Easter Monday, 1944, was a day of sunshine and cloudless skies. It seemed that the weather had decided to bless the impressive ceremony due to take place at Attlebridge on that day, a ceremony which was a milestone of the war as it affected the A.M.W.D. civilians and myself. My wife had joined me for the long weekend holiday, and early after lunch we walked over the field towards the station Headquarters. The flat-roofed brick building, windowless and massive in appearance, stood out against the bare earth, for there had been no time for grass to grow over the soil which had but recently been turned over and raked smooth after the workman had left the site. The new concrete entrance road had been swept clean, and a gleaming white flagstaff with its R.A.F. flag commanded immediate attention as we entered the site. The ceremony was simple and most significant. The new American Commanding Officer, Colonel Pearce, received the station from the R.A.F. Administrative Officer, Squadron Leader Chesney. The R.A.F. flag was hoisted down, and Old Glory took its place. Attlebridge was a little bit of America from that moment onwards. The centre of interest then moved to the main runway, where a large crowd had gathered round a Red Cross Clubmobile. A group of flying personnel stood near the coach, their full-dress uniforms splashed with bright ribbons and flashing with polished silver and brass. The R.A.F. detachment stood at ease in a solid block, their blue uniforms contrasting with the drab dress of the American detachments standing on either side.

Colonel Pearce and Squadron Leader Chesney stood side by side. At a given word the R.A.F. detachment shot to attention. The R.A.F. officer marched out to meet his men, the black eye patch over his empty eye socket and his rigid military gait pronouncing the soldier in him, and then followed the ceremonial march-past, the detachment withdrawing at last to stand at ease in the background. The Americans repeated the ceremony, and withdrew in turn. There was a hush, then suddenly the speakers of the Clubmobile bIared out to announce the presentation of medals to the American fliers. Long citations were read out at high speed, and the Colonel presented a tableful of decorations in half an hour. The ceremony was over, and the party dispersed. As my wife and I sauntered leisurely back to our lodgings for tea, I thought of the effort and expense which had gone into the preparations for that simple ceremony. My musings were disturbed by the sound of aircraft engines, and I remembered that a mission had gone out on that day; there had been no easing off for the occasion. We waited, and saw the Attlebridge Liberators, with their bright red and white tail fins showing clearly in the sunlight, approaching their base in close formation . The bombers peeled off and started their circling, then the first aircraft landed, followed closely by the second, and the next, until at length the perimeter track was filled with bombers parading slowly round to their dispersals, the air buzzing with the sound of engines.

After tea my wife and I walked to the new Officers' Mess to the dance. The entrance hall was crowded with girls, and I marvelled that the officers could have found so many in the district in the short time they had been in England. They were not specially attractive girls, and most of them were stockingless and wore jumpers and skirts or print frocks but they supplied the partners for the dancing and created the party atmosphere.

The Adjutant welcomed us, and was very charming to my wife, who was somewhat at a loss amongst all the strangers. We passed into the large room which had been cleared for dancing. On an improvised platform at one end, the scratch G.I. band was tuning up, and at the opposite end an R.A.F. sergeant fussed behind the long bar counter erected by the unit.

Captain Rose Hager came over and engaged us in conversation, making my wife feel at home with his natural hospitality and his soft drawl. Tom, the young Chinese Lieutenant, joined us, and his beaming face and broken English entertained and amused us. The next person to meet my wife was the Ground Executive Officer, a slim elderly man who was greatly respected by all the men on the Station.

Colonel Pearce came in. He passed round the room, shaking hands with the girls, and finally reached our little group. He shook me warmly by the hand.

"Mr. Bailey, we've had a mission over Berlin today. All bombs fall in the target area, and we hadn't a single casualty. It sure seems a good omen for the future, happening today as it did." The Colonel's voice was unsteady, and I saw the emotion in his face.

"It certainly seems that way, Colonel" I replied, "and I only wish I could stay to see your missions coming home as they did this afternoon."

The Colonel was introduced to my wife, and made a joking remark to the effect that I'd better keep my eye on her or he'd take her off my hands for the evening. It was all very friendly, too friendly and warm perhaps for me to come through it all without a little stirring of inner emotions. To the American Bomb Group the party was the official opening of active operations. For me it was a mark of farewell to fifteen months of mingled experience, as well as my last chance to say goodbye to the many new American and R.A.F. friends who had worked with me in the hectic days of preparation.

Dancing started, and I lost my wife in a Paul Jones. She was discovered some time later with a young lieutenant, a pleasant lad who was in charge of the Chemical Company. I sauntered over towards them and stood a little to one side until the music started up again.

"Have this one?" asked the young American.

"Well, no, thank-you; I'd better dance this with my husband or he'll disown me," replied my wife.

"Husband?" echoed the Lieutenant: "Are you married?"

My wife laughed, and turned towards me to make an introduction. When the officer saw me he started with astonishment.

"Well I'll be ---! Is this guy your husband?" We laughed off the situation, and the embarrassed boy fled amongst the dancers.

As the evening drew on, and the heat in the room increased, my wife and I agreed to sit out awhile. A fat and jolly sergeant, the Mess head cook, came across and took the vacant seat next to my wife. He mopped his perspiring brow.

"Jeeze, it's hot behind the bar," he panted, "I've come away to cool off.''

He was slightly tipsy.

"Everybody's having a good time, anyway," I ventured in reply.

"You work on the base?" asked the sergeant.

"Yes, I'm the Air Ministry engineer," I Informed him, in the nearest possible to basic English. The G.I. looked at me closely, and tittered.

"Sure, I remember seeing you in the Mess - but you're all dressed up tonight; what's your name, sir?"

