The Magazine of XXIV Squadron Association

Here are a selection of articles from our Summer 2006 issue:-

THE 24 SQUADRON CHEVRON AND AIRCRAFT MARKINGS
By Mike Watkins

At recent annual meetings of the Association there has been discussion about re-ordering a stock of the traditional squadron tie with its distinctive black and red chevron design. This aroused my curiosity about the design's origin which, after extensive research, I now feel able to explain by reference to squadron aircraft markings over the years.

My first thought was that, with its similarity to the tie of the Royal Artillery, there might be a link related to the squadron's formation in 1915 but that idea soon proved erroneous. I then contacted a member of the Association who still has a squadron tie; he suggested that the design was awarded by King George V1 in 1943 to commemorate his safe journey in the York Ascalon to visit British forces in North Africa and the Mediterranean. However I got in touch with Air Commodore John Mitchell, navigator of the aircraft and extracts from whose excellent memoirs have been serialised in recent Newsletters; he assured me that on the morning of the flight's return to Northolt the crew were summoned to Buckingham Palace and indeed received recognition but it took the form of honours in the Royal Victorian Order. Finally I made contact with the doyen of RAF squadron historians, Wing Commander Jeff Jefford, who kindly provided much helpful information about squadron aircraft markings. That advice, coupled with the result of many hours of fascinating research in the National Archives at Kew, have enabled me to piece together the range of markings displayed by 24 Squadron aircraft since 1915 which in turn explain the origin of the chevron and thus the design of the tie.

During World War 1 squadrons used an identification system of white bars on fuselage sides. For example the DH5s of 24 Squadron displayed a white vertical bar between the cockpit and the roundel. The subsequent SE5A had the stripe ahead of the cockpit, a design later changed to two bars, one on each side of the roundel. By 1920 the number of active squadrons had been dramatically reduced from a peak of 204 to a mere 29. Our squadron was one of the survivors but it was not until sometime in the 20s that the aircraft markings were significantly changed and the chevron design emerged. The question then arises: who chose the design and why? The answer appears to lie in a framed historical record on display in the squadron corridor. Presented by the AOC-in-C Fighter Command on 18 July 1937 this recalls that in 1927 the then CO, Sqn Ldr W H L O'Neill who was apparently somewhat eccentric, decided to identify his aircraft with a black and red zigzag design on the fuselage and wings in accordance with newly-permitted aircraft markings and in recognition of the fact that 24 was the first ever fighter squadron. Fortunately a photograph of this design on a Bristol fighter has survived and is also on display in the corridor. I could find no record of why he chose that particular design but I venture my own suggestion. The squadron was formed on 1 September 1915 from a nucleus of No 17 Squadron whose aircraft markings were a zigzag design in black and white. Could it be that the CO adapted this in black and red as a tribute to the squadron's origin?

Although the principle of the design survived its display on fuselage sides did not last long because the authorities apparently decided that, as 24 was now a communications rather than a fighter squadron, it should be identified differently. This decision is confirmed by a remarkable letter preserved in the National Archives. Dated 6 January 1928 it is an application by Headquarters Air Defence of Great Britain (ADGB, the forerunner of Fighter Command) to the Air Ministry seeking formal approval for a series of squadron aircraft markings. Attached at Appendix A to the letter which amazingly has survived is a large hand-produced and coloured diagram showing the proposed markings for the squadrons under the command of ADGB's subsidiary formation HQ Fighting Area; that for 24 Squadron displays the black and red chevron on the fin and the same striped zigzag design on the upper wing surfaces. Crucially however the design for 24 is unique in excluding the fuselage zigzag. There is a note which specifies "national markings only on fuselage" i.e. the RAF roundel. The letter states that the markings "are already in use" but does not say since when. The only reason the squadron had been included in the marking scheme intended for fighters was that it happened to be located at Northolt which was a HQ Fighting Area station.

