3
25
483
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45951/SSmithRW425992v10002-0002 copy.1.pdf
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Bob Smith's Memoirs Book 2
Description
An account of the resource
23 pages of Bob's memoirs.
Covers his training.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Brighton
England--Sidmouth
Scotland--Aberdeen
England--Salisbury
Scotland--Stranraer
Scotland--Ailsa Craig
Great Britain Miscellaneous Island Dependencies--Isle of Man
Scotland--Paisley
Scotland--Glasgow
France
France--Beauvoir-sur-Mer
Australia
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Bundaberg
Queensland--Brisbane
New South Wales--Cootamundra
United States
California--San Francisco
Canada
Alberta--Edmonton
Nova Scotia--Halifax
Scotland--Gourock
Victoria--Melbourne
Manitoba--Winnipeg
Ontario--Trenton
Ontario--London
France--Châlons-sur-Marne (Arrondissement)
France--Caen
Germany
Germany--Kiel
France--Gironde Estuary
Poland--Szczecin
Netherlands
Netherlands--Eindhoven
France--Le Havre
Germany--Neuss
France--Calais
France--Pas-de-Calais
Atlantic Ocean--Kattegat (Baltic Sea)
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Essen
Germany--Leverkusen
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Netherlands--Veere
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Fulda
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Heinsberg (Heinsberg)
Nova Scotia
Manitoba
Poland
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
23 printed pages
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Pending review
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10002-0002
1653 HCU
3 Group
467 Squadron
5 Group
84 OTU
Advanced Flying Unit
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bomb aimer
crash
crewing up
flight engineer
Gee
Hampden
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
mess
mine laying
navigator
Nissen hut
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Normandy deception operations (5/6 June 1944)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Andover
RAF Bishops Court
RAF Bridlington
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Cranwell
RAF Desborough
RAF Feltwell
RAF Halfpenny Green
RAF Harrington
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Silloth
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tempsford
RAF Waddington
RAF West Freugh
RAF White Waltham
RAF Wigtown
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
training
V-1
V-weapon
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45953/SSmithRW425992v10003-0002 copy.1.pdf
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
A Tour of Operations with RAF Bomber Command No XV/15 Squadron Mildenhall
Description
An account of the resource
The third book of memoirs by Bob Smith.
Covers his operational tour and bombing operations.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Heinsberg (Heinsberg)
France
France--Beauvoir-sur-Mer
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
United States
Michigan--Detroit
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
France--Châlons-en-Champagne
France--Caen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Flensburg
Germany--Helgoland
Germany--Sylt
France--Somme
France--Aire-sur-la-Lys
France--Amiens
France--Gironde Estuary
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
France--Brest
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Braunschweig
France--Falaise Region
France--Royan
Poland--Szczecin
Great Britain
Scotland--Glasgow
Russia (Federation)--Kaliningrad (Kaliningradskai︠a︡ oblastʹ)
Sweden
Denmark
Sweden--Malmö
Netherlands
Netherlands--Eindhoven
France--Le Havre
Germany--Neuss
Germany--Düsseldorf
France--Calais
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Europe--Kattegat Region
Norway
Norway--Oslo
Denmark--Frederikshavn
France--Strasbourg
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Emmerich
Netherlands--Nijmegen
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Cologne
Belgium
Belgium--Antwerp
Germany--Essen
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Belgium--Charleroi
Germany--Leverkusen
Netherlands--Veere
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Aachen Region
Germany--Düren (Cologne)
Germany--Jülich
Germany--Fulda
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Osterfeld
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Australia
Victoria--Melbourne
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Brisbane
Scotland--Inverness
England--Blackpool
England--Colchester
Germany--Merseburg Region
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Canadian Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
98 printed pages
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10003-0002 copy
1 Group
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
186 Squadron
195 Squadron
218 Squadron
3 Group
5 Group
514 Squadron
6 Group
617 Squadron
622 Squadron
75 Squadron
8 Group
90 Squadron
aerial photograph
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Battle
Blenheim
bomb aimer
bombing
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
Cook’s tour
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
Distinguished Service Order
escaping
flight engineer
Gee
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
ground crew
ground personnel
H2S
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Ju 88
killed in action
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 3
Master Bomber
Me 109
mess
