Beccles is an unspoilt town of about 5000 population, situated on flat ground by the side of the River Waveney, and separated from the sea by Ellough Moor. Two roads lead to Bungay, one of them running on the Norfolk side of the border across the Marshes, over the river and roughly along a valley bottom, and the second along a generally higher contour on the Suffolk side. Yet another road runs to Lowestoft, a fourth to Halesworth and the south. The town has retained its old buildings and added few new ones; the most striking edifice is the church in the centre of the town, an unusual feature of its design being the tower which stands quite separate from the main building. Down by the river nestle quaint seamen's cottages, their varied shapes and red-tiled roofs fitted together along the bank like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Almost all these homes I found boasted a slipway or landing stage, and everyone appeared to possess a dinghy, yacht or houseboat. Farther upstream were summer bungalows set in riverside gardens, and alongside each bungalow was moored a houseboat. There were houseboats by the banks of a tributary also, these apparently occupied for the most part by seafarers who lad anchored in their home port for the last time and who lived all the year round in their roomy barge-like craft as though unable to leave behind the solitude and peacefulness of calm waters. A walk along the river bank was always filled with interest and variety, and my wife and I plodded there through the snow in January or sauntered along the grassy paths in the heat of a June day with equal pleasure.

We had been in the Beccles house only a few days when we met Mrs. Owles, a former mayoress and a keen social worker of the town. With charming friendliness she visited us one night and invited us to her home for an evening. We soon became friendly with the Watson family next door, and the two boys entertained us with their solemn interest in philately and books. Jack Blaza brought his wife and daughter for an evening, and we later returned the visit. I devoted a good deal of my spare time to pruning bushes and turning over the neglected garden, and as the nights drew in a woollen rug was started and gradually grew as we took turns at pegging and clipping. My wife was delighted to hear that an opera singer named Vivian Sehapiro gave lessons in singing and musical appreciation, and she lost no time in enrolling for a course. Our evenings were therefore never idle, and a night at the local cinema had to be prearranged to fit in with our busy timetable. I could not help comparing our full and satisfying home life with the drab monotony of lodgings, when letter-writing had been my chief occupation.

I could have used more spare time than I was able to get through the winter of 1944-45. Seldom was I home before 6.30 in the evening, and Saturday's work usually kept me at the office until three or four o'clock. Most of my Sundays were free, however, except for the occasional emergency call which was unavoidable with operations and urgent repairs going on for seven days of the week.

The Metfield repair work was finished, and we were complimenting ourselves on having done the job in the minimum time without interfering with operations, when suddenly news came through that the Bomb Group bad received orders to transfer en bloc to North Pickenham. At first we thought that our efforts had not been adequate for the Bombardment Division, but we were assured that the move was being made for a different reason. The Wing based on Halesworth covered only two stations instead of the usual three - Beccles should have been the third - and with the departure of the Unit based on North Pickenham it had been decided to place the Metfield Group there to re-form a full Wing, and to control Halesworth from a Wing Headquarters at Hardwick. A further reassurance was given when Colonel Miller asked Headquarters to transfer Platten to North Pickenham in view of his happy relations with the Unit, a request which was not agreed to by Newmarket but which was nevertheless very gratifying. From being a busy thronging station Metfield suddenly became silent, but we were sure that it would soon be re-occupied, and we took full advantage of the breathing space by installing Fitzpatricks on the airfield to carry out large-scale concrete repairs.

In the meantime my work at Beccles increased with the arrival of a squadron of Coastal Command. The first squadron to occupy the station came for a specific operational training course. The runways were lined to represent the flight deck of an aircraft carrier, and light bombers set to work practising touchdowns and takeoffs; a naval detachment came to the station and put the pilots through their paces, directing the landings with semaphore discs. Before the squadron left a Navy Squadron equipped with light amphibians took over a section of the airfield comprising a group of aircraft standings and a hangar, and soon the station was populated by a mixture of sailors and airmen.

My principal duties were concerned with Halesworth, however, and the state of affairs there was far from satisfactory. At last the Clerk of Works, a highly strung man who had suffered great strain for over a year, tendered his resignation and left. Metfield being empty, I made arrangements at once for Platten to take over Halesworth, and we set about the task of re-shaping the station into something resembling order out of the chaos. Whilst Pickering was still virtually in command of A.M.W.D. affairs I had been unable and unwilling to probe too deeply into the details, but once alone I was able to comb through the tangle of disorganisation and work out my own pattern. It was necessary to get on good terms with the Unit, and I sought out and met the Ground Executive Officer and asked him what were his principal complaints.

