аЯрЁБс>ўџ ЇЉўџџџЅІџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџџьЅСs П*‡jbjbР Р %ЊkЊk*ƒџџџџџџ]–––––––zzzzz †$zъЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖикккккк,єљР–ЖЖЖЖЖ>––ЖЖЖ>>>Ж–Ж–ЖиЊhh––––Жи>š>и––иЊ #jЛzzдjи Chapter III - After the Armistice, Egypt During the early part of 1919, No. 214 Squadron was employed in the carrying of military mails between Cologne and the Armistice Commission at Spa. The first airmail flight was made by Major Brackley on New Year's Day, 1919, from Camphin, via Carvin, Lens, Arras, St Pol and Hesdin, to Ligescourt. From January 5, the O/400s were only used non-stop between Marquise and Cologne, with DH 9s taking the shorter stages. A few months later, in May 1919, a boy mechanic, E. Cyril Baldwin, was posted to the Squadron. Here is his narrative of the life and times of 214 Squadron, up to its disbandment in Egypt in 1920: "It was at Eastchurch on the Isle of Sheppey that boy mechanics, ex-RNAS, were being trained for service in the new Royal Air Force. A few of us in the advanced classes, having completed our technical training and passed out O.K., awaited posting to squadrons and units. We were scattered far and wide. Two were to be posted to No. 214 Squadron at Camphin, in France, and I was one of them. "We lads had always been subjected to strict discipline and, as we had never served in a squadron, had no idea what to expect. We were now kitted out in the new RAF uniform – khaki tunic with belt to match and khaki cap with black peak. "We took the train to Dover, landed in France, and from Bologne travelled by train to Alquines. Much to our surprise we were met there by the OC's Crossley tourer and taken in style to 214 at Camphin. At the camp orderly room we presented ourselves to W/O McCardie, better known as Sgt Major, who, after a quick briefing, took us to the men's mess where we were treated to strawberries and cream and lumps of cake. All of this we devoured with relish, never previously having had such a spread. Our uniforms created much surprise as the 'erks' and the French people had not seen this type of uniform before. "After tea we reported back to the Orderly Room, were taken to the living quarters – the usual hut – and each given a bed duly equipped with blankets. Excused the first parade next day, we were told to report to the Orderly Room at 10 a.m. and then to the CO's office. There we met the Commanding Officer, S/Ldr William Laurie Welsh DSC, (later Sir William L. Welsh, DSC, Air Marshal). "He welcomed us to the Squadron and during the conversation asked if either of us knew anything about the old-fashioned type of hand water pumps. It turned out that one of our trucks had backed into the village pump in Camphin, knocked it sideways and put it out of action. "I said, 'Yes, I lived in the country in Suffolk and my parents had one.' 'O.K.', said the CO, 'you two go down to the village tomorrow, assess the damage and see what you can do about it.' "This was to be our very first job on 214. The next morning we went to the village and found the wooden structure broken and the rod in the plunger badly bent. Uncoupling the pump arm we managed to get the rod and plunger out, and took them back to camp along with the damaged outer wooden casing. "The blacksmith's shop on the camp made good the metal rod and plunger and the 'chippies' made quite a good job of the outer wooden casing. With this done, we returned next day in a Crossley tender and installed the pump once more, even in better condition than it had been in the first place, much to the delight of the villagers. "When we reported back to the Squadron, the CO expressed his thanks for a good job well done and gave us the rest of the day off. We had nowhere to go so sauntered back to the village and were treated that evening to a real nice meal by one of the inhabitants. "The following day there was to be a kit inspection by the CO and Orderly Officer at 11 a.m. and we were all sent to the huts. It seems that these wartime bods very seldom had such things as kit inspections and even then they were only slipshod affairs. As long as all items of kit were present, and there were no shortages, this was found to be acceptable, but my pal and I were so used to bull that laying out kit came as second nature. Every item was spick and span and laid out in regulation manner. " 'Stand by your beds,' shouted out W/O McCardie. The CO came down the line of beds with just a glance and no comment until he came to ours. He looked amazed, almost perplexed. 'Is that the standard layout?' he asked us. 