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
propaganda
radar
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Honeybourne
RAF Husbands Bosworth
RAF Lakenheath
RAF Lindholme
RAF Mepal
RAF Methwold
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Sealand
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tuddenham
RAF Uxbridge
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Weston Zoyland
RAF Witchford
RAF Wratting Common
RAF Wyton
Spitfire
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
target indicator
target photograph
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45958/SSmithRW425992v10004-0001 copy.1.pdf
d31efddf18dfa2663a071b5a5bfb18a0
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
WWII Service in the RAAF Robert Wylie Smith
Description
An account of the resource
Contents Book 4
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One printed sheet
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10004-0001 copy
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
15 Squadron
demobilisation
RAF Mildenhall
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45959/SSmithRW425992v10004-0002 copy.1.pdf
8c565c94f5bd602d984256cc89676d7a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Bob Smith's Memoirs Book 4
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Scotland--Aberdeen
Scotland--Paisley
England--London
England--Thetford
Norway
Norway--Oslo
Germany
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Switzerland
Germany--Stuttgart
England--Ely
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Chemnitz
England--Brighton
Netherlands
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Liverpool
Malta
Egypt
Egypt--Suez Canal
Western Australia--Fremantle
Victoria--Melbourne
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Ipswich Region
Queensland--Maryborough
New South Wales--Cootamundra
Canada
Alberta--Edmonton
Nova Scotia--Halifax
England--Sidmouth
Nova Scotia
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
Describes his service after completing his tour and the journey back to Australia.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
40 printed sheets
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Pending review
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10004-0002 copy
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
3 Group
617 Squadron
622 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
Cook’s tour
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
Gee
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
ground personnel
H2S
Lancaster
love and romance
mess
mine laying
navigator
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
radar
RAF Desborough
RAF Honington
RAF Husbands Bosworth
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tempsford
RAF West Freugh
Special Operations Executive
sport
V-2
V-weapon
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45960/SSmithRW425992v10005-0001 copy.1.pdf
b8c48334cad3948a83a100574dbc63ed
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
WWII Service in the RAAF Robert Wylie Smith
Description
An account of the resource
Bob's memoirs Book 5
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Australian Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One printed sheet
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10005-0001 copy
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
aircrew
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45995/MSmithRW425992-230825-02.2.pdf
934a1d70a17a0697f9ce5b48153226fb
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Prologue
Voices of the Past
O, There are voices of the past
Links of a broken chain
Wings that can bear me back
To Times
Which cannot come again
Yet, God Forbid that I should lose
The Echoes that remain. Unknown.
March 2003
Five years ago, after listening to friends, young and old, as well as journalists, editors and historians requesting War Veterans and Pioneers to write their memoirs I realised that perhaps it was a duty to my descendants that I should do so. Accordingly, I ‘bit the bullet’ and started a draft of “My Service during WW11 in the Royal Australian Air Force”.
It soon became apparent that I should have done so many years ago when the memories were still fresh, although there could be some wisdom in the fact that sometimes the perspective is better if viewed from a distance. Much time has been taken in getting back in contact with old mates and crew members to ensure that what I have written is as historically accurate as possible. I have even had researchers and historians in the UK verify some of the detail, as well as refer to a few publications that have covered the period of my ‘Operational Tour’ on XV/15 Squadron, RAF Bomber Command. I did keep a diary for a while, but discontinued same when I started Operational Training in the UK, as diaries were then forbidden. I did have, however, a good diary in the form of letters home and which my Mother kept. Unfortunately these were lost or mislaid before she died in 1979. I do have all my logs and charts as well as photos, other items and notes from mates that have assisted greatly. On a few matters the original draft had to be amended, but after a few years of revision and the acquisition of a computer I was able about six months ago to commence on the final record. There will no doubt be some further amendments and additions as more confirming information comes to hand. I will cover same in a ‘summary’ at a later stage.
