Chapter 11 Sea Saga; "He Altogether Long Way"; Sky Patrol

IN the confused days which saw the fall of Java, there were many adventures to individuals, the most amazing being the escape to Australia of a party of 12 airmen-four members of the R.A.F. and eight of the R.A.A.F.-who spent 44 days in an open boat before reaching sanctuary.

How these men made their way over 1,500 miles of the Indian Ocean was told in a report made by the leader of the party, Wing Commander Jeudwine, of the R.A.F. The other members of the party were Squadron Leader Passmore, Pilot Officer Streatfield, and Pilot Officer Turner (of the R.A.F.); and Pilot Officer Macdonald, Sergeant Pilots Sayers, Lovegrove, Cosgrove, and Longmore, Sergeant Observer Snook, and Sergeant Gunners Haynes and Corney (of the R.A.A.F.). Sayers is the R.A.A.F. pilot whose peregrinations over five fighting fronts are dealt with in "Ubiquity".

Telling his story of the adventure, Jeudwine reported that the party was scrutinized by a Japanese submarine, which unaccountably permitted it to proceed; was almost upset by a monster whale; was ignored by an Australian flying boat, the pilot of which mistook it for a pearler; and was in turns becalmed and swept by violent tropical storms. Yet under the stress of all hardships and perils, the party pushed on in what was hoped was the general direction of Australia, without thought of surrender or capitulation to circumstances; and by great skill, patience, forbearance, and co-operation, came to safety. Each Saturday night they toasted "The King" and "Wives and Sweethearts".

"Looking back on the six and a half weeks of trial," Jeudwine reported, "I can say that I would not, if the opportunity again occurred [he might have said "if the necessity again arose"] alter one of my crew. They were magnificent-we remained staunch friends in adversity."

Jeudwine's report continues:

"Some of my squadron had remained in Java and, when efforts to defend the island had collapsed, we set about searching the harbour for some likely craft in which to get away to Australia. All we could find were two ship's lifeboats, 30 feet long, without auxiliary engines. All this time, huge fires were raging in and around the harbour, and mighty clouds of black smoke were rising into the sky as the result of the 'scorched earth' policy. Into each lifeboat we decided to Put 30 men, with five others in a motorboat which we had salvaged, and which we hoped would tow us until her petrol petered out. As we were working, one of my officers dashed up to say that a Dutchman had just informed him that the Japanese were landing at the other end of the harbour. He had barely finished telling us when loud explosions -occurred as the Dutch blew up bridges connecting the harbour and docks area with the mainland.

"We had salvaged a ship's sextant, two compasses, and a 1/15,000,000 map, but no proper charts. Our food supplies consisted of biscuits, bully beef, meat and vegetable ration, a little camp pie, some cans of tomato, plums, beans, .and two tins of jam. some tinned milk, six pots of honey, two dozen jars of fish paste, some sardines, six bottles of whisky, four bottles of brandy, and some cocoa. We also had two 'Tommy Cookers' and after two severe storms through which we later passed, we were able to make steaming cups of cocoa for all the party that ultimately made the trip. 'We also had three ship's beakers of water, two of them part-full.

"We started shortly before 11 p.m. on March 6, but soon found that the motor-boat would not tow the lifeboats. We tried our sails ' but because of the overloaded state of the boats, were again unsuccessful, so we decided to return to a small cove.

Only two of us - Pilot Officer Streatfield and myself - had had any experience of sailing, and we were each in charge of a boat.

I decided to anchor off the cove, but Streatfield thought he could find a passage.

However, his boat was holed and the motor-boat was wrecked. There were, however, no casualties, and we salvaged all the stores and got them ashore.

"We then decided that one boat should try to make the trip to Australia, and set about selecting our crew.

Not more than eight men in each lifeboat had escaped being violently seasick the night before, when we attempted the tow, so we decided to pick the crew exactly as we would have done had we been selecting air crew for an operation. Turner was our only navigating officer. It was quickly decided that Australian members of the party should be given first refusal to make the trip, and these we selected for their stamina, morale and initiative. Our crew of 12 completed, we set off again at dusk on March 7. The town and harbour were still like an inferno. All next night we were becalmed, and it was not until 2-30 in the afternoon that a slight breeze sprang up.