This application provoked considerable discussion in the Ministry and led one Squadron Leader Weir to produce a highly complex counter-proposal comprising combinations of horizontal, vertical, and oblique stripes and symbols. The whole purpose of markings in those pre-radio days was to enable pilots to recognise and reform with fellow squadron aircraft after engagements; as the system had to be simple and memorable the counter-proposal was seen to be impractical. On
30 November 1928 the Air Ministry gave formal approval to the Air Defence HQ submission. The system for bombers was different; in 1929 the Ministry ordered that those squadrons should display their squadron number on the side of the fuselage, the colour to be red for A Flight, yellow for B Flight, and blue for C Flight. These Flight colours had been instituted by an Air Ministry Order in 1924, applied to all aircraft, and were incorporated in painted wheel hubs, spinners, or radiators.

The new markings for 24 Squadron proved to be short-lived. I came upon a file in the Archives devoted exclusively to the squadron and containing just two enclosures. On 1 August 1930 HQ ADGB wrote to the Ministry pointing out that, as the unit was now a communications squadron, markings for a fighter squadron were no longer appropriate. They sought approval to retain the chevron on the fin but to dispense with the wing markings and instead to adopt the bomber scheme with the squadron number on the fuselage side; this proposal was approved. However there was to be another pre-war change. In 1936 official squadron badges were introduced and approval was given to display on aircraft the emblem which they incorporated; this was to be framed within a spear for fighters, a grenade for bombers, and a star for others. Thus it came to pass that the chevron on the fin was replaced by the black fighting cock inside a star.

With the approach of World War 2 squadron markings were replaced by two-symbol codes. Our squadron was allocated several during the war: ZK, 2D, NQ. These were initially retained post-war but Transport Command also introduced four-letter codes denoting Command, aircraft type, squadron, and airframe, later all prefixed by the letter M for military, and which also served as the callsign. In mid-century transport aircraft timidly displayed their squadron number inside a triangle on the fin. However variety briefly appeared on the Hastings when this scheme was replaced by squadron emblems, so that the black cock was again shown on the fin as it had been pre-war.

Sadly the advent of centralised servicing of the Hercules has resulted in the demise of squadron markings. Fortunately there are many photographs in the archives to recall the variety of markings used by 24 Squadron in its long history. These include a Bristol F2B in use by the Prince of Wales in 1928 with the chevron on the fin, a Tiger Moth displaying the revision with the number 24 on the fuselage, and a rare Miles Nighthawk showing the black cock on the fin in place of the chevron. For the record I have produced a folder of photocopies of the relevant correspondence from the National Archives together with a framed full-size copy of the fighter squadron designs of 1928 for the squadron history room. (see also photos on page 26 -27)

Michael Watkins

Extract from Group Captain Richardson's Diary - China

My studies took a back scat when I joined Dick Patrick's crew for a 3 month tour of the Far East and China. Dick was a larger than life Canadian squadron leader. greatly experienced and decorated. We were to carry the nine members of a British Trade Mission, all prominent in their respective industries and led by Sir Leslie Boyce, the Lord Mayor of London. A York was to accompany us to carry spare parts and engineers, essentials in the primitive wilds of China just recovering from years of Japanese occupation: not to mention the civil war as Chiang Kai Shek's Government forces strove to repel the communist hordes led by Mao Se Tung. We were to see plenty of action.

We left Northolt on 29 September '46 bound for RAF Luqa in Malta which still looked like a mixture of bomb site and scrapyard as the population strove to rebuild their shattered island. We flew next day to Habbaniya, 50 miles from Baghdad in Iraq. 'Habb' was a green oasis of permanent RAF station in the desert, resplendent with brick buildings, polo fields and sports grounds. Another night stop and on to Karachi and Calcutta, night stopping at each before flying on to Singapore for two nights.

These flights all through large RAF stations brought home to me the extent of the British Empire, just beginning then to disintegrate. We flew over deserts, plains and jungles and between each of our stopping places was a string of British military outposts. We flew sedately at about 8000 feet from where it was possible to see the ground below and observe the activities there.

Changi, our airfield on Singapore Island was a prestigious pre war Army HQ with splendid buildings, clubs, swimming pools and every: other facility imaginable. During the war, the Japs had used POW labour to construct a short runway of steel planking over land reclaimed from a swamp. This was just long enough for us to use but alarming to see it buckling ahead of us after touchdown, making a terrible clatter in the process.

