About December 21 I was posted to R.A.F. Desert Airforce Wing No.324 in Naples. The Wing Commander was away so I was given his bed which was a faux-pas. Returning the next day the W.C. assigned me to R.A.F. Squadron 111 stationed in a commandeered facista's villa in downtown Naples. The squadron was self sufficient having our own Medical Officer, Intelligence Officer we called spy George, our own kitchen staff, liquor ration and very comfortable quarters. As the owner vacated in some haste, it had a fully stocked wine cellar.
A squadron consisted of twelve Spitfires. The Squadron Leader was the C.O. and as well, there were two Flight Lieutenants each in charge of a six plane section, red and blue section. On patrol both sections were in the air but with a quarter mile separation so not to be able to be 'jumped' by enemy aircraft coming out of the sun. Each six plane section formed in two loose V's, one trailing behind and below for elbow room.
Upon arrival, my first flight was a solo flight to familiarize myself with the area and my first operational flight was on my birthday, December 27. Our patrol area was the front lines, the 'bomb line' to prevent enemy aircraft from strafing our troops. Daily daytime patrol's duration was about an hour till relieved by the next squadron. Each Spitfire carried an overload fuel tank strapped onto the belly that carried 150 gallons of fuel we were to use up first. That way if there was an engagement we dropped this auxiliary tank for maneuverability. If not, it came back home still attached.
As I had no seniority I was 'tail end charlie'. Being my first patrol and hesitant I did not report the 'boogies' I had seen at one o'clock to our position. I was concerned for being ridiculed for panicking and it was quite some time till someone else saw them and called out. By then it was obvious that they were German Messerscmidt 109 fighters. 
The moment 'bogies' came over the radio I saw this large piece of airplane falling in front of me. I first thought it was as a result of enemy fire but was the section leaders auxiliary tank. I also jettisoned my tank and as we turned to the enemy, the Germans put their aircraft into a steep dive and disappeared. Interestingly, I found out I was infested with crab lice that I'm sure I picked up from the W.C.'s bed as it was the only 'strange' bed I'd slept in.
Shortly after Christmas I had a relapse of Malaria. Once again I checked in to hospital and to my great surprise and pleasure it was the No.1 R.A.F. Hospital which had also moved from Carthage to Naples. It was 'home again' and it was nice to see all the familiar faces as well as Sister Bray. It was the 'royal treatment' during the two week stay. On discharge from hospital, I found my squadron had lost our deluxe quarters and now were billeted in tents. Instead of the civilian built airport in downtown Naples we now had a metal runway which made for tricky landings in a cross wind.
There were four squadrons in the No.324 Desert Airforce Wing and each squadron took their turn patrolling the 'bomb line' as well as being the aerodrome control pilot (ACP) which entailed sitting at the upwind end of the runway. Aircraft always took off downwind and landed upwind which was opposite ends of a ruway. When a plane was to take off the pilot would contact the ACP for permission. The ACP would make sure there were no aircraft coming in to land and if all clear would fire a single green flare to signal the waiting pilot it was clear and a red flare if it wasn't. A double green flare was if there was an alert and the entire wing had to 'scramble'. The squadron was always ready to 'scramble' with all twelve aircraft manned and ready, pilots strapped in, six craft on each side of the runway.
On my rotation as ACP I saw there were two flare pistols and I thought one must be a green flare and the other red. The radio control truck called out that there was an aircraft taxiing into position for take off and requesting my permission. Checking the sky was clear, I fired the pistol with the green flare. To my absolute horror, it was a double green flare and before I could count to ten the entire squadron were following the first aircraft who originally asked my permission for take off. The squadron formed up and circled the aerodrome awaiting instructions. The W.C. contacted the radio truck to find out what the hell was going on. I sheepishly reported what had happened. All that was ever said was "then call them up and tell them to 'pancake' (land)". My own 'treble one's' thought it was a good joke on the other squadron. So I learned the hard way that the flares had red and green coloured bands, of which the green flares had either one or two green bands that designated single or double green
Not long after my return to the squardon I had my third malaria attack and went back to R.A.F. Hospital No.1 and the same crew welcomed me like it was a homecoming. After two weeks I was dicharged with an A3-B3:AT-BT classification that made me unfit for duty in a malarial zone so I gratefully accepted posting back to England and civilization. Upon discharge from hospital I was issued a No.4 air passage priority which made my return to England via air almost impossible as could be bumped by Nos. 1, 2 and 3 priority holders.
I made my way to Casablanca on a DC3 without any problems and was issued a bedroll and tent till could get a flight out. Talking to the corporal in charge of the flight manifest informed me that if even an officer showed up late missed booking in fifteen minutes before take off, he was told he had missed the flight and the stand-by passenger who filled his vacancy was allowed to go. So without saying anything I sneaked my bedroll back to stores and my kit to the hanger after checking in with the corporal as a standby. The first night I was in luck as there were two cancellations and I was on my way back to England. Nine hours later I was landing in Preswick Scotland where I changed planes and on to Bovington, near London. Reporting in to R.A.F. Headquaters in London I was assigned to a convalescent hospital in Fleetwood Lancashire as a post malarial patient. As I was not a bed patient it was rather more like a vacation as we were all housed in the Fleetwood Hotel and all the residents both male and female were commissioned. We were treated more like hotel guests than patients and were free to roam. As Fleetwood was just twenty minutes from Blackpool, a vacation spot, there was always some sort of party or outing happening.
Upon completion of my sick leave I reported to the R.C.A.F. holding station at Glazebrook, Lancashire. Rumors had it I was to be posted as a 'stooge' pilot, that is the one who ferries around the brass even though I had not completed a tour which was either 30 bombing trips or 200 hours of operational flying. I had spent three years overseas. I went to London, coincidentally it was also D-Day, to see the Canadian Liason Officer to the R.A.F. and explained my situation and in two weeks was posted back to Canada
