DONALD LAMBIE’S WAR - Episode One

Mar 7

Written By David O'Malley with Jeff Krete

March, 2022

Of all the veterans of the Second World War who I have met and written about over the years, the one I knew the best, loved the most and miss the deepest was a Scotsman named Warrant Officer Harry Hannah, a Spitfire pilot with the legendary 602 City of Glasgow Squadron and a prisoner of war for two years. This story is not about Harry, but he is where I need to start.

Harry died three years ago at the age of 98, elegant, diminutive and dignified until the end. Over the years of our friendship we shared a unique and trustful bond that allowed me to tease out the story of his life and his extraordinary experiences, both uplifting and privative. Harry was a very reserved man — humble, quiet-spoken and not given to putting himself at the centre of a war story. Like many who saw what he saw during the war, Harry was a pacifist. His story was unique in many ways for a Scottish pilot in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve during the Second World War — the way his war started (as an aircraft mechanic). where he learned to fly (Arizona), what happened to him (shot down in his Spitfire) and how he survived (a PoW for two years including a year in solitary confinement).

To remind me now of Harry’s life and our friendship I have a few of his favourite treasures from his war years—his embroidered 602 Squadron crest and necktie, a hand-written memoir that I had coaxed him to write down in the last years of his life and best of all, his bejewelled Caterpillar Club pin and Certificate of Membership signed by Leslie Leroy Irvin himself (founder of the Irvin Airchute Company, the world's first parachute designer and manufacturer).

These cherished mnemonic objects rest in places of honour in my office and library where, as I write this story, I can see them and bring Harry to life again. But for all the clear-as-day echoes of my friend Harry, I have but a single photo of him from the most extraordinary and important five years of his life. And it’s a poor one at that—a low resolution squadron group photo with disruptive labelling ruining what little evocative soul it might have had. I found it on the internet and Harry is in it, but from this image I can tell very little about him—who he was, what he did, or how he lived. I would have loved that insight.

When Harry was shot down in 1943, he lost all of his personal records, log book, and many photographs — packed up I supposed and lost to the bureaucracy of the RAF. After two years in prison, those important documents of his RAF service would never be found. The few images that he did have that survived the war were loaned to a squadron mate to be copied. That was the last he saw of the remaining photos. It was never clear to me whether Harry had taken many photos or saved images of himself and his friends from that period. He simply made it clear that whatever he once had in the way of images was long gone. And that was that. At that time, Harry still had the memories.

The only image of Harry Hannah during the war to come to light is this 602 Squadron group photo taken at RAF Lasham where the squadron was based for most of April 1943, a few months before Harry was shot down. This is the only image of Harry from his wartime service, all his photographs having been lost in the intervening years since the war. Harry sits in a relaxed manner beside his best friend Jimmy Kelly. Kelly would be shot down and killed after D-Day the following year. The loss of Kelly hit Harry hard when he found out about it after returning from prison. Photo: 602SquadronMuseum.org.uk

When it came to telling Harry’s story here on the Vintage Wings story service, I had no photographs to colour his words, to show him with his friends on and off duty. Nothing. While this made the storytelling more challenging for me, it was for another reason that I wished for a few photos of Harry from those days.

As Harry’s memory and sense of belonging began to leak away at the edges in the final years of his life, I could see he was becoming lost with no milestones or signposts to guide his way. As we sat and talked in his basement living room, I saw how the light would come to Harry’s blue eyes when we talked about those days or that airplane he loved so much. I saw how that same light would fade from those same eyes, and how his memory receded back into the darkness whenever a silence came between us. It was as if time was fiddling with an emotional rheostat, powering his memory up, then dimming it down. How I wished for a photo album of Harry’s war that we could sit upon our laps and turn the pages of and talk and laugh about. How I wished for those old, faded sepia-toned photographs that could connect him to his past, that could bring back the light. I longed for something I could bring out from under the coffee table on every visit, ask the same questions and coax the same or even new memories out from where they abided. Story telling begins with listening and I sure loved to listen to Harry Hannah.

So, you might ask, how does Harry’s story relate to Donald Lambie, a Canadian fighter pilot who was just learning to fly when Harry was shot down in France in 1943. Well, it’s about photos.

A treasure found far from home

My friend and colleague Jeff Krete, one of the world’s most respected wildlife carvers, was travelling with his brother and their wives in the first summer of the pandemic and, as they are wont to do on all of their trips, they enjoyed visiting antique shops and garage sales, looking for vintage treasures. Last year, Jeff wrote to me to tell me about a personal photo album his brother had come across in a small antique store on Manitoulin Island, the largest island in the Great Lakes. Here he describes how they came across this extraordinary find in a place far from its creation.

My brother Tim [Krete], his wife Lynne, my wife Marna and I all vacation regularly on Manitoulin Island. As part of our trips there, we like to travel about and collect old treasures. Tim and Lynne are in the business and have a couple of shops selling vintage things — Pretty Vintage and The Toy Society located here in Cambridge [Ontario].
Tim and I grew up in the 60s in a household where our parents collected antiques. They had a fondness for old things. When he was young, Dad had been in the Essex Scottish and Highland Fusiliers of Canada. I recall his stories of training exercises, especially driving tanks at the Meaford Tank Range. Tim and I also grew up in a family which had some veterans and family friends who were veterans. In that environment, I think we came by our interest in old things and militaria honestly. Tim especially, is always digging when we go on our picking trips together. He has a knack for it far greater than me. He also has more luck than I do! Lynne can tell him he has 30 minutes in a whole building and somehow he comes out with the gold! Anyway, in June of 2020 we went to a small antique business Tim found on the island. We all went inside and a couple hours later we came out with our treasures.
I found an old 60s control-line P-39 Airacobra and a few other cool things and Tim had quite a pile. Tim always checks out old photo albums and found a large one it at the bottom of a nondescript pile of books. He purchased it for around $30 and really didn’t know what he had until I started to go through it on the way back. He was driving and I was calling out the type of aircraft. Woohoo… a Harvard! a Hurricane, a Spitfire! The photo album was full of images that generated so many questions. Who were these people in the photos? How did this album end up here… on remote Manitoulin Island?

The leather-bound album that caught the eye of collector Tim Krete in an antique shop on Manitoulin Island. The shop’s owner was from Toronto and spent the winters there looking out for unique antiques and collectibles to sell in his seasonal shop on the island. Photo Jeff Krete

As soon as Tim Krete opened the album he knew he had stumbled on something greater than a “collectible”, but rather a unique window on one man’s experience in the Second World War and an historic record of a sparsely documented period in RCAF fighter operations. Photo Jeff Krete

An initial search of the internet brought to light this studio photograph of Donald Lambie — a handsome, elegant man in his 50s engaged in the insurance business. It was immediately apparent that this was the same man as the 20-year old whose life was so fully depicted in the more than 400 photos in the album. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Tim and I grew up building plastic model airplanes together. I went on to fly RC model planes and take flying lessons, then a brief time in the Canadian Armed Forces (Navy). Dave, you know of my carving and interest in aircraft and connection to VWC. I have and always will be an admitted old aircraft enthusiast. I followed all the warbird restoration stories in Air Classics, Wings, Air Progress and other magazines. I went to every airshow I could, hoping to see WWII aircraft fly.

With great interest, I borrowed the album from Tim, going through the book on a mission to sort out the story in it. Given there was also writing on the back of many of the 400 or more photos, it seemed the story just might reveal itself if I kept at it. I noted the name “Donald Lambie” multiple times and was able to identify that he was the young airman and pilot at the centre of everything. This was his album.
The images covered approximately three years of his life and were in roughly chronological order. I wondered what became of this man. Could he still be alive? I Googled his name looking for him in Toronto and a photo popped up (a black and white one from maybe the 70s).
I searched some more and a Donald Lambie came up with a phone number in Toronto. I called the number and Karen Lambie, Don’s wife answered. You can imagine the random nature of my introduction and story!
She was quite surprised and told me that Don was indeed alive and in one of the Veterans’ wings at Sunnybrook Hospital. He was 99-years old. She knew nothing of the photo album. She was Don’s second wife, having married him in 2004.
My head was spinning with questions for Don but unfortunately COVID-19 would preclude us from meeting him in 2020 and perhaps returning the photos. I tried to send questions through Karen but she could only see him about every other week and needed extensive COVID screening in order to visit him. Given his advanced age we could not overwhelm him with too much.
I worried I would not be able to engage him very much and learn his story. Some months went by and in November of 2020, before we could connect with Don, Karen informed me he had passed away. I wasn’t sure where to go from here so I eventually reached out to you. The rest you know!
Karen indicated that Don had no siblings and no children of his own and how the album was lost is not known. She admitted to having many other photos of Don and that we were welcome to keep the photo album. This presented a problem in that we would need to decide where it should end up. This was not our story but Don Lambie’s and the images are now entrusted to us to do the right thing. We decided donating them to an appropriate museum is the right course of action. But first, we need to sort out Don Lambie’s story.

Lambie’s Early Life

Donald Walter Lambie was the son of David Lambie, a ship chandler from Grangemouth, Scotland (near the western end of the Firth of Forth) and Edith Annie Bayes, of Bedfordshire, England. Lambie Sr. arrived in Canada in April of 1921, leaving behind a pregnant Edith who would follow in June after David got settled. He took a job in the shoe department at Eaton’s department store in downtown Montreal. Donald, who was to be their only child, was born that October.

One thing evident in all the photos of David Lambie, Donald’s father, is that he was a well-dressed man — turned out in waistcoats, straw boaters, Panamas, fedoras, silk ties and polished shoes. His sartorial obsession clearly rubbed off on his son as you will see later in this story — both in civilian clothes and in uniform. Even as a toddler and a boy, Donald’s clothes were stylish and clearly curated for him by his parents. Young Donald, being an only child, grew up without hand-me-downs and with his father’s Eaton’s discount was always the epitome of a middle-class boy from the Notre-Dame-de-Grâce neighbourhood (referred to as NDG by residents) of Montreal’s west end.

Donald had an education typical of mid-century English-speaking boys in downtown Montreal, with one exception. In 1928, his mother Edith took him back to England to visit her family. She and Donald would stay with her sister Amy L. (Bayes) Harper, the headmistress at Bolnhurst School near Bedford in some of England’s finest horse country. They remained there for two years, with young Lambie attending his “Auntie’s” school. Upon his return to Montreal with his mother in 1930, Donald transferred to the elementary school rooms of The High School of Montreal, the massive English-speaking institution on University Street near the campus of McGill University. He would later move to Iona Public School and then back to The High School of Montreal for his junior matriculation. The High School of Montreal has produced some pretty accomplished graduates over the years, including jazz pianist Oscar Peterson, jeweller Henry Birks, and actor Christopher Plummer. Following high school, Lambie enrolled in the Insurance Institute of Montreal and took a job as an office clerk with the Continental Insurance Company. He was beginning what he hoped would be a life-long career. When it came time to enlist, Lambie was granted a leave of absence from Continental. He returned to the company after his wartime adventures and spent his entire working life in the insurance industry, 16 of those years with Continental.