The day off was a boon to me. The local village street was lined with shops selling all manner of goods and I was able to buy some 'pukka' khaki drill uniform to replace the awful RAF issue kit with which I had left England. Then it was off to Hong Kong. banking over the notorious Changi Gaol occupied by Jap POW's instead of the British and Commonwealth prisoners who had suffered there.

In England during the war the Japs were always pictured as small, weedy men with glasses made from the bottom of Coca Cola bottles. The specimens working in parties at Changi were tall and tough but very obedient to the few British guards who were armed only with sticks and very loud voices. Another illusion, fostered by propaganda was shattered.

Hong Kong was also recovering. The Jap built runways were very short and wholly unsuitable for lumbering big transports so Dick had to use all his skill to put us down safely. We had only 2 nights there before flying on to Shanghai where the main work of our mission began.

For a week in Shanghai we were put up in the British Club. Lawns, a cricket field (naturally). tennis courts and. of course. that indoor pool which had been thoughtlessly drained before I jumped in. Life was good. We explored the famous Bund alongside the Yangste and the equally famous Long Bar about 300 feet of solid mahogany as well as the night clubs. These were run mostly by Russian refugees and patronised by the international set of business men who were all trying to grab more than their fair share of China trade. Inflation was astronomical. It was said that if you wanted a night out you needed to hire a second rickshaw to carry the money; and inflation doubled almost every day. We were prepared for this and used good old greenbacks the US dollar which I have always found will take you anywhere. But 'we had to resist being given change in Chinese dollars.

China was suffering from a terrible famine (when hasn't there been one?) and the streets were full of destitute people very few of whom lowered their standards to beg. They were too proud. But in the early morning the death carts were out picking up bodies from the pavements where they had died overnight. For burial? No way, they were tipped into the river.

Before leaving England we had been told that it would be necessary to carry a personal sidearm in China. The issue .45 Webley revolver was heavy and bulky and I managed to buy a neat little Browning .32 automatic from a New Zealander for £5.00. You only had to produce this to disperse the occasional gang of footpads which roamed the streets at night. We were besieged constantly however by touts, pimping for the brothels. One was so persistent following Nobby our engineer and I for a mile describing his wares and their abilities in lurid detail. No. we were not interested in any of the nationalities he offered: but did he have an Eskimo we liked Eskimos. "Yes boss" he said eagerly me have Eskimo velly clean girl, all pink inside same like Queen Victoria". Is her name Nell? We're not interested unless her name is Nell" Eventually he gave up and became abusive You no good you fluck off'. No. you fluck off' said Nobby. producing his pistol and he did, fast.

Next we flew to Nanking, Chiang's capital. We left the party there, returning the aircraft to Shanghai where we could all be looked after in comparative safety. At that time Nanking was troubled by communist infiltrators and large bands of these brigands were concentrating just a few miles away. Indeed we saw some action during our short stay there as a flight of Nationalist Mustangs took off and we could hear their machine guns firing as they strafed the communists.

It was then that we truly understood for the first time how important loss of face' is to a Chinaman. The Mustangs had taken off to the west into wind but on their return. that wind had swung 180' and greatly increased in strength. The pilots, all trained in the USA incidentally, followed their leader into a fancy break and a landing pattern for the original runway. We watched with interest (and a certain amount of horror) as the leader floated down the wind and crashed in a heap at the far end of the runway he would have lost face if he had overshot. Unbelievably the other 5 followed suit (they would have lost face if they had not) and only 3 got down in one piece. Expensive face!