I told him. He turned to my wife.

"This your girl friend?" he pursued.

"No, my wife," I replied rather foolishly.

This amused the sergeant immensely. He rocked in his chair and his eyes closed as he laughed in a high-pitched voice.

"Ho-ho, tee-hee, she's not your girl friend she's your wife!" he giggled; "And what's her name? - Ho-ho, he-he!"

The cross-examination was rather wearing, and we were considering how to extricate ourselves when suddenly the music stopped, and we heard a voice trying to make itself heard through the microphone. The Air Executive Officer, a blond young Major, was standing on the platform. He called for attention, and in a few seconds the room was hushed.

"The following Officers will leave the building immediately and go to bed." Then followed a list of names, all read in a hard, serious voice.

"Thank you," concluded the Major, and he stepped down. Conversation buzzed again. A very tall dark boy danced joyously down the length of the room with his hands clasped in the air above his head. He slapped a brother Lieutenant on the shoulder as the other was passing out of the doorway. One by one the young men picked their way through the crowd and left the party to prepare for the morrow's mission whilst small bunches of others laughed and slapped each other's backs in mutual congratulation at being free to stay up and see the celebrations through. For a brief moment we had been jerked back to reality, but the party was soon in full swing again.

We escaped from the G.I. by having the next dance, and when the music stopped we found ourselves alongside the bar counter. Squadron Leader Chesney was standing alone with a glass in his hand. He looked very lonely, the only R.A.F. blue in a crowd of American drab, and when he saw me he sauntered over to where we stood.

"Hello, Bailey, come and join me --- is this Mrs. Bailey?"

Introductions over, we took our drinks and the Administrative Officer drained his glass at one gulp.

Turning to me, he began to express the thoughts uppermost in his mind.

"This is goodbye to Attlebridge for both of us, old man," he said. "I've been moving round on this game all the war. Just got used to a place, meet a set of new chaps, and move on. I'm not really an R.A.F. man, you know. Was in the Guards last War,"

I offered my round of drinks.

"Good idea - better have 'em whilst there are some," replied the Squadron Leader. "Had a lot already, but damn it, it's a farewell party."

His drink had vanished before my wife and I had taken the first sip. A diplomatic withdrawal was indicated and the next dance provided the opportunity. Time was getting on and we had a busy day ahead of us on the morrow, so we agreed to go home. Slipping out unnoticed, we walked in the clear moonlight down the sandy lane, leaving the Squadron Leader to drown his mingled emotions in spirits, leaving behind the hospitality and quick friendliness of the Colonel and his Officers, those gay-hearted young men whose lives were entering on a new phase of danger and suspense.

Early next morning we packed our bags and set out to Attleborough and Snetterton Heath. The so-called direct route to Attleborough is a tortuous maze of narrow lanes, and I had never been able to follow the route without losing my way. The absence of signs at that time rendered the negotiation of Norfolk country roads almost impossible for strangers. I therefore chose the route which runs via Norwich, and we threaded our way through the narrow city streets to the southbound road. Eventually we entered Attleborough, and turned right in the centre of the town, making towards Deopham Green. Our destination in the first place was an old cottage near to the entrance of the new American Air Base, where the local police had found me temporary lodgings. The cottage had at one time been a tavern, and only the absence of a swinging sign suggested that it had changed its function with the passage of years. The building stood in its own grounds, with a small courtyard on one side flanked with old wooden stables, coach-house and barn. A rough black dog emerged from his kennel and barked excitedly as I opened the gate, and a small rosy-cheeked old lady opened the back door, shouted to the dog to be quiet, and invited us into the kitchen.

Should no other benefits be derived from my term of duty with the Air Ministry, one experience at least will surely have been worth while. That is the intimate experience of country life in the remote parts of rural England. I had lived with a small farmer in his humble home; several pleasant months had been passed in a picturesque cottage, where I had come to appreciate the struggles of an elderly widow woman to keep her few hens and make a living; and now I was introduced to a quaint Norfolk tavern, as if to complete my education in the rustic way of life.

The kitchen had been extended and the roof of the extension was fitted with skylights. The innovation removed the usual objection of darkness generally associated with ancient property, and I can imagine that this particular kitchen must have been very dark indeed when it was illumined solely by the one small window near the door. The only other modern note was provided by a calor gas cooker which stood by the chimney breast. A log fire burned in the high range fireplace and a rich aroma of cooking came from the pans on the hobs. A fire copper occupied the rest of the wall space on that side of the room. A large square table stood in the centre of the floor surrounded by kitchen chairs. There was a small Welsh dresser, a stone sink, and an oil-lamp hanging from the ceiling. My wife and I passed into a space which might have been called a hall except for its situation in the middle of the house. There was no direct entry to the space from outside. From this curious hall ran a flight of stairs to the upper floor, and a number of doors opened into the remaining rooms of the ground floor. We were ushered into what must have been the public bar in the days of the tavern. I visualised the bar counter in one dark corner as I gazed round the large square room with its high range, low ceiling, its single window with the sill set high - presumably to accommodate a highbacked wall-bench in the past - and the door leading to an entrance hall which gave access from the main road. We next climbed the wide polished oak staircase to our bedroom, a large chamber sparsely furnished with a huge iron bedstead, washstand and dressing table. Everything was spotlessly clean and neatly arranged and I could not help marvelling that the old lady should run the house alone.