The Ground Executive was Lieutenant-Colonel Donald F. Carlson, a good-looking man with greying hair, an engaging smile and a deep nasal drawl in his voice. I had first met Carlson as Major on my first Saturday at the station, when he had come to the office to ask about the leaking roofs of two technical buildings, but he had not introduced himself clearly and I thought he was the Signals Officer. The next time I met him he had changed the brass leaf for silver on his shoulder, and I could not mistake his status on the station because I had set out purposely to find him. Colonel Carlson was more dejected than disgusted over the state of affairs. Mud was everywhere, concrete was crumbling, and buildings were in poor condition. We made a thorough inspection of the sites, and it was clear to me that the former Superintending Engineer's instructions six months earlier had been taken far too literally. So busy had the A.M.W.D. been on repairing the airfield that the buildings were in fact falling down. The main mess hall - feeding two thousand enlisted men at all times of day and night - was in an appalling condition, particularly in the kitchen block. The plasterboard lining sheets of the large nissen hut had perished with the heat and steam, had sagged and dropped out; the corrugated outer sheets had rusted and flakes of red rust were constantly dropping from above on to the food. Here and there pin-pricks of light in the sheeting showed that corrosion had reached a dangerous limit. The main bake-ovens too were out of order, one being almost useless. In the second largest Mess, that used by combat or flying crews, the floor of the kitchen was rough and would not clean properly. The drains were constantly choking with grease, and the same conditions of rust as were found in the largest Mess had begun to appear in the Combat Mess kitchen. On one of the living sites a large pool of water had stood for months across the entrance road, in such a position that every man living on the site wet his feet and trampled mud into his hut. On the same site the tiny and totally inadequate hot-water boiler in the ablution building had ceased to function altogether and the Americans had installed oil drums and oil-burning immersion heaters to heat the water. There was hardly a site which did not show signs of neglect, and I could make no excuses to Carlson save that all the men possible had hitherto been used an runway repairs. With the closing down of Metfield I was able to use carpenters and painters from that station to help catch up on the arrears of maintenance, and soon the major items of repairs were under way.

In addition to the maintenance work the Colonel wanted minor items of new construction, but he had failed to get anything in the past, though he had offered to carry out the work with station labour if he could be given the materials. I never was very willing to hand over materials in this way, as the American amateur is no better than the British, and materials were scarce enough without wasting them on spoilt work. But at Halesworth I found that a number of very good tradesmen had emerged from the ranks, particularly decorators, and they were led by a twenty-year-old Utilities Officer who impressed us with his thoroughness and ability. Colonel Carlson was still engaged on the construction of additional parking areas authorised by Air Ministry some months earlier, but the work had not progressed as well as he would have liked. We sorted out a programme, and in due course the Mess Halls were in good condition once more, all the ovens worked as they should, and an efficient boiler replaced the useless one on the living site. Carlson toured the airfield with me on several occasions, expressing concern at the seas of mud surrounding hangars and blocking drains, and I agreed to do what I could to provide hard surfaces by tipping broken concrete in the depressions. I found that there were no drains to relieve the flat areas round the technical buildings, although drains were shown on the site plans, and the maintenance contractor was given orders to lay the necessary pipes as a standby job when airfield repairs were stopped temporarily by flying operations.

Because of the almost daily contact with Colonel Carlson and his ground officers over the problems of the station, our mutual respect and confidence developed into warm friendship, with the result that frank exchanges of opinion were possible without creating ill-feeling between us. The Colonel once had an idea of moving the station cinema from the wing of an institute building to the gymnasium, and we inspected the latter building to see what sort of a scheme could be prepared. A projection room would have been necessary at one end, but when the difficulties were explained to him he let the matter drop. We went inside the gymnasium to discuss the matter, and as I stood talking my eyes travelled round the tall building. There was something not quite right about the roof; I could not decide what it was for a moment, and I turned round to examine the steel work at the far end. Suddenly I realised that two roof trusses were missing, and the tie beams of two others had been removed. The job had been done very neatly, all bolts and fishplates having been taken out of the steelwork so as to leave no trace of the omission. Carlson's attention was drawn to the dangerous roof, and be asked the Special Service officer why the trusses had been taken out. It appeared that the ties and braces interfered with play when basket-ball was in progress, and the G.I.s had removed the offending obstructions. A good gale or a heavy fall of snow would have removed the roof with ease, and I insisted that all the steelwork must be replaced immediately. Colonel Carlson backed me up readily, and to the Special Service officer's objection he replied that the G.I.s must play basket-ball in one of the hangars.

Overnight repairs to runways were still in progress, and as time went on the interruption of work by flying bombs became a serious factor. The workmen carried out reinstatement by floodlight, and whenever an alert was given the lights were switched off and work stopped. The flying bombs were flown in by alrcraft to within a few miles of the Suffolk coast, then released to fly inland alone. As a result of this enemy technique it was not possible to risk keeping the floodlights on as they would act as beacons to the aircraft. I was standing one night by a particularly urgent reinstatement job situated at the intersection of two runways. The completion was imperative, as otherwise both runways would be out of action on the following morning. At nine o'clock, just as the first batches of concrete were being laid in the hole, the floodlight went out. Fortunately there was a full moon in the clear sky, and I told the men to carry on working by moonlight. As I stood by the mixer a shower of lights sprang into the sky over the coast, and soon cascades of tracers were rising and falling in the distance. A faint sound could be heard, and as its volume increased I saw the forked light of a jet floating towards the field. I stood spellbound; there was a beauty in the display of lights, the fountains of sparks following a V-shaped flame as it cruised low and swiftly towards us. The flying bomb seemed to pass immediately over the Watch Offices parallel to the main runway, its sleek shape silhouetted against the clear blue of the moonlit sky. I watched it cruise away into the distance, and as the light of its jet disappeared our floodlight was switched on; we hurried to make up for lost time with the filling of the gaping hole. On the following day we learned that the bomb had dropped at Bury St. Edmunds.

