As I've indicated, the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan relied heavily on the civilian population. No. 10 EFTS, run entirely by civilians, was no exception. It has its origins in August 1940, when the Minister of National Defence for Air invited the Hamilton Aero Club to sponsor and organize a school at nearby Mount Hope, Ontario (the present day site of the John C. Munro Hamilton International Airport). In what must have been a spectacular effort, the school was ready to accept its first students on October 14th of that year. To add to the challenge, the inaugural course had swelled in size to twice what was anticipated due to the Battle of Britain being at its height. From that day, training continued seven days a week, 363 days a year.
In the spring of 1942, the Air Force required more navigators and it was decided that the RAF's navigation school, which shared the Mount Hope base, would need to expand extensively. No. 10 was then offered a brand new station on the existing field at Pendleton. In the last week of August 1942, the school's staff made the 400 mile trip in 40 moving vans. The aircraft followed - flown in, without incident, by the instructors and the senior class of students. As there was a war on, training recommenced without delay on September 1st - even though most of the base's buildings were still under construction and wouldn't be completed until January 1943. This herculean task rested on the shoulders of Mr. Gerry Moes, a Dutch-born engineer, hobby pilot and one-time Olympic swimmer.
The RCAF held Moes and the school in the highest esteem. In May 1944, when the necessities of war forced the transfer of the entire base and operations into the hands of the Air Force, Air Marshal Robert Leckie, then Chief of the Air Staff, wrote:
Since the inception of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, (No. 10 EFTS) has been one of the governments earliest and most energetic civilians instructions schools. A very high standard has always been set by Mr. Gerald Moes and the officers serving directly under him and the school has attained an enviable reputation in the quality and quantity of its output. The RCAF, on its part, is grateful for the services so freely given when our need was so great and we trust that the friendships that have been formed during these years will remain.
An accompanying note from Squadron Leader A. R. Morrissette, commanding officer of the air force personnel on the base, relates the change to the breaking apart of a family and praises the efforts of the civilian staff writing "I hope that each one of you realize that we in the RCAF understand fully, and appreciate, the vital role that you have played these last few years in the training of pilots, who to-day are doing the job over there. Without your efforts, and only could they be supreme efforts, that would have been impossible." He then signs it, "your friend."
It's difficult to accept these words as mere pandering. There is genuine feeling and affection that comes through and, when you consider the climate in which this work was undertaken, it's completely relatable.
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A photograph of a crashed Fleet Finch Trainer (RCAF 4664) from neighbouring No. 13 EFTS at St. Eugene, 1 May 1941. The pilot's parachute is next to the tail and part of the canopy rests by the left wing. It's not known if the pilot, an LAC A. Thomson survived. (Photo Courtesy: Library and Archives Canada PA-063938)
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RCAF Station Pendleton was a thriving base where hard work was balanced with hard play. After all, there was a war on and, naturally, spirits were to be kept high. To that end, the base featured a swimming pool and a tennis court in the summer. In the winter, staff and students could take advantage of the ski trail or "Little St. Moritz" - a skating rink. There was also a pub christened "The Pig and Whistle" and a station library where, according to the station's 1944 yearbook, Esquire magazine was available on request.
Leo Memorial Hall was the base's recreation centre where basketball enjoyed particular popularity as Pendleton sponsored both a men's and women's team. The building was named for the beloved mascot of No. 10 - a goat who died on "active service with the Royal Canadian Air Force" during the station's move from Mount Hope. A eulogy in the station's 1944 yearbook, equal parts feeling and humour, laments his passing with the following words:
The clatter of Leo's little hooves will not be heard on the parade square at Pendleton, no longer will he report to the Adjutant's office to masticate Training Command Instructions and cigarette butts.
Humour was and still is a way to make sense of the unique happenings on a home front base in time of war. The follow snippets provide both a chuckle and insight into life on the station.
NOTICE - The regular official trip to Ottawa will leave at the usual time, some other day, but not today.