Most English-speaking Canadians at the outset of the Second World War still had a strong socio-political connection with Great Britain. It was one of the reasons so many young men joined the fight to save Britain. But Lambie’s was deeper than most. His parents were Britons and he was conceived there. When he was a boy of 7 years, he sailed with his mother to England to meet and live with family for two years. While he was there, he was schooled at Bolnhurst School in the hamlet of Bolnhurst, Bedfordshire. The tiny school lay just 1 kilometre from RAF Bedford to the west and RAF Little Straughton to the east. Here we see young Lambie standing third from the left in the back while his Aunt Amy, the school’s headmistress, stands behind. I must admit, there are a few *Village of the Damned*-like children in this group! Photo: Donald Lambie Colllection

Lambie’s Aunt Amy was headmistress at Bolnhurst for the 32 years before it was closed. Today, Bolnhurst School is a private residence on School Lane in a very rural area.. This will be the first of many modern photos that I have added of locales depicted in Lambie’s album to help add literal colour as well as modern context to his images. The children and Miss Amy were standing in front of the white framed window to the left of the white door in this Streetview screen capture. Photo: Google Streetview

Donald Lambie grew up an only child in a solidly middle-class family in English-speaking Montreal. Many of his comrades from the war grew up in much more hard-scrabble existences, working on the family farm on the prairies or on the family fishing boat. But Lambie grew up well, got involved in the world around him and learned the value of hard work. Counterclockwise from upper left: Lambie as a toddler in the ambiguous clothing favoured by parents in the day; 11 year-old Lambie in 1933 with his father David Lambie down to the docks of Montreal Port for a tour of the visiting Royal Navy sloop HMS *Scarbourough*, a gunboat of the Royal Navy launched in 1930. She served in the Second World War, especially as a convoy escort in the North Atlantic. Lambie’s father worked in the shoe department at Eaton’s department store as evidenced by high quality wingtips worn by his son; then a photo of a young Lambie having a little fun turning a few garden implements into a chariot of some kind. Lastly, a photo of 8-year old Lambie in 1930 with his German Shepherd dog on Sandy Beach in Hudson, Quebec. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Research into any photo can be an obsession, a rabbit hole from which there is only one exit. The photo of young Lambie and his German Shepherd dog from the previous photo collage had a single word caption on the back — *Hudson*. For a while we thought that might be the name of the dog, but I got to thinking maybe it was for the small town of Hudson, Quebec on the shores of the Ottawa River as it feeds Lac des Deux Montagnes west of Montreal, a favourite summer spot for English-speaking Montrealers for a century. Google Earth revealed only a single sand beach in the immediate area of the town — a 100 metre long patch of silicon dioxide known appropriately as “Sandy Beach”. I placed the photo of Lambie and his dog into an image I found on the web — a perfect match! “Who cares?” you might say, and you’d have a point, but I find searching for these places and finding the coloured modern equivalent photos to be a way to connect with the life of Donald Lambie and to literally bring colour and a better understanding of his own experiences. Black and white photos have a way of distancing you from the realities of the days and place where they were shot.

Perhaps this is off topic, but this is the Royal Navy sloop Scarborough, the ship Lambie and his father went to visit at Montreal Port in 1933 as seen in the previous photo collage. I always find adding these asides into the image mix helps to colour Lambie’s story. Well, at least I find it interesting.

On another family outing, this time to St. Jovite, Quebec (near Mont Tremblant) Lambie’s visiting Aunt Amy grabs a shot of the family—mother Edith Annie (Bayes) Lambie, Donald Walter Dambie and father David Lambie. One notes the more formal dress worn on outdoor adventures in the 1930s. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Music was always an important part of the young Lambie’s life and circle of friends. He was a member of the youth choir at St. Matthew’s Anglican church in Montreal — seen at left in the bottom photo of the mixed church choir in surplice and cassocks; and fourth from right in the young mens choir performing on stage. Like Scouting, singing in the church choir was one of Lambie’s passions. After he moved to Etobicoke, a suburb of Toronto, after the war he sang in the All Saints’ Kingsway Anglican Church for 16 years. .Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**The choir in the previous photo was standing beneath of the three stained-glass transept windows on the south side of St. Mathews Anglican church. Man, I love to go back in time like this!** Photo: Google Streetview

Lambie loved the great outdoors and devoted many years of his life to the scouting movement in Canada. In the top photo, Lambie (middle) enjoys a bright sunny day of skiing in March of 1941 with some younger scouting friends [looks a lot like Grey Rocks near Tremblant]. Bottom: Lambie (second from left) and some friends stand for a full-dress scouting group shot at Camp Tamaracouta in the Laurentian Mountains north of Montreal. It was the summer of 1941, Lambie’s first year as commanding Officer of “Ruperts House” (his particular lodge?). Camp Tamaracouta is about an hour northwest of Montreal near the small town of Mille-Isles. The camp has been welcoming scouts for more than a century. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

All the photos of Lambie’s early life are not from the album. They were provided to us by Karen Lambie. What follows however, are largely all from the lost photo album save for a number we have added to flesh out detail and colour to the narrative. It is clear that Lambie had spent many hours assembling the album covering the three and a half years of his war experience and nothing else. It was clearly important to him.

We will never know the story behind the loss of Lambie’s album. It must have been a cherished if only occasionally viewed artifact. Albums often get lost when families change. I won’t get into speculation about the album’s travels since the last time Donald Lambie laid eyes on it. One thing I am sure of however is that he was not the one who let it go to an antique store. It meant too much to him.

As mentioned before, there are several hundred photos in the album and we cannot publish them all. We have selected images from across his experiences, kept them in approximate chronological order and then researched anything we could find about the people, places and periods captured by him and anyone he may have handed his camera to. There exists so much material that we are making this a two-part series. This “episode” deals with his life from enlistment to shipping overseas and involves every part of the BCATP experience — War Emergency Training Plan, Manning Depot, Guard duty, Elementary Flying Training, Service Flying Training, Operational Flying Training, Advanced Tactical Training and Embarkation. It’s rare to come across something so complete.

The second “episode” will deal with his arrival in England, Spitfire Operational Flying Training in Egypt, various leaves, Refresher Flying in Italy, combat flying and squadron life with 417 Squadron, post VE-Day sightseeing and the journey home.

Jeff and I have spent hundreds of hours on this project — scanning and repairing photos, rabbit hole diving, sharing insights, bouncing ideas off each other and working to tell Lambie’s story to the best of our abilities. It has been a great joy and a meaningful endeavour for the both of us.

Don… we never met, but you are like a friend to us. Long may you remain “unforgettable”.

Photos from the Album

Enlistment, August 22nd, 1942

In late August of 1942, 21-year old Donald Walter Lambie, office clerk in the Montreal-based Continental Insurance Company and senior scouting master, went downtown to No. 13 Recruitment Centre in Montreal and signed on the dotted line. Being the only son of English and Scottish parents, he likely was inspired to enlist by stories of the pilots of the Battles of Britain and Malta and other legendary aerial campaigns to save the old country.

His attestation papers would indicate he had attended school on England, Iona Public School, the High School of Montreal and later the Insurance Institute of Montreal. It stated that he was given a leave of absence from the company to enlist and while he was awaiting acceptance, he was taking a troop of Boy Scouts to camp for the summer months. Clearly, Scouting was an important facet of his life. Under Item No. 28 on the form: Other information that many have bearing on this application, the recruiting officer wrote “10 years in the Boy Scouts, last 3 as Scout Leader; Plenty of company experience.” He was in good health save for a bout of pneumonia in 1939 and bronchitis in 1941. He was 5 feet 10 inches tall, but weighed a mere 154 lbs and had a chest of just 33.5 inches. Perhaps a sign of the times, the RCAF wanted to know the colour of his complexion, which was “Dark”. He had hazel eyes (oddly poetic for the military).

In summation, the medical officer who conducted his exam wrote “Good physical condition. Mentally very keen, alert and cooperative.” He was listed as A-1-B (Fit for full flying duties) and A-3-B (Fit for combatant flying duties).

Left: A photo of Lambie in full Scouting attire taken in September of 1942, the month after his initial enlistment. Right: The year before he enlisted, Lambie was already involving himself in the war effort leading a troop of scouts in a Victory Loan Parade in downtown Montreal. No doubt, he was ahead of the game in maintaining his uniform, polishing brass and marching. Photos: Donald Lambie Collection

War Emergency Training Plan (WETP)
University of Montreal, October 8 - December 8, 1942

Some recruits who had plenty of promise upon enlistment may have been long out of high school or college and rusty in some basic mathematical or scientific skills. Others, like French-speaking Canadians or foreign recruits, might need to brush-up on their English in order to navigate the largely English British Commonwealth Air Training Program. Before Lambie could join the proper air force and put on the uniform, he would have to take two months of refresher courses at University of Montreal.

According to Anne Millar, a PhD candidate at the University of Ottawa’s Department of History in her thesis entitled Wartime Training at Canadian Universities during the Second World War,

…from 1941 to 1945, pre-aircrew training was part of the RCAF’s recruiting strategy. As early as 1941, RCAF officials were reporting they would not only need to “undertake the complete training” of all air force trades personnel but would also have to provide academic training to increase the educational standards of a “large part of our aircrew.” Officials recognized the high educational standard required for aircrew training—junior matriculation standing—was eliminating potential recruits who might otherwise make strong candidates. Thus, in November 1941, the first comprehensive pre-aircrew training program was inaugurated under the War Emergency Training Programme (WETP). The Department of Labour, in collaboration with various provincial governments, made special arrangements to provide a pre-enlistment “educational refresher” course in mathematics, physics, English, and other subjects requested by the RCAF for potential aircrew recruits lacking the necessary education. Under the scheme, suitable candidates selected by RCAF recruiting centres signed an agreement to enlist in the RCAF as aircrew on completion of the course and in turn, the RCAF agreed to accept as aircrew those who successfully completed their educational training. The Department of Labour provided all books, classroom equipment, and instructional staff and paid trainees a subsistence allowance of $10 per week while they were in attendance. The RCAF compiled the syllabus, set the final examinations, and used inspecting officers to supervise training. Pre-aircrew training greatly reduced the percentage of failures at Initial Training Schools (ITS) where aircrew recruits took a variety of lectures on theory and navigation in preparation for flight instruction. This success prompted the RCAF to extend academic training to all types of potential aircrew recruits. The RCAF developed a new syllabus comprised of preparatory courses in mathematics, science, and English for pilots, observers, wireless air gunners, and air gunners prior to their entering aircrew training service schools. To accommodate the expansion of the program, the RCAF collaborated with university authorities to substitute radio training with pre-aircrew training and established University Pre-Aircrew Detachments, later known as the Pre-Aircrew Education Detachments (PAED), on university campuses across the country.