Five days later we returned to Nanking to retrieve the Mission. On the way, Dick and I indulged ourselves with a little low flying - so low in fact that the navigator, looking backwards, reported that the propellers had marked 4 lines through the standing rice in the paddy fields. China's civil airlines were crewed by westemers and a CNC Dakota, flying the other way, saw us and asked "Who dat down there" in an American drawl. We gave the traditional reply "who dat up there asking who dat down here" to trigger his punch line "Yer ass must he suckin mud, bud". Nanking was a shambles and the Government was getting out. As we watched a shiny 4 engined DC4 Skyrnaster appeared, taxiing erratically on 2 engines. About 300 yards away it swerved off the taxy track into a deep monsoon ditch from which it clearly could not be extricated. A jeep roared up and the occupants dragged a Young officer out of the DC4, marched him over to the ditch, made him kneel, and shot him in the back of the head.
That DC4 was Chiang's personal transport. Apparently he had asked for it in a hurry but the crew could not be found. An unfortunate Mustang pilot had been ordered to position theDC4 to -,aye time and it was he who paid the ultimate penalty for maintaining face by not saying "What's a DC4T' We bundled our party aboard and left in a hurry before we were commandeered by Chiang.

Our next destination was Tsingtao. All the city names by the way were those current at the time. Mao changed them later so that few cities bear the same name now. Tsingtao is on the coast of north east China and we were put up in the Officers Club of the base for the US Seventh Fleet.

While there we were invited to spend a day on the USS TARAWA, the aircraft carrier which was the base for the splendid Tigercats I wrote about earlier. My host took me to his cabin to show off his accommodation. "It's a pity the US Navy is dry" he drawled rummaging under his bunk and producing a large bottle of Coke. He poured a small measure which was a lighter brown than coke and free from bubbles. It tasted just like scotch - but I was made to suck a peppermint before leaving the cabin!

An incident in the club that night underlined how different we Brits are from Americans even though we can converse without an interpreter. The 'Dooty Orficer' was a Commander, no less, and drinking heavily at the bar. "Gee I hate these goddarn things" he screamed suddenly drawing his Colt .45 and blazing away at a rat scuttling across the floor. He missed the rat - and the people - but the odd thing was that nobody seemed to think this behaviour was unusual.

Now for the highlight. We had 12 days in Peking, seeing all the sights in and around that splendid city. The open place in front of the Forbidden City is known now to the world as Tiananmen Square where the massacre of students and their supporters shocked the world. That shock would be incomprehensible to the Chinese, particularly the older generation, whose attitudes to life and death are totally opposed to ours.

We shopped in the maze of narrow crowded streets in the old business quarter just outside the city walls with their nine gates. I believe that progress* has redeveloped that area which was then truly fascinating. The streets were named after the produce they sold, so in Silk Street I bought lengths of material for Joan to make into dresses and in Jade Street the stones of that name set into gold filigree for which Peking was famous. Joan still wears them

There was at that time only one restaurant which was permitted to call itself 'The Peking Duck'. I have never found its equal. Entering, you chose your duck from a pen and ate your first course from the bird's blood shortly after sitting down. About 20 courses later you had eaten 4everything but the quack*. I wonder if the restaurant is still there?

It was an anti climax to arrive at Cheng Tu (or Chung Du). The airfield was primitive and the town of about a million people had only one paved street and no street lighting. We were now in western China far from the more sophisticated east. Our accommodation was in the rest house attached to the palace of the local war lord, a despot who ruled for Chiang.

The rooms were primitive but the loos Neanderthal. A row of 6 holes cut in a stone stab over a noisome pit was reached by ducking through an opening in the wall. I delayed as long as possible but eventually I had to go. The first of the group to succumb. Quickly finishing I daren't leave because over the door was poised the most alarming creature I'd ever seen. A spider straight out of some nightmarish Hollywood epic sat there, eyes on stalks swivelling to watch me. It was furry, about the size of a dinner plate and had jaws which worked methodically.

My shouts for help brought the navigator, Roy, who in turn brought my pistol. My first shot missed - I swear the beast moved as I fired so I panicked and loosed off another 3 before I hit it, making a nasty mess.

The cannonade brought scores of Chinamen, one in particular, the gardener, crying over the body. I had killed his pet, kept to kill the rats and mice- We met it's mate and cringed as the gardener stroked it like a cat while the loathsome creature gurgled with pleasure. And I took a ribbing for missing a dinner plate at 6 feet!

II was in Cheng Tu that another of life's strange coincidences occurred. A party was arranged for us to meet the only 4 westerners, missionaries, in this strange, dark and gloomy city. Only one was English - and he had been at school with me, albeit in a class a couple of years ahead of mine.