'Yes Sir,' we replied. Turning to old McCardie he said, 'Go and get the station photographer and have these two beds photographed.' "He then addressed the other lads in the hut and said, 'In future that is how I want your kit laid out.' As soon as the CO and the W/O left we got it in the neck. In no uncertain terms we were told what a lot of old bullshit we had started. It took some days and a lot of explanation for us to get on speaking terms with the 'erks' in our hut. After kit inspection, the CO sent for us again, complimented us on our kit layout, and gave us the rest of the day off. "Up to this point we had not been near an aircraft. The squadron was equipped at this time with the Handley Page O/400. We were told to report to the sergeant in charge of B Flight which would be our flight in future, and were amazed at the size of these aircraft. We were in fact overawed as we had never seen one before. We had taken a full course of instruction on Rolls Royce Eagle VII engines, when they were on a stand in the workshop at Eastchurch, but they looked a totally different proposition now. Here they were fitted high up in the Handley Page with all the oil pipe couplings, petrol pipes, main fuel tanks, gravity tanks, wind pumps (which we called soup ladles) and the internal hand pumps for pumping up the fuel to the two gravity tanks when the soup ladles were not going round. The soup ladles only came into action when the plane was taking off and in full flight. We never had all this gen when training, so the CO gave us a book on the petrol and oil systems of the Handley Page. "We had been on the Squadron hardly a month when the CO again sent for us. 'Well lads,' he said, 'I have some news for you. The Squadron will shortly be sent to Egypt and, as you are both under the age of 19, an Air Ministry order states that you are to be sent back to the U.K.' "This was bad news and we were both in a panic. Here was a Squadron we liked and which had no bull. To be sent back to a depot in England was the last thing we wanted. We told the CO we were happy on the Squadron and wanted to remain, regardless of where it was stationed. 'Is there no way out?' I asked the CO. He hesitated a minute and then said, 'Yes, if you volunteer to come with us and we have written permission from your parents, I can take you.' 'Very well, Sir,' we said, 'we will write home today.' "Back at the hut we each wrote home and said there was a chance to go to Egypt for a couple of months or so, could we have permission to make the trip. Much to our joy, our parents' replies were in the affirmative, and the CO said he would be pleased for us to go with the Squadron. "It was at this point that all aircraft were grounded for a thorough inspection prior to the flight to Egypt, and all stores and equipment, right down to the cookhouse boilers and pans, were made ready for shipment. "A train was found for the move and it took many days to load up, including the CO's car, Leyland lorries, Crossley tenders, tail trolleys, etc. When all was nearly ready I asked the CO for permission to fly in one of the B Flight aircraft and he said definitely no, each aircraft already had its regular crew including the mechanic and rigger. 'You will go by train to Marseille, and embark there on a boat for Port Said. From Port Said, after unloading the equipment, go on to Abu-Sueir where we will be stationed.' "The great day arrived for us to depart and there stood the long train, fully loaded, and a line of closed wooden French waggons, the sort that had sliding doors on each side, and we men were allocated eight to each waggon with our bedding, blankets, etc. It was now full summer and as we travelled down through France, we slid those doors right back and sat with our legs dangling over the side, singing and shouting to the various people who came into view as we trundled along. "As the French main line traffic had preference, we were shunted into sidings to allow the fast trains to go through. In this way it took several days to reach our destination at Marseille, but the slow trip and long halts at little railway stations where we used the toilets and had a wash and brush up, were enjoyable to us all. "Late on the first night, during one of these stops at a little wayside station dimly lit by gaslight, our train pulled up for some fifteen minutes. On the platform there was a pile of about six crates stacked one on top of the other, which contained bottles, presumably of French wine of some sort. The station was deserted at the time and three crates rapidly disappeared into the bowels of our train. "About five minutes after leaving the station there was a crash of breaking glass as the bottles were flung onto the line, shortly to be followed by the three crates. This was somewhat puzzling, but not for long. About two stations down the line the train stopped and French police came on board. They searched each truck, including ours, but as they found nothing, the train was allowed to proceed. We later learned that the