Chapter 21
APHRODITE'S ISLAND
from
Seeing Life from a New Angle
by
Ron Bowers

One day in April 1972, it could have been the first, my office phone rang. The caller introduced himself as Wing Commander Barry Elford, Chairman of the Royal Air Force Ornithological Society. I hardly knew of the Society's existence let alone its chairman; so I was mildly surprised to be receiving a call from him. I wondered what birds could possibly have to do with my job at Air Support Command, namely Engineering Plans.

'Our representative in Cyprus is shortly returning to the UK', he said, continuing, 'Cyprus, as in most things, has two Ornithological Societies 
and sometimes this involves our society in keeping a neutral stance or even acting as a smoother of ruffled feathers. We like to have a senior officer member of our society serving in the island. I have heard of your interest in birds, whilst in America, and thought you might wish to join our society and help out.'
'I can understand your need for such a post, but surely you are speaking to the wrong chap, I'm not going to Cyprus', I answered, 
quickly crossing my fingers and trying to keep the surprise out of my voice.
'Hell, I've let the cat out of the bag - I'm most awfully sorry, forget I mentioned it', he answered with obvious embarrassment.
Quickly I cut in with, 'Don't apologise, I would be delighted to be going to Cyprus.'
'Don't say a word about it old sport, but you are being posted out there next month.'
'Where', I asked.
'I've said too much already, wait and see, but I think you will be pleased. Now will you join us and take on the job, which entails no 
actual work except an interest and a finger on the pulse as it were.'
'Well it's such good news about the posting', I countered, 'that I can hardly say no.'
'In that case let us have your subscription and I will get Wing Commander Dick to brief you when you arrive at Akrotiri.'
'I don't know very much about ornithology though', I hesitatingly replied.
Quick as a flash he came back with, "That's OK, there is a very experienced Flight Sergeant already there to look after you.'
I hardly dared to mention after that, that I did not know where to send the subscription, but did and when I had noted the address, bade him farewell. I was in quite a twitter wondering when and where I was going. He had unwittingly dropped a hint, surely, by saying when I get to Akrotiri. I was not particularly pleased at that prospect; but it would be better than HQ NEAF, at Episkopi. But I was in for a delightful shock because when my boss, Group Captain Danny Me William, told me of the posting it was to command 103 Maintenance Unit. This was a superb unit, based at Akrotiri, but fully independent, and was renowned for its very high morale. I was delighted; especially as it was going to be a very great privilege to command the unit I had served in as a corporal, albeit for such a short time.
It would not surprise me if my reader, was beginning to think that my postings since commissioning had been somewhat out of the ordinary and real plums. The same thought certainly occurred to me when news of my posting, with acting rank, to Air Support Command became known and reinforced by this latest stroke of luck. At that time a long established friend of mine was working within the Directorate, at Air Ministry, that handled technical officer's postings: I hasten to add, not in the sub-section that dealt with Wing Commanders or even Squadron Leaders. Whilst in London, shortly after moving to Upavon, I decided to drop in and see him for a chat and a cup of coffee. After a fair bit of reminiscing, talk got around to my luck in the postings game; with me saying how lucky I had been. I made the point that I could hardly have wished for better, even though they were well out of the usual career pattern. He asked if I would like to see how and why 'the cookie had crumbled' in this way for me. Of course I was highly interested. He left the room briefly and came back with a wad of Hollerith cards for Squadron Leaders Engineer: I estimated about a hundred. He fed them into a sorting machine. After typing in some standard requirements for the job a bunch of about fifty cards fell out. Discarding the remainder he re-inserted those fifty cards and typed in a requirement for an ex-Halton Apprentice and immediately about forty more fell out. Work study trained as a requirement reduced the forty to nearer twenty. From this last batch a search initiated for Henlow trained personnel produced around ten cards. Membership of the Royal Aeronautical Society left just one card in the machine. He now held nine cards.. He then entered a bachelor officer requirement and only one card fell out: that card proving to be mine. I immediately queried his leaving the bachelor requirement so late in the proceedings. Whereupon he picked a batch of the previously rejected cards and fed them back into the machine. As he re-selected the bachelor requirement I watched fascinated as not a single card was spewed out of that machine. I had not really appreciated before either how rare were single engineer officers or the luck being one had brought me.