Having deposited our baggage we left the old lady and made for the American Air Base at Deopham Green. A gang of County Council workmen were laying tarmacadam on the newly widened country lane approaching the site. A sentry stopped us at the end of the road, but at last we gained admittance and entered the A.M.W.D. compound. I left a number of text books and other personal belongings with the Clerk of Works and returned to the car for my last trip of the day. Passing through Deopham Green and Attleborough once more we gained the London Road and drove a few miles south to Snetterton Heath. My Senior Officer was already there and had installed himself in the office which had been prepared for us in advance. There was something barren about Snetterton Heath: it had not the tree-clad atmosphere of Attlebridge, grass seemed to be sparse on the airfield, and the concrete perimeter track and aircraft standings appeared to have been built on an arid waste. Flying Fortresses stood parked near to the office, and I realised that there would be considerable interference with our work from the noise of their engines. I am influenced a good deal by first impressions, which is perhaps not a very good thing, but my short stay at Snetterton Heath did not improve the poor opinion which was formed on the first day. After an hour or two in the office I returned to Deopham Green with my wife, and we spent the evening admiring the garden. A large orchard of apple and plum trees of many varieties supplied more than the needs of the household, and the old lady told me that after the previous year's harvest she had given a hundredweight of surplus plums to the nearby Emergency Hospital. She kept hens, of course, though not so many as in pre-war days. Every kind of currant bush was growing in the garden, and there were strawberries and raspberries, all types of vegetables, and an attractive assortment of spring flowers growing in neat plots behind and around the house. We were presented with apples from the previous year's harvest - huge sweet fruit bearing no sign of keeping - and we marvelled at the care and skill which must have gone into the tending of those fertile plots.

We met the landlady's husband, a small bent old man whose main occupation was his garden and the poultry. As a sideline he acted as sexton for the local church, an occupation which occurred to me to be too much in keeping with his ordinary daily routine to create any diversion for him.

Three other man were living in the house at the time as lodgers, and we met them all when we returned to the oil-lit sitting room. There was an old man who had retired from business and settled temporarily in Deopham Green after his property had been bombed in London. The other two lodgers were youths whose passion for jazz records and picture-going created an odd contrast with the elderly people of the household. The jazz records in the house were few in number, and frequent use had caused them to become scratched and chipped so that when they were played on the gramophone at full volume it was impossible to read or write whilst the din was going on. My wife and I retired early that night after the long and rather tiring day, and we did not waken until roused by a tap on the door. The old lady entered the bedroom with two cups of tea and a jug of hot water, and I felt somewhat ashamed that such an old person should consider it her duty to climb the stairs and ply us with refreshments in the early morning.

We did not stay at the Deopham Green house for many days, as the lodgings had been taken only as a temporary measure pending arrangements concerning another house which was fitted with a bathroom and was more convenient in every way. Whilst we were there, however, the old lady treated us royally with the very best food and the warmest hospitality. Her plum jam tasted and smelt like old wine, her roasts were juicy and rich and every day there was a fruit tart or a fresh fruit salad such as we had not tasted for years. If any young man needs an insight into the homeliest of Norfolk country life he should go to the old onetime tavern at Deopham Green and ask for Mrs. Jermy.

My wife returned home and I settled in my new lodgings in Attleborough. The district to be covered from the Headquarters at Snetterton Heath was very extensive, covering the stations of Deopham Green, Snetterton Heath, Knettishall, East Wretham, and a distant bombing range. All the stations were manned by American personnel, the most interesting being East Wretham, which was a grass airfield housing a fighter group. It was fascinating to see the fighters take off five abreast to escort the bombers on their daily missions. Otherwise the work at Snetterton Heath was more or less of a routine nature. None of the airfields required extensive repairs, and the bomb groups were apparently well accommodated on their stations. The only exciting occurrence whilst I was living at Attleborough was the bombing of Deopham Green. I was wakened one night by the sound of aircraft passing very low overhead and the dull thud of bombs dropping shook my bedroom windows. Deopham Green was the nearest station to Attleborough and I judged by the direction from which the sound came that the bombs had been dropped on the aerodrome. I went straight to Deopham Green early next morning and found that the Germans had dropped a stick of five bombs in a neat straight line across the main runway. Only one bomb had damaged the concrete, however, one had smashed the side drain, and the others had fallen harmlessly in the grassed areas. The morning mission was not delayed as the crater in the concrete was surprisingly small and was quickly filled with tarmacadam. The personnel on the station had been shaken by the incident, however, and one G.I. with amusing exaggeration confessed to the Clerk of Works that he had taken off at full speed from his point of overnight duty by a parked aircraft and had not touched ground again until he had cleared one of the hangars. It was not surprising that the rank and file on the station should experience some shock at the occurrence, as it was their first taste of bombing, but as nobody had been hurt the experience was probably of some value to them.

For two or three days after the bombing of Deopham Green, all American personnel were required to carry arms, and security on all stations was very strict. I had difficulty in gaining admission to East Wretham and learned that a German aircraft had been brought down but not all of the crew had been traced. Arms were being carried in the event of a German airman being found attempting to escape from one of the landing grounds.

As Deopham Green was a new station there were no difficulties in the form of runway repairs, and the Unit were apparently contented with their accommodation. On only one occasion did a major emergency arise, and the results were swift and startling. One evening the whole camp ran dry of water, and it was discovered that the pumps in both boreholes were pumping air. Air Ministry had for weeks been warning all stations that East Anglia's subterranean stocks of water were depleted owing to the sub-average winter rainfall and the abnormal demands of the hundreds of additional boreholes which had been sunk during the War. The gravity of the position showed itself very clearly when the water level at Deopham Green fell below the suction levels of the pumps. We organised a system of carting water from other sources in the district, and after 24 hours the boreholes had recovered and we were able to call off the emergency. The wasteful consumption of 40 gallons per head each day miraculously ceased, and only half that amount was used after the occurrence.