bottles all contained Vichy water. No doubt those who tasted it thought they had been poisoned, hence the haste in getting rid of it. "At Marseille we were placed under canvas in a camp within the town's boundary. We did no parades as such but just fell in at certain times to unload the equipment from the train and onto the dockside, ready for the boat to take on board for shipment to Egypt. I suppose we must have spent two weeks waiting for a boat, during which time peace was officially signed and a grand parade of decorated floats was organised by the local population. "Our Unit was asked to participate and we did so by making up a Leyland lorry with all kinds of spares, and a tractor complete with trailer, on which we had a spare Rolls Royce Eagle VIII engine and a couple of aircraft wings. In the evenings we used to go into town, stroll around, mixing with the locals and drinking at the many tables which were in the streets outside the estaminets. I stuck to lemonade and ice cream as I was not a wine or beer drinker in those days. "At last the boat arrived. It was a private steamer, chartered for us, named the Princess Juliana, and usually used as a pleasure boat. Since the Med was still infested with floating mines, we had to have our life-jackets with us night and day. The steamer hugged the coast as much as possible during the voyage and passed by way of the Straits of Messina, making the journey a bit longer than normal. "We eventually arrived at Port Said in the first week of July, 1919, in terrific heat. There was no accommodation available so we marched to a strip in the desert outside the town and were told to sleep on the sand with our groundsheets underneath us. All of us were pretty tired but were lucky in as much as we had eaten before leaving the boat. The only drink, however, came from our water bottles. After removing our boots we sat around talking for a while, until the sun went down, and then kipped on the groundsheet, using the kit bag as a pillow once most of the contents had been removed. "During what was to prove a long night, there was one chap who did not rest but kept walking around. He was an Irish aircraft hand, a man over 40, who had been out East before in the Army. We asked him later why he had been walking around and he replied, 'Sure and be-Jasus, I was not going to lay about with them goddam trantula spiders running about.' It was as well we knew nothing about them; otherwise we might have been walking with him. "Next morning, after a makeshift breakfast, we marched to a railway siding and boarded a train for the onward journey to Abu-Sueir. The train was more primitive than the French one and the trucks we rode in were not wood but iron, with sliding doors. Being nearly baked with the hot July sun beating down, we were glad when at last our destination came into view. Abu-Sueir, a tiny halt which served as a station, is about 11 kilometres from Ismalia. There was no road from this so-called station, just desert with a slightly beaten track, leading to what was to be our home for the next two years. "Our Leylands and Crossleys, etc. were unloaded and driven across the desert to the 'airfield', which consisted of a few huts of normal size and shape, except the bricks were made of mud instead of clay. There were no beds to sleep on, just bare floors which had squares chalked on them, about 18" x 18". We put our blankets on these squares and slept on them after rigging mosquito nets from the wooden beams that supported the rush roof. "We were in these primitive conditions for a couple of months before the Flight Commander, F/Lt James Stark Browne, recently arrived by air, got in touch with Cairo HQ and had proper beds sent in. Before they arrived we managed to get some bits of wood together and rigged up a sort of bed just off the floor. "The only real brick buildings on the site were the transport shed, the sick quarters, and the power house, which contained three Dorman Long engines. Two were to provide light and the other was to pump water to the water tower which supplied us with drinking water and showers, etc. "Our hangars were Bethnel type canvas hangars, and our Handley Pages were far too high to fit into them. A hole was dug inside, to a depth of about ten feet, the front being inclined to allow the tractors to lower the planes in and to tow them out. As you may know, the Handley wings can be folded back to the fuselage. "Our main food during the hot weather consisted of bully beef and potatoes, and it was nearly always hot except for four months. One could not cut bully beef during the hottest part of the year, and having no such luxury as a refrigerator, we just poured it on our bread, which at times of excessive heat was grey and sour. Some days we were issued with army biscuits instead, but