"We had just begun to move when, to our horror, a Japanese submarine surfaced a mile astern of us. Her conning tower opened and we saw a Japanese officer scrutinizing us through binoculars. A rating stood forward at the breach of a six-pounder gun, and another man was standing at a machine gun which, however, was pointing skyward. She approached to within 5o or 100 yards of us, made a half circle, then disappeared, still on the surface, towards the east. I do not need to emphasize our reactions. The breeze continued to hold and we set off, 'beating' the whole way because of headwinds, and steering south-east.

"I want to pay particular tribute to the work of three of the R.A.A.F. personnel aboard. Our rudder had been damaged when we salvaged the lifeboat, and the second day out, it broke away completely. It would have been impossible to hold the boat on its course to Australia with an oar, and I say, hesitatingly, that had it not been mended, we should never have survived. Sergeants Corney and Lovegrove appointed themselves our shipwrights, and after at least three days' work, they managed to make repairs with pieces of wire from bully beef tins, and bits and pieces of salvage aboard. It was done in bad weather and was a fine piece of work. Sergeant Snook is also to be highly commended for his assistance in navigation.

I appointed Squadron Leader Passmore to be our purser, and he fixed the ration scale for what we hoped would be a 3o-day trip (actually we had not made allowances for calms, of which I shall say more later). A day's ration for every man aboard consisted of nine ounces of bully beef or camp pie, six biscuits, a little fish paste, a spoonful of beans or tomato, occasional issues of plums, about half a pint of water, and a 12-ounce can of beer. To help maintain morale, I instituted the Navy custom of 'Saturday night at sea'. On Saturday nights, we gave all hands an extra ration of beer and we opened a bottle of whisky. We all had a tot to drink the King's health, as well as the old Navy toast of 'Wives and Sweethearts'. As is also the Navy custom, we called on the youngest member present to reply to that toast.

"For covering, we each had one blanket. There were several ground sheets and one or two anti-gas capes. Our main problem was space. Sleeping meant just lying down where any sort of room could be found.

"After the first bad storm, we lost some of our water, and much of what was left was contaminated by sea water. Our water position, therefore, was serious. Then we ran into another tropical storm, and that downpour undoubtedly saved our lives, as we were able to catch enough water to fill up our water barrels. During that terrific storm, our rudder broke loose again, and Corney and Lovegrove, after 36 hours' toil, managed, by using a piece of metal which they beat out with all sorts of makeshift tools, to get it in good order. It was another excellent piece of work. Then we ran into a calm, and for six days we lay on a glass-like sea. The heat was terrific. To keep everyone amused and good-tempered in those days, I organized a series of mental tests, such

as the longest list of film stars whose names began with 'S', the longest list of subjects named in a minute, competitions between the 'fo'c'sle' and the 'quarter-deck'. There was only one drawback to these contests - they made us tremendously hungry and tremendously thirsty.

"After the sixth day, a breeze sprang up again, and once more there was plenty to keep us occupied during our respective watches. We had seen whales blowing in the distance, but had thought little or nothing about them. Then, about a month after we had started our voyage, we received the worst fright of our lives - a mighty whale surfaced about 200 yards astern, blew, and began rapidly to overtake us. It came right alongside, its great powerful tail beneath us. Then, in some extra-ordinary way, its head appeared above water. I am certain it was then not more than three feet away from us, and this awful looking monster stayed there staring at us for what seemed a lifetime. I know that I was terrified. We all kept perfectly still. A flick of that tail and it would have been the end of us, lifeboat and all. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it submerged, and we never saw it, or any of its kind, again.

"Early on April 16, Sergeant Corney, who was on watch, said ... he was certain he had smelled spinifex. We had also seen lots of seaweed and, checking up, I reckoned we should be about 50
miles off Roebourne.

Then, to my horror, when sunset came and I checked my watch, I realized it
had lost possibly 40 minutes, and that we might be as much as 6oo miles off the coast.