One of the earliest photos in the album. Donald Lambie (second from right) poses with his friends in their civilian clothes next to a 1932 Chevrolet Cabriolet roadster at the University of Montreal in October of 1942 — perhaps taken at nearby Mount Royal. The men (L-R: Chuck DePoe, Reg Chapman, Bob Gray, Lambie and Doug Howard) were attending a “refresher course” according to the handwritten caption on the album page. Following enlistment, in order to continue with real prospects for flight or aircrew training, they were required to refresh their math skills, other academics and their study habits. Once the WETP courses were employed, there were fewer failures in Initial Training School. A visit to the Canadian Virtual War Memorial reveals that Doug Howard was killed on operations with 166 Squadron, RAF in December of 1944 while flying as a navigator on a Lancaster. As for the other three men in this photo, I could find nothing on the interwebs to help me tell their stories except that Gray earned his wings with Lambie at st. Hubert. The man on the far left, Chuck DePoe, bares a strong family resemblance to famed Canadian broadcaster Norman DePoe, an American and Oregonian by birth. Many DePoe family histories found on the internet lead to the Pacific Northwest and Oregon. They were of Native American heritage. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Douglas Studholme Howard of Sault Ste Marie, Ontario, the man on the right in the previous photo was killed on operations with 166 Squadron, RAF on the night of 4/5 December, 1944. These photos are not from Lambie’s collection and you might ask why tell his story. Well, he was Lambie’s friend and everyone’s story needs telling. Flying Officer Howard was the navigator on a largely Canadian crew of seven that was lost when their Lancaster crashed returning from a night operation. Howard’s Lancaster (RAF LM176, Squadron Code AS-X) took off at 4:25 PM local time at RAF Elsham Wolds to bomb the German industrial city of Karlsruhe with a load of twelve 1,000 lb. bombs. It was one of two 166 Squadron Lancasters lost on that raid out of 24 participating bombers. Howard’s crew almost made it home, crashing seven hours into the flight near the village of Kirmington, Lincolnshire just 6 kilometres from base. They were in the process of approaching to land when their Lancaster, piloted by Canadian Roy Stanley Hanna stalled and crashed in Brocklesby Park. Photos via The Canadian Virtual War Memorial

No. 5 Manning Depot, Lachine Quebec
December, 12, 1942 to January 21, 1943

The first rung of the ladder to becoming a fighter pilot was Manning Depot, where raw recruits, fresh from college, high school, or the factory floor came to learn how to leave their civilian lives behind. Here they got their haircuts, their issue uniforms and learned to live without privacy, home-cooked meals or peace and quiet. Lambie, being from Montreal, was posted to No. 5 Manning Depot adjacent to RCAF Station Lachine near the shores of the St. Lawrence just a few miles to the east of his home in an area called Dorval.

According to historian Bruce Forsyth, No. 5 Manning Depot:

Opened on 1 December 1941 as No. 5 “M” Depot. The purpose of the manning depot was to introduce recruits into life in the RCAF, with lessons of drill, care of uniform, small arms training and physical training. The Depot was a large RCAF establishment, with around 40 buildings, including administration, messes, quarters, recreation, medical, lecture huts, a central heating plant, and two drill halls. As manning needs declined in 1943, the Depot transitioned into No 1 Embarkation Depot, or “Y” Depot, previously located at RCAF Station Debert. This was a temporary stop-over station for personnel rotating overseas.

Today, the site is home to Montréal–Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport.

Young 21-year old Aircraftman Second Class Donald Walter Lambie stands proudly in his new uniform and great coat near his home in Montreal in the winter of 1942/43 . The date is possibly immediately after Manning Depot or perhaps after he returned from guard duty at Camp Borden on his way to Initial Training School (ITS) in Victoriaville, Quebec. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A photo of Aircraftman 2nd Class Lambie with a young woman named Tess, one of many pretty young ladies recorded in his company. He had no relatives in Montreal save his immediate family, so this is likely his girlfriend. Given the snow and his AC2 rank, it is likely that this is after Manning Depot, and just before he leaves for guard duty at Camp Borden. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Guard Duty at No. 1 SFTS Camp Borden
January 22 to April 3, 1943

When Lambie first considered enlisting, it was not with the RCAF, but rather Montreal’s storied Royal Highland Regiment (the Black Watch) along with his best friend Teddy. He changed his mind and enlisted in the RCAF instead. His friend Teddy did not survive the war.

As was quite typical of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan during wartime, that newly recruited young airmen, having been processed through Manning Depot, were sent to do monotonous and simple tasks to keep them busy until a spot opened up on an Initial Training Course (ITC) or just to get them used to being an airman. By this stage in their training, recruits could march, salute, recognize ranks, polish brass and leather and keep their uniforms in top shape. They had been taught the fundamental rules that governed their time in the RCAF. One of the most common of these otiose tasks was “Guard” or “Tarmac” Duty — guarding the gates to RCAF stations and other RCAF property such as downed aircraft and broken down equipment. Judging by a number of photographs in Lambie’s album, he was sent from Manning Depot to RCAF Station Camp Borden, one of the oldest stations in the RCAF archipelago, in January of 1943 for two and half months of guard duty and whatever tedious tasks needed doing. He was lucky—some airmen were sent to factories to count nuts and bolts.

What’s special bout the photos from this period is their rarity. We hardly ever see photos from this period in a recruit’s life as they were still dazed and confused by by the shock military life and lacking in the confidence to stop and take it all in. Lambie appears not to have been any of these things. In fact, the photos reveal a man having the time of his life.

During the Second World War, the army facility at Camp Borden and RCAF Station Borden, the historic birthplace of the RCAF, became the most important training facility in Canada, housing both army training and flight training, the latter under the BCATP's No. 1 Service Flying Training School. Lambie would return to Camp Borden a year later as a Hawker Hurricane fighter pilot, there to learn how to work with the army to provide tactical air support for armoured units in a theatre of war.

A wartime aerial photograph of RCAF Station Camp Borden looking towards the east and showing the long line of First World War-vintage hangars along the flight line. Today, while the runways are no longer in use and gone to seed, the line of hangars remains, though not in original condition. Overhead photo via FlightOntario

On January 29th, 1943 a North American Yale based at Camp Borden’s No. 1 Service Flying Training School was forced down on a snowy frozen farm field near Milton— west of Toronto, Ontario while on a cross-country flight. On landing, the Yale, RCAF Serial No. 3416, flipped onto its back and suffered Category B damage. As was the custom in the RCAF in those days, two newly-recruited Aircraftmen Second Class (AC-2) awaiting an Initial Training School assignment were dispatched from Borden to stand guard over the wreck to prevent theft, accident or vandalism until a recovery crew and equipment could be mustered. In the case of Yale 3416, AC-2 Don Lambie and a friend was handed a rifle and driven to the site of the crash, there to protect the King’s Yale. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Aircraftman Don Lambie, rifle at the ready, stands on guard beside the forlorn Yale. A folding chair was provided to Lambie to relieve the strain of standing throughout the night in temperatures that hovered around the freezing point on the night of January 29-30—a relatively benign winter’s night for Canada. According to the Operations Record Book for No 1 SFTS at Borden, Yale 3416, piloted by LAC B. J. Hart “turned over while landing near Milton, Ontario at 1700 hours.” “Landing near Milton” must be a euphemism for a forced landing, since there was no airfield at Milton and if Hart was landing there, they would not have used the term “near”. In fact, Hart had become lost on a cross-country flight and with daylight soon to fail, made a precautionary landing, but “turned over”. Though he landed at 1700 hours, sunset that year on the 29th of January was at 1824, so the light was good and the shadows long. Given the prevailing winds in that region, he likely made a landing into the glare of a setting sun, which, any Canadian will tell you, is particularly bad when the ground is covered in reflective snow. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Mechanics from Borden assess the work to get the damaged Harvard onto its wheels and disassembled for the transit to a maintenance depot. The airframe (3416) was assessed as having suffered Category B damage which meant that: "The aircraft must be shipped, not flown under its own power, to a contractor or depot-level facility for repair." It’s pretty clear that even if the Harvard was flyable, it could never have taken off from a snow-covered farm field. We are lucky that Lambie brought his camera with him everywhere so that we can see the kind of assignment new recruits were often given. It’s rare to have that glimpse into an airman’s life. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Don Lambie, this time wearing a great coat, sits on the hub of the Yale’s propeller warming his face in the winter sun while mechanics from Camp Borden assess the damage and come up with a plan. When researching these stories, I find many interesting and telling details in Operations Record Books. The day before Hart’s botched landing (the 28th), a pilot taxied his Harvard into a fuel truck. On the same day as Hart’s accident two Harvards collided while practicing formation flying — with no injuries. Two days later, a Borden-based Harvard turned over at Edenvale, one of two relief fields for No. 1 SFTS. Bad weather put a stop to flying until the 4th of February when a Harvard, a Yale and an Anson all ended up on their noses within 90 minutes of each other at Borden. The pace of training never stopped despite accident rates that would shut down the modern RCAF. There was a war on and schools like No. 1 SFTS understood this was the price of a rapid RCAF build-up. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Taken the same day as the previous photo, Lambie snaps a photo of a young woman sitting on the same propeller hub. It’s doubtful that he knew a young woman in the town of Milton hundreds of mile from his Montreal home, so likely this was a local farm woman or a citizen of the town, drawn by curiosity to check out the downed aircraft. It was a different time when townsfolk could come out to these crash sites and befriend the crews salvaging it. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