The question will be asked, “Why didn’t I write my Service History soon after the war?”, and why have so many not put their experiences to paper? Some did, and they are to be congratulated and thanked for their efforts. For many there was the old service adage that it was “Infra Dig to Shoot a Line”. I consider it was a common decision of most who returned from active service in any theatre of war to get on with life and leave the war behind.
My father served in WW1 as an ‘original’ in the 41st Btn A.I.F. and went through a number of the great battles in France & Belgium. He was wounded 3 times and gassed. His younger brother was in the 9th Btn A.I.F. that landed on Gallipoli on 25th April 1915, where he was severely wounded, and later fought in France & Belgium. Their youngest brother, after whom I was named, died on active service in France after being wounded 3 times. As a boy I often wondered why Dad and his brother never talked much about the war except between themselves and other returned soldiers. I now understand. I have now been in the same position. With your mates who survived you can recall facets of your experiences in an atmosphere of mutual understanding.
War has made me a realist. Indeed there is a season for all things. Yesterday is history and there is nothing you can do to change it, although we do see some historians trying to sanitise the past. It is to-day that is God’s Gift in your hands, and Faith that gives you hope for tomorrow.
I hope that what I have written about my service in the Air Force will be a valuable record for someone in the years ahead.
Official Identity Card for the Royal Australian Air Force
Date of Issue 23 December, 1942
Letter from Employer Giving Approval to Enlist in the Airforce
Enrolment in the Reserve
Certificate of Enlistment
Enlistment in the RAAF
Rookie-AC2
When war with Germany was declared on 3rd September 1939 I was a student boarder at the Ipswich (Boys) Grammar School in my ‘Junior’ years of study. I had been enrolled at I.G.S the previous year under a Qld R.S.S.A I.L.A Scholarship that I had won because my father was a returned soldier from WW1 and I had attained a qualifying standard in the 1937 State Scholarship exams. At that early stage, although under the age of 16, I had ambitions of joining the Air Force if the war were to carry on for many years, which it did.
After sitting the “Junior Public Exams” at the end of the 1939 school year, which I passed with above average results (4 A’s, 4 B’s and 1 C) I was accepted for employment in The National Bank of Australasia Limited at its Harrisville Branch. I took the place of Gordon McDougall who had enlisted in the RAAF. He went on to graduate as a pilot and lost his life in a flying accident in East Lothian, Scotland on Monday 6th September 1943.
The war did continue in Europe through 1940, and in early 1941 when I turned 17 years of age I took the opportunity to enrol as a correspondence student with the Air Force Cadets. I received educational material and exercises in Physics and Mechanics, incorporating the theories of flight and navigation etc. Exams were set for each lesson and in my case these were checked and marked by the Headmaster of the Milora State Primary School where I attended and sat the 1937 State Scholarship exam. Early in 1942 on reaching the age of 18 I was given the opportunity to make a formal application to enlist in the RAAF, subject to parents’ and employer’s consent. I made the application to the Bank and their approval was forthcoming on 31st January 1942, subject to a few qualifications as I was still a temporary clerk on probation which meant that my re-employment after the war would be subject to reassessment at the time. My parents gave their consent on my promise not to start smoking or drinking in the Air Force until I reached age 21. This promise I kept well beyond that time, as I have never been a smoker, and only a moderate drinker since into my 30’s. When I returned from active service in 1945 I realised what an enormous stress I had placed on my parents, particularly as my father had seen active service on the battlefields of France & Belgium in WW1 and my mother prayerfully relied on the strength of her Faith. Her prayers were answered.
Armed with the necessary consents I forwarded my application to the RAAF Recruitment Centre in Brisbane and on 13th February 1942 had completed the RAAF’s Form P/P/39A for Air Crew entry I was now on stand-by as it was policy for actual flying training not to commence until the recruit was of age 19.
