Three days later, on 5 April, we left Gibraltar at l.05 p.m. for Malta. To avoid detection we flew low over the Mediterranean Sea for some time. The Germans occupied Sicily and were sending, by wireless, exactly the same navigational signal the British were sending from Malta. It was up to the navigator not to be fooled by this German signal, since it could lead you to Sicily. There were rumours that some had been fooled and were captured. I did not rely on any wireless bearing for my navigation but did some double checking once or twice. The flight took 8 hours, 15 minutes, and it was already dark when we arrived in Malta, where a blackout was in effect. Because the island of Malta is so small, it can be seen in its entirety from the air and as a navigator it was reassuring to realize that we were definitely over Malta and not over Sicily.

The island of Malta was under very heavy bombardment by the Germans; it went on nearly 24 hours a day. Orders were that on hearing the air sirens, we, the Allied military personnel, were not to rush and be the first ones to take cover in the bomb shelters, this to show courage and also not to sow panic amongst the Maltese. The island of Malta was awarded the George Cross by King George VI in recognition of the bravery, suffering, and the outstanding determination and steadfastness of its people, who, against all odds, never gave up.

The RAF's plan was that on landing at Malta the airplane would be refuelled, another crew would take it over, and it would continue on to Egypt, where General Montgomery was amassing all the equipment possible for a major offensive against the German's General Rommel. This battle eventually took place at El Alamein, Egypt, and was won by the Allies. It was a decisive victory and the turning point of the war in the Middle East.

The plan that a new crew would take over the aircraft in Malta was sound in theory, but in practice not very successful. Airplanes got bombed on the airstrips and experienced many mechanical problems, creating an accumulation of air crews waiting for their turn to move on. As a result, we were in Malta for 7 days.

Our crew's turn to leave came on 11 April 1942, but to our bitter disappointment we experienced engine problems and could not take off. The Maltese people were not asked to leave the island, but if transportation was available these unfortunate people could take advantage of it. On our first attempt to leave four or five Maltese boarded our plane. It was very sad to see the expression of despair on their faces when the flight was cancelled, but all we could do was sympathize with them and wish them better luck on their next try. Since the Wellington was not suited for passengers, we would have been overcrowded and I wondered how I would navigate under such conditions.

Our crew's second chance came on the following evening, 12 April 1942, and, surprisingly, we did not have extra passengers. The instructions were: "Once airborne there is no turning back. Get to Egypt the best way you can." Soon after take-off we experienced engine trouble and had difficulty maintaining our altitude. We had left Malta at 2 a.m. and at daybreak we were over Egypt. We were confident we were in Allied territory, since we had not seen any ground fighting. We were losing altitude constantly, so our captain, Pilot Officer Penman, elected to make a "wheels up" or "belly landing" in the Sahara. Unknowingly, yet quite luckily, we had flown over a British soldier on motorcycle patrol. He realized we were in trouble, having watched us disappear behind the sand dunes and having seen the cloud of dust. Because the Wellington was of geodesic construction it helped us make a safe but shaky landing. Everyone got out quickly, rubbed the sand from their eyes, and checked on each other. Fortunately, no one was injured. At the same time, the soldier on patrol arrived on the scene, followed by ambulances and army trucks. We were taken to an army camp located some distance from actual military operations, where we were well cared for by the British Army.

While we were with the army waiting for the RAF to pick us up, we saw how the natives operated in and around the camp. At night there was considerable pilfering, supposedly by these natives. Everything imaginable would disappear. The British Army guards on duty were never able to apprehend even one thief, being outwitted at each attempt. In desperation the Army replaced their guards, in the middle of the night, with Gurkas, warriors from Nepal, India, serving with the British in the war. They were famous for their stealth and for executing orders to the limit. Their policy was "kill first and ask questions later." Needless to say, the pilfering ceased. The Gurkas would have been my choice for a personal bodyguard. Incidentally, we were given orders to carry a lantern when going from one tent to the other, which we never forgot.