I announced this to my crew on the morning of April 17, and you can imagine their feelings. We promptly cut our rations down, and decided to do without a midday meal. That day and the next, however, we began to see unmistakable signs of land. Two butterflies, some ordinary flies, seaweed, and a species of jellyfish we had never seen before, gave us hope.

"On the night of April 19, we heard the sound of an engine-not loud enough to be an aircraft engine, but possibly a small motor-boat, but although we lit a red flare, we got no response. Then at 2.3o a.m., Perth time, we touched land at Fraser Island. We lay off till daylight and then went ashore for breakfast. After 44 days at sea, we were

at first like drunken men-our legs would not support us, and most of us promptly fell over. After breakfast we set off again. We saw a flying boat and flashed mirrors at it, but it passed on. It later transpired that the pilot had seen us, thought we were a pearling lugger, and had not taken any further notice of us.

"Next day we touched another islet which we named Butterfish Island because there we used some hooks and parachute thread, and caught our first fish meal for weeks. It was excellent and did us all good. We set sail again, and that afternoon we saw another flying boat coming towards us. We raised a pyjama jacket as a signal of distress, and the flying boat alighted. The pilot was extremely cautious, and it took some time for us to convince him who we were. I swam across to him, but he would not let anyone aboard-quite rightly, I thought afterwards, although I may have had other views at the time. Eventually, he offered to take six of us on board, but only three of the fellows volunteered.

"The rest of us resumed our voyage by boat, but the following day the flying boat again appeared, and said orders had been given that we were to be taken aboard and flown to Shark Bay. Our health had been remarkably good. We had no fever, but we did suffer from ulcers and abrasions, and also had eye trouble through exposure to sea and sun. We doctored chills with quinine arid aspirin, of which we had a small supply. We made a point of swimming over the side daily-six of us went over while the others remained in the boat and kept watch for sharks."

Another notable escape from Java was that of a R.A.A.F. flying officer, with a party in a Hudson bomber, who reached the tiny cutback town of Roebourne, Western Australia, after an ii hours' night flight.

When the Japanese made their bid for Java, one part of a huge convoy of about 50 ships steamed on Batavia and Surabaya. It was clear moonlight, and the whole convoy was clearly seen from 7000 feet. All night long, R.A.A.F. bombers blasted it, but although the enemy losses must have been heavy, he effected his landing by sheer weight of numbers. Next day, as the Japanese troops poured ashore, the R.A.A.F. personnel on the spot were told that if they could get away to Australia, they were at liberty to do so.

The flying officer in question ran out to the aerodrome to a Hudson while Japanese troops sniped at him with Tommy guns. Soon the aircraft was as full of holes as a colander, but the pilot got her into the air, gave a parting burst to the Japanese from his machine guns, and headed for Australia. Without a light or a map, the Hudson flew roughly south-east for 11 hours, kept flying for that time by hazardous refueling in the air from spare petrol carried in drums.

Landfall was made eventually, and the Hudson was put down near a tiny hamlet. What hamlet it was, the pilot was completely ignorant. He related that he walked cautiously down the main street and scanned a sign on a store. It read "Roebourne", a name he did not know. Several children ran into houses, apparently in the belief that the Hudson was a Japanese bomber. Then a policeman came on the scene and it did not take the pilot long to explain the circumstances of his unannounced arrival. "I was never so glad to see a policeman," he said.

By stealthy night flights, about 400 R.A.A.F. men were evacuated to Australia from the Netherlands East Indies. Stripped to the waist to minimize weight, they stood packed like sardines from take-off to touch-down. For the take-off, as many as possible clustered in the forward part of the aircraft which evacuated them, while die wounded lay or sat in the tall.

As many as 23 men (10 more than normal) were ferried across the intervening sea in one trip, scarcely daring to move lest they disturbed the precarious balance of the ship.

The evacuation took two flying nights, and not a man nor an aircraft was lost. Bombers were used to evacuate 200 men from one base, and 120 from an adjoining island. A flying boat took away 100 men from another base.