DRY CLEANING - On account of lack of water, dry cleaning is being practised by all personnel.
ENTERTAINMENT - The entertainment for the coming week-end looks exceptionally bright. All personnel on the Station will provide their own.
CANTEEN HOURS - The canteen will be open for 15 minutes twice a day. We don't know which 15 minutes, but the word will get around, so jump to it when you hear.
SPORTS - Same as yesterday, snow-ploughing and snow shovelling.
DRESS - It has been noticed that some of the personnel have got into the habit of going around unshaven and improperly dressed. This practice should cease. It is not likely that it will, however.
LOST - Flying suit complete with helmet and boots. Last seen bobbing up and down among snow-drifts near the garage.
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The Gatineau Gliding Club's "Boudreault" hangar and the only original building remaining on the former base. The other was dismantled and moved to Prescott for use as a curling rink. (Author's Collection)
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| The Grass Roots Squadron at Pendleton. (Author's Collection) |
Looking out across the airfield, one realizes the scenery hasn't really changed in more than 75 years. I could have easily, just moments ago, unfolded myself from a Fleet Finch than the relatively modern Smith.
We walk across the old tarmac towards the Boudreault hangar. The war time building is named for club member "Shorty" Boudreault who, in August 1948, flew a German-designed Grunau Baby glider for five and a half hours. For this feat, balancing his open-air craft atop waves of turbulent air along the Eardley Escarpment, Boudreault became the first Canadian to be recognized by the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) with the Silver C Soaring Badge.
We push through the southernmost door and into what would have served as the ready room - where pilots lounged before embarking on a flight. I recognized it immediately as I'd spent a fair amount of time in its Mountain View counterpart. Here, however, the drywall had been removed to expose the studs and the open space of the hangar floor beyond.
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| While this shot was not taken at Pendleton, it gives you an idea of the standard construction and interior of the world war two hangars in Canada. This is Tiger Moth 8958 - which tells us this was most likely taken in a hangar at Arnprior. This Moth was taken on strength on 26 June 1942 and then used by No. 3 Flying Instructors School at Arnprior beginning 1 August 1942. It was sent to No. 9 Repair Depot for scrapping on 20 December 1943 following a crash and struck off strength 13 April 1944 for spare parts. (Photo Courtesy: Library and Archives Canada) |
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| This is a Fleet Finch I on skis in one of the hangars at Rockcliffe, 17 December 1942. (Photo Courtesy: Library and Archives Canada) |
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| Bojan inside the Boudreault hangar. (Author's Collection) |
The hangar is only half full as gliding is underway and most of the aircraft are on the flight line. Still, the back end of the hangar protects a few gliders, ultralights and a handful of private planes - a cute little Champ, a classic Globe Swift, a rarely-seen Bellanca Cruisair and an aerobatic Rans S-9 in rebuild. These monstrous old hangars were once omnipresent at airports across Canada but they're exceedingly rare now. As we walk through the building, our footfalls echo softly throughout the cavernous interior. It's difficult to believe this structure once housed a full-time maintenance facility where Moths and Finches subjected to the trials of flight training were serviced or patched up as needed and then sent out again. On dark, quiet nights when everyone has gone home and the aircraft sit silently, I wonder if ghostly mechanics return to tighten a bolt or chase down a snag they overheard a pilot complain about. I wonder if they gather in a corner, sitting on upturned buckets or an old pine bench and, in a cloud of cigarette smoke, have the same good-natured bitching sessions enjoyed by air maintenance engineers of today.
"Johnson hit '35 so hard this morning, he nearly puts the wheels through the wings," says one.
"Did you tear a strip of the silly bastard?" asks another."No," comes the drawn out sigh of a reply, cut short by a sharp drag on a half-finished cigarette. "They sent the poor bugger out to fill in the holes the undercart left in the field. That's bad enough, already."
A roar of laughter.
"Besides, there's no damage, nothing wrong with her," another drag and a wry smile. "Johnson, on the other hand..."