We were dined in the 'palace', meeting once again the Chinese habit of trying to make the guests drunk while staying sober themselves. This was cunningly contrived by individual hosts standing up in turn to propose a toast which all the Brits had to drink. We drank to the King, Churchill, and a flock of English-sounding names we didn't recognise, eventually getting our own back by proposing Chiang time and time again.

Now the Chinese can't take their liquor as well as westerners can so I was suspicious to see them cold sober while we were beginning to giggle. We were all drinking rice wine, poured out of teapots and becoming increasingly warm as the meal progressed. Dick tasted his neighbour's and, finding it to be tea, made a speech and suggested we all changed pots. Consternation. We won by several pots.

Even the palace toilet arrangements were primitive. I was guided by a servant with a flaming torch to an opening in a hut where I had to shuffle along 2 planks and squat to perform before shuffling out backwards. Visiting the site the next day. I was delighted with the beauty of the garden but appalled at the state of the worm eaten planks below which appeared to be a bottomless pit. Back to constipation.

Kunming next, 5000 feet up and the Chinese terminal for the famous air lift over 'The Hump' from India as well as for freight along the Burma Road. It was a lawless place where we left our quarters only as a group and then armed.

When it was time to leave we couldn't start No. 3 engine and we had no spare starter motor. On our own, Dick and I taxied at speed until the slipstream turned the propeller to start the engine. Dangerous but effective and so we were able to go on to Chung King, the new capital. To reach the city from the airfield we were driven at breakneck speed in a ramshackle bus over a mountain spur to the city which is built on the side of the hill. The more we shouted at the driver to slow down the faster he drove. Loose surface, hairpin bends and sheer drops of 1000 feet did not deter him: he was fireproof too because his cab was partitioned from the body so we couldn't get at him to take over. Pistol shots only made him go faster so it was a great relief to thunder at last into the city scattering coolies and livestock in all directions.

All along the road we had passed families going to the market in single file. In front strode father carrying only a stick or staff. His wife followed with a yoke over her shoulders on the arms of which were balanced ducks or fowls, often 3 or 4 a side. Then a big fat porker pushed along in a barrow by the No1 son, with the rest of the family bringing up the rear laden with vegetables. These were scenes unchanged probably for thousands of years, the peasants completely oblivious to the noise of vehicles or aircraft.

In Chungking, exploring, we heard weird music coming from a building made of corrugated iron and found it was a dance hall where the young bloods in western dress were thumping around the floor with more energy than expertise. As we entered, the band broke into a discordant version of that old American folk tune "I've been working on the railroad*'. Owlish young ladies grabbed us (status kick?) to parade solemnly around the floor holding us at arms length. It was hilarious but we daren't laugh as half the population of the city had entered to watch the "white devils' perform and face had to be saved. After the hand had played what was clearly their only western tune about six times we took our leave with much bowing and hissing of pleasure. The Chinese have little regard for human life - but their manners are splendid and they will laugh at anything which is vaguely amusing.

Hankow, then back to Shanghai, this time 2 weeks in the Park Hotel. It was in the dusty open space opposite from which the hotel took its name that we saw another example of the Chinese sense of humour. A number of important looking men were flourishing bows and arrows and waving wads of notes at each other (the Chinese are great gamblers). When the bets were made they took turns to shoot at moving targets which proved to be coolies wearing a protective shield of thick straw. The winner seemed to be the sportsman who shot through the unprotected ankle of one of the targets: we left.

Nanking again, back to Shanghai, then on to Taihoku in Formosa (now called Taipeh in Taiwan). The Japanese names were still in use in 1946 as Formosa had been occupied by the Japs for about 50 years. We were in luxury now, living in the Emperors summer retreat which the Chinese were using as a VIP hotel. We bathed Japanese style, soaped and washed and massaged en masse by delightful little topless beauties who were totally overcome by the very large and manly Dick. The contrast between this Japanese luxury which the poorer and scruffier Chinese were now enjoying and the primitive conditions we had experienced in inland China- was so marked that we agonised at the prospect of return to Canton and Hong Kong.