The Farmer’s Daughter. It didn’t take the handsome young airman long to meet and become friendly with the locals. It’s hard to believe that Lambie knew this woman from the Milton area, and it also hard to believe he could make a friend so fast that he and his fellow airman could start cavorting with such joy in a snowdrift. Other photos on the page indicate that Lambie was staying at this young woman’s farm near the accident site. So, I consider it likely that Lambie and the other guard shown here were billeted at the farm house during the recovery of the Harvard in the nearby field. In the background, the young woman’s little brother “Dave” peeks out. **The other photos in the sequence show Lambie not only getting to know the family of this woman, but also helping them out on the farm.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**While Lambie was on guard duty, he helped out at the farm where he was billeted. Here, he drives a horse-drawn milk sleigh with the day’s milk output.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie (left) and his buddy help clear a heavy snowfall from the farm roadway, as young Dave watches. While these photos have no airplanes or air bases in them, these experiences are just as much a part of the Donald Lambie story as anything he experienced later in his war. We are particularly grateful for these insights. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A great shot of ground crew changing the port wheel assembly on Avro Anson 7231. Note the cold weather baffles in the engine nacelles. This particular Anson Mk II was assigned to No. 1 Bombing & Gunnery School at Jarvis, Ontario from December 1, 1942 until a year later when it went into storage. For that reason, I will place this photo in this section on Lambie’s time doing Guard Duty at Camp Borden. His other winter training was a year later, when this aircraft was in storage. I think that possibly Lambie took this photo at Camp Borden or while hitchhiking on a Borden flight to Jarvis or to Aylmer’s No. 14 SFTS. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Most images in Lambie’s album have no written captions on the back, but they are in groups on pages which lead us to assume they were taken around the same time. This photo of Harvard 3176 is connected to the next photo in that they are in the same grouping on the page. More importantly, the pattern of snow and asphalt on the ground around the Harvard is also the same in both photos which means they were taken at the same time in the same place. This aircraft served with No. 14 Service Flying Training School at RCAF Station Aylmer, Ontario for its entire wartime career, so it’s likely that this photo was taken there as opposed to Borden which had First World War hangars. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Perhaps standing on the control tower’s catwalk or on a hangar roof, Don Lambie captures part of a Service Flying Training School flight line after a light early winter snowfall has been cleared. For reasons already stated, I feel this is at Aylmer. Fourteen yellow Harvard trainers are prepped and ready for students and instructors. Note the two wooden frames standing on the grass in the centre foreground next to Harvard 3176. These frames are visible, in the same positions, in the next photo. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A bare-metal Lockheed Model 12 (RCAF Serial Number 7641) taxies away from the flight line at an airfield on a sunny day in the spring of 1943 (note the dirty residual snow on the edge of the ramp). Used to move commanders, inspectors, staff pilots, accident investigators and even needed parts around the various Training Commands, the Lockheed 12 was used as a utility aircraft and not for training purposes. The Royal Canadian Air Force operated a small number of used examples of the type (also known as the Junior Electra) purchased from private owners in the United States and Canada. The wooden frames in the foreground can be seen in the previous photo which Lambie took after a snowfall, so we know this was definitely taken while Lambie was in training. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

From the control tower, Lambie snaps a photo a Lysander target tug. Not sure what’s going on here, but the lone yellow and black aircraft in this cold landscape seems to be attracting a lot of attention with at least eight men watching it warming up. This particular Lysander (RCAF serial No. 2316) served its entire life at No. 1 Bombing and Gunnery school at Jarvis, Ontario so I am placing it here in this section when Lambie was in Southern Ontario in January 1943. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

It’s difficult to tell, but the underwing RCAF serial for this winterized Tiger Moth is either 8889 or 8885. Either way, both of those Tiger Moths worked their service lives with No. 1 Training Command in Ontario. This was again likely photographed at the same time and Ontario location as the previous winter shots. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Initial Training School at No. 6 ITS, Toronto, Ontario
April 4 to June 12, 1943

Following Manning Depot, prospective aircrew like Lambie who had potential for pilot or navigator training were posted to an Initial Training School (ITS). It was here that they learned the basics of airmanship, aerodynamics, meteorology, mathematics and even some simple flight control and navigation in diminutive Link trainer simulators. The results of their tests at ITS determined their next posting. Everyone wanted to become a pilot, but many would not. Truthfully, if the RCAF was short on navigators or bomb-aimers, perfectly suitable pilot candidates could be sent to navigation or bombing and gunnery schools to fill the voids. The ITS courses demanded diligence and lots of study and often required an academic background beyond the limits of high school graduates. Lambie’s mathematics refresher courses at the University of Montreal in late 1942, it would have paid off here.

Tests also included an interview with a psychiatrist, the four-hour long M2 physical examination and a session in a decompression chamber. At the end of the course, the flight or navigation postings were announced. Occasionally candidates were re-routed to the Wireless Air Gunner stream at the end of ITS. Some students, deemed unsuitable for the complexities or pressures of aircrew work might be sent to train for ground support positions. There were seven Initial Training Schools in the BCATP with Lambie sent to No. 6 ITS in Toronto, a short train ride from Camp Borden. Since all ITS training was on the ground, the schools were housed in former educational facilities and seminaries. In the case of No. 6 ITS, courses were delivered at the Toronto Board of Education building

In the summer of 1943, Leading Aircraftman Don Lambie, having just completed Initial Training School, proudly strolls the streets of Montreal in his summer tunic, polished shoes and white cap flash denoting that he is now aircrew in training. He was granted the wish of every recruit — to train to be a pilot with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Lambie had, for three years, listened to the stories of Canadian fighter pilots like Stan Turner, Willie McKnight and “Eddie” Edwards (nicknamed Stocky after the war) so was likely extremely proud to be in their company. The good-looking Lambie had no trouble attracting female companionship, but now, with his uniform and aircrew status, one can almost imagine the sound track and opening lyrics to the Bee Gee’s *Stayin’ Alive* playing as he walks down the street— “*Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man, no time to talk”* Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Elementary Flying Training at No. 11 EFTS Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Quebec
Course No. 63, June, 13 to August 7, 1943

Almost all of Lambie’s pilot training took place close to his home in Montreal’s Notre-Dame-de-Grâce neighbourhood—a luxury in the BCATP. Some students came from as far away as New Zealand to train in Canada, while others trained just far enough from home to make weekend visits there difficult. By early June, Lambie had just returned from a successful time at Initial Training School at No. 6 ITS in Toronto. From then on, his next three training postings remained in Quebec. The previous photo indicates that he had some sort of short leave in Montreal before heading off to his next assignment — approximately 8 weeks and 50 hours of basic flying training at an Elementary Flying Training School. In addition to basic manoeuvring — taking off, horizontal flight, approach and landing with engine on or off, etc. — Lambie was also taught some simple aerobatics such as rolls and loops. An EFTS student pilot was expected to go solo around the eight-to-ten-hour mark of dual instruction flight. Some did it sooner, and some were given a degree of leeway if they were struggling with a certain stage of flight (usually landings) but otherwise promising, but if the student was not cleared for solo flight by 12-14 hours, he could be washed out.

Again, Lambie lucked out when he was ordered to No. 11 EFTS near the North Shore city of Trois Rivières (in those days, English-speaking Montrealers would have simply called it Three Rivers). From here it was just a two-hour train ride back to Montreal. This meant that Lambie could visit his family if a 48-hour leave was granted. While at Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Lambie was involved in a minor ground collision with another Fleet Finch. Another student, LAC Barrett in Finch 4547 collided with Lambie’s aircraft (4774) causing minor damage to the inter-plane struts. No one was injured.

While he was training at Cap-de-la-Madeleine, one of his instructors, Bruce MacDonald of Nanaimo, British Columbia impressed upon him the importance of committing to memory certain procedures that might one day save his life. In writing to MacDonald’s daughter following her father’s death in 2005, he stated:

One day when I was posted to Cap de la Madeleine in Quebec, the weather was terrible. So, the recruits thought they would get the day off from flying [although some of us were sorry we could not be flying]. Out of the blue came this very quiet spoken flying instructor [who happened to be my specific instructor] saying that we were to appear in the hangar for ground instruction! In the course of that instruction, came the procedure that in 1945 helped me to save my life north of Venice after my Spitfire was damaged by groundfire. Naturally I have great affection for your father and will always hold him in fond memories.

A study of Lambie’s log book reveals the incident he refers to in the letter to MacDonald’s daughter. On April 7, 1945 Lambie was flying a Spitfire Mk VIII (AN-X, RAF Serial No. JG337) on a 6-plane attack against seven barges in the industrial harbours of Marghera to the northwest of Venice. He dropped a 500 lb. bomb and made one strafing run during which his engine cut out after being damaged by groundfire. His logbook notes do not say what happened after that, but both he and JG337 survived.

Lambie would have 26 dual instruction flights with Warrant Officer MacDonald. The young instructor would release him for his first solo on June 25, 1943 after 10 hours dual instruction. Lambie makes no indication in his logbook of this momentous occasion, just the word “Self” written in the column under Pilot. In his first solo flight, he practised only two items from the EFTS syllabus: No. 7: Take-off into wind and No. 8: Powered approach and Landing. In other words: One complete circuit.

An overhead shot of the facilities of No. 11 Elementary Flying School at Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Quebec on the north shore of the St. Lawrence River at Trois-Rivières. The school operated the Fleet Finch at first and then later instruction was given on both the Finch and the Fairchild Cornell. In this photo we see both Cornells and Finches on the flight line and around the parade square. As well, there appears to be an Anson and a Harvard on the upper ramp and Tiger Moths at the bottom of the image. The barracks where Lambie lived are at upper right. Photo via Flight Ontario

Lambie snaps a blurry shot from the front seat (note the strut at right) of his Fleet Finch trainer of what he would have called Three Rivers in 1943, but is now better known by its French name Trois-Rivières. It was the closest community to No. 11 EFTS at Cap-de-la-Madeleine. In the middle of the photo we see the distinctive shape of the Hippodrome race track and at bottom its bustling St. Lawrence River riverfront. The city, now the fifth largest in Quebec, stands at the confluence of the St. Lawrence and St. Maurice Rivers. “But that’s only two rivers.” you might say. The name comes from the fact that the St. Maurice River (upper right) coming down from the north, flows into the mighty St. Lawrence through three separate channels. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

At Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Lambie trained on Fleet Finches like the two aircraft pictured here. The Finch on the right (4723) was damaged at Trenton more than two years before this photo was taken, so perhaps it was repaired and assigned to No. 11 EFTS. Why Lambie is on the outside of the perimeter fence is not known, but he surely would have had access airside. For more on the Fleet Finch operated by Vintage Wings of Canada, **click here**. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Judging by the fencing in this photo, it was taken at the same time as the previous photo of the two Finches. It shows a a nice cross section of British Commonwealth Air Training Plan aircraft types parked along the fence and moving about on the ramp. In the foreground sits Avro Anson 8359, a Mk II built in Nova Scotia by Canadian Car and Foundry. The multi-engine training aircraft was assigned to No. 3 Training Command which was responsible for all training bases in Quebec and the Maritime provinces. Next to 8359 sits a North American Harvard IIB, (H40 with RAF serial FE842), and beyond that, a British-built Fairey Battle bombing and gunnery trainer sporting a white diagonal fuselage band with the numerals 54 on it side. In the distance, Fleet Finches are active on the ramp. Since Anson 8359 was released from five months of storage on August 2 of 1943, this puts the scene likely in August or September at No. 11 EFTS Cap-de-la-Madeleine where Lambie was completing his elementary flying training. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

While at Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Lambie became close friends with one of his instructors, Flight Lieutenant George Morrison, who he would remain close friends with until the 21st century. In his log book, he has pasted a news clipping of Morrison’s wedding which occurred in January of 1944 while Lambie was in Bagotville, Quebec. Image via Donald Lambie’s logbook

Throughout the three years covered by the Lambie album there are numerous photographs of him in the company of beautiful young women — acquaintances, neighbours, military nurses and girlfriends. With his Hollywood good looks and ease with making friends, this comes as no surprise. The title of the album page where this photo appears states “Île Perrot, July 1943”, which means he was on leave there during his time at Cap-de-la-Madeleine — perhaps on a weekend pass. Île Perrot is a large island at the confluence of the Ottawa and St. Lawrence Rivers, west of Montreal and its shoreline is populated by summer homes. Perhaps he was visiting the family of this woman. The handwritten caption on the back, obviously written by the young woman in the photo, reads“ I really don’t look like that, do I? What “muskles” on you!! When you’re lonely and sad, if ever, I’m sure this will revive you.” Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Service Flying Training at No. 13 SFTS, St. Hubert, Quebec
Course No. 87 — August 8 to November 26, 1943

There was a series of potential disappointments/setbacks a recruit might have to face as he went through aircrew training. Following graduation from Elementary Flying Training, most pilot trainees still held on to the dream of flying single-engine fighter aircraft in the RCAF. If, at this point, he was selected to train at a multi-engine Service Flying Training School, it was likely (but not always the case) that he would eventually be assigned to a Bomber Command squadron, where life expectancy was grim, to a Coastal Command squadron where patrols were monotonous or to a transport squadron where glory did not necessarily reside. Sometimes a graduate might go on to flying intruder aircraft like the Mosquito or Beaufighter, but single-engine fighters were now pretty well off the table.

