnobbing with humble folk than with the high and mighty.

Once I asked him if he still had any connections with the tribes he had worked with during the war. He said he did get news from some of them at times.

We all knew about Clouds Hill, his retreat in Dorset, and he did say to me once that I must go and see it, but I never got round to it. He did not want the limelight, and the beautiful monument of him in the little Dorset church in not the sort of thing he would have wished for.

Years later, I was to meet his mother and brother at Charney Manor. I was to find out what a marvellous woman she was. After supper on our first evening, we got chatting archaeology with two females in the small lounge. We got on to Stonehenge and Avebury. An elderly lady and a man sat by reading, and on one of us querying a point, the dear thing said; "Perhaps I can help you,", and forthwith went on to give a most interesting explanation of the whole subject. As soon as I could get clear, I ran to the warden and asked who the charming little woman was. He replied that she was the mother of T.E. Lawrence, and was with his brother. There were only six of us there, so we were soon mixing well. They had no car, so the doctor came to oxford with us to do some business. I made no mention that I had been with T.E. since he had been dead for some time. I now wish that I had, because we were the last people to be in her company. She caught a chill, was hurried into hospital in Oxford, and was dead within a couple of days.

I was well settled at Mount Batten before Enid M. got home. She had managed to get onto a P&O which called at Plymouth. I was on the tender which went out to bring the passengers ashore. She looked radiant, thanks to a calm voyage.

I had fixed up accommodation for her, taking a flat in the village of Oreston, ready to go to as soon as we could get married. It was the end of June. We were both keen to get settled as soon as possible, but the local vicar told us he could not marry us inside three weeks. We decided that in that case, we might as well get married in Brighton , letting her father and mother in at the kill. Enid rushed off to Brighton to arrange the licence. She visited Rhondda Williams to give him the good news. He had known her from childhood, and was living in retirement in Hove. He said he would love to marry us. He was a wonderful preacher. I had heard him, and seen some of his writings, but had no idea he had a close friendship with Enid M. With the licence all fixed, he parried us at the Union Church, Brighton, on the morning of the 15th July 1932. It was almost as quiet as I wanted, but we had told the Shoreham and Southwick relatives, so with some other close friends, they came to see me off. Enid M.'s father and mother came, with a few close friends, and that was all. I kept the news from my own family until after the event, so as not to drag them miles for an event of such short duration. WE arranged it for early morning so that we could get right off to Plymouth. Rhondda Williams gave us a marvellous little talk, and Enid M. asked him to make a copy for us. We still have it among our prized possessions.

There was no champagne; no booze; no photographer; not even a best man. I was told I could do without. I suppose that if I had had my way, we would have had a small ceremony together before God alone, and plighted our troth in real humility. But without a marriage certificate in this modern world, one can be severely handicapped; especially a woman.

I took a chunk of summer leave. It was mid summer in a part of the country neither of us knew, so the settling down period looked rosy. I can still see the other people in the compartment we shared on the London to Plymouth express. I still wonder whether they realised we were newly-weds; not that either of us would have cared two hoots. We had arranged things nicely. It was still daylight when we got to our flat. We were above the people who owned the flat. Everything was ready for us, even a good evening meal. I had a curious feeling of contentment. I had been such a loner, but now I had somebody with whom I could share everything. It was a prospect that seemed too good to last. As to that, there was no need for alarm, as the years that have rolled past have shown. I was church married, but it was a few days before we were truly married. Like many others, I suppose, we found that what comes naturally was not so easy for us. In some ways there is something to be said for pre-marital exercises, although again perhaps it is as well to experience some initial difficulties. For our ages we were somewhat 'green'. If all the news we read now is anything to go by, I wonder if there are many now like we were. We did Devon and a lot of Cornwall on day trips, always returning to the flat at night. We had a gorgeous honeymoon, finding it most satisfying to be wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of everybody else.

Staying in on a wet day, Enid M. Suddenly said she must learn how to cook. She said she ought to be able to make a cake. This was right up my street. We went down the street and bought all the ingredients. I gave her the first and only lesson in cake making. She picked it up quickly, as I had done on starting my bakehouse job.