Other factors caused delay besides the flying bomb. The maintenance contractors, a good firm who had proved their efficiency to me in their handling of the Metfield repairs, were not well served by their Agent at Halesworth. One night another repair at the intersection of two runways claimed my presence, and I waited until ten o'clock to see that the hole was chopped out in good time for concreting. Two hours' concreting should have been sufficient to fill the hole, so that we ought to have been cleared off the repair by one o'clock, our zero hour, with time to spare. The chief anxiety was always caused by the time taken to break out the concrete, and when the Novo breaker was not available the time required by a compressor depended on the quality and thickness of the concrete we had to deal with - always an unknown factor until actual breaking commenced. There was nothing more for me to stay for, I thought, as the men began to break open a drum of aluminous cement and a lorry delivered a load of water. The mixer driver cranked the engine. No response. He tried again, and the handle whizzed round and round, but there was no spark. I turned my car headlights on to the machine and the men fiddled with terminals and tried again. When there was still no response it was decided that the lead to the plug was faulty. I had a length of rubber-covered cable in my car tool kit, and this was quickly cut and fitted. Still there was no life in the engine. I asked if there was another mixer readily available. One was in an inaccessible position on a living site, a third was broken down. We went to see the mixer on the living site, and it was clear that to get it up to the runway would be a matter of several hours, hampered as we were by darkness and the small number of men. The mixers which Fitzpatricks had on site were high-level machines set up on a staging at a central batching plant, so that they too were out of the question.

I remembered that there was one mixer on the station which we had not thought of. It was being hired by the Americans for their concreting work. I jumped in the car and visited the mixer with the ganger. We could not find the detachable handle, and none of the contractors' mixer handles would fit. We searched under and round about the machine, on top and under the bonnet, but there was no handle. There was nothing to be done but to find the Utilities Officer, for it appeared that his men had taken the handle away with their tools when they finished work. I rushed up to my office and telephoned for a loudspeaker announcement to be put out to ask the Utilities Officer to ring my office. I waited there in the chilly room, and after a few minutes the telephone rang. Colonel Carlson spoke.

"What's the matter, Bailey?" he asked.

I explained my dilemma. He told me to ring him if I was in a fix, and I thanked him and hung up the receiver. Another interminable minute passed, and the telephone rang again. It was the M.T. Section. They said that the young Lieutenant I wanted had taken a jeep on an urgent run off the station. They would tell him as soon as he returned. I sat and waited as the minutes ticked by in my brain. The mission would not take off, I thought, and for the first time I should have let them down. If ever the importance of my work was clear to me, it was all too clear that night.

At last the Utilities Officer came on the telephone. We agreed to meet by the mixer, and a few moments later we stood by the machine.

"It ought to be here somewhere," the young Lieutenant murmured, and he flashed a torch around. As he did so I caught a glimpse of something shining inside the tilted drum.

"It's in the drum," I exclaimed, and the torch revealed the handle lying there.

"Well, what d'you know," was all my friend could say. I laughed with relief. We started the engine, and it ran like a dream. I went for the lorry, the mixer was connected to the rear axle, and we started off, the lorry in bottom gear, the mixer rattling on the rough road. Suddenly the lorry stopped. The driver got out, and was fiddling with the engine when I drew up beside him.

"Sorry, can't do it," he said, "This old lorry won't tow her so slow. She's boiling now, and I'm short of oil."

I exploded at that, but the Utilities Officer offered to go to the M.T. in his jeep and get a lorry. A few minutes passed, during which time I warmed myself up by airing my views on the Fred Carno Organisation supposed to be working on the station. The Unit's lorry arrived, the mixer was hitched up, and at last it stood by the hole in the runway.

Concreting started. The time was one o'clock. I went home with doubts in my mind as to the morrow's mission. It would be at least three o'clock before the men finished. If an early mission was arranged there would be an area of dangerously new concrete to reckon with.

It so happened that the mission was later than usual on the following day, and only Carlson and the Utilities Officer knew how near we had come to spoiling the operation. I was shaken by the experience, and in a stormy interview with the contractor's Area Manager I made it clear that the situation must never occur again. It never did, and the site Agent left the firm shortly afterwards. After that experience a good fleet of mixers was always available, and the single lorry used on night repairs was selected more carefully.

A third experience created new problems for me with the night gang. I believe that the trouble arose from the fatigue and strain that attended the work, and that there was an unusual strain in the work was evidenced by the fact that only a small number of men would agree to turn up at night. The shortage of men made it impossible to change shifts, and the willing volunteers were left by their workmates to bear the brunt of the unwanted duty night after night. I therefore could not blame the men for what happened one wet evening, for it appeared to me to be the breaking point of their tolerance. It must be remembered that none of the labourers were young men, and they could not be expected to go on for ever without breaking sometime.

The weather was muggy when I went home at six o'clock, and the night gang had reported for work on the runway. As I ate my meal, however, rain began to fall heavily, and I thought that working out on the exposed field was going to be a very unpleasant thing that night. I was settling down for a quiet evening when the telephone rang. Platten was speaking from Halesworth.