Don Lambie’s luck continued when he was posted to a single-engine advanced flying training course at No. 13 Service Flying Training School at RCAF Station St. Hubert due east of his home on Montreal Island, across “Le Fleuve”. St. Hubert, unlike most airfields of the BCATP, predated the Second World War, having been established in the 1920s as a civilian aerodrome for the growing civilian airline trade. He was now closer to home than ever, with only a half-hour drive across the massive Jacques Cartier Bridge to Longueuil and on to St. Hubert. He was close enough to date girls in Montreal while learning to fly across the river. And I’m sure he did.

His training here lasted another 19 weeks. In the first phase at an SFTS, the trainee was part of an intermediate training squadron; for the following phase, an advanced training squadron and for the final phase training was often conducted at a nearby Bombing & Gunnery School. In the end, when Lambie had his wings pinned on him on November 26th, 1943, he was fourth in the class of 68 students of Course No. 87, of which only 54 graduated, four having Ceased Training, while ten were delayed to the next course.

St. Hubert continued after the war as an important fighter base in the jet-powered Cold War and became the headquarters of Air Defence Command. Today, it is now part of la Ville de Longueuil, which in turn has become one of the most important aerospace centres in Canada, home to Pratt and Whitney Canada, makers of the ubiquitous PT-6 series turbo prop engines, Heroux-Devtek (landing gear) and the Canadian Space Agency. In 2017, Pratt and Whitney Canada completed its 100,000th engine — Aircraft flying with these engines had by then logged 730 million flight hours with 60,000 still-in-service engines operated by 12,300 customers in more than 200 countries.

Lambie, in a third aircraft, takes a photo of two other yellow Harvards from No. 13 Service Flying Training School flying in loose formation across a hazy landscape in Quebec. The school was situated near the South Shore community of Longueuil, across the river from Montreal. These aircraft have only the single occupant and one wonders if Lambie was also flying solo when he took this photo—something he would do in Hurricanes and Spitfires later in the war. They are overflying a very distinctive region to the east of the school known for several large mountains that rise from an otherwise flat alluvial plain known as the Collines Montérégiennes or Monteregian Hills, a series of eight butte-type mountains in the St. Lawrence River valley. The hills extend eastward for about 50 miles (80 km) from Île de Montréal to the Appalachian Highlands. The name, derived from the Latin Mons Regius (“Royal Mountain”), was first applied by Jacques Cartier, the French explorer, in 1535. That’s where Montreal gets its name. They range in height from 764 feet (Mont Royal in downtown Montreal) to 3,635 (Mont Mégantic). Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

The Monteregian mountains today— from atop Mont Saint-Hilaire, receding into a similar haze as in the previous Lambie photo. Mont Rougement is next in line, with Mont Yamaska on the horizon at left and Mont Saint-Grégoire in the distance at right. Photo: Wikipedia

A poor photo but one that speaks to the conditions of flying from St. Hubert aerodrome in the winter of 1943 on the snowy South Shore of the St Lawrence River south of Ile de Montréal. While the vast majority of Harvards of the BCATP aircraft were painted yellow, this looks to be painted in a dark camouflage scheme as were some the RAF serial Harvards. We can just make out the pitot tube on Lambie’s Harvard in the lower right corner. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A classmate of Lambie’s flies close alongside in Harvard FE523 in the South Shore skies of Quebec. I believe this is similar to the camouflaged aircraft from the previous photograph (or likely the same aircraft). We can make out the yellow underside and the darker camouflage topside. Given the open cockpit and lighter dress of the pilot, I wonder if this is from an earlier, warmer time during Lambie’s SFTS training. Perhaps sometime between August and October of 1943. Taking photographs from the cockpit, especially during formation flying, was not necessarily encouraged, but Don Lambie seemed determined to keep a record of his war. Later, he would do the same while flying Hurricanes and Spitfires (both single-seat aircraft) while training. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**Moments after the previous photograph, Lambie’s aircraft crosses beneath the yellow belly of Harvard FE523 while he snaps this photo.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

It’s difficult to positively identify the control tower depicted in this photo taken by Lambie. St. Hubert had a similar tower, but the previous photo reveals that St. Hubert’s structures seemed to be all painted white. This tower does not look like those at any base to which Lambie was posted — Borden, Cap de la Madelaine, St. Hubert or Bagotville. If anyone can positively identify this tower, please write to me. After his wings were awarded, his next posting was at Bagotville, but that station had a control tower that was attached to one of its hangars. I’ll place this photo here in the section about his Service Flying Training, but it could be anywhere — even taken in Ontario when he was doing Guard Duty. Of note is the radio/flying control truck parked on the ramp outside. These trucks, with their mobile control cabs, were used to supplement air traffic control, especially at relief fields with no tower facilities. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

On the day he received his wings at St. Hubert, Lambie was featured along with 14 of his fellow airmen and one army officer in the pages of The Montreal Daily Star newspaper. Lambie is dead centre. Sergeant R. B. Gray (Left back row) is the same Bob Gray who took War Emergency Training Plan courses with Lambie at University of Montreal in 1942. Tragically, the only one of these men to die in the war was army Lieutenant Henry James Stuart O’Brien, who quit the Army and joined the RCAF. He would be killed almost exactly a year later flying a P-51 Mustang on a recce op over the Ruhr Valley. Clipping via Donald Lambie Collection

A cautionary tale. On the last page of Lambie’s logbook section devoted to No. 13 SFTS, he pasted a small news clipping which he came across in the Montreal papers in January of 1944 when he was at the Hurricane OTU in Bagotville. Just three paragraphs long, it named Flight Lieutenant J. F. Kosalle of Toronto as the young Harvard flying instructor from St. Hubert who was dismissed from the RCAF after a court martial that found him negligent in the deaths of two Canadian Army officers and injury to four others. The accident in question happened during a demonstration of what we now call close air support at Camp Farnham, an army training base in the Eastern Townships, south east of Montreal. Kosalle and other pilots were engaged in a very low mock strafing run but Kosalle was lowest of all and struck six standing officers with his port wing and propeller. Two were killed instantly, while the other four were severely injured. On top of that, an ambulance rushing to bring victims to the Camp Hospital swerved to avoid troops on the road and overturned in a ditch. This tragedy happened on August 5, 1943, just two days before Lambie got to St. Hubert. After an investigation, Kosalle was court-martialled on October 12, but his name was not released to the public until early January. This story must have made a deep imprint on Lambie as he was commencing his service flying training. Kosalle was a good man, who had worked so hard for his wings that he graduated top in his class at Dauphin, Manitoba… all that hard work and achievement to be dashed and covered in shame for one moment of poor judgement. War is hell. Training for war is hell too.

A terrific photo of Lambie sitting casually on the wing root of a Hurricane named *SALOME*. According to the hand-written caption on the back, this was taken at St. Hubert in November of 1943 after his assignment to the Hurricane OTU. This would have been just days after he got his wings, as he is wearing an officer’s cap.Perhaps the Hurricanes were at St. Hubert to inspire the next course of Hurricane students. The pride and excitement for the next few months of fighter training is easy to see. *SALOME* was likely named after another popular song from the early 1940s by British band leader Harry Roy and his band. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

My heart skipped a couple of beats when I saw this photo taken at St. Hubert of one of Lambie’s pals standing in front of a Hurricane with the words *“STAR DUST”* on her cowling. "*Star Dust*" was a popular jazz song from the late 1920s composed by American singer, songwriter and musician Hoagy Carmichael. The Vintage Wings of Canada Hurricane XII (5447) had those same words painted on its cowling too, but in a different font and with a large yellow number 71. As well, it appears that the “Salome” Hurricane is in the background. We can just make out the nose art on her cowling. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A photo of Hurricane XII 5447 “Star Dust” with Harry and Anna Whereatt on the their Assiniboia, Saskatchewan farm in 1993 during a visit by the Canadian Aviation Historical Society. This aircraft is now fully restored by Vintech Aero/Vintage Wings of Canada as the *Willie McKnight Hurricane*. Photo from Angie McNulty

Another photo of Lambie and the young woman named Tess together in 1943. Given that Lambie is now clearly an officer, this places the photo in Montreal shortly after he received his wings at No. 13 SFTS, St. Hubert, or on some leave from Bagotville during the later winter. I would bet this was from the end of November 1943. Lambie’s course at Bagotville would not start until December 13th and his “Record of Service Airman” records that he was granted two weeks leave following his wings parade. One thing that strikes me immediately is how perfect his dress is. His light blue shirt looks bespoke, his tie knotted with experience and style, his greatcoat and cap right out of the box. Lambie looks the perfect officer and gentleman. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Hand in tunic pocket, Pilot Officer Donald Walter Lambie, RCAF of Montreal, Quebec, son of David and Edith Lambie, strikes a confident pose while on leave in the winter of 1943/44. Prior to his leave in Montreal, Lambie was pinned with his wings at St. Hubert on the afternoon of November, 26th by Wing Commander Georges Roy, DFC, a Bomber Command squadron commander. Roy had just the month before been CO of 424 Squadron in Tunisia from where the squadron’s Vickers Wellingtons were attacking targets in Italy. After 32 ops, he was home for a rest, a short war bond tour and then given the honour of placing wings on Lambie and his course mates at St. Hubert where in 1940, he had been a flying instructor. Coincidentally, he had been an instructor at Cap-de-la-Madeleine as well. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

There is a page or two in Lambie’s album dedicated to the day, not long after after his commissioning, when he visited this couple and their three boys. He had no relatives in the immediate area, so perhaps these were neighbours, friends of the family or a work mate. Given that they are in their Sunday best, perhaps this is, in fact, Sunday and everyone is heading to or from church The couple and their boys, turned out in tweeds, plaid ties, plus-fours and knee socks, stand in front of their 1939 Dodge two-door sedan. The photo speaks to the socio-economic stratum that Lambie came from — solidly middle class, educated, urban. In Canada during the Second World War, it did not matter what socio-economic class you came from, the level of education you had reached or your religious background—everyone offered up their services and even lives to the cause. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

