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Aviation History
1959
1959 - 0323.PDF
154 FLIGHT, 30 January 195 j AN AVIATION MUSEUM—NOW OR NEVER ? . . . rapidly on the lines indicated would be too risky from the financial point of view unless public support were forthcoming. Although the figure of about £16,000 required for the schema is large so far as the Shuttleworth Trust is concerned, it is insignifi- cant by comparison with even conservative estimates of the sum required to initiate a comprehensive, suitably located national museum. The doubt to be resolved, therefore, is whether or not those interested in aviation in this country would support a scheme of this nature to bridge over the present difficult period and to provide an opportunity for them to see all, or nearly all, of the oldest historic types of aeroplanes, engines and equipment in an appropriate environment. If the money required were forthcoming—chiefly from all those people who still take an interest in and believe in aviation—then the donors would have the assurance of the aviation side of the Shuttleworth Trust that the money would be wisely spent by an organization which knows to the last farthing how to make money go far. (In the past this has been so necessary that it has become a habit!) Every £1 subscribed will provide one more square foot of museum space, and an associated eight shillings will endow that particular square foot with a sufficient income to keep it and its contents clean and dry and also to pay an attendant tc supervise and enlighten visitors. These calculations are based on a minimum space of 7,000 sq ft, which is the minimum where one could house a collection sufficiently large and diverse (i.e., suffi- ciently interesting) to attract visitors from London, which is SO miles distant, or from the Midland industrial areas, the nearest point of which is 60 miles distant. Only on very special occasions would flying displays be staged. Apart from the aeroplanes there would also be on view an excep tionally interesting collection of historical cars, carriages and the complete range of bicycles from the earliest to the latest, all set in similar surroundings to those in which they might have been seen half a century ago. The practicability and the value of this scheme has been dis- cussed with the Royal Aeronautical Society, who are entirely sympathetic to the plans of the Shuttleworth Trust. Sir William Farren, as a council-member and past president of the Society, has kindly agreed to act as special adviser to the Trust and to provide the necessary contact with the Society. ASSINIBOIA REVISITED T^O the youth of today the name Assiniboia probably means -•• nothing. Few could place it on the right continent and far fewer could spot it in the correct Province of Canada. Yet fifteen years a?o it was a thriving part of Britain, existing as No. 34 E.F.T.S., Royal Air Force, on the prairies of South Saskatchewan. In its 2\ years of operation some 2,500 budding pilots made their homes there and learned the rudiments of flying. Like most of the flying training stations of the Commonwealth Air Training Plan, it was situated miles from anywhere and seemed as if it had been planted on the bald prairie as a pre- fabricated unit. And that is literally what did happen; construction crews moved in to the wide, empty spaces practically overnight and rapidly transformed the prairie into the familiar triangular- runwayed airfield with its stereotyped but well-designed living and working quarters. The only inhabitants who suffered as a result of the metamorphosis were the gophers, the prairie chickens, and the coyotes. Most pupils had but a passing knowledge of Assiniboia and their two months' posting passed perhaps all too quickly. But in that short time they came to look upon the station as their home and, like most early-training stations, it remained as a pleasant landmark in their careers. To those of us whose lot it was to instruct, Assiniboia meant a great deal more. For the majority it was our first permanent home in the Air Force. Ever since we had joined we had been con- tinually on courses; here, at long last, we escaped from the stigma of being pupils and found somewhere to put away kitbags and hang up clothes in a wardrobe. After barrack-room life, accommo- dation was princely and we were treated with the respect one always thought a brand new pilot deserved! We had a job of work to do—a challenging job—and working conditions could not have been better. Companionship was ideal and some of our strongest and most lasting friendships were made on the prairies. The mention of the name Assiniboia brings back a flood of memories and recollections—the beautiful prairie sunrises and sunsets; the early morning and late evening flights in the still, quiet air; the joy of aerobatics in the clear blue prairie sky; the welcome beer on the Mess verandah at the end of a hot summer's day; discussions of the finer points of flying as we watched the last stragglers coming into land at dusk. Later in the evening, the sing-songs in the Mess, the surreptitious raids on the kitchen for potatoes to roast in the open fireplace, and, of course, the feats of strength and acrobatics on the pipes and hot-air ducts sus- pended from the ceiling. And there were many more—the days off and visits to the town of Assiniboia with its unpaved streets and board-walks; the old El Prado beer parlour; the White Dove Cafe and Billy, its genial and friendly proprietor; and, of course, the many kind and hospitable inhabitants who made their homes ours. All these and many other memories came to mind as I drove down from Moose Jaw to visit Assiniboia after an absence of 14 years. As the town of Congress was neared excitement increased, yet there was no sign of the airfield. The left turn on to the narrow gravelled road was made; but after a couple of miles still no field appeared. Then a passing farmer reassured me that I was on the right road but added that there was nothing left of the station. I could scarcely believe his words and felt and hoped that he was exaggerating. A mile or so further on the remains of the old familiar wire fence appeared but beyond it there was literally nothing. My heart sank to my boots and I had the strange feeling that something great had gone out of my life forever—something that could never be replaced. All the build- ings had disappeared; grass and weeds had taken over and in some Fireplace of the officers' Mess By A. M. PENN1E places had grown to a height of two or three feet. Caragana, that ubiquitous prairie shrub, had moved in and was now flourishing on roadways, open spaces, and on the remains of building foundations. The scene was one of complete desolation and my feelings were of loneliness, regret and sorrow. I found my way to my old quarters and from there to the Mess, to stand where I had often stood by the fireplace, now overgrown by two or three caragana bushes, then down to the tarmac and the remains of the hangar area. I could pace out where the flight office, instructors' rooms, crew rooms and canteen used to be. I drove down each cracked and weed-grown runway, and without effort turned the clock back 14 years to re-live for a few quiet moments some of the halcyon days of 1942-44. How clearly I recalled the incessant rasping noise of aircraft engines, the sweet yet sickly smell of gasoline, the feeling of satisfaction and achievement on sending a pupil on his first solo flight and exhilaration of flying on a cold, frosty night! Assiniboia's war-time inhabitants are now scattered through- out the four corners of the world, and the gophers, prairie chickens and coyotes have returned to the habitat from which they were evicted in 1941. In the town it is easier to see that all this was not a dream. The main street is almost unchanged but it is now paved and there are concrete sidewalks. The buildings are little changed in character but the names have altered. Billy has departed and the White Dove is now the City Cafe. Joe the taximan is much older but still in business; and the El Prado, as a result of modernization, has changed its name to something more plebeian and less romantic and thus has lost a great deal of its colour and atmosphere. Many of our old friends still live in Assiniboia. Their hospitality is as generous and overwhelming as it ever was and their scrapbooks, fascinating in retrospect, are perhaps the only recorded histories of these memorable days. Round the town, scattered here and there, are many of the old buildings salvaged from the airfield, and parts of our old home are still recognizable despite modifications and coats of paint. It is a pity, one feels, that the R.A.F. did not erect some sort of permanent memorial—at Assiniboia and at other such places— indicating the part they played in the Second World War. Like many of the smaller towns in Canada that nurtured and fostered the Air Training Plan, Assiniboia has its plot of land that wil! forever be part of Britain. There in that green and hallowed spot, just as we left them, are the 16 graves of those who never left the prairie. Time, Man, and Nature have erased the airfield but these well-tended graves still remain and are the sad but the only tangible evidence that there once was an R.A.F. Station called Assiniboia.
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