On taking over command of 103, I was to experience the tremendous morale and spirit of the unit. One of my junior technicians came to see me and explained that the Daily Mirror was providing chairmobiles, for disabled people, to fundraisers at £103 each. The coincidence of the cost seemed too good to be true, to him and several of his mates - surely the unit should have a charity event and raise enough money to buy one they reasoned. I agreed wholeheartedly and asked what he had in mind. It seemed that they wanted to play a game of darts, 103,000 up and ask people to guess how long it would take to the nearest minute. He hoped that he would be able to get one hundred and three players to throw darts. It seemed a great idea to me and the chap seemed greatly surprised when I gave it my full blessing, adding, 'OK. Get on and organise it, soonest.' That surprised him even more, and he muttered something about his warrant officer and flight commander doing that. I replied, 'Oh no lad, you thought of the idea you organise it - and keep me personally informed.' Needless to say the event was a great success. I seem to recall that I threw the first dart and even managed to hit the board. We made enough for a chairmobile all right and I invited the organising Junior Technician to decide to which charity we were to donate it. I had discovered that he had one very much in mind. He never looked back and we had three more events in fairly quick succession. There was a one hundred and three aside football match, a one hundred and three mile run, jog or walk round the sports stadium and finally 'It's a knockout'. The unit finished up by buying and presenting no less than seven chairmobiles.
Meanwhile I had met, or rather been taken under instruction by, Flight Sergeant Wilf Corris; the bird man. He was a great character and certainly very knowledgeable about birds. He was a keen bird ringer and quickly got me organised and enlisted into The Cyprus Ornithological Society; the one composed largely of expatriates and service people. Yes, there were two societies and both with the same name - so typical of Greek Cyprus. He was most keen to get me ringing and I turned out for several Sundays of instruction. But I was to find that my eyesight was not sharp enough, to disentangle birds from the nets, and to avoid discomforting them I reluctantly gave up the idea. I took a more static role and spent many, many happy hours, recording the details as the ringers called them out. Chief scribe, in fact! It was a very pleasant and relaxing way to spend a Sunday: sitting out in the sun, chatting, quaffing the odd pint and filling up the special forms for the ringers. It had the distinct advantage that one saw the birds in the hand and very quickly learnt the salient identification features.
It soon became known around the unit that I was a bird-watcher. One night, about half-past eleven, I received a phone call, in my quarter, from one of my airmen. He could hardly keep from laughing as he told me, "Thought you should know, Sir, there's what we believe is a stork on the WRAF block.'
'Come on lad, pull the other one,' I, having been woken up, replied somewhat testily. 'No kidding, Sir, it's there all right. If I'm wrong 
I'll volunteer for extra guard duty, Sir.'
I knew his name, so I replied, 'You're on.' I quickly dressed and getting into my staff car drove round to the WRAF block area. The airman met me, and led me over the road towards the block; and sure enough there was a large bird sitting on the top of the lamp post, immediately outside the WRAF block. He was right; for it was certainly a stork. It was too good an opportunity to miss and early the next morning I rang a friend of mine, at British Forces Broadcasting, to acquaint him of the strange omen at Akrotiri's WRAF block. He gave it maximum coverage and the whole sovereign base was joking about it for a week.