these were long past their prime and maggots used to jump out when the biscuit tins were opened. "Now you may wonder how we lived and coped under these conditions. When the mud huts were built, two larger buildings of the same materials were also erected. One served as a canteen, the other as a church. The canteen was leased by the Squadron to a Greek who ran the show entirely on his own. He used to travel up every day from Ismalia and cooked food from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. every night. "In winter he managed to serve up liver and bacon, eggs and bacon, eggs and chips, etc., with an egg omelette for a sweet. In summer it was egg and chips and omelettes only. He baked his own bread, which was good, and thanks to him we were fed and kept cheerful. That was where most of our pay went. We got 4/6d per day as AC2s, a bit better as AC1s, and approximately 6/- as LACs. "For recreation we used to play bridge some nights, or maybe draughts, the losers paying for the canteen supper. Some evenings my pal and I would take a hockey stick each and knock a couple of old tins across the desert until the sun went down, and then knock the cans all the way back, just for exercise. With the help of the 'chippies' we built two sand yachts out of old scraps of wood, old aircraft wheels, and canvas. Both officers and men took turns racing across the desert when the wind blew. "Our Flight Commander, J.S. Browne, was always trying to think up something to make life bearable for us, and he managed to get an old upright piano of the pub type for our makeshift canteen. The trouble was, when it arrived no one could play the darned thing. Not to be daunted, F/Lt Browne applied to Air Ministry for a fitter IIE (we badly needed one) who could play a piano. In due course a fitter meeting the required specifications was sent out from the U.K. and he became my best friend, a friendship that has continued right up to the present day." During the summer of 1919, Squadrons 58, 214 and 216 were ordered to Egypt to form the Middle East Training Brigade. Nos 214 and 216 Squadrons left France on July 1, with 214 scheduled for Abu-Sueir and 216 for Kantara. There were serious aircraft losses to all three Squadrons on this epic flight which was headlined in newspapers of the time as The Blazing Trail Scandal. Eleven pilots were killed on the flight to Egypt, including Capt Cecil Darley, the exponent of silent raids on Zeebrugge, and one of 214's most popular officers. LAC fitter E.C. Baldwin continues: "Both 214 and 216 were equipped with Handley Page O/400s. Ten planes from 214 left Camphin, of which three were lost and seven arrived at Abu-Sueir. First on the scene at the Egyptian destination was 2/Lt C.A. Hall, on August 2. Amongst the other pilots who successfully completed the trip were S/Ldr Welsh and F/Lt Browne. The planes arrived within a few days of each other. We covered up their propellers and picketed the aircraft down with screwpickets. As the sandy ground wass rock-hard with only sand dust on the surface, the site was chosen some years before as a suitable place for an airfield. One could take off and land in perfect safety for miles in any direction. "The following morning we folded back the port and starboard planes and lowered the H.P.s into the excavated Bethnel hangars with the tractors. It was at this point I was detailed to work under a Corporal and an LAC, both old sweats and due for demob as and when they could be spared. They expected to be going home in a few weeks but the Squadron was so depleted that their release was delayed for several months. In fact it was not until November, 1919, that they finally got away. "By this time I had got the hang of things and was made AC1, in charge of the O/400 flown by F/Lt Browne, and from then on was with him on most of his flights. Another pilot also shared the plane when the Flight Commander was not on hand. An old RNAS hand from pre-RAF days, named F/Sgt Powell, used to get a bit wild with us when we shouted out, 'Stand by the tail and man the forrard struts.' It was a naval term used when lifting the tail end of any aircraft, to heave at the order of 'Two-Six', and maybe this term is still used when lifting a heavy object today. I was told that it originated in the days of sail, No 2 and No 6 being members of a gun crew. No 2 slammed the breach and No 6 fired the gun. "My OC was a very fine pilot, steady, nothing fancy, but really solid. I should say he was the very best type for a bomber pilot. He was known amongst the lads as '20 degree Browne' because he used to approach the landing ground from a height of three to four thousand feet, come dead above the spot where he wished to land, then put the plane into a 20 degree bank, cut down the throttle on both engines, and