‘Where the hell is Mauripur?’ was on everyone’s lips.

‘I am looking for two volunteer swimmers to come with me to Mauripur, to see if one of the lakes is suitable for swimming’, he said.

Despite knowing full well that you should never volunteer for anything, I and my mate Graham Barr, did. Perhaps we thought it would be a bit of a skive from the routine of office work, but no, he arranged to meet us at 10.30am on Saturday morning.

He arrived in an estate car befitting a Squadron Leader and off we went. The journey took us through some of the filthiest places I have ever seen. Stinking swamps in which water buffalo wallowed, huts made from dry dung, filthy kids by the dozen, dogs, goats, etc. The place stank. The so-called road was nothing more than a dirt track.

Eventually we came to some lakes and, having changed into swimming trunks, we scrambled down the rocks into the water. It was about four inches deep, it smelt very unpleasant, and it was exceptionally salty. It was obvious that these lakes would not be suitable for swimming. The salt made our feet sore and Graham was bitten by ‘something’ and had to go to the BMH (British Medical Hospital) in Karachi.

In the distance we could see some buildings. They looked like bungalows. ‘That will be RAF Station Mauripur’, said Sqdn Ldr Hall, ‘and in about a month’s time you will be stationed there. It will eventually be one of the largest RAF Stations in India’.

And so it proved!