Cyprus Rally time quickly arrived and I was once more to become heavily involved. Bill Ryall was again master-minding, although not driving, the RAFMS A entry. This was to comprise three Colt Galant GS cars, sponsored by Cyprus Airways, prepared by Fairways as before, but with a greater backing of service support crews. He asked me, as I was now based in Cyprus, to take over as support manager. I accepted and straight away decided that I wanted far better co-ordination of the support effort. The previous year we had relied on the telephone network for working our various support groups, and this had proved unreliable. I wanted a fully independent radio link and so I approached the RAF Regiment, No 3 Wing, based at Akrotiri. Their Commanding Officer jumped at the opportunity to mount my support as a training exercise. We established several teams of regiment/support personnel in Landrovers, equipped with radio. These teams were each allocated two or three locations to be manned by them during the rally. To make it good training value, each team was responsible for producing a plan of action which would position them into the right place, at the right time. Each individual plan was then examined by me, to ensure it would work, and mesh into a master plan; that I produced as a result. I set up a control room in 3-Wing headquarters and monitored the whole support plan from there. As a result I was able to get messages to and from the drivers with minimum delay; also to position spares just precisely where they were required. Bill established himself in the hotel, serving as rally headquarters, and controlled the drivers and their individual needs. We used a telephone link only between us two. The whole scheme worked perfectly and we were incredibly lucky. Only eight cars were to finish the rally and three of these were ours. Not only did we make quite sure of the Manufacturers' team award that year, but we also scooped no less than eight out of a total of thirteen awards in general. Our cars finished in fourth, sixth and seventh places. We were not popular overall and efforts were made by some Greek Cypriots to declare our radio link illegal. We merely referred them to the previous year's Safari Rally, where extensive use had been made of airborne radio hook ups.
'The Motoring News' later carried the following comment, 'Finally one must not forget the effort of the RAFMS A team. To get three cars into the top ten on any International is an achievement, but to have three out of the eight finishers on the Cyprus International Rally is verging on a miracle.'
Shortly after this rally I took over as Chairman of the RAF MS A (Cyprus) which led me very much into Kart racing. I was even to get our karters racing in some of the Cyprus speed events, against full blown cars: much to the disgust of several Cypriots. Also, as a result, I was elected on to the committee, of the motor sport section, of the Cyprus Automobile Club.
Early in 1973 I became involved in orienteering an entirely new sport for me. Every year saw a massive NEAF orienteering meeting held over two days; one day up into the Troodos mountains and one day back down again. As a sort of rehearsal for this major event 103 MU ran its own event from Platres, high in the Troodos mountains, down to Episkopi. This one covered some twenty-five miles over rugged terrain. I was inveigled into an officers' team of three; consisting of Dick Bentley and lan Sinkinson as well as myself. We spent many Wednesday afternoons practising both our navigation and stamina. Mrs Bentley was to be our saviour by providing us with some special flap-jacks. Air Commodore Stephenson, our Air Officer Engineering, started us off on our way from Platres. Things went very well for two controls, then we started to climb up an escarpment towards control three. This really knocked the stuffing out of us, and reaching the top, we collapsed under the first carob tree we saw. lan was in very poor shape and I was little better: our morale was about rock bottom. Dick then produced the flapjacks and as we munched them we felt our strength and resolve, flow back. It was quite astounding how quickly the rich syrupy food revitalised us. But I was to make a bit of a nonsense of the navigation, and we wasted some time by over-shooting the next control twice. However all was not lost, and from there on it was all downhill, on a marked track, so we staggered in to the finish thoroughly delighted to have completed the course, but utterly exhausted. It had taken us just ten hours and seventeen minutes to complete the course walking. Horror of horrors! This was just seventeen minutes outside the limit. We need not have worried for the organiser knew which side his bread was buttered; and the limit was adjusted to ensure the Commanding Officer qualified as a finisher.