In 1942, after the entry of Japan into the war and posing a real threat to Australian territory the government of the day was actively engaged in calling up qualified males into the Militia Forces. Apparently to keep a priority on Air Crew ‘hopefuls’ the RAAF instituted a call-up of those on ‘the reserve’ by creating the mustering of Air Crew Guard in Queensland, New South Wales & Victoria. It was under this mustering that I received my call-up to report to No.3 RAAF Recruitment Centre in Eagle Street, Brisbane on 21st May 1942. My position at the Bank was taken by John Neville Keys, the son of the then Manager at Boonah Branch, Neville Keys. He went into the next RAAF call-up, was given the number 426112 got his ‘wings’ as a Bomb Aimer and lost his life with No.466 Squadron Bomber Command on 11th April 1944 when shot down by a German night fighter on a raid on the railway installations at Tergnier in the lead up to the “D” Day invasion of Europe. I reported to No.3 Recruitment Centre along with 191 other recruits who were passed medically fit and duly enlisted, with service Nos from 425819 to 426010 inclusive, and proceeded on posting No.3 Recruit Depot at Maryborough, Qld with the rank of AC2. Authority P.O.R.135/42. I was given the No.425992, placed between No.425991 Bill Washbourne and 425993 Des Webster. Bill came from the Warwick district and Des from the Kilcoy area. This was to avoid surname of Smith under consecutive numbers. The same applied to the Jones & Murphies. The only Smith who remained in strict numerical order was 425891 Robert Angus Martin Smith.
We proceeded by train that evening to Maryborough where we were issued with uniforms, dungarees, boots, toothbrushes, razors etc and settled into barracks with palliasses and introduced to the Air Force life on 6 shillings a day for 7 days a week with free meals, accommodation, medical & dental treatment. In those days the Bank made up the difference in pay, which was not great but amounted to a bit of compulsory saving.
I Settle Into Life as a Recruit
Soon settled into a daily routine of a route march early in the morning while there was frost on the ground before breakfast, drills, lectures and vaccinations. Leave was granted most evenings and over the week-end. It was quite a common practice for the airmen to commandeer a push bike after going to the pictures in town, ride it out to the station gates and leave it there. The recruit depot was situated on the Maryborough aerodrome. Maryborough in those days was a town where everyone rode bikes, and the locals soon got to know where to look for their missing mode of transport. After three weeks intensive initiation into air force life we were passed as suitable recruits for Air Crew training and were split into several groups and posted to various RAAF stations in Queensland & New South Wales to serve as Guards until posted to an Initial Training School.
Bill Washbourne, Des Webster, Col (Snow) Wheatley and myself were posted to No.1 A.O.S at Cootamundra N.S.W. on 13th June 1942. Authority No,140/42. We travelled by train from Maryborough and arrived in Sydney only 2 weeks after the Japanese midget submarine attack on that city. We had to change trains in Sydney. At Cootamundra we were joined by Air Crew Guards from other States. Duties at Cootamundra included guarding the Ansons parked on the station aprons overnight, station perimeters, main gate guardhouse and the fuel depot about a mile out of town. Guard duties were usually 4 hours on and 4 hours off. The winter chill was a bit of a shock to the Queenslanders but we were treated generously with the issue of an extra blanket. Ice creams taken on duty at night to help you through your 4 hour shift could be left on a post, or tail of an aircraft and would not melt. If there was a sneaky wind blowing and the opportunity was judged safe we would crawl into one of the aircraft for a bit of a break. It was a fair risk that no one was doing the rounds to check on you.
Duty at the fuel dump was more relaxed. We stayed in a tent, and had trained the possums to eat fruit and chocolates out of our hands until they became a real nuisance. Horse riders, probably going home from the pictures or a dance in Cootamundra and travelling along the road that passed by the dump would be challenged “Who goes there?” Most took it in good humour, but occasionally one would get a bit stroppy but remain cautious in case we decided to fire a shot into the air and scare their horse. To relieve the monotony one night I fired a couple of shots at something flying overhead in the moonlight. Unfortunately these were heard back at the station and in no time a vehicle with more guards for reinforcement turned up. To the N.C.O who arrived I had to give a quick explanation. Told him I had challenged a person who had come through the fence, and when he didn’t stop but went back through the fence I fired a couple of shots after him. A bit of a recco of the area was made but nothing found, so I was instructed to report to the C/O’s office the next day. This I did along with others who were on duty at the time. They supported my account of events, but we were ordered to go to the rifle range for target practice and assessment. I was given 5 shots at the 200 yard range and scored 2 bulls and 3 inners, and explained further to the C.O that I would have fired close enough to the intruder to give him a fright. He ordered a close inspection of the site in daylight to see if there was any evidence of clothing caught in the barbed wire fence but nothing was found. I should imagine the C.O’s report on the incident would make interesting reading. Bill Washbourne was on guard duty with me at the time and at a reunion of the Air Crew Guards in Brisbane in the 1990’s he was surprised when I told him there was no intruder. He confirmed that at the time they all thought I was serious.
