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We had set off from Zayatquin early on a bright Febuary morning, 1946. The proposal was to fly to Singapore in one hit and take over from the now defeated Japanese. My airplane died a horrible death at 8.45. I jettisoned the 180 gallon overlod tank and pancaked down near Nyaung-Bin-Wah. The local people came to my aid. I spent the day in the village and the following morning was ferried out down a narrow winding stream in a huge junk propelled by one gentleman in the rear turret welding an enourmously long paddle. I returned to Nyaung-Bin-Wah in 1980 and was told "your aircraft is not in very good shape".

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