without further alteration spiral down to land, levelling out a few hundred feet up, and come in for a perfect touch-down. "On my first trip with him on a routine flight, he did that trick, and I can assure you that a 20 degree bank seemed a lot more than that to me. The port wing was low and starboard high. He stuck it in that position and didn't vary an inch all the way down. On this trip I felt sick as a dog. I was not used to going round in circles. "In the winter of 1919 we were short of personnel, as the war-time lads were demobbed and we had no replacements. It is true that we had only half the Squadron's strength in planes, but we also had half the men, with the result that our turn for guard duty came round too quickly. There were twelve-hour guards from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. Three guard positions were manned – the guard room, a roving patrol, and the main gate, which meant nine on duty with an NCO as guard commander. "There was always a wangle going on. One would report sick if he thought his turn was due; and then the transport wallahs would get off on a pretext of duty station transport. Another dodge was training for a football or hockey match, not to mention those who operated the power house, etc., etc., and the result was poor old A and B Flights copped more than their share of guard duties. It was then I went to my CO and explained that instead of duty once a week we were now working every fourth night, and with the lack of sleep our work on the aircraft might suffer. I said that when we came off guard at 6 a.m. there was a break only until 10 a.m., when we reported for the normal working shift. The CO was always sympathetic to any just complaint and said, 'Leave it to me. I will see what can be done.' "Now it happened that there was a detachment of Sikhs stationed at Ismalia and our CO managed to persuade their CO to let us have a section of them to take over guard duties for a few weeks to give us a break. They duly arrived and had a hut of their own, but were not allowed in our canteen. It was soon discovered that they were a windy lot and trigger happy. One had to answer pretty quickly at night to avoid the possibility of a bullet. "The windiness gave me an idea and I decided to play a prank on them. Most Saturday afternoons, when not on duty, we motored into Ismalia on what was termed the liberty lorry, and usually went for a swim in Lake Timsah where we had our own bathing platform and cubicles for British troops and the RAF. After the swim, it was our custom to visit a small restaurant, also owned by a Greek. His fruit omelettes were wonderful and fish suppers a delight. From the owner I bought a small tin of corned beef which only cost a few ackers. "Taking the tin back to camp, I laid plans for a lark. One night when there was no moon, I took out my jack knife (they were issued to all the forces in those days), and made holes with the spike all over the tin. At about one o'clock in the early hours of darkness when all were asleep in the hut, I crept out in my shorts to where the latrines were situated. About 50 yards beyond, I threw the tin of corned beef as far as I could and returned to bed to await further developments. "I lay awake but nothing happened for quite a time. In fact I probably dosed off. Then, perhaps an hour later, there was a furious outbreak of barking as hyenas and desert dogs at last got a smell of the corned beef. All hell broke loose and the Sikhs started firing in the direction of the dogs, arousing everyone in camp, many leaving their beds to find out what was going on. Finally, as the dogs fought each other, the tin was bitten and dragged across the desert, the noise gradually fading into the distance, with the dogs still going at it like mad. Nobody found the cause of the rumpus and I never let on until now. "After the Sikhs had been with us for a few weeks, they returned to their unit. We were fortunate enough to have a platoon of Gurkhas take their place for a few more weeks, until we got some extra lads posted out from England to help make up the depleted squadron. The Gurkhas were a nice lot of men, and were allowed in our canteen. They turned out to be good draughts players, and gave us a real run for our money. "When the Gurkhas left we resumed guard duties once more, our shift coming round once a week. Now there was one post everyone tried to avoid and that was the main gate, and of all the daft posts this was it! Just imagine walking out of your quarters down a track across the desert to nowhere, finding a gate standing in solitary splendour, and having no useful function whatsoever, as daft as putting it in the middle of a 40 acre field. Nobody liked the blooming post, and when the guard fell in outside the orderly room, the nine chosen