World war two broke out for Canada, on September 3. 1939. The first noticeable action taken by the government was the registration of all males eighteen years of age and older, I do not remember if there was an upper age limit. There was no immediate run to the recruiting offices as only Germany was prepared for war and recruiting offices were not set up here. I made application to join the Royal Canadian Airforce in July of 1939. I did not hear back till November, when, with shaky hands, I received a registered letter from the Defense Department. I was thanked for applying and told they had received too many applications, and regrets for not being able to consider my application.
Since the airforce didn't need my services. I decided to go east to Toronto to look for work I was sure would be available as there was a war on. Dad sent me to Windsor on the train with stops along the way. All my worldly possessions fit in one threadbare suitcase. First stop, Sudbury Ontario. Lining up at 0630 in an already long line at an employment office for the nickel mine, it was twelve hours till I reached the head of the line. I was told upon them learning of my origins that 'we don't hire prairie people'. In Toronto, things were the same with no jobs no matter how menial. After two weeks of the hospitality of my friend, I tried to again enlist in the airforce and to be accepted by applying as a motor mechanic. This seemed a shoe in, as they had me write and corrected a 'mechanics' exam on the spot. Even though I passed with flying colors, I was told I would be called in six months or so. Bidding farewell to my friend, I took the train to Windsor where I phoned my Auntie Barbara who was living across the river in Detroit Michigan. This favorite aunt of our family, sent her boys Mike and John across the line to get me, and I went with them to Detroit. Being Christmas time, this was quite an occasion, Uncle Harry and cousin John were working in the auto industry and the family was quite well off. Uncle Harry did try and get me a job there also, but being an 'alien' there was no chance. Towards the end of January I packed my bag and returned disillusioned and defeated back to the farm where I was glad to be, and was glad to be seen.
In June of 1940 I again applied to the airforce as a pilot. I had Grade 12 which was the minimum requirement for pilots. During my physical, I was failed for pilot, as I was diagnosed with no depth perception and was put down for Air-Gunner and placed on a waiting list. I then decided that being a teacher was better than the farm and asked mother and father to send me to 'Normal School' for teachers training. As Victor was then in Saskatoon taking his grade 12, the ultimatum was that if I couldn't get in school due to lack of funds, I would join the army which had no waiting list. But I was a week late applying for school, and the principal felt that since I was waiting to get in the airforce, it was pointless anyways. I returned to the farm for harvest, and upon completion, enrolled in agriculture at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, was accepted, and boarded with Victor. To avoid being called up into the 'Home Defense Army' I joined the (R)eserve (O)fficers (T)raining (C)orps and had three hours of military lectures and six hours of pounding the square at Rutherford Rink doing marching drills each week.
The first week of November 1940, I received notice from the airforce, and was sworn in as Air-Craftsman Second Class (AC2), referred to as an 'acey-deucey'. We shipped out to Brandon, MB. as there was the closest 'Manning Depot'. Here we were kitted up and learned military drill and discipline. After eight weeks we found ourselves on a draft for posting to a Airforce Training Camp of which were springing up like mushrooms after a rain. I was posted to No.4 Service Flying Training School in Saskatoon SK which was a 'Harvard' school. Harvard's being the advanced single engine trainers.
We were there told that a few of us in my group had grade twelve and could reapply for pilot school which I did, not telling the rest of my group and was accepted. My eyesight was rechecked and I passed with 'flying' colors. My name was then posted on the list for Regina SK No.1 Initial Training School. At the time I was suffering from Quinsy, an advanced form of strept throat and spent the first two weeks at Regina recovering in the hospital. With quite a bit of catch-up work on morse code, trigonometry, and law, I caught up to the rest of the group. But this was in vain as I was separated from my group anyway as I had to have my tonsils removed before I could proceed.
May 1, I was called out for Elementary Flying School in Portage La-Prairie, MB. The flight center was staffed by civilian pilots and my first instructor was Mr. King, with whom I got along nicely. I started doing 'circuits and bumps', Takeoffs and landings, and soloed after ten hours of dual instruction. 
For the next sixty hours the course entailed dual instruction, just long enough for the instructor to demonstrate, then we were sent out to practice the lessons solo. The only accident I was involved in was when with the instructor I was told to climb to 5000 feet. The instructor took over the controls to demonstrate how to restart an engine in the air. He switched off the engine and stalled the plane to stop the propellor wind milling, and then put it in a steep dive to restart. The engine failed to restart and we did a forced landing in a small open field. As the ground was soft, as soon as the wheels touched down they dug in and the plane flipped onto its back. We were found w/o much trouble and I was left to guard the plane till a flat deck truck was dispatched to pick up the wreck while the instructor flew back with the plane sent to find us. I graduated and was sent to Yorkton, SK.