The pilots of these aircraft took them in to the rendezvous under cover of dark, to dodge the Japanese fighters, and departed for Australia just before dawn, before the Zeros returned to the scene. With only 700 yards' runway, taking off in the dark with the overburdened planes was a perilous job, yet there was not a mishap.

The work was done in the knowledge that a large Japanese convoy with top cover, anti-aircraft guns, and many troops was descending on the bases, and the need for speed was essential.

By good staff work and flying skill, the last load was evacuated an hour and a half before the convoy arrived off the island.

THIS is the saga of Flying Officer W. L. Wackett, of the R.A.A.F., who was shot down while on a Kittyhawk ground-strafing attack on the Japanese aerodrome at Lae, New Guinea.

Wackett was shot down in aerial combat, and ultimately reached safety a month and three days later through the devotion of two native boys. In the interim he had landed in shark-infested waters; swam in heavy flying suit for nine hours; was abandoned by, threatened by, and ultimately rescued by, natives in Japanese-occupied territory; he tramped for days through fever laden jungles; slept in muddy, leech-infested swamps; and subsisted on yams, kow-kow and other native foods.

Wackett was a member of a squadron of 10 Kittyhawks which took off from a northern base. The squadron was divided into two flights, one of which was to ground-strafe, while the other was to act as a top cover. When they arrived over the target, the ,ground-strafers flew a few hundred feet above the water of Huon Gulf, while the protecting aircraft, one of which Wackett was piloting, were about 8ooo feet up.

When they arrived over the target, the strafing aircraft went in to attack the aerodrome. No enemy aircraft could be seen in the air. The squadron was in tight fighter -formation at 6,000 feet. Straight ahead and 2,000 feet below six Japanese Zero fighters peeled off from formation and dived on the strafing aircraft. The top-covering Kittyhawks dived to the attack and while in the dive Wackett tested his guns and switched his reflector sight on. He picked out a Zero and gave him a long burst, and saw tracers ,enter his wing. At about 200 yards he pulled away, and the next thing he knew was .that he was being fired on, and bullets were entering the cockpit and wings. One bullet ,struck his wristlet watch and he was covered in horse-hair, which was probably the .padding of the head-rest. Bullets were also hitting the back of his armour plate.

Wackett pushed the throttle open and dived down steeply. His engine was then hit, ,and it started to smoke badly from the exhaust. He looked behind but could not see the enemy, so he pulled out of his dive and half-rolled. While on his back he noticed a large 'cloud below and dived into it. His engine then packed up completely, and he crash-landed on the sea. Wackett was slightly stunned and had a cut forehead and shin, and numerous small cuts and scratches. While the aircraft was sinking he undid his belt, 'Wireless and oxygen equipment, and climbed out of the cockpit. He rose to the surface and undid the release box of his parachute, and as it floated he held on to it while he took off his flying boots and helmet. Next he blew up his "Mae West" and as he looked up he could see a large shark breaking the surface about 50 yards away.

"My heart skipped a beat as I saw it, and then I looked at the land which seemed a good io miles off," Wackett reported subsequently. "I started swimming for the nearest land. After a few strokes I stopped to unroll my sleeves and also pull my socks up over my knees, as I thought this would make me less noticeable to the sharks. Then I continued swimming, and wondered whether I should discard my revolver and water bottle as they were weighing me down. I decided to leave them on as I was swimming right into Japanese-held territory, and might need them. I saw several more sharks. One came very close, so I just lay very still and watched him cruising around me, and then he disappeared and I continued swimming.

"The sun was very hot and I felt absolutely helpless. My mouth was sore from the salt and my eyes were stinging, and every now and again I would turn over on my back and have a rest, only to find I had drifted far off my course, so I found resting was useless as the energy I used to regain my former position was more than I gained in the rest. I was swimming for about eight or nine hours, and after this time my strokes were very weak. When about 200 yards from the shore I could see two natives standing beside a canoe and pointing toward me.

However, they did not seem disposed to help, and
walked back in the direction of the village . Not until I was about 10 yards from the shore could I
touch bottom, and I staggered over the rocks and sat on the sand.