bods jostled about, each trying to dodge numbering one, two, three. So much so, that the NCO would yell, 'What the hell are you playing at? Get fell in!' "Now, Tich Clouder and myself, being about the shortest on the Squadron, (I was 5'5 1/2" and Tich an inch shorter), were pushed nearly every time on No 1 post, i.e. the ruddy main gate, a lovely place over half a mile from the rest of the huts. "There was only desert to look at, front, back and sides, and I was not the only one who felt uneasy at this post. The gypos, as we called the local natives, were no problem. They did not worry us at all. The prowling Bedouins that we often saw on a moonlit night, with a train of camels out on the horizon, with their Turkish rifles, were a different breed. They would slit a throat to obtain a rifle. "It was a month or two before we joined up with No. 216 Squadron that our CO, W.L. Welsh, was promoted to acting Wing Commander, and was replaced by the new CO, S/Ldr Read. Apparently a month or so before, a Bristol Fighter had left Palestine for, as far as I know, either Ismalia or Kantara. It never arrived and a big search was made between our bases, and across the Sinai towards Palestine, but with no success. "Many weeks later, some Arabs trudging along with their camels across the desert, passed close to the camp. They aroused some curiosity, so a Crossley tender was sent out to keep an eye on them. Imagine the surprise of the officer in charge of the tender when he saw they were wearing crude rubber sandals made out of aircraft tyres. They were questioned, but as their Arabic could not be understood, it was decided to bring the senior man in for interrogation by an interpreter. The Arab said they had found an aircraft in the desert, and, as it had been abandoned and no one was with it, they had cut the tyres off the wheels and made sandals with them. By various means, and drawing with a stick in the sand, he gave a rough idea of the direction and distance of the plane. "Hurried preparations were made, and it was decided to make a search the following day. After a lot of argument the old Arab was persuaded to fly with the plane. He also agreed, under pressure, to remain on our base overnight. The CO, S/Ldr Read, contacted W/Cdr Welsh, who advised he would fly in at once and join the search. "A plane from A Flight was detailed for this operation, with a stand-by aircraft from B Flight to act as a back-up machine. Both planes were made ready, fully loaded with fuel, and the order was to take eight gallons of water additionally, in two four-gallon petrol cans. We got the cans well rinsed out with boiling water from our primitive cookhouse. "The spare stand-by aircraft happened to be mine, so in case A Flight's machine did not go, and mine went instead, I got four four-gallon cans filled and stowed away, (two cans on the quiet), in the bomb bay. My thoughts were of being lost in the desert, if I did have to go, and I had no intention of dying of thirst whilst awaiting rescue. As it happened, the A Flight machine developed both a radiator leak and a water-pump leak, so my plane was the one to be used. "In our plane were W/Cdr Welsh, S/Ldr Read, Sgt Shaw (rigger), myself (LAC fitter), our tool boxes and, of course, the old Arab who, I might mention, was terribly scared. We were told that the crew of the Bristol Fighter was F/O Fitzgerald Eager and LAC Thackery, and the reason they had not been found was that the pilot was off course and had passed over the Suez Canal, and into the desert. Previously, a search had been carried out on our side of the canal, and in the opposite direction, over Sinai, no one expecting that the pilot had crossed the canal. "The poor old Arab with us stood in the back cockpit, which was more like a large platform which could hold several men, and had no seats. He remained motionless, just gazing straight ahead with eyes like organ stops. "Flying at about two thousand feet, we came down lower, and there, in a basin surrounded by large sand dunes, we spotted the Bristol Fighter. For W/Cdr Welsh, at the controls, it was a tricky landing. The sand hills were anything from 50 to 80 feet high, and the landing area was short. However, he made it alright with not too much to spare. "Although, up to the time of landing, no sign of life had been seen, imagine our surprise when about 50 Arabs on white horses, with rifles slung across their backs and ugly looking knives stuck in their belts, galloped down through the dunes towards us. They surrounded the plane, riding round at first, then getting down off their horses to pat and touch the wings and fuselage, seeming to wonder what they were made of. "The Arab who came with us was first off and, thankfully, explained everything to them. One man who appeared to be the chief produced a large stone bottle, poured out some liquid, and offered it to W/Cdr Welsh. With a 'Salam Effendi', he drank a few drops, passing it on to other crew members so that they could partake also. "Whilst this was going on, I had made my way up to the pilot's seat, and through into the front cockpit, which was the highest point from the ground. When they had drunk a little, they pointed up to me, and the Winco said, 'Baldwin, you had better come down and take a friendly sip.' 