The British Army had notified the RAF in Cairo, but it was 8 or 9 days before we were picked up and able to report to the proper authorities there. After the debriefing and filing of reports were completed, we were ready to meet our friends who had made it safely to Cairo ahead of us. We were told to go to the New Zealand Club and that "the RAF boys would be there." When we walked into the club those who knew us were astounded. Orange juice was passed around (liquor was not sold there). It was an RAF policy that whenever a plane did not reach its destination, it was considered a total loss and no effort was made to locate it. In other words, "you were written off," and so we had been "written off." Jack Portch, with whom I had trained at OTU in Moreton-in-Marsh, was flying the same missions as I. When I met him at the New Zealand Club he told me that my aircraft had been reported missing. Together we went to the telegraph office in Cairo and I cabled the following message to my mother, "Disregard any news you may have received. I am well and safe in Egypt." All letters and telegrams were sent to my mother, since my father was away from home for several months at a time, fishing aboard American schooners out of Gloucester, Mass. My mother never received the message. The telegram to my mother announcing that I was missing had come from the Department of National Defence in Ottawa and it read "We regret to inform you that your son Sgt. A. S. Bourque has been reported missing as a result of air operations over Egypt." This message was received on a Thursday and exactly one week later a second message was received from the RCAF in England with the news that I was safe. There were no details and this apparently caused much confusion at home. However, the mere fact that I was safe was very welcome. At my parish church, prayers were requested for my safety. I was, as it is said in French, "recommendé aux prières." I was told that when my mother received the message that I was missing, she was silent, despite her feelings, but on receiving the message that I was "safe" she was emotionally overcome.

To celebrate our safe arrival in Cairo the "boys" decided to take us out, supposedly to the best nightclub in town. The nightclub appeared to be respectable and the show was a "belly dancer" who performed on a stage in the centre of the floor. A comical but drunken sailor decided to join her on the stage and everything went smoothly until a soldier decided that he also would be part of the show. Some shoving took place and suddenly the entire place erupted, bottles were thrown around, mirrors were smashed, and fights broke out everywhere. We managed to make a quick and safe getaway. Needless to say, we never went back. Traditionally there has always been rivalry between the British army, navy, and air force and at times the arguments would turn into fist fights. This was the only one I ever witnessed, however.

In the parks in Cairo, we would buy from the paperboys a local English newspaper for, say three cents. We finished reading it very quickly and if the newspaper was left on the bench the paperboys would retrieve it and resell it for another three cents. Of course, the game was that we would try to sell it back to them for one or more cents.

While in Egypt, I visited the Pyramids. I went inside one and climbed up a second one. A guide holding a candle led you inside, the ceilings were very low, it was hot and humid, and the smell was foul, not altogether a pleasant experience. Furthermore I was not necessarily interested in history at that time. During our stay in Cairo my pilot, Pilot Officer Penman became ill with pneumonia and I never saw him again. It was probably in the 1970s that Ken Buckley told me that Penman had survived the war and had returned to his native New Zealand.

My next adventure began with orders for us to travel to Lagos, Nigeria, on the west coast of Africa, where we were to board a ship bound for England. Eventually we would ferry another plane from England to Egypt. On 16 May 1942 we left as passengers on board a civilian Pan-American Airways DC3 and flew to Khartoum, Sudan, in 6 hours, 20 minutes. We stayed there overnight and the next day we flew across Northern Africa to Kano, in the northern part of Nigeria, in 10 hours, 35 minutes. After another overnight stay, we flew on to Lagos, in 2 hours, 50 minutes. There we were billeted in a camp outside the city limits, which like most of the camps in West Africa, the Middle East, and later in India, were lacking many of the comforts of life. We gradually learned to make the best of what was available. This trip to Lagos was the last one on which Ken Buckley and I were together. Ken stayed with Ferry Command for the duration of the war. On one occasion he came to India, but we didn't meet.