We were offered ladies to share our beds. or rather the thin straw mats which separated our bodies from the straw floor. Since we were sleeping all 5 crew in one room this very kind and solicitous offer was declined: all 5 would have been far too noisy, and less than 5. anti social. So we lay, chaste, listening to the senior Chinese official on the other side of the wall (straw naturally). This mandarin had a bed, presumably to show the superiority of the conqueror - which was a laugh since the conquering bit was an American / British show. I don't know where they had found the bed which had all the hallmarks of a very old, rusty, squeaky RAF bed. But the Chinaman was making music from the springs mid every time he reached the vinegar strokes he was encouraged by subdued cheers from us. Instead of deterring him this inspired him to greater efforts and we had to give him 10 out of 10 for application.

The Taihoku runway was only 1000 yards of rough gravel with a hill at one end and a river at the other. Our arrival had been exciting our departure is something I prefer to forget. But 10 days in 'Honkers' allowed us to recover.

While we were there a friendly police inspector took a couple of us along on one of his nightly brothel raids, hauling out the sailors and any other uniformed clients. He made a remark to one army officer caught on the job which I have always treasured. "Next time, sir, chalk your rank on the sole of your boots so we can pull you off respectfully".

Lots of last minute sightseeing, the best of which was to escape from the crowds by walking up on The Peak with that magnificent view all around. Some of us took a day trip to Macao - the tiny Portuguese island a short ferry ride away - where the tourist attractions were casinos and brothels: the brothels put on the best floor show. Dick laid on a final party for us in the Peninsular Hotel which was then the colony's best. For some reason the management did not approve of our after dinner races on tin trays down the stairs onto the marble hallway. Nor did our bodies.

The Mission also threw a farewell dinner where I over indulged. Running to catch the last ferry from Hong Kong island back to Kowloon I misjudged the distance to jump to join the gang already aboard and landed in the harbour. Luckily a motor boat was nearby and the occupants fished me out and took me across for a few dollars. Apparently the distance I thought was about 2 feet was nearer 20. So why were my friends shouting at me to jump? They had overindulged too!

As they used to say at the end of American travelogues "It is with infinite regret in our hearts that we have to say farewell to…" The married among us were pleased to be going home, laden with loot, but I was loath to go. 'Mere was the promise of a job to fly Daks with CTC based in Hong Kong but I abandoned thoughts of that when I examined their accident record. At that time there were no navigational or airfield aids in the whole of China other than a couple of American radio beacons. On Christmas Eve, that year, sudden fog blanketed eastern China and several aircraft crashed with great loss of life. We had succeeded because the weather was mostly favourable while we were there and both Dick and Roy were aces at their jobs. So we left for Bangkok, laden with cheap cigarettes with which to barter for jewels.
Don Muang airfield was as primitive then as any in China. We had to bed down in basha huts where the mosquito nets we slept under were to protect us not from flies but from black widow spiders which infested the straw roof and plopped onto our nets all night- We were glad to leave, going through Calcutta to stay in Delhi.

We approached Dum Dum airfield, Calcutta, following a Pan Am Constellation which had to overshoot when a RAF Anson cut inside him. Round again we both went. with the Anson slow to clear the runway. On final approach the Conny captain spoke: "If you don't get that 2 fan, 1 fin pip-squeak off of that goddarn runway ah'm gonna drive mah 4 fan 3 fin heavy commercial ship right up your ass." The Anson moved.

Dum Dum was a dangerous airfield. The Hindu burning ghats (human funeral pyres) were close to the airfield and sleepy well fed vultures the size of turkeys soared in the warm air currents. You had to dodge them. On a subsequent flight through there we saw a Liberator which had bit one on approach to land, the bird coming in through the co-pilot's windscreen and removing his head.

