There was always room at the inn

CRUNCHING along a path lined by ancient elms that overhang like ghosts, you suddenly emerge onto a wide village green.

It is beginning to get dark, but you can make out a maypole, a duck pond and the pretty cottages that ring the green.

Looking over to the left, you spy an inn.

Smoke coils from the chimney, cheerful lights gleam from inside and voices can be heard uplifted in song.

The Second World War rages on, yet in this corner of North Yorkshire, peace and goodwill reign supreme.

Inside the pub, young men from a Canadian bomber squadron stationed at a nearby aerodrome stretch out their legs in front of a roaring blaze.

To the kind-hearted innkeeper and his wife, these boys from across the Atlantic have become adopted 'sons'.

The young men often cook their meals at the pub, sometimes sleep in the attic and even borrow money from the landlord and landlady.

When the boys yearned for corn-on-the-cob, a favourite back home, the landlady, despite knowing very little about the dish, bought some seeds and planted them in the garden.

In due course, corn-on-the-cob was served to the delighted airmen.

However, a few of these young men will be spending their final night at their adopted home. Because the next day, some will go into action and never return.

Those who survive and fall into enemy hands will somehow get messages back to the village to let everyone know that they are alive.

Today, strolling through the North Yorkshire village in question, it is easy to imagine those wartime days.

Because the cottages, the green with its maypole and duck pond, and, of course, the homely inn remain almost unaltered.

Inside the pub, wartime memorabilia tell the story of the Canadian airmen.

There are photographs and even a reproduction of the words to a song written by the young men in praise of their adopted home.

Such was the impact of their welcome in this North Yorkshire village that a transatlantic BBC broadcast was made from the pub.

It featured contributions from some of the villagers, the innkeeper, his wife and their Canadian airmen.

The recording carried messages to the young men's loved ones back home and also conveyed the atmosphere of the friendly inn.

It was possibly in response to this broadcast that Canadian statesman and diplomat Vincent Massey wrote to the innkeeper expressing his thanks for the hospitality that his countrymen received.

On their nights off, the young men would make their way from the aerodrome to the pub, a journey which required a trip over the river.

They were ferried across the water by a man who, legend has it, charged sixpence for the outward journey and upped his prices for the trip back - the airmen were unlikely to refuse to pay as they faced walking a ten-mile circuitous route by road if they were not able cross the river.

After arriving on dry land, the boys would make the walk along the path lined by ancient elm trees before emerging onto the wide village green.

Arthur M Lee, who produced an account of those days, wrote that many of the airmen described first witnessing that classic English scene as the biggest thrill they had experienced, more wonderful than catching sight of Cologne, Dortmund or Essen from the air.

Stories abound concerning the exploits of the Canadian airmen.

One involves an individual named Tex, who is said to have flown in his cowboy boots and once performed a bronco act on the village green.

Another story concerned a young man named Sammy, who on one mission, after sighting a windmill, baled out of his plane in the belief that he was over the Netherlands - he was, in fact, flying over the south of England.

In press reports of the period, however, the location of this village and its pub, which the Canadian airmen had adopted as a second home, was not divulged - possibly kept secret for security reasons.

One such report appeared in the Gazette just over 60 years ago and caught the eye of current editor Bob McMillan, a Canadian himself, as he leafed through some back issues.

Relating the story on Radio York recently, he speculated as to where this wartime tale might have unfolded.

The following day, a call came through to the Gazette & Herald office from one Shane Winship, who was able to solve the mystery.

For Shane has been landlord of that very village pub for the last 21 years.

The inn was the Alice Hawthorn, the kind-hearted landlord and landlady were a Mr and Mrs Ted Dodman, and that classic English village was Nun Monkton, a small community roughly 12 miles to the north-west of York.

The aerodrome at which the Canadians had been stationed was RAF Linton-on-Ouse and the river they had to cross to get to the inn was, of course, the Ouse itself.

The relationship built up between the young men and their adopted home did not end when the guns fell silent.

A number of reunions have been held at the inn over the years, and the last, says Shane, was about 12 years ago. It attracted 200 people and tearful eyes accompanied the reminiscences.

However, time has begun to catch up with the former airmen who spent those convivial wartime evenings in the Alice Hawthorn at Nun Monkton. Fewer and fewer now make nostalgic returns to the pub and it is difficult to imagine that many are still alive.

Yet, the sounds of the low-flying training jets from RAF Linton-on-Ouse, that today trace the sky over the village, perhaps provide reminders of the airmen who became the adopted 'sons' of a small North Yorkshire community over half a century ago.

Updated: 10:10 Monday, December 22, 2003