The first of July found me at No.11 Service Flying Training School, Yorkton SK. There, we were the last class trained on Harvard's before they switched to dual engine Cessnas.
The Tiger Moth cruised at 85 m.p.h. and landed at 55 m.p.h., the Harvard cruised at 165 m.p.h. and landed at 90 m.p.h. One readily adapted to the heavier, faster plane. Night flying was a new experience. Class work included navigation plotting, estimated times of arrival, the Browning Machine Gun, stationary training in a Link trainer and Morse Code, We were all promoted to leading Air Craftsman (L.A.C.), given to wear, a little white propeller on the left sleeve, elbow height, and a white wedge in our peak hats. The jealous ground crews spread the rumor that the white wedge signified venereal disease but the girls knew better. Graduation day arrived and we were encouraged to invite our parents to the 'Wings Parade' where we received our wings. 
This was a proud day as when the Commanding Officer pinned my wings on, Mom, Dad, Victor and Mr. Melling were there to witness it. We were now promoted to Sergeant Pilot and our pay increased from $1.50/day to $3.50. We were given two weeks leave and this went very quickly back home.
With heavy heart and no small trepidation mother and father bid me farewell and I was to report to Halifax, N.S. by train. Waiting for the connection, I was able to contact brother Bohdan whom was in Regina doing his thirty day Home Defense Army Training. We were able to visit for a short while. I was stopped in Halifax for three weeks until an overseas draft was called. We packed our gear and boarded our boat, the 'Andrea', twelve to a cabin. On the third day after boarding we left port. By this time the ship stunk to high heaven and even though we could still see the harbour and I could barely tell we were moving the railings were full of soldiers seasick over the side. We were at sea, zig-zagging every two minutes, for one week. The food was edible. We landed in Liverpool, England, or rather, we anchored in mid harbor for two days before we disembarked. We were billeted in tourist homes and hotels in Bournemouth a very pretty seaside resort town.
Fighter pilots had to go through (O)perational (T)rainig (U)nits and used fighter planes that were retired from operational duty. These clapped out aircraft caused casualties due to airworthiness issues, but no-where near the casualties the bomber crews experienced, where as many died on these O.T.U.'s as were killed by the enemy. I was fortunate, that or family friend Joe Melling gave me the address of his cousins in Bournemouth, The Slaters, with whom I made good friends with, and I was as happy to have them, as they were happy to see me. I gave them my ration coupons which were appreciated and kept in touch with them on a regular basis for many years after the war. When Elma and I returned in the 1970's we were able to see their graves and visit with the surviving family. After a month in Bournemouth, I volunteered to be a 'ferry pilot'. My duty, supposedly, being to fly the brass between airforce stations. The posting was to No.1 Elementary Flying School. We all wondered why we were being sent back to an elementary flying school. On arrival we found there was no brass to fly around, but we were all to take a Flying Instructors Course and trained as flying instructors. 
Although the others howled their complaints, I did not feel ready to fly Spitfires in combat with only 150 total flying hours in all planes. Two months into this eighteen month posting we were rated as Elementary Flying Instructors and posted to No.1 G.T.S. at Thame, Oxford in the first week of January, 1942. 
No one could, or would tell us what G.T.S. was, and we found out upon arrival that it was Glider Training School. We were informed we would be Glider Flying Instructors responsible for training the Airborne Infantry glider pilots for D-Day on the Hotspur MkII glider trainer. A howl went up as the pilots felt they didn't come here to fly orange crates, but bombers and Spits. The grumbling intensified and in one snow shoveling instance led to what could have been considered insubordination. So when the course was ending I felt it was best for me to split from this clique and requested Glider Instructor posting to separate myself. The rest save one 'Aussie' were posted to middle of nowhere glider schools. I was posted back to the village of Thame. Eventually I was posted back to a Elementary Flying Training School at Booker Air Force Station outside High Wycombe where we trained Airborne Division Volunteers to fly the Gypsy Moths and get about seventy hours of airtime to pass their flying tests. If they passed, they would go to a Glider Flying training School to train as glider pilots for D-Day.
At the beginning of May, I was due for the Instructors retest and was transferred to the Flying Instructors School No.4 in Cambridge for a refresher. There I was reunited with the rest of the flying instructors from Staverton Field, Gloucester. 