The returning hero. Lambie has yet to fly fighters or indeed get more than a few hundred kilometres from his hometown of Montreal, but I doubt that was significant to these three young brothers posing with him in front of their porch. Having grown up through the last three years of the war with their boy’s life books, newspaper comics, and serialized stories filled with the derring-do of RCAF fighter pilots like Montreal’s George Beurling, these boys must have been in awe of the young officer in blue. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Operational Flying Training on Hurricanes at No. 1 OTU, Bagotville, Quebec
Course #22 December 11, 1943 to March 25, 1944

The next stage in Donald Lambie’s quest to become a fighter pilot was conducted at an Operational Training Unit where he would learn to fly a frontline fighter and then learn how to use it as a weapon. There were two paths this could take for a would-be RCAF fighter pilot. He could ship out immediately for Great Britain where he would attend a Hurricane or Spitfire OTU, or he could be posted to Bagotville, Quebec which was the only fighter OTU in Canada. Bagotville was equipped with Harvards for refresher flying and skills assessment and the Hawker Hurricane Mk XII, a 12-gun Canadian-built variant of the British icon of the Battle of Britain. They would have to master this complex machine under tough flying conditions in a rugged and unforgiving environment. Graduates of the Bagotville OTU would then be channeled in one of two ways. Many would be posted to the numerous Hurricane-equipped RCAF fighter squadrons of the Home War Establishment and tasked with patrolling and defending the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of Canada. Other graduates, like Lambie, would be sent directly overseas to Great Britain where they would wait at the RCAF Personnel Reception Centre at Bournemouth for a posting to a Spitfire OTU in England or possibly in the Middle East, thereafter to replace pilots lost through attrition or timed-out in both RCAF and RAF squadrons.

Of the 50 pilots who started Lambie’s Hurricane OTU Course No. 22 at Bagotville on December 13, 1943 only 23 would complete the syllabus. Of the 23, five were considered above average while 18 were considered average. Eleven of the graduates, including Lambie, were later posted to Camp Borden for further training as Course No. 22B. The remaining 27 pilots who started the course were listed in a category called “Wastage” and posted out to various OTUs and staff jobs. The average for each student was 26 hours of “synthetic flying” (which I believe would be in the Link Trainer) per pupil, 64 hours of Hurricane flying (night and day), 3,000 rounds of machine gun ammo expended in air-to-air shooting and 1,800 rounds in air-to-ground.

An overheard view of No. 1 Operational Training Unit, Bagotville, Quebec shortly after its opening in July, 1942. This is where Lambie would take advanced flying training on the Hawker Hurricane. Unlike other BCATP airfields in Southern Ontario and in the prairies which were surrounded by flat open farmland, Bagotville was situated in the Canadian Shield wilds of Quebec, south of Lac Saint Jean, the headwaters of the Saguenay River. To the southwest (top left here), the Mars River snakes through the forest. Any Hurricane pilot in trouble more than a few kilometres from base would have to find somewhere to put his airplane down in the rugged hills, mountains, remote lakes or forests of the “Sagamie” region. Bailing out might be a better option in some cases. Note the ramps and hardstands full of Hurricanes and the five home-plate-like concrete run-up pads at the runway thresholds. Photo via Flight Ontario

**About 20 Hurricanes warm up on the flight line at No. 1 Operation Training Unit, Bagotville in the fall of 1943, just a couple of months before Lambie’s arrival.** Bagotville Air Defence Museum Photo

Donald Lambie arrived mid-December at Bagotville for his Operational Flying Training, where he would learn to not only to fly advanced fighter aircraft, but more importantly, how to use them to fight the enemy when he got to Europe. Here he stands at the entrance to H-Hut 3A — a largely uninsulated and poorly heated barrack block that would be his “home” for the next few months. More than half of his classmates would not complete this exacting course for one reason or another. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A sunny photo of Lambie on cross-country skis in February, 1944 while at Bagotville. Lambie was a bit of an outdoorsman, remaining with and supporting the Boy Scout movement long after he aged out of it. In this period of his training in Quebec, the sheer number of his photos taken on sunny days leads me to believe it was a particularly cold winter. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

In the low sun of a Quebec winter, a pilot warms his Hurricane before the day’s training exercises, while a Harvard sits cold on the far side of the ramp. When Lambie was there, Bagotville had 64 Hurricanes and 22 Harvards on station. Throughout the BCATP, many ramps, hardstands, taxiways and even some runways were not ploughed to the asphalt, but rather the snow cover was rolled flat. The only way to tell where the supported surface ended and the grassy infields began was to mark them with tiny fir saplings like these that edge the ramp at Bagotville. There is so much I love about the discovery of Lambie’s photo album, in particular his uniquely personal views of training and operations previously unavailable to wanderers on the “interwebs” like me. Lambie took the time to document his experience in order to share with others and to savour the memories long after the war. That’s why it’s so strange and even sad that Lambie lost contact with his album, something I am sure he would have enjoyed sharing as he approached 100 years old. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

A Bristol Bolingbroke target tug in yellow and black “Oxydol” paint scheme gets a drink from a fuel bowser at Bagotville. Bolingbrokes were similar to Bristol Blenheims but built under license in Montreal. Target tugs were flown by Bagotville staff pilots and would stream a canvas banner on a cable, allowing student pilots in their Hurricanes the opportunity to make quartering runs while firing some of their 12 Browning .303 machine guns at the streamer. Each student’s rounds were painted with a different colour which left coloured paint marks around the holes made by successful rounds. This allowed instructors to assess the accuracy of individual pilots. On average, students of Lambie’s cohort shot 3,000 rounds during their course. With the Hurricane XII being a 12-gun fighter, 3,000 rounds would have been expended rather quickly as each of its Browning machine guns was capable of 1,150 rounds per minute. If all guns were firing, that would mean each gun fired only 250 rounds… which would have lasted just 13 seconds. I suspect that only one or two of the Hurricane’s guns were used for these exercises. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

It’s hard to tell if this is morning or late afternoon, but the light has that marvelously fresh quality and wintry warmth that so many Canadians are familiar with. The line of four silhouetted Hurricanes and the lone casual pilot or mechanic up-sun from the near Hurricane make a powerful image. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie’s wingman in Hurricane “32” flies over a cold and snowy landscape marked by the arrow-straight line of a power line cut and the Saguenay River. These distinctive makings helped students familiar with the area navigate on days like this when the horizon was obscured. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie takes a moment from leading his wingman in Hurricane 32 (on its nose and flanks) to snap a photo of him on a snowy day near Bagotville. The brutally cold conditions of the Saguenay Region winter played havoc with the sensitive systems of the Hawker Hurricane. In No. 1 OTU’s summary of activity for February, 1944, only 33 of the 64 Hurricanes on station were serviceable. On the other hand 18 of the 22 Harvards were good to go. That tells you a lot right there. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Perhaps taken on the same flight as the previous photos, with Hurricane “18” close to his side, Lambie takes his eyes off the horizon and his hands off the stick and turns to the left to take another photo while in tight formation. Don Lambie was a confident man. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie was granted leave at the end of January, 1944 and he spent it in Montreal where he and some friends met for a celebration in a private room at the Mount Royal Hotel for something he calls the “Continental Banquet”. Lambie is the only one wearing a silly hat, the kind you wear for New Year’s, St. Patrick’s day or a birthday. That January, the Germans were far from defeated, D-Day was still more than four months away, so living for the moment and enjoying the company of friends was cherished. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Reading through the ORBs for No. 1 OTU at Bagotville for the time Lambie was there, there were a number of mishaps with Hurricanes, 26 of which could be dealt with on the runways without dismantling the entire aircraft. There were two complete losses of Hurricanes — one a fatal crash, the other a successful bail-out. There were seven forced-landings outside the airfield (some quite distant) that would have required the dismantling and transportation of the damaged aircraft back to base. This was likely one of them. There was also an instance of a damaged Bolingbroke and a Harvard crash involving the deaths of its two occupants. In times of peace, this attrition would be unacceptable, but there was a war on and training stopped only for funerals. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie (in cargo door) and friend inspect an American C-47 Dakota up from Presque Isle, Maine in February, 1944. The only C-47s to arrive at Bagotville during the time Lambie was stationed there arrived in connection with an American B-17 Flying Fortress flying from Presque Isle to Goose Bay, Labrador which had force-landed near Bagotville after getting lost and running out of fuel. They came on February 27th to retrieve the crew and then on March 1st and 3rd to work out the salvage. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

I always like to look for corroborating images to support what are educated guesses like the explanation of the previous photo. During the Second World War, Presque Isle Army Air Base was home to the 23d AAF Ferrying Wing, assigned to the Air Transport Command and was responsible for the trans-Atlantic ferrying of aircraft, crews and supplies. Here a group of GIs return to Presque Isle, Maine at the end of the war aboard a station C-54. If you look to the right, you will see that the crest on the C-54s fuselage is the same basic design as the one just visible in the same position in the photo of Lambie at Bagotville. As well I found this embroidered command patch for the Ferrying Division of Air Transport Command at Presque Isle, thus confirming that the American C-47 Skytrain (Dakota to us Canucks) in the previous photo was indeed from Presque Isle, Maine. Photo via

Lambie and a course mate he identifies as “Frank” pose at the entrance to their H-Hut Barrack building No. 3A at Bagotville. They are on their way to living their dream of being fighter pilots and their confidence shows. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**Lambie at the door of his Bagotville home, looking proud and confident.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

There are a few photos in the album depicting Lambie and various course mates standing in front of station Hurricanes. This shot of his friend Pilot Officer George “Bahamas” Moseley in front of Hurricane 74 on a snowy ramp also shows a number of other Hurricanes and one of the station Bolingbroke target tugs. Flight Lieutenant George Winthrop Sargent Moseley, a member of the Royal Air Force, was one of a very small number of Bahamian pilots of the Second World War. Moseley did not finish the syllabus at Bagotville, instead, on January 30, 1944 he was posted No. 36 OTU at Greenwood, Nova Scotia to learn to fly the de Havilland Mosquito. Ten months later, on the night of 25/26 November, 1944, 25-year old Moseley and his navigator Sergeant Kingsley Nugent were killed during a night intruder operation into Germany with 305 (Polish) Squadron, RAF. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

This photo of another of Lambie’s course mates, Pilot Officer Jack Campbell, also with Hurricane 14 was taken at another time (note the Harvard at left, the cowling shifted and the missing Hurricanes and Bolingbroke). I wonder if this was a coincidence or if this aircraft had some particular significance. Lambie did in fact fly Hurricane 74 on several occasions. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie’s log book is extremely neat, well-kept and filled with extra bits stapled and taped to various pages — more storybook than regulated document. The page at the end of his time at Bagotville includes newspaper clippings concerning two men who were at Bagotville during his stay. The story at left is about the loss of Flight Lieutenant Llewellyn Evan Price of Quebec City, a flying instructor at Bagotville. Price and Captain Abraham Steinberg, the station dentist, were flying in a Harvard from Bagotville to L’Ancienne Lorette, near Quebec City on January 21st, 1944 when they went down in bad weather. The wreckage was not found for two days. Both men were killed.
The story on the right is about the appointment of a new commanding officer for No. 1 Operational Training Unit —Group Captain Vaughan Bowerman Corbett, DFC. Corbett, a Battle of Britain veteran, was promoted to head the Hurricane training unit at Bagotville, having just been CO of the RCAF station at Moncton. Corbett was killed in February of 1945 along with two others in an aircraft crash at Bagotville.

