in the drink

I spent the war years in the Middle East where my father was stationed in Haifa in the British Mandate of Palestine.
My older sister was secretary to Commander Warburton - who was in charge of the naval station at the harbour there. He was the father of Group Captain Adrian Warburton who became something of a legend when stationed in Malta where he was known as "sorry I'm late " Warburton, on account of his propensity to turn up late at parties, fresh from being rescued from "the drink" when his aircraft had gone down. In the latter part of the war he went missing on a reconnaissance flight over Germany, where the remains of his aircraft were only recently found.

Those were momentous times. In May 1941, from our verandah overlooking Haifa bay I watched through my father's telescope German parachutists dropping over Syria (then in Vichy hands) Preparatory - so the Axis thought - to taking over Iraq and the oilfields there. But that is another story.

During the Desert Campaign one of our Spitfires came down in the sea off the coast of Palestine and a motor torpedo boat was sent out from Haifa to try to locate the pilot's life-raft. But they were unsuccessful and the boat returned at dusk empty-handed. But Daddy Warburton was having none of that. Saying "He's somebody's Adrian" he took the boat out himself; he was out the whole night but returned triumphant the next morning with his prize - the 19 year old pilot, who spent a few days in hospital, where my sister and I visited him. Before returning to his unit in Egypt he took me out to dinner and presented me with the small leather squirrel he had made while in hospital, which I named Valentine after him, and which I still possess 63 years on.

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