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Unless otherwise directed, the pilot was required to fly straight level on the run up to the target. If he was off line the bombing aimer would order an alteration with the words, "left, left" or "right" as appropriate. When the wind setting was perfect, the target would pass along a pair of parallel drift wires on the bombsight. When the vertical and horizontal sites were in alignment we would depress a hand-Iheld plunger, which released the bomb electrically. If it wasn't a perfect run, we would say "dummy run" and have to go around again.

I recall only too well dropping my first practice bomb. It was a fairly calm day and the wind was not a major factor. I checked all the settings very carefully, and was all set to go. The Battle was a much faster aircraft than the old Anson and the target seemed to appear out of nowhere in the blue waters some 6000 feet below. Very quickly the two markers on the bombsight came into alignment. I was certain we would be far short but had no reason to call a dummy run on this my first attempt and pressed the release button anyway. The little white bomb fell away and as I looked ahead at the target I was more certain than ever that I goofed. I could see the bomb dropping vertically but it seemed to be falling behind the aircraft. In actual fact the bomb was gradually losing its forward speed and gravity was taking over well the aircraft itself was continuing to move forward at its normal cruising speed. As I looked down and to the rear, the bomb still seem to be going straight down when all of a sudden it appeared to suddenly change direction and shoot straight ahead parallel to the river before splashing into the St. Lawrence in a cloud of white smoke, a lot closer to the target then I expected. The trajectory of the bomb was actually a parabolic curve but it created an illusion of sorts as seen from the bomb aimers position in the nose of the aircraft. It always took new trainees like myself by surprised even though our instructor had warned us about what to expect.

At the same time we started gunnery exercises. Again two of us woould go up together. Each of us with a drum of ammunition for the Vickers machine gun. The armourers painted the tips of the 303 ammo blue in one drum and read in the other so that the hits on the go target could be allotted to me or my flying partner. The target was a long nylon sleeve towed several hundred yards behind another Fairey Battle which flew parallel to our aircraft or in some other configuration to test or marksmanship. The drogue was never close to our aircraft and my scores were seldom that great. What I still remember most was the "fearless" things we did in those days. There wasn't much danger I suppose if we were careful, but the gunnery station in the battle was an open cockpit behind the pilot. When firing, the gunnerstood up with a strong leash snapped his parachute harnessand the other end snapped to a metal ring on the aircraft frame. That was all there was between Florence White's son and the St. Lawrence River. When not firing we crunched down in a confined space breathing the glycol fumes. These flights and our bombing exercises were usually 60 to 90 min. and we got accustomed to discomfort. Occasionally if we finished early the pilots would go low flying down the Matpedia valley as a respite from the boring business of being a staff pilot at B & G school. Many of them wanted to be posted overseas and some of them got their wish later in the war.

The submarine scare occurred at Mont Joli when we were there and it created a great flap with good reason. The German U-boats were inflicting heavy losses in the North Atlantic and were becoming increasingly bold and begin entering the Gulf of St. Lawrence and attacking ships not far from our station. We awoke one morning to see two Canso anti-submarine aircraft on the shoreline. They were armed with depth charges and flew reconnaissance patrols up and down the river. One night we heard explosions down stream and the rumour mill reported that the a German sub had been attacked by a Navy patrol ship. The river was so wide at this point there was lots of space for tghe U-boats to ply their trade. Several allied ships were sunk in these waters in the spring of 1942 and the history books will show if any German subs met a similar fate. They had no reason to fear the presence of the student bomb aimers and gunners with their 11 pound practice bombs and VGO machine guns.

Another event that I recall was the conscription issue. Up to this time all enlistees for overseas service in the Armed Forces were volunteers. As the war progressed Prime Minister Mackenzie King came under increasing pressure to face up to the reality that Canada was the only allied nation without conscription. The main opposition came from Québec, although there were significant numbers of volunteers from this predominantly French province already serving in all branches of the armed services. Many of the French Canadians were not in support of the war effort, which they considered England's war. Matters finally came to a head and Mackenzie King could hold out no longer a national plebiscite was held in late April 1942. We voted on the base and were confined to barracks for 24 hours to avoid any incidents in town On a national basis the conscription plebiscite passed by a wide margin and some conscripts saw action overseas in the latter stages of the war. The vast majority of Army personnel were volunteers, as were a hundred percent of the Navy and Air Force.

I met only a few civilians in Mont Joli in the days following the conscription vote and I didn't sense any animosity. I was having my hair cut one day in town and the barber, like all barbers was the chatting type. He told me about a Mont Joli airman, who had recently distinguished himself as a fighter pilot in Europe. I didn't know then that I would meet said airman in a German POW camp. Omer Lévesque was shot down in 1942, a few weeks after shooting down at least two of the new Focke Wulf 190 fighters over France. Omer was a talented artist and sketched the outline of this remarkable German aircraft for Allied intelligence - this was the first confirmation that the FW 190 was actually in combat. I spent the last 18 months of the war with Omar and we became good friends. After the war, I followed his career in the RCAF, including service as a jet pilot in the Korean war. I still see Omer at reunions.

The six weeks at Mont Joli were passing all too quickly. We flew almost every day, sometimes twice or more. My aerial bombing and gunnery scores were about average and in ground school I was pleasantly surprised with 76% in gunnery subjects and 80% in bombing I would soon be graduating as a Sergeant Observer - wow! My folks wanted to come down for the wings parade (actually, it was only half a wing). I sort of talked them out of it, I guess. I explained that the base was still a sea of mud and the ceremony, which would last only an hour would be held inside a small, nondescript building. It would've meant traveling 1400 miles round trip for this unimpressive event. Also, we learned that we would be leaving for our next training station immediately after the parade. With some reluctance they agreed. There was a graduating class of Wireless Air Gunners plus our class of Observers with only half a dozen visitors present.

We had our kit bags already packed and bribed a tailor in stores to sew on our Sergeant stripes before heading for the railway station. On the way someone addressed me as Sergeant and it didn't ring a bell but I was the person they were talking to. We felt pretty important but it hadn't yet sunk in that we had three hooks on our tunic and were authentic sergeants. With this exalted rank came more money. I believe that our new rate was $3.50 per day - and to think that only the year before I was slugging my guts out on a neighbor's farm for one dollar for a 10 hour day, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.