Another roar of laughter. A claxon sounds.
"Alright, lads," bellows another. "Back to work!"
Cigarettes fall to the ground and fizzle under the toes of scuffed leather boots. The clatter of their steps fades as they return to their respective tasks.
We leave the hangar through the main door and amble back to the airplanes. There's a tall, older gentleman standing by the Smith - blue jeans, ball cap, green windbreaker flapping in the breeze.
"A Smith?" he asks as I walk up and with a cheery hello, drop my knee board onto the seat.
"Yes, sir."
"My dad built one years ago," he says. "Early 60s."
"Where is it now?"
"Oh, no idea," he says with a chuckle, thrusting his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Lost track of it. Where you from?"
"Rockcliffe," I reply. "We're doing a little tour of grass fields."
"Come to think of it, that's the last place I saw a Miniplane," he says, the glint of memory in his eye. "Yeah, pretty little red and white thing. Must have been, oh, more than 30 years ago now."
"It belonged to my Dad," I say.
I tell him a little bit of the story - about my Dad, about me and our Smiths. We begin as two perfect strangers in a chance encounter on a little-used grass field near Nowhere, Ontario. Our only tenuous link is aviation. We part ways as friends - richer for the experience. This is one of those meaningful moments that makes this story and its continuing legacy worth telling.
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The Grass Roots Tour group with the Smith at Pendleton. Cessna 172 C-GIGU is in the background. (Author's Collection)
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When we're ready to depart for Lancaster, we discover that it is, in fact, the Smith's starter that is the cause of our troubles. Chris hand starts the biplane and I sadly tell him I won't be joining in on the rest of the trip but rather, returning to Rockcliffe. The last thing I want is an issue en route or at Lancaster that forces me to leave the Smith away from her maintenance base.
The 150 departs first, followed by the Champ. As I taxi along the pavement to the start of the grass runway, I hear someone call about a runway change. I can see one glider just about to turn base for runway 26 but I can't be sure he won't try for 31 - the runway I'm waiting to take off from. It's a lovely day, I've nothing but time and a warm engine is a happy engine. And so, I'll yield until the glider is safely down.
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| Chris (top) and Bojan (bottom) with Champ C-FILL at Pendleton. (Author's Collection) |
The Puchacz, however, flies as if on a string. There are no wasted movements. The turn from base to final is deliberate, calculated and paradoxically beautiful. The right wing of the Puchacz sweeps soundlessly overhead - casting a momentary shadow as I look up to watch, squinting. There is no noticeable flare. Rather, the pilot flies his craft onto the grass and keeps it balanced there. As it slows, he adds a boot of right rudder and the glider turns gracefully onto the asphalt. Stopped now, the pilot ground flies it for a moment, using the breeze to keep the wings level. Then, he allows the left outrigger to fall gently into the grass - kindly leaving most of the runway clear for my departure.
Moments later, we're galloping across the turf - a fantail of trembling grass and decapitated dandelions in our wake. Pendleton is by no means a manicured golf green. It's a bumpy ride and so I've taken care to keep the tail low throughout the roll. We're still hopping along comically as we pass the glider. Both the pilot and instructor are leaning against the nose of the Puchacz, arms crossed, smiling wistfully. One casually flips his hand up to his brow in salute and best wishes for a safe trip home.
We hit another furrow in the field and are catapulted into the soft cushion of ground effect. We linger here for a few moments while the airspeed builds before climbing into the wind spilling over the pine trees at the end of the field.
As we climb away and leave Pendleton behind, a sense of loneliness sweeps over me. My squadron mates have flown away, melting into the blue sky to the south-east. In a little more than half an hour, they'll touch down in the fly-in community near Lancaster, Ontario - a small town on the edge of the St. Lawrence between Cornwall and Les Cedres where I learned to fly fifteen years ago. A cup of coffee and enthusiastic conversation surely await them there as Lancaster is famous for its hospitality. Instead of sitting on a cedar deck overlooking the airfield, my feet up on the bannister, I'm heading home early. The sense of missing out leaves me feeling empty.