After a drink from my water bottle I fired a shot from my revolver to make sure it was in working order. The sun was very hot and the flies were soon attracted to my fresh cuts.

"I walked into the outskirts of the village, still with my 'Mae West' on and several women screamed when they saw me and rushed into their houses. I said: 'Does anyone here speak English? and one native replied, 'Yes, Masta.' I gathered that he had attended a mission as he had a small cross hung about his neck. I indicated to the natives that I wished to be taken to safety, and did not want to see any Japanese soldiers.

"An argument then developed between the members of the tribe. Two natives seemed to be taking my part, but what the argument was about remained a mystery to me for several days. The two natives who wished to help me led me down the beach about 100 yards and told me to wait. When they emerged from a hut each carried a small bag made of reeds, and one was armed with a bush knife and carried an umbrella. The other carried two army biscuits which he handed me saying: 'He altogether plenty good fella kai-kai,' by which he meant it was good food.

"It was terribly hot and my cuts were getting stiff and sore. My socks wore out as we progressed and I was compelled to walk in bare feet. The two natives cheered me up by saying that there were plenty of Japanese soldiers in the vicinity. However, whenever they saw or heard anything suspicious they made sure I was well concealed. We waded several rivers, and I soon found it was useless to ask them how far we had to go, for I always received the same reply: "Ah! Master, he altogether long way - too much" We kept walking along a river bank, through thick tropical growth, and then commenced to climb slowly. The ground was wet and soggy and it was dark.

"After a good six hours' solid walking we reached a deserted native village, where we stayed the night. Sleep was impossible, so we just sat up and waited for the dawn. We had kai-kai of coconuts and paw-paw, and about 5 a.m. next day continued on our way, climbing up the mountain range. The ground was very wet and big roots and thick vines made progress slow. At noon we had a rest, and as we had nothing to eat we continued walking.

"Then we entered the leech country. The leeches fastened on to one's toes and sucked the blood, and it wasn't long before we were all covered in them and had to stop and scrape them off with sticks.

My feet were sore enough without leeches biting my toes. About six o'clock that evening I was practically done in. We had climbed all day and it had been hard going, but the natives said we couldn't stay in the jungle, we must go on to the
next camp.

We entered the outskirts of a large native village, and as I was staggering along, still carrying
my 'Mae West', I was confronted by six powerfully built warriors with drawn bows and arrows aimed straight at my chest.

My guide, on seeing this, jumped forward and explained I was a friend, and not a Japanese soldier. They lowered their weapons and escorted me to a hut, where the doctor boy made me comfortable.

"I later learned that the elevation of this village was 10,000. We had climbed to this height in about 12 walking hours. After finishing off a meal of yams and kow-kow, we went into the hut and tried to get some sleep. It was bitterly cold, even with a fire, so we all huddled together. Next morning, after the two natives had gathered up their few belongings, we continued down the track and walked right into a kanaka sing-song. We crossed and re-crossed a swiftly flowing stream many times, and climbed round steep gorges as the river wound its way through the rugged country.

"Swamps held up our progress and often we were wading up to our waists in foul-smelling mud. That night was spent in such a swamp. The evil-smelling slush and the millions of mosquitoes made sleep impossible. We stretched out on some banana leaves and the guide, seeing I was troubled with my legs, sat up all night and massaged them. At dawn we had breakfast of yams and continued to follow the river. Late in the afternoon we reached a settlement, and after a clean up I was put to bed and my wounds were dressed. My guide insisted on coming into the room to see me, and it was here that I learned what the argument at the first village had been about.

"It appears that all -he members of the tribe agreed that I should be handed over to the Japanese. The Japanese had shown the village what dire things they would do if the tribe displeased them, so they were acting under the fear of Japanese soldiers. The two natives who helped me were not from this particular village, and so were not obliged to fall in with the wishes of the chief. I was extremely lucky to have met these two kanakas, and they were suitably rewarded."

After staying at the settlement for a week or so, and being decently fitted out with clothes, Wackett left with a party to trek back to Port Moresby. This trip, which was made on foot, in canoe, by launch, and motor lorry, was not without its excitements and hardships, and a month and three days after his crash, Flying Officer Wackett returned to his squadron.

