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The Metropole like thousands of other Bournemouth hotels had been taken over by the government for the duration, and several were assigned exclusively to the RCAF. By the autumn of 1942 Canadians were arriving in Britain in ever increasing numbers, and it ruffled the feathers of some of the natives who felt their lovely seaside town was being taken away from them. Years later the memories still lingered on. When Enid and I visited Bournemouth in 1977, one English chap on learning of my background commented with more than a trace of sarcasm, "Oh so you were in the Air Force of occupation." Still the locals and the Canadians got along well together and and we considered ourselves fortunate to be quartered in such a pleasant resort town.

Although the Metropole was one of the older hotels, it was fine in the eyes of a bunch of RCAF sergeants. There were six of us from the Ferry Command draft in one large room and I was already a good friend of Reggie Fowler from New Liskard and Roy Grier from the West. In our first night in the Metropole there was a hammering on our door and in barged an air raid warden. Apparently there was a crack of light showing through the window blinds and his nibs gave us a good dressing down for being so careless. He muttered something about how lucky we were not to be sleeping in a tent on Salisbury plain. Judging from his age I expect the had experienced first hand what it was like tenting during the first winter of world war one. He probably thought that these young aircrew upstarts had it made - and he was absolutely right.

At Bournemouth we had to roll call twice a day plus a few lectures and some interesting training exercises. We practiced in an outdoor pool, wearing bulky flying clothes, learning how to inflate a dinghy and to restore it to an upright position if it became overturned. We had a battery of night vision tests and that was then we were informed that eating carrots would improve our night vision. Whether it was fact or fiction we never found out but we always hoped that our air gunners had a hankering for carrots. As a matter of fact I don't recall seeing much in the way of carrots anywhere in England so it didn't matter much. Now brussels sprouts were another matter - they were a national institution. We had several sessions of aircraft recognition in the hope that we could tell friend from foe. We had a couple of afternoons of skeet shooting to sharpen our reflexes and learn how to lead a moving target. We practiced below the bluffs along the channel where there was a great assortment of concrete and steel obstacles still in place to ward off an invasion.

It may sound as if we were busy - actually we had a lot of free time. I saw some good movies at Bournemouth, including Gone With the Wind . I remember it for two reasons. Without question it is still my favorite movie of all time. Also mother "didn't want the boys to see it because parts of it were not very nice." I suppose she was referring to Rhett not giving a damn and the scene where Rhett carried Scarlet upstairs. Pretty wild stuff. I offset this sinful experience by visiting Salisbury with Reggie Fowler and Roy Grier to view the famous cathedral constructed 700 years earlier. It was truly impressive and I wondered then, as I do now, how this massive structure with the tallest spire in England, was built with the limited tools and equipment available. Such cathedrals are found all over the country and as we found out later they make wonderful navigational landmarks when the smog and fog permit. I remember Worcester, York, Ripon and Durum cathedrals being close enough to our home airbases to be useful pinpoints.

Being on the south coast of England in 1942 there was still an awareness that the enemy was just across the channel, although the risk of invasion was no longer much of a factor. My first attempt at golf took place in Bournemouth and I recall there were several anti-- aircraft guns strategically located around the links on which we played. The gun emplacements were more of a hazard than the sand traps. One thing for sure the ack ack gunners found a new use for their tin hats warding off stray golf balls. The gunners were a welcome sight and managed to get in a few licks at the hit and run Luftwaffe fighters that raided the coastal towns. There were a few air raid alarms when I was at Bournemouth and one misty afternoon I saw one lone Messerschmitt being chased out to sea by a couple of Spitfires. The Brown Swiss hotel was demolished only a few months before our arrival, killing three RCAF airmen. Later in the war our own Metropole suffered a similar fate with more casualties.

Some RCAF aircrew were at Bournemouth for many months and didn't much care since it's such a pleasant place to be. In my case I was there only four weeks. One day a group of air observers were herded into an assembly hall and offered the chance to move to an operational training unit right away. The officer in charge explained that on heavy bomber squadrons the Air Observer trade was being phased out and the Navigator and Bomb Aimer functions would be separate. While I like navigation, the new trade had considerable appeal. In addition to dropping bombs, the Bomb Aimer would also be the front-gunner when required. Because of his extensive training he would also do some navigation. Best of all he would assess the pilot on landings and takeoffs and learn to fly the plane when airborne to spell off the pilot. This sounded more diversified than pure navigation and we were told we would get to a squadron faster as Bomb Aimers then Navigators due to a surplus of the latter. While it was a voluntary decision on my part, I must say that the officer describing the new trade would be one heck of an insurance salesman in city street. About half the Ferry Command contingent opted to take the bomb aimer route and the others choose to remain Navigators. Jim Dobie and Reggie Fowler wer in the latter category. I never regretted my decision and I also know that being a navigator on bomber operations would have been okay too.