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These pages were fashioned in the City of Saskatoon, in the Province of Saskatchewan, in the old Dominion of Canada.

One of the fascinating aspects of the TBM Spray Programmes was the variety of pilots that seemed drawn to that type of work. The job was a bastion for people that didn't feel comfortable within the constraints of a modern corporate society or, in some cases, they were seeking refuge or respite from their responsibilities and images at home.

Frank Gilland was in my mind, the most colourful character that I've ever met. A former Royal Canadian Air Force Flight Lieutenant, he had flown everything from biplane trainers to the F-104 Starfighter, which apparently amused him. He saw combat as an Hawker Typhoon pilot during the Second World War. In his temperament and behaviour, he was reminiscent, to me, of the type of man conjured up, as a role, by the likes of Clint Eastwood or Lee Marvin. He was an expert pilot on the TBM and he expected the other pilots in his section to work hard. If he were in the number two position in a formation he'd be heard over the radios chiding the section lead to use both hands on the "pole" for tighter turns. He was a friendly man who liked the occasional "jar" of Moosehead Ale. However, he'd not hesitate to physically have it out with an antagonist if the situation required that type of settlement. Frank passed away at his home in Courtenay, British Columbia in December, 2008 at the age of eighty-six.

An artist's conception of W.David Fenwick (pronounced FEN'ick). A Northumbrian gentleman, amongst the "Geordies", David was from Wallsend, now a part of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. David spent years in various remote parts of the world plying his career in the aerial geophysical survey industry before coming on the TBM spray project. After knowing Dave for a bit, I began to feel that he came into this world about seventy years too late. For surely there would have been a Victorian newspaper headline about someone named Fenwick of Khartoum, or something like that, holding the Khyber Pass for a fortnight with a score of Northumberland Fusiliers against an opposition of some 20,000 Afghan tribesmen before they were overwhelmed and slain in a spectacular last stand. He had the fierceness of a wolverine and he was not to be trifled with if he didn't care for an individual. Our Dave has emerged from the Sahara, his expedition concluded. He's said to be in Vancouver enjoying retirement.

Bob MacKinnon (right) congratulates Shorty the "Human Alarm Clock" of Sevogle Mountain on his waking up of his 100,000th person. He may have been awarded a gold plated flashlight and given a pack of cigarettes for his feat. A necessary, and sometimes dangerous task, the odious duty of getting everyone in a camp up at 3:30 in the morning fell on his shoulders. Once, after having awakened a cranky old TBM pilot, despite the presence of low cloud, wind and rain, an explanation was demanded as to why everyone had to get up. Without hesitation Shorty responded by saying that the cooks had worked "some" hard to make breakfast and that someone had to get up to eat it. He then ducked as a flying boot hit the door frame where his head had been. Bob MacKinnon was noteworthy as the only TBM pilot who was shaped like the airplane that he flew.

Sid Arbeau Remembered

The grand patriarch of the Arbeau Clan along the Mirimichi River near Upper Blackville, Sid Arbeau (right), was the venerable camp janitor of Dunphy Airstrip, where TBM spray operations were also launched. He also spent some winters at Sevogle where he kept an eye on things. Once upon a time, a group of TBM pilots, who didn't wish to be disturbed after an early morning spray session, sought to discourage him from doing his morning ritual of mopping the floors with a strong pine oil disinfectant solution, by locking and barricading the door to their quarters. Legend has it that he actually dematerialised his body to pass through the obstacle to do his chore whilst bleary eyed and tired TBM pilots stared in disbelief from under their blankets. His forebears apparently arrived in that area after the disasterous fire of 1877 in Saint John. Sid passed away about ten years ago. He was the salt of the earth and he'll be remembered for his cheerful "How's she goin', boys".

Remembering Ray Green

I grew up in Stanley, NB, and my father was the doctor on the FPL project for many of the early years, being a pilot himself. He flew Beauforts & Wellingtons during the war, and always had an aircraft while I was growing up. I left home at the age of 16, and father got me hired on as a radio operator at the strip in Juniper in 1964. While there I became good friends with a Ray Green, chief pilot for Johnson's Flying Service out of Missoula, Mt. Towards the end of the season, if I wasn't working the early am shift, Ray would let me get into the tail of his TBM and hide there until we were airborne and go off spraying with him. Upon return to the strip for more spray, I would have to crawl back down into the tail and stay there until we were in flight again. When the season was over I flew out of Juniper with Ray and the entire Johnson crew to Fredericton. I'll never forget when we lined up on the tarmac at Juniper in pairs, this time I was allowed to sit in the seat, Ray and I were first in line with his team mate just to our right, and a little aft. As Ray applied power, so did Moe, and both planes took off at the same time. I had never seen this done before, and was so impressed. Later, when we were at Fredericton, I mentioned it to Ray. I remember him smiling and saying that they didn't make a habit of that, but wanted to put on a little show for those on the ground bidding us all farewell. To this day, at the age of 55, those are my most fondest memories, every time I hear one or see one fly by, I can relate to how the pilot must feel.

-Rhys Reynolds of Douglas, N.B.

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