The Fleet Air Arm’s Telegraphist Air Gunners Saunders Wood and Wells are fictional characters; however, their tales of adventure are factual, shared at annual reunions of Telegraphist Air Gunners in the post-war years.

Left Behind

The canteen at East Camp was filled with the low murmur of conversation as the day wound down. In a quiet corner, TAGs Wood and Saunders shared their harrowing tale with Wells, their eyes still wide with the disbelief of their recent adventure. “It was just another routine patrol along the Nova Scotia coastline,” Wood began, “That is until the engine of our Swordfish coughed and sputtered. We were losing altitude fast, and the ocean below offered no safe haven.” Saunders picked up the story, his hands animatedly mimicking the plane’s descent. “Then, a stretch of beach appeared and our pilot, aimed for the sandy strip. “The landing was nothing short of amazing,” Wood continued, a smile breaking through as he recalled the moment. “We actually made the landing on that beach. The locals told us we’d touched down in Lockeport and rushed to help us move the plane away from the rising tide.” Saunders nodded, “But our ordeal wasn’t over. East Camp dispatched a sea rescue plane, yet the churning waves defied any attempt at landing.” “We were stranded, waiting for another Swordfish aircraft bringing the batteries we needed to help us repair the engine,” Wood said, his gaze distant as he relived the wait. “Once we had the battery we were ready to return to East Camp.” “But fate had one more twist,” Saunders interjected, a grin on his face. “The runway, the mere sandy strip, demanded for our takeoff, a lighter load.” Wood laughed, the sound rich with irony. “And that meant us! Left behind, as we watched our plane ascend without us.” Saunders leaned back, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. “There we were, two trainee TAGs, our parachutes and gear useless on the ground, contemplating a trek that seemed endless.” “The highway was deserted, a ribbon of road stretching into the horizon,” Wood said, shaking his head. “We were prepared for days of walking!” “But luck hadn’t abandoned us entirely,” Saunders concluded, his eyes twinkling. “A bus, bound for Yarmouth, appeared just when we needed it most.” “And so we returned to camp,” Wood finished, “our unexpected journey complete, our place on the plane taken by a cargo of lobsters. Can you imagine? Left behind for a load lobsters!” Their laughter filled the canteen, a testament to the unpredictable nature of their day and another of the stories they would carry with them forever. Wells listened, fascinated by the tale, knowing full well that such an experience was just another of the many at East Camp, RCAF Station Yarmouth.