VISIT the Gippsland Armed Forces Museum at West Sale Airport, and chances are you’ll encounter one Malcolm “Mal” Cotton.

The 87-year-old has been a volunteer with the Museum for the last decade, and brings to the role a wealth of knowledge about the artefacts within – as well as his own story to tell.

Mr Cotton is a veteran of Britain’s Royal Air Force who reached the rank of Acting Corporal in his 14 years of service, in that time observing an astonishing, and controversial, chapter in Australia’s history.

Born and raised in Leicestershire, Mr Cotton joined Britain’s Royal Air Force in 1954, completing his basic training at RAF Cardington.

The following year, he participated in a physical training display at the Royal Tournament – London’s equivalent of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.

“And after that, they didn’t know what to do with us, so they asked people, ‘Who wants to go to Australia?’” Mr Cotton recalled.

He accepted the invitation, flying first-class to Australia via the United States – “we had BOAC first, then United Airlines across America, then Qantas from San Francisco to Sydney.”

Upon arrival in Sydney, he was then flown to Edinburgh Field – the Royal Australian Air Force’s base in Adelaide – in an old Hastings aircraft.

“Bit of a letdown,” Mr Cotton said of that experience, “it was all fabric and steel seats.”

It wasn’t until his arrival in South Australia that his superiors relayed to him their objective.

“They said, ‘‘Oh, you’re going out to Woomera… (and) you’re going to witness an atom bomb test’.”

What Mr Cotton had been assigned to do was assist with Operation Buffalo in Maralinga – a series of nuclear tests conducted by the British government on Australian soil.

His role was to drive out to the testing sites, where he would assemble and dismantle the equipment.

“I saw four atom bomb tests – two on the tower, and one on the ground, and one air-drop,” Mr Cotton said.

The largest of the bombs detonated was 12.9 kilotons, only slightly less than the energy generated by the bomb dropped on Hiroshima (15kt).

Members of the armed forces, British and Australian, witnessed the explosions from 16 kilometres away; even at that distance, Mr Cotton said, “the blast just hit you in the face.”

Having been “all suited up” when setting-up and removing equipment from the testing sites, Mr Cotton has avoided the effects of radiation poisoning.

Other men who worked at Maralinga weren’t so lucky.

“I haven’t had any after-effects, but some of my friends, who I made good friends (with) when we left Maralinga… they didn’t last very long,” Mr Cotton said.

He noted that many of the Australian military personnel he befriended would clean the Avro Lincoln planes that flew through the mushroom clouds without wearing radiation suits – “no protective clothing, nothing.”

“I’ve got some good mates who only died at 60,” he lamented.

Servicemen weren’t the only people to suffer, either.

“If you talk to a lot of people in the know, the Aborigines weren’t supposed to be there – you’re supposed to clean the area out of Aborigines,” Mr Cotton said.

“No Aborigines were supposed to be there at all. I saw them…”

Many First Nations people living at Maralinga were victims of the blasts too; those that weren’t killed were seen “burnt and staggering around” after a test.

With the military men bound to secrecy, nobody could publicly acknowledge what happened until many years later.

Mr Cotton would return to the United Kingdom following Operation Buffalo, and upon leaving the military in 1968, came back to Australia, where he has lived ever since.

He became a manager of numerous engineering firms, working at Reece Plumbing, Tradelink and Plumbtec before retiring at the age of 80.

Today being Remembrance Day, Mr Cotton is using the occasion to reflect not only on his own military service, but that of those before him.

“Remembrance Day to me means a hell of a lot,” he said, noting that his grandfather was a veteran of the Boer War.

“I came back (home) on-leave after probably about six months; he was living then on his own – my grandma had died – and he took me to one side and he said, ‘My lad, if you’re in the Forces now, I hope you don’t have to go through what I went through, because being in the Forces… you’ve got to be very careful…’

“He told me about things that he had to do in the Boer War… shooting children and women in South Africa.

“And I said to him, ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that?!’

“He said, ‘Well if I hadn’t have done it, you wouldn’t have been here now because they would have shot me.’

“They would have had a court martial, like they did in Breaker Morant and stuff.”

Mr Cotton also cast his mind back to his childhood, and memories of the Nazi aerial bombing campaign over Britain.

“I can remember the Coventry blitz, which was very, very bad – Coventry was almost flattened,” he said – Coventry being a town in the county next to Leicestershire.

“I can still see it now; I was only five years old, and I can still see the red sky and the flames.”

Mr Cotton has lived a remarkable life, and he insists he’s not done yet.

He still volunteers at the Armed Forces Museum on weekends, and is planning a trip to his home country next year.

“I’m not going to stop. I’m going to live ‘til I’m 100!”