Our relations with the Unit at Snetterton Heath did not improve as time went on. The same trouble that had arisen at Attlebridge with Captain Jones and Colonel Seashore had been allowed to develop at Snetterton Heath, and the Unit were gradually forming an independent maintenance organisation of their own with materials wheedled out of the Clerk of Works by any device which could be thought up. When it was pointed out that the practice was irregular and that the indiscriminate waste of materials must cease, we found ourselves naturally very unpopular with the Utilities Officer and the Ground Executive Officer. I was never invited to use the Mess facilities on the station and when the office staff required lunch, they were obliged to collect it by van and bring it to the office in vacuum containers. I found it more convenient and congenial to arrange for my inspections of other stations to coincide with lunchtime and I was made most welcome at all the other stations under my supervision. It is not surprising that the general lack of happy relations at Snetterton Heath affected my enthusiasm for working at the station and I was very pleased indeed when a telephone message came through towards the end of May instructing me to report at Headquarters concerning a posting to another station.

On arrival at Newmarket I was shown a map of the area and was instructed to report within two or three days to Horham, an American station near to Diss. The Senior Works Officer there had been posted overseas and was leaving at short notice and I was to take over from him without delay. The posting meant that I was to become a Senior Works Officer instead of a Deputy, and the prospect of having complete control of an organisation appealed to me more than had the duties of Deputy at Snetterton Heath. On the Saturday morning I visited Horham to spend about half an hour with the outgoing Senior Works Officer. He was in a great hurry and had no time to go into details save to tell me the name of his typist and indicate the location of the stations supervised from the Horham headquarters. I returned to Snetterton Heath and spent the weekend clearing up a little outstanding work there, and on Monday the 5th June I entered the Horham office.

Horham station is situated several miles from Diss, and the nearby villages had no lodging accommodation. My predecessor had slept in a vacant room in the office building and I decided that I should have to do the same, at least for the present until outside lodgings could be obtained. I was issued with bedding from the American barrack stores and prepared to make myself as comfortable as possible in the small room. As I busied myself about the office on that first day I was struck by the great activity on the station and in the air. In the past it had been customary to hear the noise of aircraft for perhaps on hour in the morning and an hour in the late afternoon but on this particular day the drone of aircraft engines was never out of my ears. A steady stream of four-engined bombers appeared to be passing over the station all day long and the activity did not die down after the Horham bombers had returned in the afternoon.

I worked in the office that evening until ten o'clock reading through the correspondence which my predecessor had been unable to deal with during his last few days at the station, and it was dusk when I eventually went into the adjoining room and prepared for bed. Still the rumble of aircraft engines persisted and I decided that my strange bed and the noise coming through the wooden walls of the hut would not permit me to sleep unless I read a little to make myself tired.

I found, however that I could not read, for the intensity of air activity appeared to increase as the night lengthened. Eventually I switched out the light and fell into a restless sleep, only to awaken after what seemed a few minutes to find that dawn was breaking. My first realisation was that the noise in the air had not ceased. I dressed and shaved and made myself a meagre breakfast from the few rations I had had time to buy on the previous day and then, as I had no watch, I resolved to walk to the letterbox down the lane and post a letter, and to enquire the time from whoever might be about. A number of Americans were walking from the Mess site as I made my way down to the letterbox and I discovered that the time was about eight o'clock. As I walked back towards the office an American Captain overtook me on a bicycle.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "what is it?"

"American and British troops have landed on the French Coast" he said. "It came through on the eight o'clock News".

Suddenly I realised why there had been such intensive air activity on the previous day and through the night.

"I say"," I called out to the Captain as he receded from me, "you're the sort of chap I like to meet, bringing news like that. I only arrived on the station yesterday. My name's Bailey."

"I'm Captain Williams" replied the officer, and he dismounted to shake hands.

In my own experience major events and occurrences of great personal importance alike have always been pigeonholed in my memory by their association with someone I have met or something I have been doing at the time of the event. I always associate the declaration of War in September 1939 with the circumstances under which I heard Mr. Chamberlain speak. I was standing in the police office at Burnley Town Hall on that Sunday morning listening to the wireless. Similarly the advent of D-Day and my hearing the first news of the landing will always be associated with Captain Williams who cycled past at a few minutes after eight o'clock in the morning along a Norfolk country lane.

The bombers left Horham earlier than usual that morning and I went along to see the Ground Executive Officer. Our introductions were very brief, as he was a busy man that day. Security had once more been clamped down on the station and he informed me that every aircraft that could fly was being put in the air that day. I returned to the office and was met by a Captain of the Engineers, the Area Engineer for that part of Norfolk. He introduced himself and asked me if I would go along with him to Thorpe Abbotts, where intensive emergency repairs were in progress on the runways. We drove to the station in the Captain's jeep, and it did not occur to me to discuss the event that was uppermost in my thoughts. A meeting had been called at station headquarters to discuss a programme for large-scale repairs of the airfield and a large number of senior officers were present when we arrived. The Ground Executive officer apologised for the absence of the Commanding Officer who, he said, was out on a mission. The District Engineer was present at the meeting together with the Commanding Officer of a U.S. Engineer Aviation Battalion, and they outlined the programme which they hoped to introduce. As they were pointing out the areas they wished to repair, the Colonel came into the office looking tired and very pale. He smiled and shook hands with the District Engineer and they entered into conversation. The Colonel suggested that as operations were at their very peak the day was inopportune for discussion concerning the closing down of areas of the field. The District Engineer and the Area Engineer asked why that day should be more important than others, and the Colonel raised his eyebrows slightly and asked them it they had not heard the news. Apparently they had not, and when they realised that D-Day had at last arrived they closed the meeting and left the station until things quietened down. The Colonel explained that missions were taking off and returning in a continuous procession all through the day, and until further orders they had been informed that more than normal demands would be made on the aircraft and their personnel and that no steps should be taken which would prejudice the maximum use of aircraft. It was obvious that the field must be allowed to stay in its present condition as long as possible until the peak pressure had relaxed. I made an inspection of the field before leaving and was appalled at the deterioration in the perimeter track and the ends of the runways. One runway was being used as a parking place for aircraft and Negro Engineer troops were putting a new eight-inch cap of concrete over a section of the perimeter track. There was mud everywhere, and in the midst of it all bomb lorries were trying to find their way round to load up the bombers, aircraft were coming in, and others were waiting to take off. If ever there was a situation of chaos on an airfield that situation was found at Thorpe Abbotts on June 6th, 1944.