I had told nobody at Batten that I was getting married. I had not got sufficiently intimate with anybody. On my return, the duty officer was surprised when I told him I would be living out with the wife I had brought back with me. After the event, we sent notification of marriage to all our friends, and were amazed when presents started piling in every day from all over the country. This went on for weeks. We got in the habit of saying; "I wonder what'll come today." It was good to know we had so many well wishers. In my wanderings I had made many friends, keeping contact. Enid M. had done the same. In time, I was to meet many of her friends in the academic world, as well as many influential people in The Society of Friends. Enid M. had become a Quaker during her time teaching at Oxford High School. She had got to know Lucy and Henry Gillett there, and they remained friends of both of us until their deaths. It was wonderful for me to stay at their lovely house in Banbury Road. It was very far removed from service life. Henry was inclined towards pacifism. I had a long talk with him in his study when I realised that war was inevitable. You could not listen to the rampage of Hitler without realising it. I explained one or two incidents in the Middle East I had been involved in, where I was sure the use of force had been necessary and justified. I was thinking of getting out of the service, but when war came, I would be very useful in the work I did. After the talk, he patted me on the back, and said; "You do what you think right, Sydney boy, and perhaps we shall be glad to have chaps like you." I think he was still mayor of Oxford at the time.

If it had not been for Enid M., I would never have met the class of people I did meet. Except, of course, I had met one or two when I stayed with the Woodwards at Shoreham. I was now to meet, and continue to meet, people with high academic honours. They were as far removed from me intellectually as I was from Faraday.

We sere soon able to move into a three bedroom married quarter, giving up the small flat at Oreston. The quarter was in a lovely position, overlooking the Sound. We were to spend three years there.

I have since seen that the fertility rate among first class honours graduates is high. This might account for our first child being almost a honeymoon baby. We had a lovely girl just ten calendar months after our marriage. She was a wonderful baby, grew into a wonderful girl, and then into the beautiful woman she now is.

Two years later, our second child was born, a boy. We decided this was enough for us to cope with, and cried "Full house."

Soon after our wedding, Enid M. received a letter from an old French friend. She was headmistress at Evron, and lived in the tiny village of Louverné about five miles from Laval. Before the, Enid's father had met her brother. He was in Brighton to study English. This was to set up a friendship between the families which lasted until mademoiselle Travers died at a ripe old age nearly sixty years later. Enid was a toddler when they first met, but continued to visit the Travers throughout school and college days. The brother had been killed at Verdun in 1915.

The letter said that I must be brought as soon as possible, to be shown round and become acquainted too. Although Margery was still little more than a baby, we went. Enid M. had said what a wonderful woman Mademoiselle was, and so I found her to be. For me, she shines out as, apart from Enid M., the most marvellous creature it has been my luck to know well. Her mother was dead, and she was the last of the family. She had never married. She retired just after my first visit. This must have been early, because she lived for many years afterwards. Louverné became a French home to us. We were very much drawn towards Mademoiselle. It was a loveable friendship, and lasted very long. Enid went as a toddler. Our children went as toddlers, and their children have gone as toddlers. We continued until the tragic news came, as we knew it must, that our adorable Mademoiselle was no more. We have gone once since, to see the family grave, where Mademoiselle knew she would rest. One is not privileged to meet many angels in this life. In Mademoiselle Travers, we met one. I see her now as we left the last time, as she said; "Come early next year, and stay a long time." But there was to be no next year for our darling Mademoiselle. If I were a Tolstoy, what a beautiful story I could write with her as the centrepiece. We had a long break from her during the war, as you will read later. But as soon as we could make it, even though the railways had not recovered, and life in France was very hard, we got back to her, and continued to go yearly. It was on one of these visits, some time later, when I opened the bottle of liqueur by my side to put a few drops in my coffee. I said; "You know, Mademoiselle, this is exactly like the liqueur I had on my first visit." She answered; But it is. It is yours." A big lump came into my throat, and I almost broke down. I had a job not to make a fool of myself. I knew what a bad time she had had during the war with the Germans. I knew she had buried everything of value in her garden. With them, she had buried my bottle of liqueur. It may sound a small thing, but it touched me deeply. WE made many French friends, and still have them. But we have never replaced our love of Mademoiselle Travers.

I never wore any medal ribbons. One day I got talking about the war to the officer in charge of my section. He seemed amazed when I told him I had been in the infantry. "But where are your ribbons?" he asked. "Oh," I said; "I've got no time for such rubbish. I haven't bothered to get the medals to which I am entitled." He looked at me as though I was a lunatic. It was something outside his comprehension. I found this with all service people. They seem to have a craving to display splashes of colour on the left breast. I thought that was the end of it, but after a few days, he said I must wear my medal ribbons. I ignored this. But the clot reported it to the Station Commander. he sent for me, and I said the same to him. He also quoted King's Regulations, which I knew, of course. He seemed embarrassed about talking to a warrant officer about it, especially since we were on very good terms with each other. I felt a little sorry for him, and after a little more arguing, I agreed to wear the stupid things

The Direction Finding Stations I have mentioned were no good for aircraft flying in the Western Approaches. I started to look for a site for one in the south-west. After inspecting places in Devon and Cornwall, all of which were too close to Plymouth, it was decided to place it on the Scilly Isles. I found a spot near the lighthouse at Pinninis Head. This is how I got to know the Scillies well, as I was expected to inspect the station at least once a month. There were no R.A.F. on the islands, so I recruited civilian operators to man the place. I went by flying boat if the weather was calm enough to allow it to land. But as it was usually too rough, I had to take the Scillonian, the little steamer which serves the islands from Penzance. This bit of sea is a s rough as any round the whole coast. Many is the time I have been helplessly seasick, as the trip took about four hours.