My first encounter with an aircraft accident and death was at Cootamundra on 21st September 1942. A Beaufighter from No.31 Squadron stationed at Wagga Wagga flew into our circuit and on turning to come in to land stalled and crashed about a mile from the station. The squadron which had been equipped with Beauforts had changed over to the Beaufighter only the month before. It was flown by F/Sgt. John Evan Jenkins (No.407435) and the second crew man, possibly the Observer, was Sgt. Vivian Sutherst (No.35755). Both were killed instantly on impact and are buried in the Cootamundra War Cemetery. I was with a few guards who were sent immediately to the scene of the crash, which we had to keep under guard for a couple of days. It was a sobering experience and I vividly remember the advice given to us at the scene by a senior sergeant that we were not to dwell on the death of the crew, but put it behind us, do our duty and get on with life. There was nothing we could do to change what had happened. That advice stood me in good stead through the experiences ahead and indeed through my life. It was while on guard duty at the crash site that we had some amusement shooting at rabbits. On one occasion a bullet ricocheted off a rock and as it whined its way across the country side it was amusing to see flocks of sheep scatter in its path.
The Presbyterian Church in Cootamundra had a very active Youth Fellowship Association to which I went with Bill Washbourne and other airmen. We were made most welcome and enjoyed many a happy time
On 16/9/42 we were officially attached to the newly formed No. 73 Reserve Squadron, but our routine on the station did not change.
On 11th October Des Webster and I were posted to No. 2 Initial Training School at Bradfield Park (Sydney) as our first step to Air Crew entry. There were also Air Crew Guards from other stations on the same posting, including Keith Mills, Noel Hooper and Eric Sutton who were at Maryborough with me. Since we enlisted our mustering was Aircrew V (Guard), with rank of AC11.
We were part of No. 33 Course at I.T.S. It was an intensive course of lectures on many subjects, but mainly on basic theories of flying, navigation, gunnery and bombing. Physical training played an important part and you were under constant observation for overall assessment as suitable for air crew and put through various tests to gauge reflexes and co-ordination before being interviewed by a selection panel to be mustered into a particular category.
A wide range of sports was available, including sailing, and evening leave passes were generous. Queenslanders who were issued with the tropical uniform were not allowed to wear it into the city (South of the Harbour Bridge), but that was not strictly policed. We would mostly go to the Anzac Club for a meal and then to a show. Then buy a packet of fruit, say 4 lbs (2 kilos) of Cherries for 2 shillings (20 cents) to eat on the train back to Lindfield and walk to the camp. If you fell asleep on the last train and got carried on to Gordon it was a long walk back to camp- had to hurry to make it by 2359 Hrs. Through the Anzac Club interstate and country servicemen could be introduced to residents in Sydney who were willing to extend home hospitality. I availed of this offer and came to meet Miss MacPherson, a retired Nursing Sister who had a unit on the slopes of the harbour at Neutral Bay. Mac’s place became a home away from home for a few young airmen. She was a dear soul and was like a second mother to a few of us. It was a great joy to visit, have a home cooked meal and occasionally sleepover on a Saturday night. She would make up a bed on the lounge and be amazed to find us sleeping on the floor in the morning. I kept up a regular correspondence with her while overseas, as did a few others, and 3 years later made a quick visit on my return in-transit back to Queensland after disembarking in Sydney.