I returned to Horham and busied myself for the rest of the day on routine matters in the office - a very ordinary way of passing the time on a most momentous day. I met the Quantity Surveyors who worked in an office nearby, and we went for lunch together in the Officers' Mess. One of the surveyors was a Londoner and he had a good deal to tell me about the bombing of his area during the intensive blitz period. The topic in the Mess was, of course, the same for everyone. Every hour brought a little news, but not enough for impatient ears. The Tannoy was connected to the wireless and everyone on the station heard the news as to the progress of the landings. Groups of G.I. ground crews and station complement personnel gathered round the Tannoy speakers each hour and the atmosphere of tension and excitement could almost be felt. I found it very hard to concentrate on dreary routine and I was glad when the day ended and I was able to go to bed to make up for the time lost on the previous night.

The temporary arrangement for sleeping came in useful in the first days at Horham, as it enabled me to spend the evenings in my office with correspondence. The previous Senior Works Officer had been able to do little in the way of organising the new maintenance routine in the ten weeks from its inauguration to the date of his departure, and for the third time since March I was obliged to set about the task of forming a method of procedure and instructing the Clerk of Works at the various stations in the new system. The difficulty was chiefly encountered with the different American units on the stations. They were unwilling to conform to British procedure in matters such as requests for maintenance and new work, and the degree of co-operation depended on the Ground Executive's understanding of our methods and his personal relations with the Air Ministry representatives on site. At Horham the blunt and outspoken Clerk of Works, a Scotsman named Liddell, was on excellent terms with the equally blunt and vigorous Ground Executive Officer. At Thorpe Abbotts on the other hand, the young Major in charge there was constantly in trouble with the Clerk of Works. The Major required several improvements and repairs to be done, but the unpopular and hostile Clerk of Works made no attempt to help him. A young Captain was put in charge of station Utilities to ensure the progress of works required, but his uncouth manner and aggressive attitude caused relations between the Unit and the A.M.W.D. to go from bad to worse. Matters reached a climax when stores began to disappear from the A.M.W.D. compound, and soon the station was seen to sprout new building extensions and home-made shacks to a most alarming extent. My experience of the many types of officers and Clerks of Works in my tour round the area proved valuable in the early days at Horham, and I was able to apply the letter of the law to both parties and at the same time to enable the Unit to get what they wanted - so long as it was justified - in the shortest possible time.

As I was going through the Thorpe Abbots files during one of my evenings in the office I noticed that the Air Ministry had issued an instruction for the urgent erection of an additional Bulk Petrol installation. The usual storage for a station was 144,000 gallons, consisting of two widely-separated dumps with six twelve-thousand gallon tanks in each, but Thorpe Abbots was to be supplied with a third installation. The normal method of construction has already been described in my story of the floating banks at Attlebridge; the tanks were invariably sunk below ground for safety. I was surprised, therefore, to find that the new tanks at Thorpe Abbots were to be built above ground, with no protection save an earth traverse wall. This departure from usual policy was surely a sign of the times, a certain clue to the confidence which Air Ministry felt regarding Germany's power to raid our airfields. On the following day I went to see what progress had been made with the job, and I was disgusted to find that no work had been done whatsoever. The Clerk of Works, too busily occupied with his arguments and quarrels over odd pounds of paint and pieces of glass, had taken no action on what was probably the most important single item in his outstanding work. There was a rather stormy scene in his office, following which the Maintenance Contractor was made to move a gang from a completely unimportant piece of work to the site of the proposed new tankage area. The occurrence indicated the bad organisation at Thorpe Abbots, and I spent the day going over the list of requests for work and inspecting repairs in progress. Before the visit was over I had been able to knock out a good many low priority proposals and substitute work of higher operational value. The Maintenance Contractor was partly to blame for lack of initiative, the main problem of the firm concerned being the lack of experienced site supervision. On the same evening a prearranged meeting with the Contractor's Area Manager in the Horham office enabled me to air my views, and an assurance was given that my criticisms would be acted upon. Since that stormy start I frequently wondered just what the A.M.W.D. and the Contractor's site staff thought about me, but the pressure of operations was such that there was no time to waste on diplomatic approaches or the slow process of ice-breaking usually considered necessary for a newcomer to apply.