"The night gang have gone on strike," he said. "They've downed tools, and won't work in the rain because they've no gum boots or rainproofs."

This was a new problem. We had no rainproofs in the A.M.W.D. stores, as they were almost unobtainable in those days. "Haven't the Contractors any?" I asked.

"No, they've issued all the gum boots they had, and it's sou' westers and capes they're really wanting."

I told Platten to hold the men there, and I would try to get some clothing. There once had existed an emergency repair organisation in the Area, but when threat of intensive bombing passed the Air Ministry disbanded the gangs and allowed the labour to strengthen ordinary A.M.W.D. staffs at various stations. Only the old Depots remained, and in those Depots there would still be protective clothing. The nearest was Drayton, on the other side of Norwich. The Drayton Depot was run by the Senior Works Officer at Horsham St. Faiths but he would be at home and I did not know his address or number. I took a chance on the Depot Foreman being in, and to my relief he answered the telephone. He thought he might be able to got a lorry driver and send some clothing down, but he preferred me to speak to his senior officer first. He gave me the Senior Works Officer's telephone number, and I rang my colleague and explained the position. He was most helpful, and suggested that I had better have a small gang also to help catch up on lost time and replace possible vacancies caused by adamant strikers. He told me to arrange anything I wanted, and I thanked him, rang the Depot again, and made the necessary arrangements. It was then after seven o'clock, and Drayton was some thirty miles from Halesworth, but at nine o'clock a lorry reported on the runway with six A.M.W.D. volunteers and an ample supply of tools and protective clothing. The repair was completed, and the contractors' men joined in the work rather shamefacedly. We had no trouble with them after that night, but I arranged a meeting, in the Commanding Officer's office a few days later and asked if more daylight hours could not be given to us so that night work could cease. I described my trouble of a few nights previous. When I had finished my story the Colonel looked round at his officers, then said, with a smile that did little to dull the edge of his jibe,

"What -- in this land of Democracy?"

Carlson was sympathetic, however, and it was largely by his representations that I was able to get a more satisfactory arrangement for increased daylight working, a very necessary thing with the approach of winter. Before very long the frosts would stop the work of the night gangs even if the men were willing to work.

The Superintending Engineer was aware of the heavy burden of work on my stations, and he made a temporary arrangement for an Assistant Engineer named Burness to report at Halesworth and help me in the supervision of repair work. Burness stayed only for a short time, but he was a great help to me whilst he was there. I had found him accommodation in Beccles, and he spent many evenings with my wife and myself during his stay. He was a first-rate pianist, and entertained us for hours with his improvising; the tango and rhumba rhythm which he produced on the piano were a source of delight and admiration, and we were sorry indeed when he was recalled to his station.

The Halesworth office was entitled to a Civil Engineering Assistant, but for the first three months of my duty there the position was vacant. I was very pleased to receive word at last that a certain M.H.S. Holgate was to report at my office. On the appointed day a young man of 24 appeared on the station; he was inclined to plumpness, and had a round face which reminded me of Carl Merbitz. Black horn-rimmed spectacles matched the sleek hair plastered down on his round head.

Maxwell Hubert Shaw Holgate was by way of being a humourist. When he had settled at the station and broken the ice he amused Platten and the others with the most incredible stories, usually concerning shaggy dogs, told in an entertaining manner to the accompaniment at boggling eyes and raised brows. Lunchtime at the Mess became a feast of fun, particularly as Platten enjoyed making sly digs at the newcomer. The poor lad, as yet a bachelor, was the butt of many jokes woven around the comely figure of the girl who typed my letters. Maxwell Holgate was a tonic to the station.

Mrs. Hall had agreed to take Holgate in her Tea Room house in Bungay, and within a few days he had made himself comfortable in her household. I discovered later that she was rather disturbed at the large assortment of strange black boxes which accompanied the now lodger, and she was not noticeably relieved when it was disclosed that the boxes contained musical instruments. Max, as he came to be called, was an ardent musician. He played the saxophone, oboe, clarinet, piccolo, in fact almost any wind or reed instrument. His favourite relaxation was the arrangement of music to suit these instruments, and he spent hours with score sheets and pencil in the dining room. In addition he listened to orchestral concerts whenever possible, and shortly after his arrival in Bungay he purchased a small wireless set, which he proceeded to rig up in his bedroom. Max's taste in music was very different from the Hall's, and a caller at the house would frequently hear a highbrow concerto or symphony in progress at one end of the building and the Inkspots or Spike Jones giving vent to their feelings at the other.

In the office my new assistant was willing and a very entertaining companion, and I was able to leave to him all the drawing-office work and a certain amount of routine. This arrangement left me free to concentrate more fully on outside supervision, and I was able to spend more time at Beccles and Metfield. At Beccles the light bombers gave place to a squadron of Warwicks, modern versions of the Wellingtons which bore the brunt of the bombing in the early days of the war. The Warwicks were stationed at Beccles on air-sea rescue duties, and in place of bombs they carried lifeboats which were designed to drop by parachute for the rescue of aircraft crews. The lifeboats were beautifully built of canvas and plywood and were fitted with motors and auxiliary sails. They carried medical kits, cans of water and food. Beccles was ideally situated as an air-sea rescue base as it lay almost on the coast and a returning lifeboat could be brought back to the station up the river Waveney. The townspeople were surprised at first to see a boat on a bogey being towed by tractor through the town from the airfield to the river, but soon the sight became a common one as air-sea rescue operations got under way.

