A. Stewart MacDonald D.F.C., M.D. C..M.

was not long - in our 30 plus trips, we flew in five new G (George).

For each five weeks on the squadron we were given tickets to any place in Great Britain and some meal tickets. Each time we returned from our vacations, we had to fly in another plane until a new G arrived - our last trip was in a brand new G (George).

As I sit here writing this note on Christmas Eve 2000, I recall as if it were yesterday, how I spent Christmas Eve 45 years ago - my three Christmas’s in the service were well remembered. On this special day we were to fly to Koln, flying as a gaggle - you have seen a gaggle of geese fly South in the fall. It was my first and last gaggle. I kept navigating as if I was alone and found that we were getting late, so I asked the Pilot to go up another 1,000 feet and put on speed; even then we were 2 minutes late. We were on our own on the way back. When we came down and got out of the plane at an English station far to the south, as fog had come in at the Ghost Squadron, the glycol was pouring from one of the engines, as a piece of flak had stuck in the tank and the jar of landing had displaced it. Luck was on our side. Here we had to stay for five days, as we had to wait for repair of our plane. I sat and read most of the time.

The Canadian crew acted the black ox, drank all the hard liquor and made asses of themselves. The Pilot went down to London, so most of the crew were left to celebrate. The Pilot and I were taken in the next morning and given Hell for the actions of the Canadians, although neither of us had anything to do with it. The officers at that station even called Chester Hull about their actions. He called back to base and told my Pilot that he was CB’d to camp. Ken Roulston told me that he was going to London and gave me his address and phone number. When C/O.

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