The lack of personal comfort and companionship in my makeshift quarters soon became apparent to me, and I took whatever opportunities I could to find lodgings in the nearby villages. I also asked the police at Diss to held me, as I had found that the police in all towns were usually able to think of places where strangers could obtain accommodation. I was given a few addresses, and called on the places during my trips to a new and as yet unoccupied station situated beyond Diss. None of the houses was suitable, however, and I was beginning to despair when the police remembered that a Mrs. Martin, of Champneys, had previously let off part of her house to a firm of contractors. I found Champneys without difficulty. It was a large detached house set deep in lush fields off the main street running into Diss. As I drove up the gravel drive to the house I noticed a number of beautiful Guernsey cattle grazing in the field which separated the house from the road, and as I pulled up at the side of the promises I saw cowsheds and barns enclosing a yard at the rear. Champneys did not look like a farm from the road, but the activity in the yard indicated that it was in fact a dairy farm of a high order. A fine Guernsey bull pushed his nose over a half-door and gazed at me with huge soft eyes. Two Land girls busied themselves with empty milk kits in a shed near the house, and a youth was loading kits on to a small trailer attached to a light car.

A distinguished-looking gentleman opened the front door when I knocked, and I stated my business. He smiled and invited me indoors; as I followed him into the lounge he explained that they had not thought of having anyone in the house now that the contractors had left. He brushed a shock of wavy greying hair from his forehead as he sat silent for a moment.

"I'd like to help you," he explained, "but I really can't think of anyone who could take you."

"Couldn't you find me rooms, so that my wife could join me?" I asked. As I spoke Mrs. Martin entered the lounge, and I repeated my plea to her. She was very sympathetic, and she took my address and telephone number, but held out no hope of finding me accommodation. I went back to Horham feeling depressed and thoroughly dejected.

Work in the office kept me too late to have a meal in the Mess, so I prepared a hasty meal consisting principally of bread and jam, and I was making the most of the simple fare when the telephone rang. It was Mrs. Martin.

"My husband and I have been thinking of how we can help you," she said, "and if you'd like to call and see me tomorrow I think perhaps we can fix you up."

I thanked her profusely, and on the following day I lost no time in visiting Champneys. Mrs. Martin outlined her proposal. She was prepared to vacate a small kitchen, a sitting room and a bedroom, if I wished to take them. I inspected the rooms. The kitchen was tiled, and was fitted with a sink, gas cooker, and simple furniture. There was a brick fireplace also, and the kitchen was large enough for use as a dining room. The sitting room had french windows opening on to the garden, and was furnished with heavy oak furniture. The bedroom was large and airy, with windows on two sides. I was delighted with the prospects of living with my wife after eighteen months' separation, and I accepted Mrs. Martin's offer immediately. I sent a telegram telling my wife to come at once, and that night I wrote describing the house.

The next few days passed all too slowly for me, and at last the agreed date arrived when my wife was to travel to Diss. I had given her what information I could regarding trains, and I expected that she would reach Diss in the early evening. I decided to spend the morning in the office and get straight with corresponence so that I need not return to the office that evening. As I was reading through the morning mail the typist brought in a telegram, and I opened it expecting to read a signal from Air Ministry regarding one of the urgent items of work in progress at the time. To my horror I saw instead a short message from my wife.

"Cannot reach Diss meet me Stowmarket."

The telegram had been handed in at Leeds. I pictured my wife arriving at Leeds L.N.E.R. station that morning, enquiring about trains, and being told that the nearest station which could be reached was Stowmarket. But Stowmarket was situated in a restricted area, and security in those days was very close. Outsiders were not allowed to enter the area, and so my wife would be in a difficult position when she left the train. My thoughts raced over the action to be taken, and I rang up the police at Stowmarket to confirm the position. Although they were sympathetic, it was explained that my wife would be allowed to leave the train, but she must not stay in the town. I rang the railway station, and found that Diss could not be reached from Stowmarket that night. Thus my wife would be unable to leave the town, and yet could not stay there. The position was impossible, as I had no authority to enter the area myself, and no duty run on Air Ministry business to justify my visiting the town.

I decided that my wife must be diverted, and the thought suddenly occurred to me that I could go to Attleborough and collect her there. A few days earlier I had arranged for a surveying instrument to be supplied to Horham from Snetterton Heath, and if I made the arrangements quickly enough I could pick up the instrument that evening and meet my wife at the same time. In no other way could I reach Attleborough. I rang up Snetterton Heath, and the Engineering Assistant there agreed to take the instrument to his lodgings at Attleborough so that I could pick it up that night and so justify the journey to and from Horham.

The next problem was to make contact with my wife. She was at that time travelling towards Peterborough, and she must be prevented from changing to the Stowmarket train. I asked the time, and estimated that her train would not reach Doncaster for another half-hour or more. A telephone call was put through to Doncaster station, and a few minutes later I was speaking to the Stationmaster.

When the train drew into Doncaster station, my wife was roused to action by the tannoy speakers summoning her to the Stationmaster's office. And so it was that at nine o'clock she alighted from the train at Attleborough, looking little worse for her adventure and the long journey.

The experience of living in furnished rooms was new to both of us, and my wife did not take very kindly to the situation for a few days. We were busy cleaning and rearranging furniture over the first weekend, and still the atmosphere was far removed from our conception of homeliness. Diss was strange to us, and my wife disliked shopping amongst strangers; she was apprehensive too about the difficulties we might experience as newcomers amongst shopkeepers, as she felt that she might not be admitted to the privileges enjoyed by regular customers in rationing matters. A few expeditions to the shops, however, established her and gave her confidence, and we had many delightful meals of strawberries and other rare dishes which were almost unknown in our northern home. We obtained milk from Champneys, and the cream content of the rich Guernsey milk was astounding. Mrs. Martin supplied us with eggs also, and the experience of cracking a shell instead of opening a packet was something of a novelty for my wife. Above all the restriction of sharing a house and using other people's furniture we placed the joy and naturalness of living together as something worth while, and for the first time since I had taken up Air Ministry work I was able to go home in the evening and have a meal prepared by my wife, wash up the crocks, then take her to the cinema, enjoy a walk; or simply sit and laze in an armchair. The Martins were kindly and considerate, and if Mrs. Martin picked up something rather special in the shops she offered a share to us. We gradually came to move about the house and grounds with freedom and without embarrassment, and our interest in the affairs of the farm increased as our acquaintanceship grew. The Martins were specialist breeders of pedigree Guernsey cattle, and I imagine that their stock will by this time have played a valuable part in rebuilding the herd in the Channel Islands after the disastrous German occupation. A humorous sideline was the keeping of dogs, and we never were sure just how many there were in the household. One bitch was caring for a litter of cuddly pups when we arrived, and four or five other dogs were pattering about the house at all times.