No sooner was the orienteering over than I went off on an ornithological expedition to the panhandle of Cyprus, for the best part of a month. This was a properly sponsored, training-standard, expedition. We were fully self-supporting and living under canvas, on compo-rations; needless to say more than generously augmented by fresh food. We set up our camp on Cape Andreas, about a mile from the very tip of the cape. The major task was to maintain a sea-watch throughout the hours of daylight. To achieve this we divided up into pairs and worked on a rota basis; which included cookhouse duties as well. Additionally the observed area, which was some five by one mile, was walked twice daily. The cooking shift were also responsible for manning the 'mist' nets, just behind the camp site, and ringing the birds that got into them. It was a very busy and exhausting time but thoroughly enjoyable. I learned a tremendous amount and saw a lot of birds, many of which were 'lifers', that is bird watching jargon for a bird species seen for the first time in one's life. I was teamed up with Chief Technician Alex Smith, who had an exceedingly sharp pair of eyes, which was a decided advantage. I was also helping out as an official photographer and took about four hundred slides: just over a hundred of which were up to a reasonable standard. I did achieve photographs of two first ever sightings of a species in Cyprus; which made the trip particularly memorable.
Our honorary member Steen Christensen, a Dane, who was fast making a name for himself as an authority on birds of prey, joined the expedition for a few days. I was lucky enough to be selected to accompany him on a walk. I was delighted to have the company of someone of such commendable knowledge and set out determined to listen, learn and inwardly digest the pearls of wisdom that would obviously be forthcoming. After about ten minutes I was less enthusiastic, for Steen was so quick in identifying the birds, that I hardly had time to get my binoculars up to my eyes, let alone focused. After remonstrating with him, he became kinder and much more considerate and jockeyed me along in my identifications; especially the raptors at which I was very much a beginner. He would ensure I was locked on to the right bird, then pose questions aimed at making me deduce what bird I was observing.
Needless to say Steen spent a very high proportion of his time gazing skywards. This practice caused an interesting situation to develop. On rounding a corner of a narrow path, between bushes, I froze in my tracks. Quickly raising my camera and getting off a quick snap of a glorious male European rock thrush, in full breeding plumage, sitting in the middle of the path. Steen cannoned into me, I steadied him and pointed down to the thrush. We had a really superb view of him at about eight feet range.
As we approached camp, at the end of our walk, I thanked Steen profusely for his most kind and informative instruction. 'I should thank you, Ron', he quickly answered, continuing, 'for you showed me that rock thrush, which I would otherwise have missed or even stepped on. Even though I live in Europe, I have spent too much time looking skywards, that was a "lifer" for me. I can't thank you enough.' It made the day for me. He later gave me a photo copy of his rough notes on raptor identification; these I still have in my possession. I treasure them dearly now that he is an acknowledged expert of world class. That month at Cape Andreas was the turning point in my bird watching and my enthusiasm has never waned.
'73 was getting to be a busy year and the next motoring event was a high speed hill climb up the tortuous Davlos to Kantara road. When I arrived in Cyprus , on posting, Fairways Motors had made me an offer of a Colt GTO that I could hardly have refused, even if I had not wanted one. It was an extremely good machine and I felt it was just waiting to be tested in competition. I was by then, well acquainted with the village of Davlos and the mountainside, at the foot of which the village nestled. Putting these two facts together, when the hill climb venue was announced, made me determined to renew my acquaintance with this form of the sport. But in Cyprus the hill to be tackled was two miles long. It also had many twists and turns, including at least three hairpins and several spectacular drops to the sea shore below. Not by any means a hill with which to trifle. I decided to enter the event; and to spend the best part of a week's leave, at Davlos, walking and driving up and down the hill. I had no precise knowledge of the precise part of the mountain road to be used for the event; but worked out that it must be practically the whole, right up to Kantara on the top.
