Sam woke up. It was cold. He looked around the Nissen hut and saw that Mac and Eric were missing. He looked at his watch. It was 8.20. They had gone to breakfast. They nearly always went to breakfast. The rest of them seldom did. It was a mile away to the mess and it meant getting up at 7.30. There was no point in that. Sam lit a cigarette and contemplated the corrugated roof of the Nissen hut. A few short icicles hung from the hole in the roof where the pipe from the stove made its exit. The stove had not been lit for several days, The coal bunker on the site had been empty for that length of time and there was no wood around. It was cold, it was the end of March.

It should be a normal day today. Shortly they were all awake. By 9 o'clock they had all washed, shaved and dressed. The washing was done in the Ablutions Hut a few yards away. There was no heating there, the water was cold, very cold today, and sometimes frozen. In that event the Sergeant's Mess, a mile away, was used and usually the water was warm there, sometimes quite hot. When they were all dressed the crew got on their bikes and cycled up to the Squadron offices in time to get a cup of tea and a "wad" as the buns were known. The refreshments were supplied by the NAAFI van which toured around the camp, keeping to a recognised timetable, They drank the tea and ate the buns then collected their flying helmets and cycled round the perimeter track to their aircraft. It was G for George. They carried out some of the emergency drills, parachute drill, ditching drill, crash landing and other drills, not a lot of fun in the cold, but these drills were carried out on the insistence of Ken almost every day. They appeared to be the only crew that did these drills regularly. Perhaps the other crews thought they were a bit peculiar. These drills helped to make seven people into a crew, a crew that kept together, a crew that knew what to do should an emergency arise.

And so it was that day. Out on the dispersal they thought there would be a stand-down that night as the moon was getting towards full and the station had done 5 trips in the previous fortnight. As they cycled towards the Sergeant's Mess for the midday meal the conversation centred around the possibility of a trip to Scunthorpe if the stand down was announced early enough. Most of the crews in the Mess were hoping that the Squadron would lay on a crewbus to take them to town. The afternoon passed slowly and still there was no word, And no word meant that they all stayed in camp. Teatime came and went. Not much chance of a night out now. Then the tannoy blared out. "All crews to report to their Squadrons". Another operation for sure and a very late take off into the bargain.

On to the Crew Briefing or back to the stories