The official language in Nigeria is English, but several other languages are also widely spoken. My batman, commonly called a "boy" or "bearer," spoke English. He accompanied me whenever I went to the city and generally protected me from being victimized by vendors and merchants. Lagos was a port of call for convoys sailing to and from England to South Africa and beyond. Several weeks passed and our ship still had not arrived. We had nothing to do, social life was non-existent, and the weather was hot. Nigeria is just five degrees above the equator.

Then, one day, a crew of 8, with Sergeant Cecil Cox as pilot and myself as navigator, was chosen to fly as civilian passengers to England, again supposedly on an urgent mission to ferry another plane to Egypt. Our flight plan included several stopovers, two of which were in neutral countries, namely Lisbon in Portugal and Shannon Airport in Ireland. We were issued false passports (refer to Passport Nigeria No. 35212). I was supposedly a civil servant. I wore a white open-necked shirt and grey flannel trousers, while travelling incognito.

We took off from Lagos on 14 July 1942 on an Empire Sutherland Flying Boat and flew for 13 hours to Bathurst. The city of Bathurst, now called Banjul, is in Gambia, a small British colony on the west coast of Africa. There we had to change aircraft. Five days later, when we finally left on a Boeing Clipper, we were joined by 12 or 13 other passengers, one of whom we suspected was a brigadier. Since we were travelling incognito, we were simply "Mr" to everyone. No one revealed their true identity. Rumours were that this Boeing Clipper had just returned from flying Prime Minister Churchill to Washington. Flying in a plane that had transported Prime Minister Churchill made us think we were rather important. We left on 19 July and 14 hours, 30 minutes later we arrived in Lisbon, Portugal. Our stop in Lisbon was to be very brief, but, due to bad weather in Ireland, the flight couldn't carry on and as a result we stayed in Lisbon for two days. Our military kit bags were supposedly well hidden in the plane's baggage compartment, but somehow they were all brought out in front of the custom and immigration officers, who turned a blind eye to all the commotion. In reality, we should have been interned. Obviously Portugal was leaning in favour of the Allies. Our group was taken to the British consul, who certainly knew who we were. He took us for lunch and we stayed at a hotel in Estoril, the beach resort area. We were warned not to talk to anyone and not to fraternize with any strangers. We actually spent some time on the beach, but no one ever approached us.

When we left Lisbon on 21 July, the weather was still bad in Ireland, so we flew directly to Poole, England, close to Bournemouth on a flight which lasted 8 hours, 30 minutes. There we put on our military uniforms and proceeded to the Air Ministry in London. On arrival at the office of the Air Ministry our so-called importance and ego were abruptly shattered since no one knew who we were. They had never heard of us and were not impressed with our story. Suddenly, we were just ordinary airmen. We were told to keep our whereabouts known to the RAF and postings would follow soon. In the meantime, we were granted leave which I spent in London. I exchanged telegrams with my parents and found out that my sisters Anna and Rosalind had both married since I had heard from home about four months earlier.

While on leave I decided to locate Jean Pierre Bourque - a neighbour from Sluice Point who was with the West Nova Scotia Regiment. After many inquiries I received a few discreet hints. Information on the location of troops in war-time England was not easily obtained. I finally found the regiment on the south coast of England. We had a pleasant reunion and I recall we sent a telegram to Jean Pierre's mother telling her of our get-together. Finding overnight lodging in the area was not easy, for two reasons. First, rooms were scarce, and secondly, the reputation of the Canadians for boozing and partying didn't help. I managed to find a suitable place and before I left the landlady apologized for having at first refused to rent me a room.

The next posting, in August 1942, was to 1653 Conversion Unit located at Burn, Yorkshire, just outside the village of Selby and near the city of York. There we retrained for Consolidated B24 Liberators, which were four-engine American bombers. They had a wing span of 110 feet, they were 67 feet, 2 inches in length, 18 feet high, and could carry a bomb-load of 8,000 pounds. Eventually, as we became familiar with the Liberator and our training was completed, new crews were formed and Cecil Cox and I were together again. I was the only Canadian on my crew.