That month I accumulated sixty three hours airtime. I received a below average rating I didn't agree with. Then I was reposted to booker Field to resume training Airborn Glider Pilots for June and July. Suddenly I was posted to glider school, G.T.S.No3 at Stoke Orchard Field near Cheltenham, which was the town next to the field that I had taken the Elementary Flying Instructors course earlier and was reunited with the 'Aussie', Thompson, who I had taken the course with.
I was by this time a Flight Sergeant and the rank designation was a crown over three sergeant stripes. I applied for a commission in the airforce. It was just before christmas 1942 that I was interviewed by a wing commander and was granted a commission. With it came a one week leave and 150 pounds to outfit myself as an officer. After a week, I had obtained from Oxford Street, one tunic and trousers off the rack, one set tailor made, a hat, a wedge cap, a rain coat and a heavy top coat. I'm pretty sure i had to top up the 150 quid as I recall it being more. Upon return to the Glider field I was called into the C.O.'s office and given the 'familiarity breeds contempt' speech and congratulated. My pay increased to $6,25/day and I kept drawing at my previous allotment, designating the extra to Mother. Almost immediately I was sent to Brighton, on the west coastr a b.s. Officers Training course. After five weeks of that, I returned to glider instructor at Cheltenham.
To accommodate the increase load of students a few of us instructors were posted to our relief aerodrome at North leach about 25-30 miles away for a week or two at a time. The small village of North Leach bordered the airfield and sported a billiards hall, three taverns and a night club a mile out of town. My fellow instructor Thonpson and I dated a couple of nurses there so was a pleasant posting. Flying the gliders and training the Airborn pilots was enjoyable, they were proud to be airborn, eager to learn, and we frequently performed in front of the nursing staff that would stroll over on a nice afternoon to watch.
We, as flying instructors were able to be checked out on the Master, a single engine aircraft we used as the tugs for the gliders. All in all when my term ended at Cheltenham, I had accumulated 99 hours on gliders, and 86 hours on the Master. It was spring there, when I completed my eighteen months in Training Command which were the minimum requirements to become part of the Training Command. I was then posted to an Operational Training Unit in Llandow, Wales. The No.53 O.T.U. was a Spitfire O.T.U. Leaving the G.F.T.S. I recieved the grades of Above Average Glider pilot, Average Glider Instructor, and Average Tug pilot.
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I arrived at the O.T.U. in March 1943 for a two month course. The instructors were pilots with at least one tour in an operational squadron, a tour being 30 operational sorties. There was no dual instruction on Spitfires. After a number of hours in the cockpit I had to pass a 'Cockpit Check Examination' and two solos in a Master before I could take to the air solo in a 'spit'. The Spitfire were a beautiful aircraft, even the operationally retired MkI and MkII's we had. The cockpit had the fit of a glove. On the flight board where our names and flying hours were recorded a red line denoted the ten flying hours mark. It was considered that if a new pilot made it ten hours, he would probably safely complete the course. Most casualties occurred prior to the ten hours, my room mate was killed in a head on collision practicing dog fighting. We learned formation flying, aerobatics, air to ground, air to air radio communications and target practice on towed drogue targets. Each aircraft's bullets were dipped in a different colored paint, and they would leave a colored halo around the hole in the target. So we could tell if, or how well, each pilot had hit the target. One was not exactly loaded down with the ammunition. Only one of eight machine guns was loaded, with only enough ammo for a eight or ten second sustained burst. We also carried a 16mm movie 'gun' camera linked to the firing button. This way we could either gloat at the large number of holes, or see why it wasn't hit. To not down the tow plane the target was approached from a 45 degree angle 
and had to be 'led', that is, targeted ahead of the drogue, so by the time the bullets arrived at the target, it would be hit. I am pretty sure I never hit the damn thing. Another class that was difficult to pass was Aircraft Identification. The class room ceiling was covered with suspended models of all operational aircraft, both ours and theirs. It took a great deal of practice, as the exam consisted of quickly flashing a silhouette inside a darkened room and being able to identify the aircraft. Night flying consisted of 'circuits and bumps' mainly to practice landing in the dark. Formation flying, blind in the clouds was another difficult exercise that many were unable to do. We were also given a demonstration of oxygen starvation in a decompression tank. I was asked to write 'mary had a little lamb' over and over and I never felt abnormally as my oxygen was switched off and then on again. But when I looked at the pad it was legible, then garbage and I had been relieved of my wallet and tie without me knowing it, as I had lost and regained consciousness, which came a quite a surprise as I felt normal the whole time. I completed training towards the end of May with 58 hours on Spitfires. Our postings came down and we were all posted overseas to either North Africa or the Middle East.
