THE day we had lunch together and I interviewed Francis Stephens, before I could even ask him a question, he said: "I'm no hero, and I can't tell you anything heroic. I didn't get a Distinguished Flying Cross. I just served wherever I was needed."

Every Bermudian overseas volunteer could say the same. By far the most important thing is that we volunteered. Once you selected the branch in which you wanted to serve, what happened after that was very much beyond our control.

Francis remembers vividly the Sunday morning of September 3, 1939.

"I remember listening to Neville Chamberlain on our Zenith radio, 'Britain is now at war', Chamberlain said.

"Early the following week, my boss at Masters Limited, Billy Freisenbruch, called Billy Hooper and me into his office and gave us a patriotic talk regarding our obligations. We were teenagers, and Billy suggested we should join up. We were to replace two key employees that Masters wanted released from the Bermuda Volunteer Rifle Corps."

Apparently, the only way anyone could be released from the armed forces was if a replacement could be found.

Francis was 17 when he joined the BVRC.

He was assigned to "A" Company at St. George's under the command of Captain Charles Cooper, later succeeded by Lieutenant Jack Pitt.

Other than guard duty, not much had happened until one bright, moonlit night. He had gone on guard at Ruth's Bay, St. David's, at 4 a.m. Some time later a Greek freighter, loaded with manganese, crashed on the reefs at Castle Island.

He actually felt the repercussion. Eventually, both the ship's lights were salvaged and, for years, remained souvenirs in the home of Jack and Sylvia Pitt at Riddell's Bay.

Subsequent postings took Francis Stephens to Cable Hut, guarding the cable lines from overseas at Mid Ocean Club, and then to Warwick Camp for his first real experience of military drill, under the redoubtable Company Sergeant-Major Grange of the Lincolns.

While at Warwick Camp, a development changed the whole direction of his war service, if not indeed his life.

THE Bermuda Flying School had been created, major contributors being Bert Work and Duncan McMartin, who devoted a lot of his time to helping at the school. Ed Stafford, an American, became the chief instructor.

Francis was among the first to apply as a student and was accepted. He came third in the graduating class on May 7, 1940 following Fitzpatrick and Fenton Trimingham. Having completed the course with distinction, Francis was recommended by Ed Stafford for further training, with a view to becoming a wartime pilot.

So he proceeded to train with the Fleet Air Arm at Dockyard. They had two planes, a Walrus flying boat and a Swordfish seaplane. In June and July 1940 they often flew well out of sight of land in training flights. They carried a 250-lb. bomb under the wings in case they spotted any submarines which, at that time, were thick around Bermuda. However, all they saw were a couple of whales.

Along with other successful Bermuda Flying School graduates, Francis Stephens left Bermuda for England in August, 1940 on the SS Mataroa.

A FEW days out from Bermuda, the German pocket battleship Admiral Scheer appeared above the horizon. The convoy looked like target practice for the Germans until the Jervis Bay, the armed merchantman guarding the convoy, swung into action.

She was, of course, no match for the Admiral Scheer and was sunk. But her heroic action saved the convoy. Captain E.S.N. Fegen was awarded the Victoria Cross on behalf of the entire crew. A memorial at Albuoy's Point commemorates their valour.

Volunteers going to England with Francis Stephens included Geoff Osborn, Royston Dodwell, Jack Pitt, Teddy Nicholl, Alan (Smoky) Wingood, Jimmy Whitecross and Bobby Burnard. They arrived at the end of September. Commission had to be resigned. Their new rank was Leading Aircraftsman, Class Two (LAC2).

It was on to Babbacombe in Devon where they exchanged army uniforms for those of the Royal Air Force . . . then Torquay to an induction centre.

FRANCIS began flying training at an elementary flying school at Weston super Mare in Somerset. He trained in a Tiger Moth, equipped with a bomb rack containing four 25-lb. bombs. The armament was necessary as Britain was under threat of invasion.

Advanced training followed in Wales, but Francis came down with pneumonia and missed the course.

By now the British Empire Training Scheme was being established in Canada. So he was sent to Moose Jaw in Saskatchewan. He graduated and received his wings, though disappointed in the rank of sergeant instead of a commission. The reason given by the examining board was that commissions could not be granted to those having "only" a grammar school education, a bizarre conclusion considering Saltus Grammar School was "grammar" in name only.

After receiving his wings, he was posted to No. 2 Instructor School in Calgary. He finished the course in next to top place. Still feeling he should have had a commission, he requested and secured an interview to discuss the matter further. This time he was successful and was commissioned a Pilot Officer.

Back in England in 1944, Francis went from Harrogate Holding Station to Scunthorpe where he was posted to 56 Operational Training Unit as a Spitfire pilot.

He was posted to a Spitfire Squadron in Norway, but before he could get there, the order was rescinded, and he joined 74 Spitfire Squadron. He observes: "Spitfires were magnificent in the air, but difficult on the ground." He was promoted to Flying Officer.