It was nice to leave Penzance in a snowstorm, arrive at Hugh Town St. Mary's, and have lovely new potatoes served up for lunch, and then to bring back bunches of spring flowers They were weeks ahead of any flowers grown in England.

I often met interesting people on the Scillonian. On one trip, I met Sir Alan and Lady Cobham. We had a little in common, because I had seen some of the places, and flown over some of the world, where he had flown on his record breaking flights. I told him the day before I returned that if the weather was fine, I would ask for a flying boat to come for me. He said; "Any chance of coming with you?" I told him I doubted it, since he had his wife with him. Civilians were barred from service aircraft. But I said I would ask the C.O. at Batten. However, as I expected, poor Sir Alan and wife had to suffer the Scillonian for their return. I had the same experience with managers of the Duchy of Cornwall, making their annual check-up of the islands. They introduced themselves as Colonel and Major. But I do not think they were still serving officers. By the way they talked, they had too much on their hands. Even they could not get a lift to Plymouth. When I said goodbye to them, I was handed a magnificent box of flowers for Enid M.

The Duke of Cornwall, as Prince of Wales, flew down to Plymouth for a civic function. On the way, the wireless set in his aircraft got sick The C.O. asked me to go out to the aerodrome and look at it. I had never seen one, but I went. I was lucky again, and I got it going O.K. I got a thankyou letter which I threw away, stupidly. However, if royalty thanks everyone for every little service, it is unlikely that the signature is a true one.

I was appointed to the rank of Warrant Officer on the 26th of January, 1932. Late in September of that year, I received a beautiful sheet of parchment signed 'Londonderry'. He was Secretary of State for Air at the time. All very nice. I did not realise that I had reached such an exalted position as to receive such a document. Possibly Lord Londonderry's signature was true, since it took so long to reach me.

I was at Mount Batten during the worst days of the slump. So I was one of the lucky ones, with a very solid, well paid job. Everything was so cheap, so a little money went a long way. Twice a week, a woman from Plymouth brought fish. For six old pence we would get enough for two or three meals. I paid civilian wireless operators, who were white collar workers, £2 17 6 per week. With this, they ran a house and family in Plymouth. I paid no rent. Coal and lighting were free for me, and I got a ration allowance. We were well off in the R.A.F. in those days.

One incident pushed me up the graph. The C. in C. Home Fleet was flying from Portland to Devonport by flying boat. He ran into thick fog over Lyme bay, and force landed. There was a panic, but I said I could get him in. I was told to carry on. I dashed up to the D/F station, told the boat to taxi due south, and to give me his approximate speed. I repeatedly took bearings from him, until I got a good idea of his position. Then I gave him bearings which got him safely round Prawle Point, and right into the Sound. The C. in C. was late for his appointment, but grateful for being got out of the fog.

Almost from the start, I made some very good officer friends. This was brought home to me at Batten. A flight to Gibraltar was to take off at dawn, taking some senior Air Ministry men. All the communications side were buttoned up. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to worry about. However, at about three in the morning, gravel rattled my bedroom window. A warder said I was wanted on the slipway. I jumped into some togs and hurried down, thinking something was seriously wrong. Of all people, I was met by R. E. Saul, who had played in front of me in the soccer team at Baghdad when I was a humble L.A.C., and who was my C.O for a time at Manston. He was the big noise, now a Group Captain. He apologised for dragging me out of bed. He had just heard my name mentioned. "I thought it must be you, and I couldn't leave without seeing you." II nearly wept. He took me to have some tea in the officers' mess. I said I couldn't go in there, but he replied; "You can come with me." In I went, and had tea and biscuits with him, talking over old times. Goodness knows what the C.O. and the others thought as he waved them away. He would not leave me on the slipway, but insisted on my going out in the dinghy with him, and even onto the boat. I stayed with him until the last minute when the engines were started up. I had the feeling he would have liked me to be going with him. As we waited for the sun to rise that morning, he said that I shouted at him just as I would to any of the others in the team if they did the wrong thing. He said I was marvellous. I saw him a few years later, when he came to see me again.

typed by Ivor Catt, sept 97 My father's autobiography from his birth up to the time of T.E.L.'s death is now all typed up into the computer. It will help P.M. to determine the level of significance for the TEL story of a career which has parallels. (Ivor is too close, so his judgement is valueless.)

Ivor Catt 5.9.97