Army Cooperation at Canadian Armoured Corps Training Establishment
Camp Borden and Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range
April 8 to 22, 1944

Trying to piece together Lambie’s path through training has been an extraordinary exercise in patience and rabbit hole diving. Without the benefit of the Internet, none of this would have come to light. But by patiently examining photographs for clues—weather, aircraft serial numbers, handwritten captions (few of these) and airfield structures, as well as poring over records such as Operations Record Books for Cap-de-la-Madeleine, St. Hubert, Bagotville and Borden and Lambie’s own logbook, we have been able reconstruct a timeline. At the same time we learned a lot of new things about the way pilots were trained in the latter part of the war. In particular his training immediately after Bagotville, was a revelation. His next phase of training was still under the command of No. 1 OTU, but at a starkly different place and course.

Lambie was one of only 23 out of 50 Hurricane OTU students to complete the course, doing so on the 24th of March, 1944. That is an incredible attrition rate—less than 50% succeeding. The 27 men who did not successfully complete the course were referred to as “wastage” in the Operations Record Books for No. 1 OTU, and their names were listed with some reasons given or places sent. Those who did graduate, like Lambie, went unnamed. It seems a bit like a shaming for those 27 to call it “wastage”.

Of these 23 graduates, 12 were posted to RCAF Station Greenwood, Nova scotia for “advanced training” (now called Course No. 22A) while Lambie and the other ten (now called Course No. 22B) were sent to Camp Borden for “advanced training” as well. According to one video I watched on Greenwood’s history, No. 1 OTU at Bagotville began sending a detachment of Hurricanes to Greenwood in early 1944 to continue their training alongside the Royal Air Force which operated No. 36 OTU (de Havilland Mosquito and Lockheed Hudson training) there since early on in the war. Lambie’s Course 22 was the third course to be divided in this way and deployed to both Borden and Greenwood for two different kinds of training. Two weeks later, the two halves of Course No. 22 would swap locations and courses.

Before he left for Borden, Lambie was granted two weeks leave, likely going to Montreal to visit family and sweethearts. Along with his cadre of Hurricane-trained pilots he arrived at Camp Borden in Southern Ontario on April 7 and on the 10th began a two-week, non-flying course on army tactics and familiarization as part of the Advanced Tactical Training Detachment, a far-flung detachment of No. 1 OTU, Bagotville. At Borden they were to train wth the Canadian Armoured Corps Training Establishment.

From day one, they sat through lectures on such esoteric subjects as the origin and characteristics of Armoured Fighting Vehicles, the Grizzly tank (a Canadian-built M4A1 Sherman), tank armament, tank gunnery, the history of the Canadian Armoured Corps, operation of the No. 19 Wireless Set (Standard in the Canadian Army), camouflage, armoured fighting vehicle recognition, and the make-up and origin of field units of the Canadian Armoured Corps. Other lectures were given on the fundamentals of the RAF’s Tactical Air Force and German Armoured Divisions, air-to-ground signals, anti-aircraft defence and some time spent in the RYPA simulator which according the Detachment ORB written by an airman was similar in concept to the Link trainer used by flight students. They would also learn the use of military maps and the grid system to help them identify targets and friendlies.

**The RYPA tank simulator. The acronym name for these simulators stood for Roll, Yaw, Pitch and Alter Course… thus mimicking the motions experienced by a tank while firing.** Photo via the Imperial War Museum

Following a 36-hour pass, the pilots returned to attend demonstrations and ride-alongs at the track training area of Borden and at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range (a 17,500-acre tank range 80 kilometres north of Borden on the shores of Georgian Bay). On their field trip to Meaford, they got to fire the six-pounder gun on a RAM tank, machine guns from the bow of a Grizzly, light anti-aircraft guns, and a Grizzly’s 75 mm gun. All of this shooting was at stationary and moving targets. I bet they had a ball that day!

There were more lectures and then on the 20th and 21st of April, they got back in the air again — this time as passengers in an Avro Anson from No. 1 SFTS for a flight over Borden and Meaford to acquaint the pilots with how camouflaged military assets looked like from the air. Their last morning (April 23) was spent in an open, general discussion about what they had just learned. Then they grabbed their kitbags and boarded a Moncton-based Dakota for Greenwood for some more Hurricane flying at No. 36 OTU.

Interestingly, those 12 pilots of Course 22A who had been sent to Greenwood when Lambie left for Borden arrived by the same Moncton-based Dakota at Borden the previous day to begin their identical armour course with the Canadian Armoured Corps Training Establishment.

The students of Lambie’s Course 22B were cited in the Detachment’s ORB as showing “great enthusiasm throughout the course and highly praised the course and the instructors.” The is no doubt that what they learned at Borden helped Lambie when he was eventually posted to 417 Squadron in Italy where they worked hand in glove with Canadian and Allied ground units to destroy German convoys as they fled to Austria at war’s end.

Course 22B, No. 1 OTU, Bagotville. Of Lambie’s 50 Course No. 22 classmates, only 23 graduated. Of those, 11 were posted to do Advanced Tactical Training (ATT) at Camp Borden as Course 22B. Note that Canadian Army Camp Borden was the Army side of Borden whereas RCAF Station Camp Borden was the air station. Here we see 11 young men including Lambie (second from the right in front next to his friend Frank while the guy kneeling at left I will call Flying Jacket Guy for now as he appears again) who I suspect are the 11 graduates of the Bagotville OTU Course 22B. The mustachioed man in the centre of the front row is Tony Whittingham who would follow Lambie all the way to Italy. It seems that this was at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range (also known as the Meaford Tank range), some 80 kilometres to the north west of the camp. It looks like the group has just arrived by truck in winter conditions at Meaford and have decided to pose for a group photo. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

There are several photos from Lambie’s visit to Meaford and Borden that show the men near a rough log cabin, perhaps their accommodation for a day trip. Here a bunch of the ATT students from Bagotville channel their inner infantryman, donning pans for tin hats and using anything at hand for a weapon — axes, shovels, a bucksaw and in Lambie’s case, a combat broom (squatting at right). Flying Jacket Guy is standing at left. It appears this cabin was their abode for whatever activity they were engaged in. As weather conditions and clothing are identical to the group in the previous photograph, one can assume they are from the same day or field trip. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**Royal Canadian Gothic. Lambie and his Bagotville course mate Frank, wearing tank crew overalls, pose at the open door of their cabin in the woods at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range,** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Fighter pilot Lambie looks right at home in the commander’s hatch of a Canadian Army Ram tank. By the fresh track marks, it’s likely Lambie has just gone for a ride in it. The Ram was a cruiser tank designed and built by Canada in the Second World War, based on the U.S. M3 Medium tank chassis. Due to Canadian standardization on the American Sherman tank for frontline units, it was used exclusively for training purposes and was never used in combat as a gun tank. The chassis was used for several other combat roles however, such as a flamethrower tank, observation post, and armoured personnel carrier. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie takes a turn at the driver’s hatch of the same Ram tank in the previous photograph while at Meaford. The tank’s turret is turned to the rear. On one of his field trips to Meaford, Lambie received instruction on firing both the Ram’s 6-pounder main gun in the turret and machine guns from the hull. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie and his friend Frank pose next to a Vickers-Armstrong Light Tank Mk VI on display at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range or Borden (not sure which). The Light Tank Mk IV was used for training of Canadian Army tankers in the early part of the war. This one, sitting on a concrete pad is some sort of gate guardian/museum display. With the snow now gone from the ground, this was obviously later in their course there. The Meaford region on the south shore of beautiful Georgian Bay will receive plenty of snow at times during the winter, but temperatures can warm rapidly and snow coverage can melt in a matter of days. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie snaps a photo of two of his Course No. 22B comrades (friend Frank in the turret and Flying Jacket Guy) posing with a Medium Mark A Whippet tank, a British tank of the First World War. It was intended to complement the slower British heavy tanks we are all familiar with by using its relative mobility and speed (a blistering 8 mph!) in exploiting any break in the enemy line. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Don Lambie gives a smiling thumbs up atop the gun turret of a Canadian Army M1917 training tank. The M1917 tank was an American license-built version of the French Renault FT tank. The Canadian Government was sold 265 of these First World Ware era tanks as ‘scrap metal’. They paid the going rate for scrap with each tank costing around $240US. The first M1917 tanks arrived at Camp Borden on 8th October 1940, transported by train from a parking lot at Fort George G. Meade in Maryland. For nearly two years, the M1917 proved to be a useful tank training vehicle. The M1917 6-ton light tanks lacked suspension, so gave a very hard jarring ride when students drove across country. They had a tendency to suffer from mechanical breakdowns frequently and some even caught fire. The upside was this gave the students more practical experience in tank maintenance and repair. Tank crew students had to learn flag and hand signals, as the tanks were not equipped with radios. This one was on display at the Meaford Tank Range. (info from The Online tank Museum) Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Though not one of Lambie’s photos, this newspaper photo is interesting enough to include as background. Canadian Army mechanics at Borden’s rail siding in 1940, inspect at least 60 of Canada’s 256 “new” M1917 training tanks. Bought for scrap at 20 dollars a ton, used for training. Image: The Royal Canadian Armoured Corps: An Illustrated History

**Lambie and friend Frank pose on the hull of a Churchill Tank at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range in April, 1944** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Four of Don Lambie’s Course 22B mates from Bagotville (Tony Whittingham at right) pose in front of a British-built Churchill tank at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range. Canadians will remember the Churchill tank well from photographs of several of them burning on the gravel beaches of Dieppe after the failed raid on that French coast port in August of 1942, which cost the lives of 907 Canadians in one day. Though the Churchill was known for its ability to climb steep slopes, it could barely move on the smooth gravel of Dieppe’s rocky beaches. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie pretends to shoulder up a RAM tank so that it can be fitted with a new set of treads. Note the unique side entry hatch typical of the RAM. Lambie was quick to turn his camera over to his friends in order to record his own personal experiences. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**Lambie’s friend and course mate “Flying Jacket Guy” poses with a borrowed Willys Jeep at the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range while on Advanced Tactical Training there**. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**On a sunny afternoon at the Meaford range, some of Lambie’s buddies pose for a group shot. Tony Whittingham is on the right and friend Frank at left.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