The only danger at Palam, the big RAF station in Delhi, came from the mess curries which were lethal. Truly, Delhi belly is a disorder you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. But not as lethal as the sights I saw in 1948 when I flew out there to bring out the last Viceroy, Lord Mountbatten. Around the airfield there must have been a million Moslems, patiently waiting to board one of the fleet of RAF aircraft which would fly them to the new Pakistan. You could see clearly from the air the perimeter of the crowd changing shape as bands of marauding Sikhs waded in with knives and machetes. The loss of life to both sides during the partition of India has never been quantified, it was sickening to see some of it. On that occasion Mountbatten decided to stay on and we flew out the Moslem members of his staff clutching their pathetic possessions. These included a live cockerel which escaped from inside the sari of the lady carrying him and flew around the inside the aircraft crowing and shitting profusely. At Karachi they kissed the oily tarmac. *'And that was the best landing you've done for ages" cracked the nav.

But partition was still some time away and Karachi was still in India. We left there for the 12 hour haul to Cairo with a day there to see the sights and have a drink in the famous Shepherds Hotel (it was burned down later). A story is often told of a famous RAF character, the Earl of Banden (better known as the abandoned Earl) who, as a Group Captain during the war, was drinking there having just arrived from the desert sweaty, dusty and without rank braid. A haughty Army Lt. Colonel rebuked him and being told to go away, pompously said "I'll have you know I'm Lt. Col Sir Something or other Bart. Paddy gave him a bleary eye and replied "And I'm Group Captain the Earl of Banden, which has got you beat on both counts". And so to the 19th of December and the last leg - the 12 hour haul to Northolt, though first we had to fly low past the pyramids for the benefit of the photographers. Approaching the south coast we flew into thick cloud, a phenomenon which always seemed to greet me on subsequent homecomings. Northolt radar was off the air, it was snowing hard, and Dick was making tight low circuits trying to line up with the runway which was becoming obscured by the snow. Waiting to take off was a Dakota and I could see that his wings were being covered while he was held on the ground to give us priority. After we landed and had cleared the runway, I caught a glimpse of the Dak disappearing into the snowstorm at an alarming angle. ---He's had it" I cried. And the paper the next day had photographs of the aircraft perched on the roof of a Ruislip house onto which he had stalled. There was only one passenger aboard who was unfortunately killed: the crew survived unhurt. Some homecoming. But what a trip.

It would be 3 months before I flew abroad again - 7 times to Moscow in succession. A long Christmas leave was fun and my gifts from the Orient greatly appreciated. Not so my endless prattling about what I had seen and done, Joan in particular bearing the brunt as the pints went down. She would get some relief after other trips though she was too much of a lady to complain. Perhaps it had something to do with her accepting the offer of a date providing I promised not to mention China.
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A Good Read

A HISTORY OF XXIV

Sometime 'of the Royal Flying Corps and later of the Royal Air Force
BY
CAPTAIN A. E. ILLINGWORTH

AND APPENDICES COMPILED BY

MAJOR V. A. H. ROBESON, M.C.,
WITH A FOREWORD BY
AIR MARSHAL SIR H. M. TRENCHARD, Bart.,
K.C.B., D.S.O.
Dedicated to those of No. 24 Squadron who laid down their Lives in the Service of their Country.
PRINCIPAL BATTLE HONOURS.
The Battles of the Somme, 1916.
The Advance to the Hindenburg Line, 1917.
The Retreat from St. Quentin. 1918.
The Defence of Amiens, 1918.
The Battles of the Advance from Amiens, 1918.
including
The Storming of the Hindenburg Line, and The Crossing of the Lane of the Sambre-Oise Canal.

IT FELL to my lot to command No. 24 Squadron during the very strenuous year 1918, and with the signing of the Armistice it became clear that the time had arrived to collect into some permanent form the crowded history of the Squadron's career, before its members had been scattered to the four winds, arid all this wealth of incident and reminiscence lost. I was under no illusion as to the magnitude of the undertaking, but the public-spirited action of the Officers' Mess in raising the initial funds at once gave the project a real impetus, and placed it upon a practical basis which did much to ensure its final fulfilment.
I do not, however, pretend to literary talents, and I resolved from the first to act merely in the capacities of tabulator of information and trustee of the Squadron's memory. Subsequently, through the good offices of Lieut.-Colonel L. W. B. Rees, V.C., R.A.F., I was able to ask Captain A. E. Illingworth, R.A.F., to undertake the authorship of the volume, a request to which he very generously acceded.