While on the course a few of us including Keith Mills, Eric Sutton, Des Webster, Noel Hooper and myself were detailed to go to the University of N.S.W. where they were doing research into air sickness. We were good guinea pigs, as we were given vouchers for a meal of roast lamb and baked vegetables before the tests started. The tests involved being strapped into a stretcher and swung from ceiling to ceiling to see how long you lasted. I lost my meal after about 10 minutes as did most. As far as I can remember Noel Hooper was the only one who did not part with his meal.
The course finished on 1st January 1943 when we were assigned into various air crew categories for further flying training. The Selection panel tried to get me to accept a pilot’s course as my tests confirmed I was well suited to be a pilot. I pressed hard to be given a Navigator category as I was ‘interested in mathematics,’ and got my wish. Actually the main reason I applied for a ‘navigator’ was the good gen circulating at the time that those chosen for Navigator and Bomb Aimer courses would be going to Canada for flying training with the plan to go on to the U.K. to fly in Lancasters or Halifaxes. There was a proviso that you had to be 19 years of age by 10th January 1943, the date they would have to report back from pre-embarkation leave. (That was my 19th birthday and how I became to be the youngest of the draft). This was confirmed when we were given 10 days leave with instructions to report back at Bradfield Park No. 2 Embarkation Depot on 11th Jan 1943. As from 2nd Jan 1943 my mustering was Air Crew 11 (Navigator) and rank L.A.C. (Leading Aircraftman—not Lance Air Commodore).
It was not hard to take a weeks leave at home. It was a busy week visiting a few relations and then having to say farewells with many a prayer for a safe return from the war. I had made a good friend of the bank manager’s daughter, Jean Hall, and I had a feeling that many thought our friendship was more serious. I took Jean to a dance at the Harrisville School of Arts on the Friday night 8th Jan, but it was not like the old dances as it was overrun by RAAF and American airmen from Amberley which had now grown into a large air base servicing the Pacific war zone. Jean promised to write me while I was away and we did keep up a regular correspondence. A neighbour, Mrs Adams, gave me a poem with a sprig of white heather that I kept with me always. She had given the same to my father when he enlisted in WW1. My leave at home finished on my 19th birthday anniversary, Sunday 10th January 1943 as I left on the morning rail motor from Harrisville on my way back to Sydney, with a heap of goodies from home including a birthday cake.
At Home on Embarkation Leave with Mum, brother Alex and
sisters Margaret and Joyce – January 1943.
A Rookie Airman – No. 425992 ACII R.W. Smith
1942 – In Sydney
Embarkation Depot Sydney & To Canada
From embarkation leave at home I travelled on the “Kyogle’ line, 2nd division, from South Brisbane station arriving in Sydney and No. 2 Embarkation depot at Bradfield Park on Monday 11th January 1943. Leave was granted that night, so I went to visit Miss Mac with a piece of my birthday cake. The rest I shared with mates.
Leave arrangements while at Embarkation Depot were very generous. If no drafts for overseas postings had been issued and no particular duties allocated we were stood down after the mandatory morning parade until the next morning, or even over the week-end if it was on Friday morning’s parade.
The Waiting Period – Stand Downs, Outings and Farewells
There were a few of us who spent a lot of time together during this waiting period, mainly the youngest on the group to be sent overseas. Besides myself there was Keith Mills who had turned 19 only 8 days before me, Lou Brimblecombe whose 19th birthday was about 2 weeks previous to Keith’s, Eric Sutton who had his 19th birthday the previous August and Des Webster whose 19th birthday was in July. We all went on to train as Navigators and Keith, Eric and I became known as the 3 musketeers on the course in Canada. Des went on to train as a Wireless Operator. A few were over 30 years of age and we looked upon them as old fellows. Early in our stay Keith somehow met a girl whose father was a Fijian Envoy Representative in Sydney. Her name was Pat, and on the first Sunday there he asked me to join him and Pat and her friend Merle Green to spend the day at Cronulla and then go to Luna Park at night.