At the Meaford Armoured Fighting Vehicle Range identification and maneuver of armour was often taught using models in a literal sandbox. During his course at Borden, Lambie took lessons in the identification of enemy armoured vehicles. It is likely these Panzer and Tiger tank models in the Meaford sandbox were used for that very purpose. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

The pilots of Lambie’s detachment clown around on a 6-pounder gun at Meaford while bemused artillerymen look on. Tony Whittingham is second from the left. The Ordnance, Quick Firing 6-Pounder 7-cwt gun was an anti-tank weapon used in Canadian anti-tank units during the Second World War. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**A Canadian Army RAM tank is secured to an M9 tank transporter “lowboy” after giving a demonstration on the use of its 6-pounder gun to Lambie and his class mates.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Flight boots, tanker suits and longbows. Every once in a while one of Lambie’s photos astonished Jeff and I, none more so than this head-scratcher of Don Lambie drawing a bow, from his time at Meaford. In the distance on the right, there appears to be some sort of shooting/gunnery happening. Any insight into what this photo represents would be welcomed. Perhaps it was a way of teaching trajectory theory. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

During his visits to the Meaford Tank Range, Lambie and his course mates got to fire a few rounds from Grizzly (6-pounder) and RAM tanks (75 mm) as well as a 6-pounder artillery piece. Here, wearing a tanker’s set of coveralls, (and a tie of course!) he cradles what appears to be three rounds for the 6-pounder of the Grizzly — maybe his allotment for the day! Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

No. 36 Operational Training Unit, Greenwood Nova Scotia
No. 1 Advanced Tactical Training Detachment, April 23 to May 6, 1944

After two weeks, Lambie’s Course No. 22B switched places with the other half of the Bagotville graduates in Course No. 22A. His group flew to Greenwood, Nova Scotia, while the other flew to Borden. By the time Lambie got to Greenwood on April, 22, the weather was changing, snow was gone and winter gear was no longer needed. At Greenwood, his group would learn the fundamentals of deflection shooting, low level navigation, escape and security, and operational dispersal of aircraft. They practiced bailing-out procedures, dinghy drills and compass swinging as well as how to manage the serviceability of their own aircraft. There was some additional flying training including such things as climbing to height, squadron formations, cine gun attacks and rhubarbs (sections of aircraft flying at low level and seeking targets of opportunity).

While Lambie was there, an air-to-air collision accident happened on April 27 which killed course instructor Flying Officer Reg Brooks of Moncton and 19-year old Flight Sergeant Kenneth George Fuge Harvey of the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. Brooks and Harvey were part of a 12-Hurricane formation practicing a climb-to-altitude (20,000 ft) at squadron strength. A farmer from the Kentville area by the name of Harry Corcoran was witness to the aftermath of the incident, stating:

“… my attention was attracted to a formation of single-motored airplanes, by an explosion when two aircraft collided in the air. They were very high when I first saw them fluttering down in pieces…”

The inquiry held afterwards noted that the collision occurred in cloud. Harvey had overshot the lead aircraft of his section because icing on his windshield had possibly obscured vision (other pilots had reported this). Harvey had turned nearly 180 degrees before impacting Brooks’ Hurricane. Lambie was flying Hurricane No. 74 in that same 12-plane formation, though it is not known of he witnessed the accident. The formation leader Flight Lieutenant Robertson was later court marshalled. Lambie was back flying the very next day as part of a six-aircraft rhubarb.

On May 5th Course No. 22B had completed the syllabus and was given two weeks embarkation leave before shipping overseas. They were instructed to report to “Y” depot in Lachine, Quebec, to be held for transport to Great Britain and No. 3 Personnel Reception Centre at Bournemouth,

An overhead photograph of the airfield at Greenwood, Nova Scotia during its time as home to No. 36 Operational Training Unit. The yellow arrowhead points to the spot and direction that the following photo was taken. Photo via FlightOntario

Hurricanes, Harvards and crash vehicles fill the No. 1 Advanced Tactical Training Detachment’s ramp space at Greenwood, Nova Scotia in late April/Early May of 1944. The detachment was from No. 1 OTU, Bagotville but operated alongside Greenwood’s prime tenant, No. 36 OTU, a de Havilland Mosquito and Lockheed Hudson training school. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

The eleven men (there is a 12th, but he was cropped out) of Course No. 22B soak up early May sunshine on their last days on course at No. 1 Advanced Tactical Training Detachment at Greenwood. Lambie stands at right, Tony Whittingham is fourth from left with Frank behind him. The confidence and obvious camaraderie of these pilots leaps across the years. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

As with most of these photos, it’s difficult to know when they were taken during Lambie’s stays at various stages of his training. Because the weather seems warm and sunny, and Lambie is relatively lightly dressed, it’s very likely at Greenwood., though the number 93 does not appear in any of his logbook notes. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**A photo of a Canadian-built de Havilland DH.98 Mosquito B Mk. VII (KB314) of No. 36 OTU taken by Lambie on April 29th at Greenwood.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

No. 1 Embarkation Depot (Y-Depot), Lachine, Quebec
Embarkation leave and off to Great Britain by ship

Having completed his Advanced Tactical Training, there was little in Canada for Lambie and his cadre of fresh fighter pilots. It was time to ship him overseas to No. 3 Personnel Reception Centre, the collection site where RCAF airmen reported for duty after landing in Great Britain. Here they would await their next posting.

Following his time with No. 1 OTU, Lambie was posted to “Y” Depot. It was more an address than a place of residency. Airmen on the move would be assigned to this unit for pay and rations, but could be and would be physically located just about anywhere. On final graduation from their last BCATP school one could be assigned to this unit, but still in residency at the last school or at home until travel was arranged (usually by train), and then on the books of Y Depot while moving by train, in a hotel or barracks on the east coast waiting for a ship, and on board that ship en route to Europe. Before boarding a troop ship, Lambie was granted two weeks of Embarkation Leave. This was the case for every overseas bound member of the RCAF — a time to say goodbyes, conceive a child or maybe travel in-country a bit. All that time, he was a serving member of “Y” Depot.

After his leave, Lambie was to report to “Y” Depot which was not much more than five miles from Lambie’s home in Montreal. For the first years of the war, “Y” Depot was located in Halifax, Nova Scotia, close to troop transports, but by December 12, 1943 had moved to Lachine on the shores of the St. Lawrence River. Lambie then travelled to Halifax, Nova Scotia to board a troopship bound for Great Britain.

While on leave after the Hurricane OTU course, Lambie visited with family at a property at Orford Lake. It is not known if the family owned this cottage or if they rented it. Here we see him before boards the train at Orford Lake train station Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**Don Lambie relaxing in the spring sunlight while on leave in the summer of 1944 at what could possibly be a family cottage. At right, his mother and father in front of the same house.** Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

During his embarkation leave in May of 1944, Lambie was seen in Montreal on the arm of a young officer of the Women's Royal Canadian Naval Service (the women were known as WRENS). The Women's Royal Canadian Naval Service (WRCNS) was established on 31 July 1942 during the Second World War. It was the naval counterpart to the Canadian Women’s Army Corps and the Royal Canadian Air Force Women’s Division, which had preceded it in 1941. The WRCNS was established as a separate service from the Royal Canadian Navy (RCN). It was disbanded on 31 August 1946. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie enjoyed two back-to-back 14-day leaves after completing his Advanced Tactical Training course — one for completing the arduous No. 1 OTU course followed by an embarkation leave, granted to anyone about to go overseas. On one of those leaves, he visited friends in Washington, D.C. and posed with two young women (relatives?) here at the Senate Fountain close to the Capitol. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**The same Senate Fountain from a similar angle as it looks today.**

Lambie posing with relatives/friends in front of the Columbus Fountain, a monument to the explorer which stands in front of Washington’s immense Union Station. The woman with the black and white saddle oxford shoes holding hands with Lambie is the same young lady with the Women's Royal Canadian Naval Service, seen in a previous photo. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

**The Columbus Fountain, the target of anti-colonialist vandalism in recent years, still looks much the same as it did when Lambie was there in 1944**

Embarkation, June 6, 1944

When my old friend Bill McRae and Spitfire pilot left for England in May of 1941, his convoy was repeatedly attacked en route by U-boat wolf packs. Nine of the 31 ships in his convoy were sunk during the crossing. As well, that same week, Nazi Germany’s biggest battleship, Bismarck, had sortied out of the Baltic into the North Atlantic with the intention of interdicting the supply of Britain by ship. Fortunately for McRae, Bismarck met her doom before she could wreak havoc on the remnants of his convoy.

By the time Donald Lambie crossed the Atlantic, the apogee of the U-boat menace had long since passed, though there were still U-boats lurking in the open Atlantic. They were under constant threat from long-range Liberator, Canso and Sunderland patrol bombers directed to their hunting grounds by high frequency direction finding equipment while sonar aboard escort ships kept U-boats from mounting continuous attacks. But the best defence against submarines was surface speed. With a top speed of 24 knots (44 Kph), HMT Andes travelled unescorted across the Atlantic, easily outrunning any underwater threat.

It appears that several of Lambie’s course mates travelled across the Atlantic together including his friend and long-time course mate Tony Whittingham who is seen here waiting with his duffle and suitcases in Canada en route to Great Britain. Not only did Whittingham train at Bagotville and Borden with Lambie, he followed him all the way to 417 Squadron in Italy—joining the squadron on January 31, 1945, a month before Lambie did. Inset: A photo of John Anthony “Tony” Whittingham when he joined the Law Society of Ontario in 1948. Whittingham’s obituary in 2007 stated: *He served his country during WWII in the RCAF. He was a lawyer, a gentleman, a great fisherman, a talented raconteur and had a legendary sense of humour. He was widely loved.* He looks it. Photo: Donald Lambie Collection, Inset: Ashley and Crippen

There is a set of photographs on one page showing Lambie and his friend Frank (right) clambering over a ship alongside a dock. There are buildings obvious in the background which make one wonder the size of the ship they are on. Lambie boarded His Majesty’s Troopship Andes in Halifax, but after close inspection of that ship, it is evident she did not have those tuba-like dorade box ventilators (see next photo). As well, Andes was a large ship that would have towered over any quayside building. So, what ship is this? Photo: Donald Lambie Collection

Lambie embarked Hired Military Transport (HMT) *Andes* for Liverpool, England on D-Day, June 6, 1944. Andes was a relatively new ship, built in 1939 for the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company. The Admiralty almost immediately requisitioned her as a troop ship and had her converted to carry about 4,000 troops. In troop service she broke three speed records for long-distance voyages.

Coming Soon
Donald Lambie’s War — Episode Two

Adrift in England, Spitfire Training in Egypt, Operational Flying with 417 Squadron, End of the war and rejoining society.