With bomb doors open, the big plane, obedient to the pilot's touch, swooped down in a wide circle. The statuesque figure of the gunner, in his crystal-domed turret, stirred into animation and swung the gun into position. The navigator busied himself with his ship-description chart, and flashed an Aldis challenge at the vessel below.

The electric bulb on the masthead blinked surprisedly back as the ship identified herself.

The navigator gave another glance at his chart, said regretfully, "She's O.K. She's one of ours."

The bomb doors shut with a sigh, and the big plane pulled back to her normal course.

Day by day, ever since the war began, these little dramas have been played round Australia's 13,000-mile coastline. The players are the ships that ply around our shores and the aircraft of the R.A.A.F. seaward patrol.

Like this little playlet, most of them end in anti-climax. Sometimes the encounter is not so brief. Sometimes a strange ship slips into our waters, impelled by the exigencies 4 war to plough a long, lonely and mysterious furrow across the seven seas. Then the reconnaissance plane, not satisfied that she is friendly, flashes a message to base, and shadows her till, perhaps, the Navy takes a hand. Other times, she orders the vessel into the nearest port, and hovers haw-like in the sky till assured that the instruction is being followed.

There is nothing spectacular in this job, nothing exciting, nothing that makes the headlines. It is lonely, too, quartering the vast expanses of ocean, pitched high betwixt sea and sky; and cramped in bucket seats with parachutes and "Mae Wests", movement is not easy.

It is just hard, unending, exacting toil. Millions of square miles of ocean have been scoured for raiders, enemy ships, mine-layers, and submarines. Only on a few occasions has offensive action been taken. The rest has been something near to boredom.

Special qualities are called for in the men who undertake this task. Without exception, they are men with an infinite capacity for taking pains. In this job there can be no "slummicking". The slightest carelessness or mischance in identifying a strange ship might end disastrously iii the bombing of an Australian city, the sowing of mines in the populous sea lanes which lead to our principal ports, the surprise attack on a convoy by an armed raider disguised as on a peaceful trade mission, and the loss of many valuable lives and ships.

To meet and know these men is to get no immediate hint of these scrupulous qualities. They are cheerful and care-free and, curiously enough, while they carry out their monotonous patrols with conscientious thoroughness, practically without exception they all pine to be seated in a Hurricane, a Spitfire, an Airacobra, or a Kittyhawk, "throwing it round the sky" as they call it.

But this secret ambition does not deter them from doing their daily chores with the best of grace. Perhaps in their happy hearts they know that theirs is a vital job too, and that in performing it faithfully, they are writing a page which will shine in Australia's

history as brightly as that of the men who do battle more often than they, but no less
cheerfully.

To-day I made four new friends. They were the members of a R.A.A.F. seaward reconnaissance plane who took me on a sweep of one of Australia's busiest sea lanes, and showed me how the R.A.A.F. guards our shores and ships. Not long out of school, they combined the lightheartedness of youth with the self-reliance and resourcefulness of maturity.

Next to their efficiency came their friendliness. They pretended not to regard me as a nuisance, strapped me into my parachute harness, and told me cheerfully what to do if I had to jump. They showed me where the rip-cord was, and were young enough, and mischievous enough, to try on me the old gag about the faulty 'chute.

"If you have to take to the drink," they said, "count 10 and pull the rip-cord. If the 'chute doesn't open, the quartermaster will give you another one-if you take it back to him."

With this reassuring news ringing in my ears, they took me by the arm and marched, me off to the Operations Room.

In this unpretentious place, hung about with maps studded with significant pins: of many coloured heads, the crew was briefed. That is to say, a senior officer assigned their task, plotted their course, gave all the appropriate intelligence available, available furnished them with a meteorological report- "Weather fine on the coast, fog in such and such an area, winds moderate from the south-west, with fine drizzle in parts."