The next few days saw us assigned to some wharf duties at Waterloo and on Thursday 21st January we were detailed to the unloading of mustard gas bombs from an American liberty ship at Glebe Island. Keith Mills, Des Webster and I saw no future in this so we went A.W.L that night and stayed at the Allied Club in town. Stayed in town on Friday and went to the pictures at night with Pat and Merle. Took Merle home to Punchbowl and her parents insisted I stay the night with them. Went back to camp on Saturday morning to learn that we hadn’t been missed. As there was still nothing doing about overseas postings and leave had been granted over the week-end I went back into town, had tea and spent the night at Miss Mac’s. Went into town on Sunday morning to meet Keith, and we went with Pat and Merle for a train trip to Lawson in the Blue Mountains.
The next week saw the usual routine of parade, stand-downs, sports etc. On Friday we were placed on a draft with all leave cancelled and no telephone calls allowed. After lunch the unexpected announcement was made that leave was granted and extended to 1300 Hrs on Sunday 31st Jan. So I went out to Punchbowl to say my farewell to Merle and her family and thank them for their hospitality, and then on to see Miss Mac and the two girls who boarded with her. They insisted I stay for a home cooked dinner and stay overnight. Slept on the lounge room floor. Got back to camp at midday on Sunday to learn there was no further news on our embarkation and that leave had been extended to 0730 Hrs on Monday. As I had said my ‘Good-Byes’ I stayed in camp and wrote a few letters.
On Monday morning we were paraded and went on a long route march before breakfast and after lunch at 1300 Hrs given another stand-down. On Tuesday morning it was a swimming parade and early stand-down again. Wednesday morning was another swimming parade, a film on “Next-of Kin” after lunch and then stand-down until the next morning. Keith had got word out to Pat that we were still around, so we arranged to meet Pat and Merle in the evening and take them to the Prince Edward theatre to see “Reap the Wild Wind”. On Thursday morning we had another route march, pay parade (“The Eagle sh.. on each 2nd Thursday”) and stand-down at 1330 Hrs. It was the usual swimming parade on Friday morning, 5th Feb, and another stand-down after the 1330 Hrs parade until Monday morning. By this time we were beginning to wonder if were ever going to get on board a ship.
With a free week-end ahead I took the opportunity to contact Merle and meet her in town after work and go to the pictures and then see her home to Punchbowl. Again her parents insisted I stay over the week-end. On Saturday morning I went into town to buy a few magazines etc for the trip over to Canada and back to camp to change into tropical uniform of khaki shirt and shorts and back into town to spend the afternoon in the Botanical gardens and go with Merle to the pictures at night to the State Theatre to see “They all kissed the Bride”. Slept overnight at the Green’s and had a very quiet day on Sunday playing draughts and reading a very funny publication titled “One Big Laugh”. On the way back to camp that night the M.P’s boarded the train at Wynyard station and anyone wearing tropical uniform had to surrender their leave passes and were ordered to report to the guard house the next morning. Big trouble?? Wearing of shorts in uniform was not allowed south of the Harbour Bridge.
The Wait is Over
Monday 8th Feb 1943 dawned with guards on all gates at No. 2 Embarkation Depot, an early call to parade and orders given for clearances to be completed. All leave passes were cancelled, so no further use for the passes that were taken from us the previous night. This is it at last. After attending to clearances we were instructed to report back on parade with kit bags packed and ready to move on to buses at 1700 Hrs for transport to Woolloomooloo to embark at 1900 Hrs on the troopship “U.S.S. Hermitage”. It was a ship of 23000 tons which cruised at 18-20 knots. It was formerly the Italian cruise ship “Count Ciano” that travelled around the Mediterranean Sea as a floating casino on pleasure cruises. It had been captured by the American forces and had taken part in the landing of allied troops in North Africa and was on its way back to the west coast of America. We embarked as planned and had a good night’s sleep on board.
We were up at 0600 Hrs on Tuesday morning, detailed on to mess duties and instructed in ‘Abandon Ship’ drills while we lay at anchor in Neutral Bay to take on fuel after taking aboard fresh water, fruit and vegetables and other food supplies at Woolloomooloo. Spent the night at anchor in Neutral Bay and at 0830 Hrs on Wednesday 10th February it was ‘up-anchor’ and away, waving to the passengers on the ferries and sighting many hammer head sharks in the harbour. It was not long before we were out through ‘The Heads’ and setting course Nor-Nor-East into choppy seas with two Dutch Destroyers in escort. I started to feel a bit squeamy? But yes, managed to hold on to my breakfast. We are now under American terms for troops in transit—only two meals a day, but the canteen is open for an hour twice a day. As the Australian landscape slowly dipped from view everyone bravely sheltered their own feelings-generally a mixed feeling of adventure and uncertainty. Everyone realised and acknowledged that as we all went into flying training and operations over enemy territory not all would be returning to see their homeland again.