'No thanks, Sir,' I replied, 'it might be poisoned.' 'You had better take the cup of friendship, and that's an order not a request,' he said. Reluctantly, I climbed down, and sipped some of the stuff. It tasted like luke-warm aniseed and was not unpleasant. "We now made our way over to the 'Brisfit', which had made a perfect landing. Except for the tyres, the plane had not been touched. The Arabs had cut the tyres in strips to make their sandals, but left the section on which the tyres were standing. Nothing in or on the plane had been tampered with, but I noticed that on the ground just under the wing was an empty bottle of Johnny Walker whisky, and an empty tin of Crawfords Assorted biscuits. "Through our passenger we asked for news of the crew, and understood that they had probably wandered off after a few days in search of water and, when weak, were probably attacked and taken away by hyenas. "In my opinion that is not so, because if we could be spotted so quickly by those Arab horsemen, why was the other plane not seen? The two airmen were never found and the mystery remained unsolved. The wings of the 'Brisfit' had deteriorated through exposure and the plane was found unfit to fly. In any case it had no fuel, and as far as I know it is still out in the desert, or was when I last heard of it. "Preparations were now made for our return journey, and as we were about to start the engines I noticed both the water-pumps were leaking badly and pointed this out to the CO. Out in Egypt we always flew with the cowlings removed, so this defect was easily observed. There was no time to take the pumps down and re-pack the glands, so I got the special spanner I always carried and tightened the round gland nuts as much as possible, until there was only a slight drip in each pump. 'I'm afraid we have to refill the radiators with our valuable water,' said the Winco. This we duly did, Sgt Shaw filling one radiator and I the other. There was not a lot of water to spare after this had been done, as the pumps had leaked badly on our outward flight. I said nothing, of course, about the two extra cans we had on board. Time enough to mention these if we had to make a forced landing. "We took off at last with W/Cdr Welsh still at the controls. He took the greatest distance he could find for the take-off, and, with great skill, just lifted us clear of the sand dunes. The flight back to Abu-Sueir was uneventful, arriving back at base just before sundown. "After we had landed I was about to go back to the mess for something to eat when W/Cdr Welsh called me back, shook hands with me and said, 'Good show.' He asked if I was glad to have come out with the Squadron from France, and I replied that I had no regrets. A great officer was W/Cdr Welsh, as were all other serving officers on 214 at that time. "It was at about this point that an inventory was taken of all equipment held by the Squadron, and much to the consternation of those in charge of the technical stores, it was discovered that we were in possession of two Rolls Royce Eagle VIII engines which were not on the records. No one could explain this surplus and it created a problem, for to be in surplus was as bad as being short. Both spelled trouble for those in charge, as the powers that be would still require an answer as to how the mistake had occurred. "In the end, it was decided to bury the two Eagles and say no more about it, so we dug a hole about eight feet deep and the two engines, covered in waterproofing, were lowered down into the hole, which was then filled in. If B Flight hut still stands in that desolate place, and someone takes fifty paces from the door and starts digging, he should find two H.P. Eagle engines in good condition. I feel, after all these years, I could probably still locate them. "In the early part of 1920 we joined with No. 216 Squadron, as most of the old sweats had been demobbed and both squadrons were sadly depleted. A Flight was amalgamated with B Flight and No. 216's lads were designated as A Flight. This brought 216 up to strength but meant the disbandment of 214. Although we were now 216, we still considered ourselves as 214 men and rivalry existed between the two flights." Cyril Baldwin was re-united with No. 214 at Stradishall in World War 2. 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