A new Commanding Officer took over the Beccles station; he was Group-Captain Dawkins, and he had very clear views on how a camp should be run. His Administrative officer was Squadron-Leader Howard, a former pilot, and the two officers were soon preparing schemes for the improvement of the station. We were seldom asked for anything which we could not supply, and the Group Captain believed in giving work to his own personnel to make them take an interest in the station's welfare. A football pitch was prepared on the airfield, and every Wednesday was set aside for organised sports. One Saturday afternoon Group-Captain Dawkins asked me to go with him round the communal buildings, and he put forward a number of well considered proposals for the improvement of relaxation facilities on the camp. Beccles is an exposed field, situated as it is on a moor, and the Group-Captain wanted more and larger stoves in sitting rooms and reading rooms, and springs on doors to keep out draughts. We were able to supply these things; he had a fine scheme in mind for making the Officers' Mess more comfortable, but when I explained that I had not the authority to do all he asked he agreed to carry out the work as far as possible with station labour and to pay for the rest out of Club funds. The result was that the main entrance hall was transformed from a bare space of distempered brick walls into a cosy bar panelled out in antique style, with an oak-panelled false ceiling which kept in the warmth and gave the impression that one was standing in the snug of an old tavern. On every site the edges of footpaths were trimmed with lumps of broken concrete - the nearest available copy of rock available in the district - and spaces around huts were raked and straightened up in readiness for the following Spring. The C.O. and his Administrative officer were popular with both the R.A.F. personnel and the A.M.W.D., and an enviable spirit of contentment and goodwill grew on the station. Jack Blaza was in no small measure a valuable factor in fostering and maintaining the good relations with the Unit, for he was one of the most likeable men I had ever met.

As Beccles lay between Halesworth and the coast it was to be expected that flying bombs should be a somewhat greater danger there than at my headquarters station, and in fact no bombs ever did drop on Halesworth. Beccles however must have received one of the first flying bombs to be launched from aircraft. The bomb struck the Church which stood just outside the airfield, causing only slight damage. Part of the overhead outer circle lighting of the airfield was demolished, but the damage was easily made good without interfering with flying. The place where the bomb dropped was perhaps half a mile from my house, and I considered that as long as the bombs kept at that range there would be little to worry about. But whilst my wife and I were in the cinema one evening the siren sounded, and a flying bomb dropped about a quarter of a mile from the house. Damage was caused by blast to surrounding property, and for days afterwards a local builder was replacing shattered windows.

Rockets took up where flying bombs left off, the first dropping just outside Bungay, about half a mile from the large central bomb dump controlled by the Americans. The new weapon was a thing of mystery, and technicians came to the spot to collect the pieces for investigation. None of my stations was struck by a rocket, but we were sure that we saw vapour trails shooting into the sky in the distance on many occasions.

The Negro troops of the Engineer Battalion left Halesworth, and Fitzpatrick's organisation took over the completion of the work. Wherever the Engineers worked it seemed that they left a tremendous amount of clearing up for us. Thomas was instructed to take up and relay the side drains of the perimeter track, and our own groundsmen were put on to the lanes of mud on either side with barrows and rakes. Loads of earth were dumped and spread over the disturbed outfield, stones and stray concrete had to be picked up to save the grass-cutting machinery from damage in the spring, and by slow degrees the mud was under control.

The Superintending Engineer rang up and asked me to go round my stations with him one Sunday, as he wanted to see what progress had been made with the runway repairs at Halesworth and the bomb damage at Metfield. My wife accompanied us on the trip, and when my chief asked her how she was settling down in the district she could not resist the temptation to make a sly dig. She replied that we were very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that she expected a posting from Air Ministry at any time.

As we drove round the sites the Superintending Engineer asked me if I was interested in going to Malaya again. I told him that the War Office had already written to ask me the same question, and I had replied with a list of my conditions for rejoining the service. I had had no compensation for losses, and could not afford to spend my savings again on a second venture. I was also older, and could not start at the bottom of the grade, especially as I now had the responsibilities of a married man. My chief listened quietly, then asked me if I was interested in the Air Ministry as a career. He told me of the peacetime conditions, and it was plain that he was sounding me regarding the future. I told him that the idea of overseas service appealed to me so long as I was sure of a permanent appointment; I did not want to cut myself off from home for two or three years and then come back on a month's notice. He agreed that that was only sensible, and said that although no government Department was able to make permanent appointments in wartime I could take it for granted that I should be offered an established post as soon as such appointments were being made. I replied that if the Air Ministry would put their proposals in writing I would like to consider them.