First of all I drove slowly up and down the hill to get the overall feel of the route. I then did a reasonably quick drive up to get the feel of the varying gradients and sweep of the hairpins. It was then a case of many long tramps up the road on foot - quite, I may say, an exhausting way to spend leave. My Cypriot friends in the village were beginning to think I was mad; for they did not know the reason behind my many hikes up to Kantara. At least the glorious Mediterranean sea was available, at Davlos, for cooling swims. On my walks I studied every corner intimately to decide on the right line. The hairpins were the obvious key to the whole sequence of corners. So I started working out the ideal line on the road to arrive and decided that it masked the actual road edge considerably. If I could drive right at the bush, even hit it, I could gain at least a foot on my turn radius. It would be at least a foot, for one always allows a slightly wider clearance than one actually needs. I inched and pushed my way up against the bush and gave the small twigs and leaves a good brush through with my hands; it did not seem there was too much resistance and I resolved to drive through its overhang on the final run. I knew the car would be alright because the GTO had dual wing mirrors and the right hand one of these would take the impact, of the eucalyptus bush, rather than the car.
My time for the final run came and I inched the car up to the start line. The chock was placed behind my wheel and I increased the revs as I waited for the signal to turn green. There it was and I shot off the line. It felt like, and obviously was, the best start I have ever made. I also found my extra bump marker and missed the bump. Suddenly, as I came out of a very fast curve and grabbed third gear, the BUSH was in my sights and I drove straight at it. At the very moment the car hit the overhanging leaves, I dropped the car back into second and braked like mad. The car rocketed round the hairpin and I was away and over the finish line before I knew it. I had been vaguely aware of spectators moving rather hurriedly in the vicinity of that hairpin. It was good enough and my run clinched the class award and also established a new class record. I had just pipped my Mend and constant competition opponent, Simon Cassidy. One of my unit's karting enthusiasts was standing on the hairpin and said my arrival was little short of staggering. To the spectators the whole bush had just seemed to explode as the GTO burst through in a mass of leaves. Cypriots, being Cypriots, thought it was fantastic and once realising the car was not going to hit them, went wild with excitement. My wing mirror took the impact, but it did break the return spring and the mirror hung inwards all the way home; otherwise there was no damage. Nevertheless, I was very glad it was the final run.
Almost before there was time to breathe the third International Cyprus rally was in sight once again. This time we were going for bigger things and were determined to land an overall win. It was decided to stick with the organisation as before but on a rather grander scale. Once again Fairways prepared a team of three cars for us, which was sponsored by Cyprus Airways and Jet, the Cypriot shirtmakers. But Fairways also entered a further team of three cars and one private entrant and wanted me to arrange servicing for them all. I had already arranged for a further exercise for 3-Wing personnel, as the basic support radio network, but had decided that my control room should be more centrally based and set it up at RAF Troodos; high in the mountains, almost in the middle of the island. With so many cars to support, I realised that there would obviously be a much greater demand for moving spares, particularly tyres, at high speed around the route. Road closures, brought on by the passage of the rally cars, would make speedy movement by the Landrovers almost impossible. I elected to use the Landrovers purely to get the servicing teams into their locations with standard replenishment kits. I then set up a tyre-fitting centre at the Fairways Limassol showroom, for we expected a huge demand for tyres, of different sorts, as this year the rally was using special stages on tarmac as well as on the rough. This required chunky-rally, as well as racing-slick, tyres to be fitted at different times. I had access to three Colt GTO's which I used to deliver unserviceable tyres to Limassol and redeliver new tyres, at required locations, around the route. The advantage of the GTO was that it could move around the island very fast, with a couple of tyres in the boot: in fact it was frequently to get both into and out of a control area, with minutes to spare, before the rally cars arrived or left. Additionally I kept my own GTO at Troodos with two tyres as well. It was desperately needed as our leading car reported two flats, at the end of a special mountain stage in the Cedar Valley, which had used all the spares. I leapt in the GTO and raced, flat out, down the mountain; in an attempt to beat the rally to the next control just outside Episkopi. Doing close on a hundred miles per hour, along the Limassol to Episkopi road, I got into the vital service point just seconds before the road was closed. The spare tyres were safely stowed aboard the rally car, before he left, for the next special stage. That trip of mine down the mountain was one of the most exciting of my life, I drove as I have never driven before or since: it was exhilarating and the GTO never missed a beat. Spectators I knew later said that my dash was even faster than the competitors - it jolly well had to be! That one single action fully justified the whole, to some people, rather unnecessary and top-heavy support organisation.
