Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part IV)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part IV: 10 Air Observers School, Chatham.

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of 15 Oakley Avenue, Hamilton, when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

Flying, which everyone on the course looked forward to, started soon after we arrived. The first was a familiarisation trip with two navigators. The greatest problem was to realise that when you were working out a course, the plane was still heading on the old one and wouldn't stop, but we soon learned that no matter what you gave the pilot he would always bring you home. Most were old bush pilots who did hours of flying in the North and were reputed to be able to fly by the seat of their pants. No pilot would venture too far away from the beaten track. At night time they would keep a good eye on the towns. Once, however this didn't happen. A pupil called Scotty, an ex Grey wolf (grounded pilot) gave a reciprocal course on the home leg. The pilot flew it this time, and ironically was recognising all the towns on the return journey. In due course their E.T.A. (estimated time of arrival) had expired and Chatham wasn't there. They flew on and soon were short on fuel, and turned on their landing lights to find somewhere to land. They found the edge of a lake and landed in shallow water, pulling up just in front of a huge rock. Scotty and the crew found they were in Halifax or nearby. He always had a habit of pulling his flying gear over his pyjamas, and spent the next two days wandering around like this. Finally he was washed out of the course, and later did a bombardier's training. He went to England and apparently survived the war.

The only problem with flying as far as I was concerned was airsickness. When the doctor told me he could do no more I just put up with it. Once I was forced to return home, but this proved fatal. Once more and I would be grounded I was told, so I never turned back. My standard equipment was a collection of cardboard boxes to contain what I couldn't hold. I eventually was so bad that the mere smell of a plane started me off. After a few minutes i was in the dry reach stage. I squared the pilots to keep quiet and I did my best, but my air work suffered. Of course I had to dispose of the boxes before returning, so the pleasant field below were the usual target. Poor devils on earth. The boys always reminded me to take my standard equipment with me. "Got your boxes" they would quip. Two on the course did go home because of air sickness.

A favourite pastime in 10 A.O.S. was to raid one anothers dormitory as a way of relaxation. Usually all ended well, except one night when a French-Canadian was involved. Poor sport he was, and informed the orderly officer who happened to be an American, a reconnaissance instructor.

One N.Z.'er and an Aussie had been celebrating too much, and subsequently were sent to an Air Force jail in Monckton for a week to cool off. But this turned the heat on at Chatham 10 A.O.S. A group of three Aussies planned reprisals, which incidently was one of the best kept secrets of the war. I personally only knew who one was, and that was when he left Canada.

The first act was to cut the stairways down with a fire axe. All the camp received a weeks C.B. (confined to barracks) for this. Act No. 2, do the job again and cut through the repairs this time. Result, 14 days C.B for the camp. But the rub was that the instructors were involved too, they couldn't leave camp when their courses were involved. Finally the Commanding Officer decided only the Aussies and N.Z.'ers were responsible, so the rest of the pupils were set free.

The select three planned further reprisals and amongst these were stealing the station flag, a copy of Janes Fighting Ships, and examination papers set for reconnaissance. The latter two belonged to the American officer, and this was a distinct embarrassment to him because Janes were a secret document to be kept under lock and key. They were a copy of all the latest planes and ships of all nations of the World, allied and enemy. He had left them on his desk.

In 14 days order was restored, the Commanding Officer was relieved of his position, and the brains behind the whole scheme eventually was given a commission off course. A well kept secret, otherwise he would probably have been discharged from the Air Force.

My personal action in this was to skip camp after about 10 days, for a few hours at the pictures. The stress of constant study, often late at night, needed a break, and Bob Shewry and myself decide to try. We marched along the road to the hospital to visit a supposed sick friend, then darted across the road to the fence and pulled the netting apart, which had been conveniently cut by the first N.Z. course at Chatham. I learn't afterwards that the Officers' mess was in sight of this spot, but they were human. We darted across to some woods, joined the road and made our way to the pictures, taking our aircrew flashes out of our caps. Recognised Special Police (S.P.'s) but they turned the blind eye. The fun started when we went to the Australia-N.Z. Club for coffee and doughnuts. The girls on duty were astounded to see us and plagued us with questions on what was going on back at camp. Apparently the town was alive with rumours, the incident had really livened up the place.