Then back to the hangar, where we clambered into an Air Force tender and sped with a fine abandon over rough roads to the dispersal area. The way led along a winding rural road strewn with boulders at the sides, and on the surface too. In 15 minutes we swung gratefully into a field and pulled up alongside a packing case hut. On the sides was stencilled "Lockheed Hudson". This was our temporary headquarters.

While the crew discussed the task ahead the ground staff went off at the double, and from beneath an isolated clump of gums and a mass of net camouflage, wheeled out our aircraft. The early morning dew still glistened on its polished fuselage and dripped from the propeller blades.

"Port engine on, starboard engine on," chanted the pilot, and next moment, the dripping propellers shed a silver spray of dew as the engines roared into life. The aircraft taxied, turned into wind, the rumbling gait of an earth-borne craft smoothed into imperceptible motion as, nose up, it left the ground. The trees below shrank shrub like into the depths. We were on patrol!

The pilot sat steady, firm, capable hands on the controls; the navigator laid out his charts and instruments on the little table in the nose; the gunner sat perched in his turret and grinned at his guns. Beneath us, strung along the belly, were the bombs.

The engines settled into the steady roar that was to be the soporific accompaniment of our flight, as we nosed our way into the murk ahead. A thousand feet below, the land etched crazy patterns on the sea's edge. Here and there, where sandy beaches lay, the sea veiled them with a lacy fringe. The navigator slipped a note to the pilot who set the aircraft on its course. The crazy patterns and lacy fringes of the last headland sped into oblivion behind us. Below lay the water in a wide., grey and forbidding expanse. Above, below and around us was space, no less grey or forbidding.

As the aircraft thrust its way into the cloud and drizzle the meteo. man had promised, even the sea disappeared from view. Time, space, motion, and progress seemed suspended in this unreal, eerie world, where, except the plane and ourselves, nothing had substance and everything seemed topsy-turvy.

Even the moisture on the windscreen defied the laws of nature, and ran up the windscreen instead of down. The pilot was used to this phenomenon, caused by the uprush of wind as the aircraft forged ahead. He watched the little rivulets hasten upwards to the top, collect there in a drop. He saw it tremble, as though fearful of its own defiance, then disintegrate in coloured spray.

A sudden movement of the crazy sun from port to straight ahead. The navigator pointed to the sea and a ship below. There was no smoke. Smoking funnels tell too many tales. So the men of the seaward patrols look instead for the white bow wave or the seething wake. This is "jam" in a calm sea, but when the white horses are whipped to a gallop by the wind, it is more difficult to see them.

So we banked and turned, and I learned a new illusion of flight. The tiny ship below seemed not to labour tortuously in the sea, but to glide above it at an amazing rate-a rate which seemed to equal our own.

The navigator flashed his challenge with his Aldis lamp. A light blinked in answer. The navigator read the dots and dashes, glanced at his chart of vessels to be expected in that area, said "O.K." and ticked her off his list. The pilot put his aircraft back on their course and resumed the tireless sweep allotted to him in the Operations Room some hours before.

Another ship hove in sight and down the aircraft nosed, but before she neared the vessel, a row of flags fluttered on the line. The navigator checked them from his international flag book, checked up the features of the vessel against his own particulars, flashed the O.K. and off we went.

And so the task went on, hour after hour, mile after mile, in sunshine and rain, in clear and murk. Tedious but necessary, cold, cramped, exacting, and entirely without glamour, a job which calls for men with the special qualities of devotion, patience, steadiness and reliability.

By their ceaseless watch, these sentries of the sky cry, "Who goes there?" to the ships that slip quietly round our coasts. Seldom is there excitement, but with guns at the cock, and with pins out of bombs, the job goes on, to-day, to-morrow, till the war's end. One day, perhaps, an enemy raider, minelayer, or a submarine will bob up in the path of these patrols. There will be a swift dive, a cry of "Bombs gone", perhaps the end of a sinister enemy plan-and another sweep on another track, for another chance to "have a go".

We turned for home, a perfect landfall in which the busy navigator and the wireless man shared, and soon bundled out alongside the old aircraft packing case stencilled "Lockheed Hudson".

"Dull work," said the pilot, "let's have some coffee."