When my chief had left, my wife and I discussed the purpose of his visit, and we agreed that he had made the trip from Newmarket more for purposes of sounding me than for seeing my stations. I wondered why he had asked me about my feelings concerning Malaya. I was soon to know. He was posted a few weeks later as Chief Engineer Far East, and in the ensuing weeks other staff from the area were posted to follow. One of the men who was leaving for the Far East said that the first headquarters would be in Ceylon, and the A.M.W.D. would wait there to jump to Singapore when Malaya was taken. I wondered if I should be called upon, but no posting came; nor did any written proposal concerning a permanent appointment, but that was not a matter of surprise to me.

I was returning from the Halesworth Officers' Mess one day when I met Colonel Carlson. He had a small camera with him, and at his request I stood for a snapshot by the roadside. As I stood there feeling rather foolish, a squadron of Liberators roared overhead at a very low altitude. Their sudden appearance made me start with surprise, and the Colonel and I looked up and watched them passing over.

"Jeeze, I'd like to be up there with them," said Carlson, "they've been to Eindhoven. The Colonel fought like a cat to go, but Division said no."

He told me about the operations in progress, and said that for a few days the Halesworth Group would be operating a "grocery run". The aircraft would take off each morning and fly to another station, load up with food supplies, and deliver the food containers in the Eindhoven area. After the first day's mission we learned how dangerous an operation this was, as the bombers were required to fly over heavily-defended areas at low altitude. Casualties were surprisingly light considering the circumstances, and it seemed to me that the Halesworth Group had always been fortunate in that respect.

On the same day an urgent message came from Metfield. Two Colonels from Bombardment Division Headquarters had visited the station and had demanded the suspension of runway repairs and the filling in of broken-out areas within twenty-four hours. I rushed over to the station, and the officers explained that Metfield must be made immediately available as an emergency landing ground for the operations in progress. I looked at the large areas of work still requiring filling in, and told them that we could not fill the holes alone in the time. They agreed to ask the Engineers, whose camp was a few miles away to put a night gang on to help us, and I hurried off to get more men from Halesworth. I returned to Metfield about nine o'clock in the evening, to find the Engineers at work alongside Fitzpatrick and Comben and Wakeling, the maintenance contractors. The area of new concrete laid that night was enormous considering the short notice given and the small number of men available. In some places several bays of concrete had been broken out side by side across the runway, so that a steel form had to be fixed to form a joint and an edge for the tampers. There was no time to wait for the bays to set so that the forms could be taken out, and we had to concrete them in and leave them there. The job was finished on time, and we cleared the runways. Not a single aircraft came near the field.

For a few days the air activity was almost as heavy as it had been at Horham on June 6th, and R.A.F. night bombers were soon in flight during the day as well as the American aircraft. One Halifax approached Halesworth in the early evening, and it appeared that he was in difficulties, as he did not circle the field but came straight in from the coast and prepared to land down the first runway he saw. Unfortunately the runway in question was closed, and Liberators were parked down one side at the end farthest away from his intended touchdown. Fitzpatricks were concreting the perimeter track at that end also, and the workmen who had left the site at the end of working hours had left a vibrating and finishing machine in position at the end of a newly-completed bay. The Halifax pilot must have seen the shining Liberators as he was about to touch down, and he tried to got into the air again to avoid them. The huge black shape hurtled down the runway, landing wheels two or three feet clear of the concrete, and the watchers stood petrified as it made for the parked Liberators. When a terrible crash seemed inevitable the pilot, with masterly skill, banked his aircraft and passed his starboard wing tip clean over the noses of the parked American bombers, leaving probably two feet to spare. The Halifax's undercarriage struck the Fitzpatrick vibrating machine and the bomber crashed on the grass over-run of the runway, its belly-skid finally arrested by a ditch and hedge. The pilot and all his crew climbed out of the R.A.F. bomber and walked away unhurt.

Carlson met me in the Mess one day and we lunched together. He was busy, he said, making arrangements for the 100th Mission party, a great day for the Group. They had calculated that the 100th Mission would be flown in about a week's time, and he outlined his proposals for the celebration. One hangar was to be converted into a bar for the G.I.s, - it must have been the biggest bar parlour ever contemplated, as the hangar covered three quarters of an acre. A complete fair was being hired and would occupy a concrete aircraft standing. There was to be a dance in the Officers' Mess, another in the Combat Mess. He wanted me to come along with my wife, and I thanked him for the invitation.

The Fair duly arrived, and on the second day Platten had an argument with the sleek proprietor who drove up in his huge Jaguar and demanded a load of tarmacadam for placing on the ground in front of the coconut shies. Platten asked him what he thought the A.M.W.D. were there for.

"I don't know, but I'm here for entertainment," replied the man.

"Yes, and we're here for War," replied Platten, and he saw the man off the premises.

For two days we were troubled with complaints from the contractors that barrows and tools were missing from the runway repair sites. I asked Carlson if he objected to the presence of civil police on the station, as I considered that civilians should be supervised during the party. He checked up with the Commanding Officer, and it was agreed that the civil police could patrol the station to watch civilians so long as they did not interfere with the duties of the station military police. I visited the Inspector at Halesworth, and he promised to do what he could, although he was short of constables.