Coffee almost finished and two S.Po's appeared. One was a chap whom I had been invited home with by some locals for dinner, after attending church a couple of Sundays previously. He must have decided I was a reasonable sort of bloke because he just stood contemplating. Feeling cheeky I asked how many he had caught tonight and he said "You are the eleventh". "You won't need us," I replied, and to our amazement he said, "If you get back to camp without being caught we will say nothing." (Just our names, rank and number in his book in case). Bob and I moved off in due course, and went in the back of the camp as the night planes were coming in. We ducked behind snow drifts when lights were showing, and finally mingled witht he returning crews. We lived on tenter hooks for a few days, but nothing happened. All training camps in Canada were surrounded by tall cyclone netting fences, with barbed wire on top. The only legal way out was by the guard gate with a pass.

Before the snows started a sports day was held between the courses, football, tug-of-war, etc. etc. Number 58, our course, won with 39 points, the next closest being 32. It was a great day. The Canuks thought we were mad the way we played football.

Money is none too plentiful, and the generosity of the people is appreciated. As one way of saving money we cut each others hair. My home efforts are finding plenty of customers over here. A barber charges about 75 cents, N.Z. price 1/6, Canadian equivalent 4/-.

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part III)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part III: 10 Air Observers School, Chatham.

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of 15 Oakley Avenue, Hamilton, when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

In due course we were posted to 10 Air Observers Course, Chatham, New Brunswick. Classes included Australians, Englishmen, Canadians, and other nationalities. The station is well set up, very convenient and ideal in every respect for training. We sleep in dormitories, built in the form of an H with the ablutions in the centre. They are two storied, with 18 beds (two tiered) in each. Janitors (old men) keep the building clean. Meals are excellent, my favourite being blueberry pie and flap jacks and maple syrup.

Paid a visit to the local town which is about two miles away. It is about the size of Tuakau, and the people are very friendly. An Australian-New Zealand Club is very helpful, supply coffee and doughnuts, aqnd introductions to families. Discovered that some months previously a New Zealand course trained in Chatham and apparently had a wonderful time. Made it easy for us - if you are a New Zealander you are OK. Gordon Lyell who instructed us at Rotorua was one of them. The first Sunday on the station we attended a church parade, most went willingly but a number absented themselves by various ruses.

The course is quite difficult, with ten subjects, plus flying. They include Navigation (Astro and Dead Reckoning), maps and charts, Reconnaissance, and Photography. Out of the original 60 at Rotorua, 30 have come to Canada to train as navigators, the remainder as bombardiers. Twenty-six of the navigators are at Chatham, four went to a station in Ontario. One of these, Jack Bell, was later killed when his parachute did not open. He apparently jumped at 500 feet when the aircraft was in trouble.

After a few days it became evident that lots of swot will be required to be successful on this course. The routine that most have settled for is five days intensive work, and a break on the weekend. Pictures, dances, golf, trips and visits to local homes find most favour.
On Sunday I was taken to the home of Archdeacon Anderson and found Eddie Medlin's name in the Visitors' book.

All the course were given their first familiarisation flight after about ten days. From the air the countryside is mostly Spruce and Fir trees, and fairly flat. The Miramachi River is quite prominent. Apparently New Brunswick is noted for the lumber trade. Chatham and New Castle once had seven mills, but during the depression only two operated. A doctor told us that 40% of the people had no work, and the rest about two days per week in this period. This reflected on the children who were very short of food and suffered accordingly.

The first pay in Canada was very welcome.

Chatham has churches belonging to six denominations, the ones with greatest followings being the Roman Catholic and the United Church of Canada. The latter is a combination of several protestant groups. The Roman Catholics have a beautiful building on top of a hill and can be seen for miles. Its steeple is almost a navigational hazard. When doing aerial photography everyone snaps the church, and it is safe to say all photography enthusiasts have one of this in their album.

The St. Pauls (Anglican) is 125 years old and well preserved. It has a shingle roof which is typical of many buildings in the area. One church, the Presbyterian, was sold and converted into a picture theatre when the United Church came into being. It still has a tall wooden steeple, and is called the Capitol. The church that went wrong someone said.

Talking of buildings, very few have paint on the outside, especially houses. This appears a reflection on the depression days.

Dr. Freeman, who befirended Bob Shewry and myself, said during these years only 40% of the people had work, and for only two days per week. The rest had nothing and lived on sustenance or whatever came their way. Of the seven lumber mills operating before the depression, only two remained open. He said this caused great starvation amongst the young people, and could still be seen. I have often wondered why so many of our age group possessed such thin legs and arms and this was apparently the answer.