I flew with Fresson in 1942.

long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.


Flying with Fresson. Published John O’Groat Journal 16th May, 2008.


ISLAND LIFE travel in my early days was of coal burning steam ships and stormy seas and days when the steamer could not make it - though there were not many of those when the crews were descended from the old Vikings, mostly Westray men. With the homes of the crews being in Westray, the Earl Thorfinn's North Isles sailings ended there on Saturday night, allowing the crews to be at home over the weekend before returning to Kirkwall on the Monday via the Islands of Papa Westray (sometimes), Eday, Sanday and Stronsay, in whatever order the tide decided. Thorfinn sailings were back out on Wednesday, in again on Thursday, a day off on Friday when the Earl Sigurd did a “round the Isles” trip from Kirkwall, and out again to Westray on Saturday.
But when Capt Ernest Fresson pioneered his air services to Orkney – starting on 8th May, 1933 with his first official service flight to Kirkwall, life would never be the same again. Provost Macdonald of Inverness and his wife inaugurated the new service, with the Royal Mail contract on offer the following year if Fresson completed a year’s operation without trouble. By then, 1934, his air service had extended outwards to Stronsay and the other Islands.
Still, when I went off to School in Inverness in September 1941, aged 12, there was a War on. The Grice Ness grass airfield had been covered with stone pillars built by our father to stop the Germans from landing, and Fresson had to cease his pre-war Island routes. My first journey to Inverness was with my mother, taking the usual route by sea, Stronsay to Kirkwall by the Earl Thorfinn, overnight with father’s cousin, Charlie Tait in Buttquoy, and early next morning by freezing-cold bus with wooden-slat seats the 15 miles to Stromness to catch the St Ola to Scrabster. We sailed West of Hoy as the old pre-war route through Scapa Flow was no longer permitted. I saw the Old Man of Hoy for the first time. Then by car from Scrabster to Thurso Railway Station and L.M.S. steam train for the six hour journey to Inverness. It was a long two-day trip for a small boy to later make on his own.
However, there was the other route to Inverness if you could get a seat, which I often did. That was by Scottish Airways (Fresson) from Skaebrae RAF airfield in the West Mainland to the Longman Airfield in Inverness, now covered with car showrooms and garages and almost entirely forgotten as the original Airfield of the Highland Capital.
During my first year in Inverness, and before my brother David joined me the next year, I got my first flight at Easter 1942, returning to Inverness by air after the holidays. Into Kirkwall by sea the day before as usual, overnight again with Charlie Tait, up early next morning and down by myself to P.F.Thompson’s Garage in Junction Road to catch the bus to Skaebrae with my small suitcase in my hand, my gas mask over my shoulder and my Ration Book and Identity Card (SZUT/25/3) in my pocket.
I remember vividly the total blackout, the bone-chilling early morning cold and the all enveloping dark. At Skaebrae my identity card was examined at the barbed-wire barrier and soldiers on guard checked my name on the passenger list. With seven seats to fill, the list was not long!!
Though Fresson had his air service to Stronsay pre-War this was my first flight, though I knew the plane well enough from seeing it land daily on Grice Ness and being allowed to inspect and sit in it. Door on the left side, seven smallish seats, the windows whitewashed or painted to prevent anyone spying (though what one could have spied on I do not know). The cockpit had a small door but it was usually open, so if one got the right-hand front seat you could see forward well enough. I guess I was pampered a bit, and was invited to sit on the sill of the door and see everything. And what an adventure that was.
Take off from Skaebrae to fly west to clear the Mainland and the anti-aircraft guns around Stromness. Then turn South to pass along the cliffs and the Old Man of Hoy, flying below their level. What a view! Sometimes the pilot was Fresson but there were others - Henry Vallance comes to mind, George Holmes was another. All these pilots gave me wonderful guided tours of the route as we flew over it. Our usual route early in the War, trying to keep away from German raiders, was to head for Melvich and fly up Strath Halladale, on by Achintoul to Helmsdale, then follow the east coast down to Inverness. Once on his way North off Tarbat Ness Capt. Vallance had a serious fright when a German Heinkel appeared through the clouds below him. He did his best to keep on the tail of the faster Heinkel, which thankfully had no rear gunner, the three crew all sitting side by side in the cockpit, and after a few hair-raising and very dodgy minutes the German turned away for home. Vallance returned to Inverness, very shaken, but, after a short rest to catch his breath, he continued his interrupted flight up to Orkney. Heinkel bombers were not to be played with. One of several on a raid on Wick in Autumn 1940 had been badly damaged by our fighters shortly before Vallance’s episode, it was escorted in and forced to land at Wick Aerodrome with the gunner dead and the other two crew badly injured. Given the importance of Scapa Flow as well as Invergordon and the Cromarty Firth Fleet bases, German reconnaissance intruders were always possible. And Foyers just up Loch Ness from Inverness with it’s aluminium works was bombed about that time, but without too much damage. As boys we were more excited than scared, though we should have been. I came back from holidays once to learn that one of my class mates had been killed by picking up an unexploded hand grenade on a training area at Ardersier.

