McAlister is on the move again!

War Journal of Flight Commander George Ewan MacAlister, DSO, DSC
8 Squadron, RNAS
Walmer, Kent, England

Part 26


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"The English coast then came up as a surprise."

Bray Dunes seemed a lovely spot. It was actually two aerodromes in one, both clustered about a farmhouse with substantial outbuildings. One field came under French control and the other was Royal Navy. Scarcely had I touched down there when I spied Semple and Billington waving me toward the second shed in a long row. I taxied to a halt in front of the hangar and asked Semple about the move. It had been a good move – every machine accounted for. All pilots were to gather in A Flight hangar in five minutes.

Squadron Commander Draper was pacing and clapping his hands while he waited for the last few stragglers to arrive. “Hark ye!” he bellowed. “I bring glad tidings of great joy.” The pilots gathered around in a more compact group. Draper continued. “First, there is an accommodation list on the table at the back wall. Find your cabin and drop your personal kit. Heavy kit will not be unloaded. I say again, it will not be unloaded from the lorries. All vehicles and equipment other than one lorry will depart tonight for Dunkirk. Gentlemen, we are drafted to Walmer, near Dover. I don’t know how long for, but we’re going home.” A rowdy cheer arose and I found myself among the loudest of all. The sense of relief surprised me. The place was mayhem and Draper struggled to be heard. “Twelve men and all flying officers will stay back for takeoff in the morning and then depart for Dunkirk and Folkestone. All other ranks will sail tonight on the monitor HMS Terror. Order of departure in the morning is on orders, with copies available at the back table. Dinner will be an all-ranks affair set up in the last hangar at the end of this well. Officers will serve other ranks and senior NCOs. Enjoy your last night in France!”

There was much to do and little time to do it. Our camp beds were still on the lorries so our valises were unrolled on the floor of the cabin. Dog owners scrambled to ensure their animals had caretakers. Pilots met with Ack Emmas to discuss of preparation for a Channel crossing. Letters were written and telegrams prepared to arrange meetings with loved ones. A roster of leaves came out after dinner. As many as possible were being released on leave when we got back to England. Then came dinner – roast chicken and boiled potatoes with gravy. We spooned the food out in great quantity from khaki hayboxes while the watchful jaunty insured that none of the lower deck went back for seconds until enough was put aside for officers and petty officers. Draper laid on two kegs of beer, paid for out of his own pocket. It was a fine farewell.

The original plan had me off at seven in the morning with the first wave, but a faulty spark plug had different ideas. By the time it was isolated and replaced, mine was the last Camel of Naval Eight to leave Bray Dunes. It was a fine morning, the sky a watery blue and scattered puffy clouds at 2000 and at 8000 feet. The Bentley ran smoothly once I took off and I watched Dunkirk slide away under my right wing. I followed the coast west south-west toward Calais, climbing to 8000 feet. At Calais, I headed north-west and climbed to 10,000 feet. I wanted plenty of height in case anything went wrong. Ship traffic was light and I did not relish putting down in the open sea at this time of year. We were issued with cork vests but mine would not fit comfortably over my sidcot, tunic, and two sweaters. I stuffed it behind my seat instead. Given the choice between freezing and drowning I chose to drown.

Ten minutes north-west of Calais I changed direction to west north-west, intending to make landfall between Folkestone and Dover. Once I spotted Dover it would be easy to find Walmer. The thin green line of the French coast faded in the haze and disappeared. For the next ten minutes neither coast was in sight. The English coast then came up as a surprise. I saw Folkestone in the distance and Dover far off to my right. A navigational genius, I was. Me and bloody Magellan!

Then I saw an airfield inland from Dover. Odd. There should be at least two more airfields in sight. That was when I noticed that I was flying due north along the coast rather than north-east. This did not make sense. It took a few minutes to realise how badly off course I was. My Dover was in fact Ramsgate and the lone aerodrome Manston. The wind must have taking me well north of my intended course! I turned about and headed south. Before long I spotted Walmer with Dover in the haze beyond. The airfield at Walmer appeared. I selected an approach free from other aircraft and settled into our new home.

First impressions were lovely. It was a warm morning with the earliest touch of spring in the air. I was directed to a large country home which served as officers’ accommodations. It was a short walk to the field and to the spacious mess where a brandy and coffee was offered to chase away the chill. I was sitting at a table nibbling a bacon sandwich and drinking my second “special” coffee when Bob Compston found me.

“Good to see you settled in,” he said. “We are off on an adventure, you and me.” I asked him what he meant. He informed me that we were heading for an investiture where we would each receive our DSO and I would officially received by MC from the King. The King, it seems, was to visit the fleet at Harwich and would be decorating a few officers and men of the Air Service. Today was Saturday, 2 March. The investiture would be Tuesday. The plan was to leave on Sunday and spend Sunday night in London and then take the train to Harwich on Monday so as to have plenty of time.

We left for London on Sunday morning, catching the train at ten. Compston knew the city much better than I, who had been there only once during my training. He insisted are staying at the Charing Cross Hotel. “Cheaper than the Savoy, but just as close to the bar." We caught the afternoon showing of Maid of the Mountains at Daly’s and dinner at Simpson’s. Compston was set for a night on the town but I left him on the sidewalk and enjoyed a long bath and a good night’s sleep.

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