While at OCTU, Francis says: "It was the practice, while taxiing down wind for takeoff, to have an AC1, who could either be a man or a woman, hang on to your tail plane, as there was a tendency for the tail to lift with the possibility of damaging the propellor.

"It was essential that you made the taxi as short as possible because going down wind you were getting little air in the intake for cooling, and the engine would overheat rapidly once the red light started to flicker. You had two options: take off, or shut the engine down before it seized."

One memorable day a pilot taxied his aircraft for takeoff. When airborne, he realised he still had a girl hanging on to the tail plane. However, the story has a happy ending. He circled the aerodrome, landed and everyone was safe.

Francis next was posted to 1335 Conversion Unit in order to transfer from Spitfires to Gloucester Meteors, one of the first British aircraft to be powered by jet engines.

DURING a height test at 35,000 feet, Francis put the aircraft into a dive. "Suddenly, I lost control. The controls were not responding because I was going too fast. Realising I was heading for the ground, I activated the dive brakes which were not to be used at speeds in excess of 500 mph.

"There was a tremendous bang that temporarily knocked me out. For a moment I thought I was in heaven as everything was blue. Then I realised it was the sky I was looking at. I managed to get control of the plane and levelled off. I brought it in but it was a write-off because the dive brakes collapsed and the wings corrugated."

About this time, while on leave in London, he chanced to meet John Hartley Watlington, who had returned to England after his epic escape from Europe.

Another chance meeting with a fellow Bermudian took place at 626 Squadron where he met Jimmy Vallis. Disappointingly, Jimmy had not been accepted for flight training, but continued to serve as a member of the ground staff.

FOLLOWING an announcement that those serving overseas from the Commonwealth could secure 60 days' leave, Francis caught the Queen Elizabeth II and headed home. He reached Bermuda via Halifax and Montreal and recalls: "I shall never forget how shocked my mother was to see me."

On the return trip to England, the Lancaster's heating system broke down and there was an emergency landing in Scotland. He rejoined his Meteor Squadron, serving with it until the end of the war. Meantime, he had been promoted to Flight Lieutenant. His next assignment was chasing "doodlebugs", the pilotless rockets hurled against the south of England late in the war.

"It was dangerous work," he recalls. "The missiles flew faster, at 400 mph, than any of our fighters. They were especially hard to hit because of their great speed and extremely narrow wing span.

"The closer you got to your target, the more dangerous it became. If you hit it, the debris could wreck your plane as well."

The first doodlebug brought down by a Meteor was accomplished by Flying Officer Gould. He didn't shoot it down, but flew alongside, put his wing underneath the doodlebug's wing and tipped it over. A hair-raising achievement. But the Germans got wise to this and subsequently placed detonators under the doodlebug, preventing the RAF from carrying out the manoeuvre.

Other family members serving during the Second World War were his cousins: Harry Bridges with the BVRC; and Fred Bridges with the RAF.

He returned to Bermuda in March, 1946. A member of the Bermuda War Veterans Association, he is the long-serving vice-president of the BVRC Overseas Association.

Francis Stephens not only fulfilled his promise to serve overseas "wherever he was needed". He did so with dedication and distinction.

WAR veterans will tell you that, despite a full quota of blood and thunder, military life in wartime also has its full quota of fun and laughter. At reunions, the amusing memories are the ones that dominate conversation.

Francis Stephens recalls a typical anecdote that I want to pass on.

The Second World War was only a month or two old. Francis was still a "rookie" in his middle teens. What I am about to relate happened on the night the Greek freight ship was wrecked on the reefs at Castle Island.

Here it is in his own words:

"Earlier that evening, I had been to a movie in St. George's. Inappropriately, the movie was Frankenstein (high on the list of all-time horror stories).

"After I escorted my date home, I cycled back to camp at St. David's Island. The effect of the movie was still very much with me, as I dismounted my cycle at a hill. I had to get my nerves under control.

"I met a St. David's Islander who appeared to be 'full hot' (pretty well intoxicated, for the uninitiated). He slid down on the gravel. I was so uptight, I leaped on my bike and went full speed to camp.

"When I got to the camp gate, my friend, Billy Hooper, was in charge. 'What happened to you'? was his surprised inquiry. 'The sergeant wants to see you'. It was to inform me that I was due to go on guard at Ruth's Bay at 4 a.m.

)>"The sergeant said to me, 'You go to the Point. I'll go to the Bay. That way we can cover more ground, and it will be quicker.' I was not in favour of going, but orders are orders. Off I went.

)>"I had only gone about 50 yards when a loud crack from a bullet split the night's silence. I rushed back, and found the sergeant sitting on a wall, white as a sheet. I asked what had happened. He said he had been moving through a hedge when he heard some branches break and a cow mooed. His instant reaction had been to shoot. The sergeant also had been to see Frankenstein!"