Nothing daunted Bowen Davis, took a machine, got airborne using his landing lights and got in touch with the now very lost pilots, but somewhere over the Plane, wing tips touched and our dear flight commander crashed to his death, a sad night for all concerned. After a fair spell on Lysanders, we moved to Oatlands Hill, (still on the Plain) but a bigger landing field because we changed to Mustangs, and what a headache for us mechanics, we were never done changing plugs, but worst of all their fault was the leaking coolant radiator, it was situated under the belly behind an air scoop, it was round and and the oil cooler was in the middle, we were never done changing them, I think heavy landings did a lot of the damage. After a spell at Oatlands, I was posted to another army co op Sqd. at Clifton York.
All our pilot officers were army bods , it was a complete change from life in the RAF, (still servicing aircraft of course) Austers by the way, tiny two seaters for artillery spotting purposes, a very varied life from the RAF. We just didn't stay at Clifton, we operated from scores of different fields from N. Wales up to Morpeth, never in a decent billet for any length of time, but I must admit army rations were quite good and looking back on it all now I'm beginning to think I enjoyed it all.
My favourite pilot was Captain Donald, a real Scots gentleman. I loved flying with him. He was inclined towards the Scottish border whenever he got the opportunity, and although I wasn't over the native hills it was a wee bit of the dear old homeland. I often wonder did he come through the war, I sincerely hope so. Our Commanding Officer was Major Prendergast, a Welshman (I think.) I flew with him one day from Worksop to Morpeth.
Visibility was bad from the Midlands northwards, and I remember him saying to me, keep a sharp look out now, I think we must be nearing Newcastle.
A break came in the fog and the first landmark we see about 300ft below was the huge iron bridge over the Tyne, the odd balloon floating not far away, and houses glistening in the shafts of sunlight, we were near Newcastle OK, plumb in the middle of the balloon barrage, but seemingly lady luck was with us, we just veered a little to port and flew on up the Tyne.
I often wonder why we weren't shot at. After this spell with 659sqd R.ART 15th Scottish Division, I was posted again to the RAF, at Waterbeach, Cambs, a Lancaster Squadron, where I logged down until all was quite again, I enjoyed this posting, where we worked on dear lovely Merlins, a marvellous power plant indeed.
Talking of  R.R engines, I was quite proud to have Rolls Royce, at my request, name one of their modern jet engines after my beloved river the Spey.
It was the first engine to be named after a Scottish river. Today, it powers the Bucaneer, Phantom and the mighty Nimrod also the B.A.C one-eleven, Series-200/300/400 and 500. After demob in 45 I got a gamekeepers job at Braelangwell, on the Balnagown Estate of Lady Ross.
I was two years with the tenant Major Lambert, then with the estate until March 53, when I moved to Ballindalloch Estate as a ghillie on the Spey with Sir Ewan MacPherson Grant and Lady MacPherson Grant. We lived in the Hall house until retirement in 84, then moved to our present address, The Bungalow, Marypark, which was given to us rent free by the estate. I still ghillie on the Spey when required and enjoy every minute of it. I was ghillie to Malcolm Rifkind the Scottish Secretary last July when he caught a salmon in the junction pool. (Highly Delighted). I must not go on about my RAF days, and not mention some of my good buddies, great lads, everyone, what great comradeship was in the forces in these days, our great night out in Cambridge was the Old time dancing at the Beaky.