The peace of mind which resulted from increased personal comfort and the new-found pleasure of companionship was bound to react on my work, and it seemed that I was able to get through immeasurably more without needing to return to the office each evening. Apart from this, of course, was the fact that the stations were settling down, the Units were not asking for as much to be done, and the peak pressure of D-Day had relaxed. Horham and Thorpe Abbotts went back to their daily missions, and at the latter station in particular we found it possible to fit in major repairs more easily to a time-table. As supervisory duties relaxed I was able to spend more time on less busy stations, and one in particular interested me a great deal. Its function was not an important one in this war, but at the time of its construction it must have bean considered a feat of engineering and something of a wonder. The station was Pulham, one of the early airship bases originally laid down by the Royal Navy. The central landmark on the station was a single huge hangar, the biggest of its kind, a mighty towering steel structure originally built to house a dirigible such as the ill-fated R101. With the failure of research into the future of the airship the station had become something of a white elephant. I met the Clerk of Works, a retired gentleman named Brian who was an Air Ministry Clerk of Works for many years and who had volunteered for duty when the War started. Mr. Brian must have been one of the first Clerks of Works ever to work for Air Ministry, and I was moved to a deep respect of his sound experience and his unfailing thoroughness. Although Mr. Brian was in control of a small staff only, and had no thronging activity of bomber squadrons to harrass him, his office routine was almost as heavy as on the large modern stations, and he was required to do his own clerical work without assistance. I had been impressed by the neatness and accuracy of his reports, and when I inspected his office I saw the neat arrangement of his files and plans which would have put to shame any of the Clerks of Works on my other stations.

As I walked round the site - Mr. Brian had returned the Hillman Utility van which Air Ministry had issued to him, as he said he could manage quite well on a bicycle - my imagination carried me to the days when a huge dirigible stood moored in the hangar, or floated with its nose anchored to the peak of the hangar gable. We visited the power house and the water pumphouse, whose gleaming plant and polished rails showed the care with which Mr. Brian tended his charge. I learned that there had once been a nine-inch gas main laid to the airship hangar to feed hydrogen to the dirigibles, but when the war started Mr. Brian had had the main excavated, smashed up and sent for salvage. Most of the surrounding land which had once comprised the station was rented out to neighbouring farmers, and some of the old barrack huts were occupied by Italian "co-operatives", who were working with civilians on bomb-filling. A Maintenance Unit occupied the station, and one area was in use as a graveyard for wrecked aircraft. There was something about Pulham Depot which seemed to conjure up ghosts of the past, and the oppressive quiet of the place, the piles of twisted fuselages dominated by the huge black hangar, itself a dead thing with shattered glass and torn sheeting resulting from early German raids, all told the story of a thing that had been and was no more, a venture which had failed.

In contrast to Pulham was the new station beyond Diss. When I first visited it the runways were not quite completed, and the new concrete stood clean and white against the ungrassed earth. This station had been too late in completion to take its part in the bombing offensive, but it was to be completed and occupied at a later date none the less. My only duties there lay in assisting the Clerk of Works and the Station Engineer to settle down, to install the incoming Maintenance Contractor and to find a labour force. Here the quietness told a different story - the birth of yet another station of the new pattern, a modern base for new aircraft, the beginning of an unknown future. As Pulham must at one time have seemed a grotesque dream-child of its planners, so this new station stood, or sprawled rather, in all its nakedness, its function as yet undecided, its long runways a source of wonder to the country folk living around its barren acres. I wondered if it too would eventually lapse into disuse with its neighbour stations, to be in the years to come a silent monument and reminder of the mighty bombing forces which rose to the air in the summer of 1944.

The organisation of my group of stations had been completed successfully, and the future seemed to be clear for a pleasant stay in Diss, when without warning a letter came from Newmarket Headquarters to shatter the castles I had built in the air. The message was brief. The Superintending Engineer had received information from Air Ministry that a Mr. C. B. Ogilvie was being instructed to report to Horham as Senior Works Officer in the very near future, and that accordingly I should be required to report back to Deopham Green.

I was staggered. When I was informed of my transfer to Horham I had been careful to ask whether or not the posting was permanent. I had been assured that the post would last for the duration as far as Headquarters could tell, and with this in mind I had made the arrangements for my wife to join me. The change of posting was a great shock, implying as it did that my services at Horham had been unsatisfactory. This was hard to believe, as there had been no suggestion of criticism from Headquarters at any time; I resolved to find out at once whether or not my work had failed to please, and I rang Newmarket with a flood of questions in my thoughts. The Civil Engineer and Works Accountant who spoke to me gave me all the assurances I required; they were very sympathetic over the whole affair, but explained that Air Ministry had posted Mr Ogilvie as a replacement for my predecessor, but there had been a delay in making the necessary arrangements, and I had been transferred to Horham by Area Headquarters in view of the urgency of operations. I asked if I could go to Newmarket and discuss the matter, and this was agreed to.