We did not get an overall win. In fact could not manage a car higher than fourth in general classification. We were disappointed but soon became happier as the results emerged: for out of our seven cars starting we had managed to get six home. We did, however, notice that the awards did not appear to go to the right people. I suppose the organisers could not stomach us scooping the awards for a second year. Bill Ryall took up the cudgels at once and mounted a fierce protest. The results committee had secreted themselves away in a different part of town from the rally headquarters. It was therefore touch and go as to whether we could lodge our protest before the time limit expired. But our spies got to work and a very quick, rally speed, dash through Nicosia found us banging on the door of race results, with just a very few minutes to spare. Heated discussion followed and eventually right prevailed: we were reinstated with our rightful awards. RAFMS A team cars achieved fourth, fifth and ninth in general classification; thus winning the manufacturers' team award once again. We also won four other first place awards. The remaining three Colts finished eleventh, fifteenth and twenty-first overall. It was an astonishing success story that endeared us to the Fairways directors - needless to say I was allowed to take my GTO home to England with me and have been driving a Colt car ever since.
The last couple of months of 1973 saw us in training for the '74 orienteering contest. lan Sinkinson and I were joined this time by Dick Collins, for Dick Bentley had been posted home. We were quite determined that we were going to do well enough to be inside the time limit: no C.O.'s perks this time! I spent countless hours exploring every little path in the mountains that promised the most direct route. I found one super little short cut, right at the start area, which saved a detour round the side of a mountain; it was not an obvious route and we prayed fervently that we would need to use it, on the day. On almost our last practice walk, in excessively hot weather, I started getting a severe stitch: at least I thought it was stitch, but it was later diagnosed as a kidney stone. Provided I drank plenty of water, however, it did not bother me unduly and so I was not put off from entering the event. It did mean I had to carry considerably more water, which proved a confounded nuisance.
A.O Eng had been so enthralled by last years event that he had rustled up a team from the Headquarters engineering staff to compete against us. They started about a couple of minutes before, and thanks to our prayers being answered and my short cut, we just managed to beat them into control one. We never looked back after that and ploughed along at a very good pace. Ian was, towards the end, feeling pretty groggy, but insisted on us half running in a downhill section. We were delighted to be given a time for completing the twenty four mile course of six hours and forty two minutes. Vastly better than the previous year and well inside the time limit. We were to emerge as the Bronzed Boot Trophy winners, the fastest walking team from the unit.
At the beginning of summer a most surprising occurrence took place. A Hercules aircraft, operating out of Kingsfield, an emergency landing-strip near Dhekelia, was involved in a bizarre accident. One engine was kept running during unloading of the aircraft. The air loadmaster was left in the cockpit while the rest of the crew joined the N AAFI queue to get ice-creams. Suffice it to say that some mistakes had been made and the brake pressure fell dramatically. Everyone in the queue watched, spellbound, as the aircraft neatly taxied itself straight into the hangar door. A very considerable amount of damage was done to the nose of the aircraft. It was, in fact, touch and go as to whether the aircraft was scrap or not. My unit assessment officer, Warrant Officer John Tompkins, and I both thought it was worth a try at repairing; it was going to be no ordinary task, and would require considerable backing from the manufacturers. This was the Kano Javelin situation all over again. I had to argue very forcibly that the opportunity to attempt such a repair, in the open, in the field, should not be missed. The experience would be worth its weight in gold as a training exercise, I reasoned.