Going back home to Orkney for holidays from school meant another early start. The train left at about 6am to get to Thurso to connect with the St Ola, so I had a very early morning walk the two miles from Drummond Park Hostel down town to the Railway Station. Flying meant setting out just as early, I had to be at the small upstairs Scottish Airways office in Rose Street by 7am (it was part of Macrae and Dick’s premises). I remember the cold, dark early-morning streets of Inverness, though there was always someone about to say hello. A friendly policeman once asked me where I was going so early, he walked and chatted with me a bit of the way, good company. His brother had been taken prisoner at St Valery in 1940. Cumming - Fresson’s total office staff - was already there, he checked us in and weighed the passengers and our bags to plan the seating. After locking the office door he took us down the stairs to the small bus which he also drove, took us to the Longman, and saw us safely on board. He did everything, and lived in the Gate Lodge of Hedgefield Girls Hostel when I knew him.
On the plane we were strapped in and shown the sick bags which were often enough used. Flying could be exceedingly bumpy and no high altitude stuff to get above the clouds, nearer the deck if anything. Only in fog did Fresson gain height to make sure we were above the cliffs. Mostly the flight North was offshore south of Helmsdale, then it would cut across to Melvich, quite a reasonable route if you look at the map, keeping to the west of Scapa Flow. Not every time were there seven passengers, often we had Royal Mail bags in the rear seats.
Fresson sometimes did a courtesy call on the way North by dropping a few rolled-up newspapers to a good lady who lived by herself in an isolated cottage a few miles South of Kinbrace, getting a wave from her every time he passed. Once when I was in the plane he let me throw them out. Fresson never met the lady, though he counted her as a very special friend.

The photograph reproduced here is of G-AIYK - a De Haviland Dragon Rapide built in 1944 and still going strong - a seven-seater twin engined biplane, fabric-covered wings held together with wire stays. It is the very same as the ones I flew in to school though I doubt if Fresson flew that one. After the War it was used by the RAF in Malaya during the troubles there. Preserved at Duxford in flying condition, it came to Dalcross on the 29th May 1994 to mark the 60th anniversary of the Royal Air Mail Pennant being awarded to Capt. Fresson for the Air Mail Service to Orkney, the first service of its kind in the United Kingdom. I could not pass up the opportunity of seeing it once more, and went to Dalcross for the day. It brought back many memories for me, and I was the first to take a flight in it over Inverness on that clear sunny day, up to Loch Ness, turning back over the Loch beyond Dores, coming back to Inverness and looking down from low level on my old school, the Royal Academy, and Drummond Park Hostel where I spent five good years. Brought a lump to my throat I must admit. I sat in my tiny seat on the right-hand side breathing in the familiar old smells of squeaky leather and drift of petrol and a special indefinable redolent aroma strong in my nostrils from 50 years back, unforgettably recognizable. I felt as one with these pioneers of Air Travel. Fresson brought to our remote Islands a service beyond imagination - to Orkney, to Stroma, to Fair Isle, to remote Foula 40miles out in the Atlantic from Shetland, to Shetland itself. Don’t forget the Western Isles either. It fills me with deep-down pride and pleasure to remember that, a long time ago, I Flew with Fresson.