At Newmarket Headquarters I had a long personal talk with the Superintending Engineer. He was sorry that the situation had arisen, but he had not been aware that Mr. Ogilvie had been appointed. As soon as he had posted me the Superintending Engineer had written to Air Ministry for confirming approval, but his letter was too late to stop the Air Ministry's arrangements. I suggested that Mr. Ogilvie could just as easily report to another group of stations and leave me where I was, but my argument was rejected. The thought of going back to Deopham Green, apparently demoted, was distasteful to me, and the Superintending Engineer agreed to look for another station which would be more acceptable to me. Reluctantly I accepted the situation and returned to Horham to prepare for my departure.

Mr. Ogilvie arrived at the office a few days later. He had been a Resident Engineer on a new station, and had left Air Ministry on completion of the work. The offer of the post at Horham was made after a lapse of some months and he had been dubious about accepting because he knew nothing of Air Ministry maintenance routine. Mr. Ogilvie was sympathetic concerning the trouble and inconvenience caused by his arrival, but we both agreed that neither of us was to blame, and there was no animosity between us. In point of fact it would have been difficult to dislike my successor. He was an elderly man with a wealth of civil engineering experience, and he had a personality and charm which made him an excellent companion. I found that he had worked in Malaya, and that forged a link on the first day. We spent our lunch times comparing experiences in the East, and soon we had built up a firm friendship.

My duty was to take Mr. Ogilvie round the stations, explaining the work in progress and giving him an appreciation of the types of American officers and A.M.W.D. civilians he would have to deal with. That part of the handing-over was easy; but I was also to instruct him in the routine, and he was frankly at a loss with the new type of work. It was clear that he was not going to be able to adapt himself readily to the system, and on more than one occasion he said that the work was not in his line. Secretly I was of the same opinion, because the organisation was made for a young man. There was too much running about, the odd job of levelling or design, and the need for working under pressure with office matters at the same time as supervising outside work. However, Mr. Ogilvie set about adapting himself as best he could, and before I left he had taken a grip on the organisation, making me promise at the same time that I would go over to Horham should he require me to help him in any future problem.

I had to get my wife home next. All the trouble she had taken to make a home at Champneys had been wasted. We lived there for just under three weeks. The Martins were sorry to see us go, and Mr. Martin helped us to the statjon with our luggage. I thanked him for the accommodation so generously offered, and we boarded the train. The journey home was long and tiring, and did nothing to lift our depression. The only bright spot in the future was the fortnight's leave which I had decided to take before resuming duty at Deopham. Headquarters had decided that I should report to Newmarket first on my return from leave, and I put Air Ministry affairs behind me and prepared to enjoy a much-needed rest.

When the time came for me to report back at Newmarket I packed a single bag reluctantly and took the train for the day-long journey across country. The office was closed when I reached my destination, so I made my way direct to an address given to me by Mrs. Martin. Early next morning I went to Headquarters, expecting to be taken to Deopham Green after receiving instructions. A tall bronzed man saw me standing in the corridor and asked my name. He was new to the Headquarters, and we introduced ourselves before entering his office. He was Mr. Hill, the Deputy to the Superintending Engineer, and he had but recently returned to England from abroad.

"You're going to Halesworth, Bailey," he said. "The Senior Works Officer there is leaving, and I want you to go over today."

I had no idea where Halesworth was. It might have been in Scotland, but I was to go there at once and start work.

"I'm going that way, and I'll explain as we go up," said Hill. A few moments later we were in a Headquarters car, and I thought of the day eighteen months earlier when I was taken in the same way from the same office to a place as unknown to me then as Halesworth was now. Mr. Hill told me that the station lay some sixty miles north-east of Newmarket, almost on the coast near Lowestoft. The present Senior Works Officer had resigned, and I had three weeks in which to take over from him. I asked if there was any possibility of a house in that district, and was told that the present officer had accommodation in Beccles which I might be able to have when he left. In the meantime I should have to find lodgings, of course, and that might not be easy. No arrangements had been made for me, as the whole matter had arisen in a few days.

The car drew up outside a wooden office building and Mr. Hill left me to introduce myself to the outgoing Senior Works Officer. I walked into the office and met Phillip Pickering. He was a man in his early forties, with a sunburnt face, boyish smile, and very sporty manner of dress. He sucked a yellow corn-cob pipe as he talked.

My first wish was for a roof over my head. Pickering took me to his car, and we set off on a tour of exploration. He drove furiously and erratically, with a gay disregard of the Highway Code, and before the day's run was over I was in a sad state of nerves. He took pains to try every possible place in the immediate vicinity of the station, but without success, and at last he decided that we should have to go farther afield, to Bungay. The distance to Bungay was about ten miles, and the road was for the most part straight. Up the Bungay road we charged at phenomenal speed, until we came to a sharp left bend which almost turned the car over. Once in the town I breathed with relief, and we made for a house which Pickering thought might hold some promise. There was no accommodation there, but the landlady suggested that Mrs. Hall, at the Market Tea Rooms, might put me up. Pickering entered the teashop and I followed him in. A small middle-aged lady with grey hair came into the shop from a door at the back, and listened patiently as Pickering told her a pitiful story about a young man who had just arrived in the district and had nowhere to live. The hardest heart would have melted at the sound of it, and Mrs. Hall said that she would put me up for a few days. More she could not promise, so that I should be well advised to look for other accommodation in the meantime. I thanked her, left my bag, and Pickering and I returned to the car for a breathless dash back to the Halesworth office.

So that, I thought, was that. And how long would Air Ministry let me stay in this place?