The party day duly arrived. Hundreds of gjrls invaded the station and slopped about the wet roads in the rain. I had lunch with Carlson, and there were almost as many females in the Officers' Mess as there were males. The fair was in full swing, the gaily-coloured roundabouts and sideshows standing grotesquely on a high point of the field. The charge for a turn on the roundabouts lasting two minutes was two shillings, and shies were charging a similar fee. The sleek gentleman was making a fortune that day at the expense of the G.I.s.

Runway repairs were put in hand that day whilst flying was suspended, and a night gang was arranged to carry the repairs through until midnight. I visited the station in the evening and my wife accompanied me so that we could put in an appearance at the dances. We went first to the Officers' Mess, and had two or three dances in the rather sparsely populated dining hall which had been cleared for the purpose. There were very few guests present, and the atmosphere was inclined to be a little too formal for comfort. My wife and I agreed to walk across to the Combat Mess, and we picked our way gingerly along the muddy road to the other building. Temporary lights had been rigged up outside the entrance, and parties of dishevelled young officers crowded with their girl friends in the porch, laughing and joking and having a fine tine. We squeezed past them into the dance room to find a milling mass of revellers packed together like sardines, their shuffling and conversation almost drowning the efforts of the small band. Colonel Carlson had made great efforts to secure the attendance of a party of Wrens from Lowestoft, and I was pleased to see them there, well mixed with the officers and obviously enjoying themselves. I had been with Carlson when he and the Station Padre discussed the question of inviting the girls. Carlson's first invitation had met with a polite but cool refusal from the Wrens' Commanding Officer, but Carlson was undaunted and determined not to be slighted. He gave the Padre his jeep for the day and told him to got the Wren officer's agreement to attend even if it meant taking her a ride in the jeep and giving her a lunch somewhere. Apparently the young man had succeeded, for here were the girls.

The atmosphere in the Combat Mess was far from formal; in fact it would have been impossible to assume any formality in the press of people there, and after a few minutes we decided that we had better leave whilst we were sound of wind and limb. I inspected the runway repairs being carried out by searchlight, and we returned home.

It was a sorry sight to see the officers at lunch on the following day. Every one showed signs of a late and hectic night, and lunch did not go down very well that day. Still, I judged from the conversation that a good time had been had by all, and 100th Mission parties were mercifully few and far between. The only officer casualty I heard of was an incautious young man who had been revelling with the Commanding Officer, and who in a moment of thoughtlessness had called the Colonel a jerk. He spent the rest of the night in tho guardroom, but was released after meditation and abstention had sobered him and brought repentance for the folly of recklessness.

A few days later, however, I was having my lunch when Carlson came over to my table and sat beside me. I greeted him, and his low-spirited reply caused me to look at him closely. He ate nothing, only drank coffee and pulled at a cigarette, and there was an uncomfortable silence which I did not choose to break. Surely the Colonel had sat beside me for some reason, if only to pass the time of day, and he would speak when he was ready.

"Bailey, one day this God-damn war will be over and we'll be able to go home, you and I, and live decent, respectable lives as clean, sensible citizens." The words were spoken in a low voice, almost a whisper. Homesick, I thought, and made a suitable reply; I had been homesick myself at times. There was another silence.

"These Yanks make me sick, You say 'go ahead, enjoy yourselves', and they have to pick the dirtiest gutter and roll in it," the Colonel said. I then realised that he was not homesick; he was trying to tell me something.

"You mean the party?" I asked.

"Yes," replied the Colonel. A Major was passing the table, and Carlson called to him. The Major, a Medical officer, took the vacant seat opposite, and the Ground Executive leaned over and spoke to him in a low voice. I tried to avoid eavesdropping in something that was not my affair, but the cause of Carlson's distress was explained by the few words which I could not help hearing. The celebrations had obviously attracted a large number of undesirable women - I had seen them - but how undesirable they had been was not fully realised until positive signs had later shown themselves to the medical staff. I was sickened and disgusted at the news, and a deep rage filled me when I thought of the harm done by these women to the men I always liked to consider as guests in this country. Carlson apparently blamed the men themselves - the Yanks in particular, presumably because he was not a Yank himself - but that did not prevent me from wishing that the hordes of camp followers could be swept off the face of the earth. They were the rotten product of a rotten and degrading environment - camp life in overcrowded conditions with inadequate provisions for spiritual and social comfort, coupled with loneliness and separation from normal home life. Somebody once said "Beware of the lonely soldier." To me it seems the more effective warning would be "Lonely soldier - beware."