As we ply westward for home, I think of how the landscape around me wouldn't have changed all that much since the war. Orleans, the eastern sprawl of the capital, is but a smudge on the horizon and no threat to the reverie. The Smith is faster than the Moth and the Finch but not by much so the pace would have been comparable. Our higher wing loading means we'd handle turbulence with greater ease than either trainer...but the sights, sounds and feel would be eerily similar.
I lower my goggles to shut out the wind and quiet some but not quite all of the noise. I roll my shoulders back and relax into the seat. In light of the starter issue, I have a strong feeling this will be our last flight of the season and I'm determined to relish it. I imagine I'm leading a three-ship formation. There's a Moth bobbing about off my left wing and a Finch plowing along on my right - Kinner radial engine pop-pop-popping away merrily, gleefully belching grease at her pilot. He tries to wipe his goggles with the back of a gloved hand and only succeeds in making it worse. Pushing his goggles up, he flashes me a jovial grin topped by a handlebar moustache ensnaring several globs of grease. The Moth pilot is more reserved, very business like. His eyes, cold and hard even behind the shelter of his goggles, don't leave my ship. He offers only a curt nod.
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Tiger Moth 4388 in flight over Canadian countryside likely near Windsor Mills, Quebec in 1942. This Moth was taken in strength in February 1941 and assigned to No.1 EFTS at Malton (present day Toronto Pearson) before being damaged outside Toronto in November. After repairs, it was sent to No. 4 EFTS at Windsor Mills then sold into civilian life in February 1945. (Photo Courtesy: Library and Archives Canada)
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We crawl westward at 1500'. I make only minor heading changes which my ethereal escorts match with fluid precision. We make quite the group, flying only feet apart but separated by 75 years. I wonder about their names and hometowns, whether they have sweethearts and what spurred them to take up the fight.
Soon, I sense my wingmen grow restless. We're flirting with the eastern boundary of Orleans and they're wondering where these buildings have come from and why they don't appear on their charts. A glance to my left reveals that the Moth has already peeled off and is now a tiny yellow cross diving away to the southeast. The Finch remains on station, chugging along merrily - but not for much longer. The pilot has lowered his goggles again, still smeared with grease. He rocks his wings.
I'm sure I hear a voice in the rush of the wind. I can't be...and yet, it is.
"That's as far as we can take you, Skipper," says the voice, barely more than a whisper - faint and thin but unmistakably Aussie. "The field's at your 12 o'clock by 6 miles. See you at the pub."
And, with another grin and a wave, he guides his craft into a graceful climbing turn to the north. I watch him go, afraid to blink lest I shatter the illusion. Soon, my aching eyes can barely pick him out against blue of the sky and I lose him forever.
"So long, boys," I whisper to myself. "Godspeed."
Rockcliffe today looks nothing like it did when the Finch and Moth would have landed there. Only one runway, 09/27, still exists. 15/33 has been erased from the face of the earth and most of 04/22 is now taxiway Delta and home to the pieces of the national collection too big to fit into either of the museum's buildings.
