RAF Dallachy - exploring Moray's wartime past.
Scotland is pretty well interpreted from a visitor point of view, I think. Sometimes though, the past is easily overlooked, its memorials too easily passed by.
Park in many designated carparks and you find the inevitable panorama or information board - history, geology, nature conservation and wildlife are just some of the usual themes. Yes, we are pretty good at these. (Though many now belong to that era when local councils and tourism groups had a bit of cash for such tourism fripperies, say, a couple of decades back. Some of these are getting a bit time-worn. And some came about through funds from Europe. I know. I had my share as a copywriter then!)
In spite of us caring to ensure that visitors can easily find out about their locality, there are still places where you have to dig around - or just be very observant - to find out the significance of a place.
Spey Bay for Dolphins
Take for example, the mouth of the River Spey in the old county of Moray. Summer haunt of ospreys, unpredictable hunting grounds for our Moray Firth dolphins, the estuary here has a carpark at the road end that is nearly always busy. The Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society have a wee cafe and gift shop here. Inevitably there are - yes - information panels, to waylay the shingle-beach strollers and earnest tooried birdwatchers. (Eh? Oh, a toorie is what I call a woolly hat with a bobble. I’m Scottish, you see.)
Just about every car though, en route to the River Spey estuary carpark, has passed by another informative feature, though few will have stopped there. This one isn’t in weatherproof plastic or acrylic (or whatever they make info boards out of. That was never my problem. I just had to write ‘em sometimes.)
Dallachy - a Strike Wing Airfield
No, this informative place has some of its wording in gilt letters, carved in stone. It should still be there when all these other plastic panels have crumbled and faded away. It is the solemn memorial to RAF Dallachy, an RAF Coastal Command Strike Wing airfield. You can find it on the east side of the road at Bogmoor. Probably the red of poppy wreaths will catch your eye. What is left of the taxiways and runways is just a few minutes walk away. There are no other information panels in the immediate vicinity. Only a curious foursquare mostly boarded up structure in a barley field. This was the control tower.
Deviate from the main A96 to Spey Bay road via the cosy bungalows and cottages of Nether Dallachy and you will find yourself driving round what was the perimeter track of the old airfield. At several points the distinct bow-shape of dispersal points on either side of the road are quite plain, though I don’t imagine that folk, unless they look at the Google street view of the Spey Bay area, recognize them for what they are.
But just imagine, if you had come along this way over 70 years ago. You would have been within the airfield boundary and you might have met, coming the other way, a squadron of taxiing aircraft, each with two big radial engines roaring. There’s a westerly blowing and you might have seen them reach the eastern side of the field, turn into wind and take off. Imagine, the crew probably glimpsing the River Spey below them, with its braided estuary channels, before they began their turn out, over and beyond the big shingle beaches that run round to Lossiemouth. Then it was away to the north-east because the planes were bound for Norway.
And, some of the young men were already far from home, because 404 Squadron of the Royal Canadian Air Force was here, as was 455 Squadron Royal Australian Air Force and 489 Squadron Royal New Zealand Air Force, as well as units from home. And, especially, if somehow, you had seen them take off on the 9th February 1945, you would have seen aircraft that left the ground here, in this tranquil stretch of coastal Moray, and never returned. Neither did the young men who flew them. That date, almost at the end of World War II, became known as Black Friday in the annals of Coastal Command, when the Dallachy crews suffered their greatest loss of any Strike Wing in a single operation.
But that is another story, though well documented should you choose to explore it - with even marine archaeology playing its part in unravelling what happened that day in Førde Fjord, far across the North Sea. (See, for example, on your favourite tv programme supplier, "Secrets of the Deep: WWII Beaufighters" Season 2 Episode 1.)
But if you are wandering down to the mouth of the Spey, on the east side, look out for the memorial at Bogmoor. Park, if you can. Walk through the gate that leads to the control tower. Maybe even walk a bit of the perimeter track. Perhaps you’ll walk far enough to find yourself at the end of the runway, probably meeting the odd dog-walker on the way. Actually, there are two runways that cross each other like open scissors. Half of one is now occupied by the detritus of a recycling centre. Otherwise, it’s a tranquil scene, with the birds of summer, the yellowhammers and whitethroats, singing - and abandoned bits of farm machinery and silage bales on concrete hard standings that once saw busy ground crews working to keep aircraft at readiness. And then there is that lonely control tower with its ghosts.
Talking of which, the main accommodation blocks were on the higher ground to the south (I believe.) Their remains - mostly just foundations - are now deep within woodland. Matter of fact, I tried to take the dog a walk there during the winter. He wouldn’t budge as soon as I entered the wood. Refused to come another step. Spooked me, let me tell you! Just saying.
Anyway, today there is the memorial, there is the control tower and the silent vanishing runways. And a street called Beaufighter Road which runs into the village and along much of the northern and eastern parts of the perimeter.
Those Strike Wing crews were based here in rural Moray for the last six months of the war. And they flew off across the grey sea and saw and did terrifying things amid the mountains and fjords of occupied Norway. Worth a few minutes of your time, just to remember them, wouldn’t you say...before you go down to the peaceful and endlessly-flowing river?