It still is not clear to me whether or not the experience of the 100th Mission party brought about the next move, but Carlson came to my office a week or two later with a proposal to erect barriers across the two entrance roads to the camp. One barrier was required across the main road which ran from Beccles to Halesworth and the south, the other would close a district road which served not only the station but also a number of farms and cottages. I explained that we were dealing with public highways, and motorists and the general public could not be prevented from using the roads. Carlson saw my point, and said that he wanted a swing gate at each position manned by military police, who would allow motorists to pass but who would check the movements of pedestrians. I was doubtful as to the practicability of the scheme, but agreed to put the matter to the County Surveyor. The Colonel said he wanted urgent action, and if I agreed he would take me in his jeep to Ipswich and explain his problem to the County Surveyor. I rang the County Offices and made an appointment, and Carlson picked me up at my house at eight o'clock on the following morning. The County Surveyor listened as Carlson pressed his argument, then finally decided that if the County Police had no objection we could go ahead with the plan. The erection of the barrier to the district road would, however, have to be agreed by the Halesworth Urban District Council, and I said that I would call at the U.D.C. Offices that day and obtain their consent. I asked for a letter confirming approval, and this was promised. Colonel Carlson was very pleased with our success, and suggested a mild celebration in a teashop. We found a suitable place, chose an empty table, and I asked if he would like coffee,

"Well, it's this way, Bailey," the Colonel whispered, apparently afraid to cause offence to the waitress standing nearby, "if we order coffee it probably won't be very nice - at least, not the way I like it - so we'd better have tea."

During the snack we talked informally, and the Colonel told me of his schooldays. He was interested to hear how a civil engineer took his training in England, and he said that he had dabbled in minor construction work himself. I did not fully understand his meaning, but it seemed to me that he was in civil life a man of means who did not need to work for his living, at least not in a permanent post. The chat was very friendly, and it continued on the journey home to our station.

We were honoured a few days later by an inspection by General Booth of the 2nd Bombardment Division. The General concluded his tour with a visit to my office, a very great honour which I greatly appreciated. He was accompanied by the Commanding Officer and Colonel Carlson, a Colonel from Division Headquarters, and a Captain who was interested in runway repairs. We had half an hour's discussion on the problems of the repairs, and the General left me with a feeling that at least our efforts were appreciated.

The letter duly arrived from the County Council approving the erection of the barrier on their road, and I obtained the consent from the Urban District Council for the barrier on the district road. With the information in my mind I went to the Mess and sought out Colonel Carlson. He was sitting at an otherwise vacant table, and greeted me cheerfully as I took a seat beside him.

"You can go ahead and erect your road barriers," I told him. Carlson laughed and banged the table.

"Good for you, Bailey," he laughed, and I wondered what was amusing in the situation.

"Look, don't breathe a word," murmured the Colonel, as he leaned confidingly towards me, "but we've just had notice today that we're pulling out.'

"Going to another station?" I asked.

"No, friend - it's home for us -Statue of Liberty next stop. Jeeze, I'll be glad to see the old country again." He fell silent, and I murmured a congratulation.

"You know, old man, I've come to like England," mused Carlson. "The folks at home don't realise what you've been through here. This sugar, for instance. We waste it in the Mess, lay it out on the tables in bowls and use it as though it cost nothing. But do you know that you're supplying us with all our sugar? And those old men you have, pouring concrete. The folks at home don't know what you're doing in this country." There was nothing I could say in reply. "I'll be sorry to leave you, too," continued the Colonel, "we've hit it off very well, and it's a pity we didn't meet earlier."

I felt the same way. Since leaving Attlebridge six months earlier I had met a mixture of Americans, and my postings had not lasted long enough for me to get to know them very well, but there had been no Unit so completely friendly as Halesworth. At Halesworth I could pass the time of day with every man on the station, and all the A.M.W.D. could come and go as they pleased. I realised that Carlson's departure in particular caused me not a little regret.

Flying operations ceased, and the sections of the organisation began to pack their equipment. Bomb lorries passed to and from the Bomb Stores, clearing the stores of their deadly contents. We were obliged to carry on with airfield repairs, because, as I jokingly explained to Carlson, "Yanks may come and Yanks may go, but the A.M.W.D. goes on for ever." We were freer to use the field, so long as the Liberators which were being deployed to other stations could take off occasionally, and progress improved vary noticeably.

America's Thanksgiving day was something of a special event at Halesworth, for its advent coincided very nearly with the departure of the Bomb Group. As I entered the Mess Carlson met me and asked me to lunch with him, and we had a royal spread of turkey followed by sweets and a wonderful assortment of cakes prepared specially for the day. As we sat with our coffee at the end of the meal Carlson asked me for a permanent address, and as I gave him my home address he said he would like to write to me if I wouldn't mind. He could not give an address which would be much use to me, so I agreed to wait until he wrote. I am still waiting, and if Donald Carlson should read this book I want him to know that I tried to get his address and failed. One address I did get, but before I had time to write I received word via a G.I. who was not repatriated that the unit had stayed there only a short time and had then moved on.

"Look, Bailey, I have a few things that I can't take with me; I was wondering if you'd like them; shan't be offending anyone if I ask you to accept them, shall I?" asked Carlson. I said that I did not think so, and wondered what the few things were. We went to the Colonel's quarters, and there he gave me two heavy cardboard boxes, with the awkward shyness of a schoolboy. I thanked him, and put the huge boxes in the car. That evening my wife and I opened them, and were staggered to see the contents. Boxes of chocolates and sweets, packets of Melba toast, slab loaf, a book, packets of razor blades, shaving lotion, soap, and cartons of cigarettes were in the first box. The second contained tins of fruit and other food. Thank you, Donald Carlson; I never got the chance to say it properly, for when I returned to the station on the next day you had gone. The whole Unit had been rushed away on a special train at midnight, and Halesworth was quiet.