Cutting a very long story and an even longer repair short, the day eventually dawned when the aircraft rose into the air, for the short trip to Akrotiri. Once there, only a very little work was necessary before it was flown home to Marshalls of Cambridge, for extensive checks. I was pleased, but not over surprised, to hear that the Lockheed representative at Marshalls, reported that in his view, the aircraft was in better shape than when it left the factory in Georgia! While I am typing this story out on my word processor that same aircraft, for I have never forgotten its number, has just flown over my cottage, here in Devon. I give her a quick salute whenever I notice her. The Senior N.C.O. in charge of the repair party was to receive an immediate commendation from the A.O.C in C Near East Air Force. 

103 M.U. had been christened 'Noddy-land' by Akrotiri engineering staff and I had fastened on to this and exploited it to the full. Little day-glow Noddys started to appear everywhere and when I sported one, instead of a star plate, on my staff car, the game was really on. Several weeks later I noticed this particular Noddy had gained a halo! The unit was, among other things, responsible for servicing aerials throughout the entire Near and Far East theatres of operations. It soon became a challenge to affix a Noddy to the top of every aerial we serviced - and we just achieved it before the Squadron Leader Electrical was posted home. The Turkish invasion of Cyprus brought the unit to the fore; for we were obliged to take on all sorts of repair jobs in our vast workshops. Even the Army had to bring their Scorpion tanks in for some heavy duty welding repairs. Being repaired by us, they naturally left our workshops sporting their day-glow Noddy. Eventually General Hew Butler, a Rifle Brigade Mend of my brother, rang me up and said, 'I noticed, at a recent inspection, that you, Ron, apparently own more Scorpion tanks than I do; isn't it about time we called a truce?' He continued, I thought very understandingly, 'I'm prepared to leave Noddy intact on those already zapped provided no more are claimed.' I thought this was very sporting and immediately issued the appropriate instruction.
The war had virtually simmered down when I was to learn of a Noddy placement that really worried me. It certainly would have done if I had known about it at the time. The American Charge d'affaire, to Cyprus, was killed in the troubles and his body was to be flown back to the USA from Akrotiri. As usual the station warrant officer seemed to detail an inordinate number of 103 personnel to be on the pall bearing party. It was a most unfair allocation; but I had no success in attempting to get it altered. Needless to say my lads were not exactly enamoured of the extra ceremonial duty. As ever though, having been detailed, they carried the task off with aplomb. I even received congratulations from several different authorities for the smartness of their drill. However things were not apparently as they seemed; for one of the pallbearers had stuck a day glow Noddy on the base of the coffin, as it entered the US AF aircraft. I still shudder to think of the implications, and reverberations of its being found.
Early in 1975, following the troubles of the previous year, it was decided to drastically reduce the Cyprus Garrison. This led almost inevitably to the closure of 103 Maintenance Unit. Accepting this decision, implementing it and even more so breaking the news to the fiercely loyal personnel of the unit was an extremely emotional experience. Despite my poor opinion of the unit when it was at Aboukir I had grown very proud and fond of it now that I was its Commanding Officer. The Camaraderie, very high morale and standards of a first class bunch of tradesmen had really left their mark on me. It had been a great privilege as an 'ex-brat' to command a unit of such fine technical tradesmen and this added to the poignancy of the closure.
Suddenly there was a general upheaval as Units were closed down, for it was all happening so quickly. Farewell parades and parties were being held almost daily. One of the RAF Regiment Squadrons put on a superb Beating of Retreat ceremony and I wondered how could one even attempt to follow that. I felt also that these formal ceremonies catered for the hierarchy without taking into account the needs of the airmen at this emotional time. Surely their loyalties needed to be rewarded and re-channelled in some way. Then again there were civilian personnel on 103 and a parade would hardly involve them. I was worrying away at seeking a satisfactory solution when I stopped to talk with one of the Unit's Tug-of-war Team airmen and quite out of the blue, and very cautiously, he said, 'A couple of the lads, Sir, thought it might be nice to have a farewell party. A sort of wake for Noddy.' He had it in one: a splendid idea. The more I thought about it the more I realised it would be exactly right. The Unit had held many successful all-ranks dinner parties over the past few years and what better idea than a closing-down dinner party in the form of a wake.
