Monk is the 4th one.

422 Squadron, spring 1945 at Pembroke, Wales

422 SQUADRON SORTIES 1,116 : FLYING HOURS OPERATIONS - 13,346 : NON-OPS.- 5,842
Casualties 86, 22 rescued, 6 injured, 38 presumed  dead, 13 killed and 12 aircraft lost

The Saga of 422

Just six and thirty months ago; the twenty-third of May, the Air Force chiefs thought it was time to keep the subs at bay. So they put their heads together and talked till early morn. And ‘e’ re the day had scarce begun a squadron new was born. It had to be the very best, for what it had to do, so they manned it with Canadians and called it Four-Two-Two.
‘Twas on the shores of blue Lough Erne mid Ireland’s emerald green, where Skee first set his squadron down to win the world’s esteem. The squadron was a mately crew of English and Canuck. but hopes were high and spirit bright in spite of Lough Erne’s muck. The rain it never ceased to fall, it soaked us through and through, we took it all within our stride, for we were Four-Two-Two.  Just barely settled down were we, to fight the bloody war, when off to Oban we were sent, on Scotia’s rocky shore.  Now though this was a dreary spot, with cold and rain storms rent.  The Scots betook us to their hearts and we were quite content. We hitched our belts and struggled on, a grim, tenacious few, and Jerry soon had cause to fear the men of Four-Two-Two
Six months had scarcely passed away when we were moved again, but there was no rejoicing as we heard this bit of gen.   At Bowmore next we set up camp on Islay’s barren isle; and toiling midst arctic gales, we bravely tried to smile. ‘Twas land that nature had forgot, a tree it never knew, our life was tough but tougher still were men of Four-Two-Two.
Throughout that summer and the fall, we kept the sea lanes safe, but as the winter rolled arooun our bonds began to chafe. And so one it came to pass, we left our barren site, and vanished from that trackless  waste like burglars in the night. Just like some wayward prodigals, their life to start anew, back to Castle Archdale came the men of Four-Two-Two.
We didn’t mind the rain and mud, Fermanagh isn’t Devon but after what we’d seen last year, Lough Erne was simply heaven. With Frizzle at the head of things, we queered Hitler’s game, and carved ourselves a mighty niche in Coastal’s Hall of Fame. So through the effort of us all our reputation grew and as a Squadron we were proud of good old Four-Two-Two.
Of course we’ve had our share of luck the worst as well as the best, and many are the friends we knew whom we have laid to rest.  Not all the kites that went to sea in search of Nazi prey returned in triumph back to base - some went the other way. But whether ‘twas in Victory or Death we saw a crew, we never will forget that they were men of Four-Two-Two.
It’s several months now since we left old Ireland far behind, to come to Southern Wales to live and this time fate was kind. With summer’s hand upon the helm, our shoulders to the wheel, the Squaron’s quickly making strides towards the great ideal. We’re different and we’re new, no Squadron has Esprit-de-Corps like that of Four-Two-Two.
And so these six and thirty months since Four-Two-Two was born, have silently and grimly passed, like shadows at the morn. We’ve won our place in history, the fight is nearly won.  We’ll never let the world forget the job “This Arm” has done.
And when we’re back in Canada beginning life anew, let’s not forget the Squadron - boys
FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWQ.

L.B. Frederick   May, 1945