Although he was not directly connected with No. 24 Squadron, his previous writings gave promise that he would see the world and the War through our eyes; he had, in addition, the advantage of viewing each period in a truer perspective than could be expected of anyone who had himself served with the Squadron for a part only of its existence. To him the Squadron, past and future, owes a deep debt of gratitude for the months of time and thought that he has expended upon the work, and the able manner in which he has accomplished a most difficult task.
Yet another benefactor appeared in Captain R. H. M. S. Saundby, M.C., R.A.F., who kindly offered us the choice of the wonderful pictures in his book, "Flying Colours," which he made whilst serving with "No. 24 "; and further, he was instrumental in securing the kindly co-operation of Mr. E. G. Salmon, of the Aeroplane and General Publishing Co., Ltd., who has done much to facilitate our progress.
Sergeant ]. W. Welch's contribution, "A Chronological Inquisitor,", provided a means of recording the many trifling incidents which did so much to form the happy associations which all old members retain for "No. 24," and which expense would have debarred me from printing in a more lengthy form.
Brevity has, indeed, been essential throughout in order to keep the volume within reasonable financial limits. A glance at the appendices at the end of the book will show the impossibility of attempting to do justice to individual officers and men short of reproducing the entire twelve volumes of the Squadron Record Book, and much more besides.

Each may feel that he made his own special contribution to the Squadron's quota of labours and sacrifices for the Empire ; whether he was a pilot facing the unlimited possibilities of the air, or a mechanic engaged in the ceaseless and comparatively uninspiring work of "keeping the machines in the air," each may look back with pride on what was achieved. . It is hoped that this book may serve to recall stirring memories to each one of those who survived, and at least be a silent tribute to those who so gallantly laid down their lives. I must crave indulgence for any small in exactitudes or omissions from the appendices, especially in the case of events prior to my joining the Squadron. This was a most difficult part of the work, as it was only natural that the earlier records should be in a slightly less " set " form than the later ones, and that, here and there, papers should have been lost or destroyed in the oft-recurring moves. I have arranged the roll of personnel in the highest rank each held in the Squadron and according to the date of posting to, and length of service with the Unit. Officers are arranged by flights, but, much, to my regret, the information at my disposal was insufficient to enable me similarly to arrange other ranks.

Unfortunately the list of addresses is not so complete as I could have wished. In this connection I hope that all who are not already included, or who change their place of residence, will send me their permanent addresses, in order to facilitate annual re-unions, such as that inaugurated in London on April 12th, 1919. Further, 1 would ask the senior members of the old Squadron in each town or district, either himself, or at least through a deputy, to organise a local annual re-union dinner. I feel that this is the only way that these occasions can be kept up effectively, and I shall be only too pleased to supply members with such addresses as 1 receive, for this purpose. A very little effort on the part of a few of our members would serve to preserve the bond of fellowship and would give to many others in the neighbourhood a chance of occasionally meeting old friends and drinking to " Happy days."

It has been a rare honour to serve the memory of such a Squadron, and I should like to pay a special, if brief and inadequate, tribute to the willing work of those who served in it during 1918, and to their cheerful bearing in those days of unprecedented pressure. At that time all Squadrons were feeling the shortage of men, and I do not think that we ever approached within ten of our normal establishment, whilst at the signing of the Armistice we were 26 men under strength-a deficit which was felt in every rank. For the spirit with which these little difficulties, together with the heavier burdens, were borne, much is due to the 25 N.C.O's. and men who, on November 11th, 1918, represented all that was left of the original Squadron that came out from England, and who did so much to hand down the traditions initiated by the late Major Hawker, V.C. For them and for all others who served under my command in No. 24 Squadron I have the deepest regard and gratitude for the generous and whole-hearted support I received at all times, and I wish them, one and all, the very best of success in their future walks in life.

In conclusion, 1 would like to tender my grateful thanks to those who contributed to this work, and to my office staff for many hours of work in connection with the tabulation of details, both before and since the Squadron broke up.

V Robson, 1st July, 1920. Royal Air Force Club, 128, Piccadilly, London, W.