I called a meeting of all Section Commanders and told them of the airman's suggestion. I explained my personal feeling about the unsatisfactory nature of a formal parade, especially in relation to the complex manning of the Unit. I discovered that there was almost unanimous agreement to hold such a wake. However, I requested them to return to their Sections and discover the feelings of their airmen, as well as obtaining any further suggestions as to what form the party should take. Everyone, but everyone, was in no doubt at all that a wake was ideal, and just right for 103. It was utterly fantastic how the idea blossomed from that moment on and every section had some special gimmick they wanted to incorporate.
A.O.Eng and I had agreed, long since, that when and if the time came to close down 103 it had to be swift and not a long drawn-out affair. It was necessary, therefore, that the party had to be mounted quickly and before too many personnel had left on their postings. A 'Wake committee' was formed and I think about two or three weeks was given them in which to get the party organised. I made three stipulations, apart from the obvious all-ranks decision, one that it would include a sit-down dinner, two that only those Staff Officers who were intimately concerned in our day-to-day working should be invited and three limited personal guests would be permitted.
I left the arrangements for the party entirely in the hands of the Committee, for I was far too busy with other matters concerning procedures for disposing of our vast resources, stocks of material and indeed the personnel themselves. I think I just about found time for a briefing a few hours before the party began on what form it was going to take. But this in no ; way prepared me for the sight that greeted me as I walked into the hallway of the building where the wake was being held. I had dreamt up a few ice-breaking ideas myself, which included setting the flag on my staff car at half-mast, wearing the appropriate regulation black band on my left arm and with a small Noddy in my breast pocket. In the hallway, where the lighting had been subdued to a dark red there stood a small catafalque on which lay, canted at a slight angle, a beautiful little black coffin in which lay Noddy. Four black candles burnt at the foot of his coffin. It was quite obviously the work of the unit's workshops 
for the coffin was beautifully lined with black velvet and there was even a small brass handle on either side. The area, being suitably roped off with dazzlingly whitened rope, was so placed in the hallway that to enter the dining room one had to pass in front of and across the coffin. It was incredibly effective and I for one had to catch my breath as I passed.
The dining room itself had been splendidly laid out with just the right balance of flowers, tablecloths decorated with little Noddies and the Station Catering Staff had come up trumps with four splendid cakes, in the shapes of a 1, a 0, a 3 and of course a vast Noddy. The party quickly got under way and after an excellent meal I rose to my feet to deliver a somewhat frivolous, though I hoped appropriate, decidedly brief speech. I was handed a hacksaw with which to formally cut the cake. I chose the 'nought' as it seemed the simplest on which to operate; and this I thought ended the formal proceedings. How wrong I was for I had no sooner sat down than there was a quietly spoken word of command and in marched a guard of honour, with two pallbearers carrying the coffin slowly round the room. Reaching a table alongside the cakes, at the top of the room, the pall-bearers gently placed the coffin on the table. The lid was then placed in position and ceremonially screwed down before it was carried out of the room.
It turned out to be a thundering good evening and it certainly exceeded all the expectations I had entertained. The spontaneity and the quasi-tragic mood of the evening was exactly what was needed to restore everyones' morale; which had been taking a lot of knocks during the packing up of their Sections -103 went out on the highest possible note.
I was so impressed with the whole proceedings and especially Noddy's little coffin that I decided, before I went to bed that night, that the Unit History (the Form 540) would carry a record of 'The Wake' and that Noddy, in his coffin, would be despatched with the Unit's trophies to RAF Quedgeley for safe keeping.
I had been blessed with a superb, if not unique, command in 103 and could hardly imagine, let alone expect, any future posting even approaching it. With only two years to go before my retirement it was even more pertinent: my Service life started to wind down from that day on - as my thoughts now started to centre on a completely new life.

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