From a "Yank" to a "Colonial"

Lakenheath wasn't actually a full three years of drudgery for me. Before my daughter was born, my wife & I took a two-week leave and drove north, across the border into Scotland.

Talk about two entirely different countries! We toured one of the great castles in Edinborough, then drove over to Inverness and stayed a full week at a big Bed & Breakfast, next to the ruins of Glen Erqhart, along the shoreline of Loch Ness.

From the time we'd officially crossed the border into Scotland, the change was NOTICEABLE. Scotland is not only beautiful, but so are the people. We'd stop somewhere for lunch, and when we'd tell the waitress what we wanted, she'd beam out and say........."Oh......COLONIALS! WELCOME TO (whatever the town was), WHERE DO YOU FOLKS COME FROM BACK IN AMERICA?............and such.

We never once met a rude Scot who thought they were doing us a favor just by talking to us. For the full two weeks, we never heard the word "Yank.", or a snooty attitude. As I gathered from talking to these people over the next dozen days or so, THEY didn't seem to think much of their British neighbors, either.

But they GENUINELY loved Americans. We were warmly accepted everywhere we went, (after about a week I didn't want to LEAVE).

Downstairs where we were staying, there was a large room that served as both a dining room and a "pub." At the far end, there was a large chimneyed fireplace, where folks would sit around at night and sip their "bitter ales"). About the 2nd or 3rd night we were there, there was a guy strumming a guitar and singing old folk songs. He was soon joined by another guy with a harmonica.

I excused myself, went back up to our room, grabbed my guitar, came back down, and when I walked back in, the guy who'd been singing stopped, got up, grabbed the nearest empty chair and said "'Ave a seat then, lad, and give us a bit of the colonies!"

This was NEAT........what a welcome! I sat down and played a couple of tunes. He and the guy with the harmonica picked it up and jumped right in there.

"How 'bout one from Australia?" I said.......I started to play "Walting Matilda", the harmonica player jumped right in, and the other guy sang the verses. Then I followed along on some Scottish tunes I'D never heard of, but had a great time joining in, and even playing the lead on a couple of them.

The logs crackled in the great fireplace, we drank beer and played into the "wee hours." In all the years I've been playing, THIS still stands out in my memory as one of the "highlights" of my musical life. During the day, my wife & I would tour the area, even taking a boat ride across the Loch (lookin' for "Nessie"), but after supper, my wife, (who was about 7 months along now), would always retire early, and I would venture downstairs where these same guys hung out every night. I'd pull up a chair, we'd all take turns buying the "rounds".........and we'd just sit there playing, and "fellow-shipping," one culture to another. I'll never forget it.

The ruins of the old Glen Erqhart castle, with the great Loch behind it, were clearly visible from our Inn room, and easily accessible on foot. There was always an old Scotsman just up the hill from it, in full regalia & kilt, playing the bagpipes. Visitors would walk by and toss money into his little collection box.

It was very peaceful down there this one particular mornimg. Wife was sitting on an old antique bench not far from the ruins, reading a book, enjoying the sunshine and gentle breeze.

I was stretched out nearby on this grassy knoll, gazing out over the famous LOCH NESS, wondering if there actually WAS a "monster" in there. 48th OMS and Blue Section was finally out of my system for awhile. I was calm, muscles weren't sore, I didn't reek of hydraulic fluid, and was finally getting a proper amount of sleep.

It was like being in a dream.......the laid back and friendly atmosphere of beautiful Scotland, music around the fireplace at night..........and here I was, lying back on the greenest grass I'd ever seen-----warm---nary a breeze----bagpipes playing gently up the hill----the water across the great Loch shimmering in the morning sunlight------"Ah yes......mmmmmmmmmmmmmm............and then...........

WHAM!!...WHAM!!

A PAIR of F-111's came streaking from my right to my left about a hundred feet over the water, flying down the length of Loch Ness!

I quickly sat UP and yelled out "YOU GOTTA BE @#%&*ING ME!!!" Now....I don't know who they were, they were flying too fast for me to tell if they were "F" models from Lakenheath, or "E" models from Upper Heyford........but I was HOT!

Come all the way to "Bonnie" Scotland just to get AWAY from this crap and the most peaceful hour I'd probably ever known was SHATTERED by a pair of AARDVARKS!

With book still in hand, wife turns to me and laughingly asks "Did you tell anybody where we were going?"

Wasn't funny.

Back at the Inn later, I was told that it was not unusual for American and RAF pilots BOTH to fly down the Loch occasionally, and it was somewhat of a TREAT for the locals to watch them roar by!

But I didn't let that sour the day. That trip to Scotland was clearly the BEST two weeks of my entire three years over there.

My daughter Donna (which coincidently) is my new wife's name, was born in September of 81. Wife left active duty a few months later, and as we approached the end of our three year tour over there, we got orders back to............you guessed it.........Mountain Home!

She and the kids flew back to her Uncle & Aunt's place in New Jersey, and would stay there until I cleared out of Lakenheath shortly thereafter, and got a house set-up at MHAFB.

Flying out of England turned out to be a pretty unique trip for me. I didn't want to go through all the crowds at Heathrow in London, then have to run around JFK and try to make follow-on reservations, so I elected to use the miltary "hop" system. Since it was just ME, I didn't mind riding in a cargo plane or whatever. No "B.S." to go through............and it was FREE!

So for the next 2 days, I "camped out" over at the MAC Terminal at Mildenhall. On the 2nd night, I was playing cards with the desk clerk around 0200, when a guy in a flight suit comes up to file some paperwork. He was part of a TDY crew, and they were heading back to the states.

"How far are you going?" I asked?

"Fairchild."

FAIRCHILD AFB, WASHINGTON! Just a short shot from Medford Oregon, where my Mercury was, at Mom & Dad's!

Now, there were 13 or 14 people AHEAD of me on the "standby list", but they'd all gone back to the base Transient Quarters and wouldn't be back until 0800. This "Fairchild bird" was leaving in about an hour.

"Got room for one more?" I asked the crewman?

"Plenty!, if you don't mind what you ride on. We're a KC-135."

(Wow...........a TANKER! We won't even be stopping anywhere for fuel!)

I looked at the counter clerk and asked, "What about the 14 people ahead of me, on that list?"

"You see any of 'em HERE?"

"No"

"Have a good trip!"

Less than an hour later, the wheels were coming up in the wheel-wells, and I had that entire airplane to myself, nobody back there with me except the refuel tailboom operator, and he SLEPT most of the way.

11 and a half hours-------over the North Pole and finally down into Fairchild! I caught a ride into town to a car rental agency, rented a car and headed for Medford, Oregon......going through John Day.

Almost had a couple of mishaps, when I started going down the wrong side of the streets---------------THREE YEARS of driving down the LEFT side of the roads, had become a habit I would QUICKLY have to break, if I was going to even MAKE it to Medford!

But I DID get there, visited with the folks for a few days, gathered up the Gretsch and my guns, packed 'em in the Mercury, and once AGAIN----------across the "infamous Oregon 20"--------for a THIRD tour of Mountain Goat Airplane Patch........and after LAKENHEATH.....Mountain Home NEVER looked so GOOD!