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| The Evolution of the Rockcliffe Airport - seen here in an aerial photograph from 1928. There are two grass runways (including 09/27) and a collection of buildings at the north end - including a hangar and what looks like a construction site. (Photo Courtesy: GeoOttawa) |
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| An amazing shot from Air Force Day at Rockcliffe on 14 July 1934. The picture is taken from the control tower of the smaller prewar hangar seen in the next photo just east of the larger 1939 hangar. The road at left is present day Airport/Marina Road. The aircraft in the foreground are Hawker Furies of No. 1 Squadron, RCAF. (Photo Courtesy: Canada, Dept. of National Defence/Library and Archives Canada) |
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| An aerial view of RCAF Station Rockcliffe from 1943. The surviving runway 09/27 is nearest the river, seemingly recent resurfaced. The three large hangars to the south of the field (middle left of the frame) were built in 1940 and housed the country's national aviation collection until the late 1980s. The small hangar at bottom right remains in existence today as part of the RCMP facilities. (Photo Courtesy: Canada, Dept. of National Defence, Library and Archives Canada, PA-064459) |
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| The Rockcliffe site in 1965. 15/33 has been closed. (Photo Courtesy: GeoOttawa) |
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| The Rockcliffe site in 1976. 04/22 has now also been closed. The three buildings in the infield (middle of frame) are the hangars and terminal for the short-lived Air Transit Ottawa to Montreal Short Take-off and Landing (STOL) commuter operation. You can also see that runway 09/27 has had a section marked out for the aircraft flying the route. By the late 80s, both north hangars would be demolished with the smaller hangar's footprint now serving as boat storage for the marina. (Photo Courtesy: GeoOttawa) |
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| And finally in 2014. 15/33 has been torn up to make way for the parkway and 04/22 is now taxiway Delta. The 1939 and World War Two hangars have been demolished and Canada Aviation and Space Museum now occupies the two new buildings at centre. (Photo Courtesy: GeoOttawa) |
When I arrive overhead Rockcliffe, I see there is a strong wind blowing across the field from the north - precisely as forecasted. While not a howl, it can be characterized as a robust shout. 75 years ago, I would have approached from the south and taken runway 33 almost directly into the wind. Today, however, I am forced to weather the wind's broadside if I'm to bring this flight to a safe conclusion.The Smith's small cross-section and high wing-loading make handling a crosswind a little easier. The control feedback and roll authority is terrific and so the approach is steady and beautifully controlled. With a fair amount of into wind aileron, we sweep over the fence and into the flare - rounding out to balance ourselves mere inches above the asphalt. I ease the right main down and it touches almost exactly at the same time as the tailwheel. For a moment, we ride along on only two wheels. The little biplane leaning heavily into the wind but rolling faithfully straight ahead. I let the left main drop onto the runway and, as we slow, progressively add more right aileron. The Smith slows to a brisk jog and then a walking pace. My feet are aching and I realize they've been working the rudder automatically - small movements but at a furious pace. My legs are trembling. Adrenaline. I've 900 hours aloft and now more than 100 in this slick little ship but it still gets my blood pumping.
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| Building the north side land plane hangar on 12 December 1939. This hangar can be seen nearest the river in the previous aerial photographs of Rockcliffe before 1976. The present day Club's parking lot now occupies its former footprint. You can plainly see the scale of the work. The BCATP hangars, built later, were more than twice as large. (Photo Courtesy: Library and Archives Canada) |
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| FAM in 1985 at Rockcliffe. The 1939 hangar is in the background, marked for demolition. (Family Collection) |
My squadron mates return two hours later as I'm elbow deep in the Smith's engine compartment - trying to clear a gummed-up starter bendix. It's of little use as I'm sure we'll need a new one and less confident that it'll arrive and be installed before the end of the season.
I can hear the excitement in their voices as they spill out of their airplanes and walk across the tarmac. It was a good trip but they're glad to be home. Bojan walks over, full of concern for me, the Smith and the maintenance issue that forced us back early and (not quite) alone. He tells me about the trip. I tell him about the Moth and the Finch and sheepishly admit that I know I'm silly for having imagined it.
There's no ridicule, however - just a smile. Somehow, in him too, this trip has stirred whispers and echoes of a time long ago.
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| The Smith waiting for a new starter. (Author's Collection) |
The insights from early in the piece come from a special edition of the "Pendletonic" - a No. 10 yearbook of sorts produced for the occasion of the base's complete handover to the air force. It includes amazing scenes of life on the base, including photographs of Pendleton before and after the station's construction. I highly recommend having a look. It has been posted by the BCATP Air Museum in Brandon, MB and can be viewed at the following link:
http://www.airmuseum.ca/reprints/pend/pendletonic.pdf
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