The destroyer escort left us at 0600 Hrs the next morning and we continued on a zig-zag course through choppy seas in light rain. I was detailed on to mess duties that afternoon and issued with Aussie Comfort Fund parcels. Soon settled into a routine. Those not on mess duties had to attend lectures-a good bit of armed forces psychology to keep the troops moulded into a unit with a common cause of complaint. A couple of albatrosses followed us for the first few days but they then peeled off formation on us. Sharks and flying fish were sighted and on Saturday a pod of whales was sighted on our port side. On Sunday morning we had church parade at 1000 Hrs and then ‘stand down’, but I was detailed on guard duties. Certain duties were allotted to the troops in transit such as mess duties/kitchen hand, deck patrol and shifts on the ack-ack gun at the stern. The ship’s officers were a bit concerned about the Aussies on the ack-ack gun as they were too keen to shoot at the ‘Met’ balloons that were released at regular intervals.
Monday 15th February, 1943, a memorable 2 days. We crossed the International Date line. So, we had Monday twice and the thought of only one day’s pay was given much discussion. Sufficient to record here that after our arrival in Canada due submission was made to RAAF Headquarters and suitable adjustment was made in our paybooks. A compensating adjustment was made on our return to Australia in October 1945. One of the Mondays was the end on my guard duty detail and the idea of lectures to fill in the day did not appeal, so I took a stroll around deck without my life jacket and was promptly apprehended and given 3 day’s kitchen duties, along with a couple of others who realised the opportunity to avoid lectures and enjoy more than two meals a day as we passed along the corridors with trays of hot food yelling “Hot Stuff” to warn others to be careful.
Pango, Pango
On Tuesday morning we sighted land ahead. American Samoa. Berthed in Pango Pango harbour in the late morning to take on fuel, fresh water and unload canned food for the American troops based there. Also embarked a contingent of American Marines. Those not on duties were allowed ashore for a couple of hours but had to remain in the vicinity of the wharf. As I was on kitchen duties I had to take on the scene from the deck, watching some of the fellows enticing the native girls in bright floral dresses to climb the coconut trees. Don’t think they were interested in the coconuts. Cameras were not allowed, under very strict orders, but some did manage to take a few snaps from the ship. We left Pango Pango at 0820 Hrs next day, Wed 17th Feb, and I finished my kitchen duties after midday. Had first good bath and change of clothes for a week, then strolled around the deck again minus life jacket and got another 3 days in the kitchen. Good Show!!
The next morning we sighted a cruiser and a passenger ship heading south-west, the opposite to our north easterly route. There was a rumoured submarine alert that night as the ship’s engines were stopped and we drifted for some few hours. Woke early on Friday morning to the sound of the ship’s fog-horns but there was nothing in sight. Crossed the equator that day with King Neptune coming aboard to put the rookies through the customary initiation ceremony. We all got a liberal coating of shaving cream. On Saturday morning I finished my kitchen duty ‘penalty’ and as the news on the bush radio was that we would be calling into Honolulu by Tuesday next, decided to stay away from penalty duties in case shore leave was granted. Lectures had been toned down a bit by now to make the days less boring. On Sunday, church parade was held at 1000 Hrs and then all were given stand down. So the “Bum Nut” club gathered around Russ Martin’s gramophone to hear Glenn Miller playing “In the Mood” for the umpteenth time, along with ‘Corn Silk’ and other hit tunes of the time. Just can’t remember how the group got the name “Bum Nuts”. Probably from Gum Nuts sitting on their bums on the deck listening to that one record and almost for sure would have been one of Russ Martin’s screwy ideas. Monday 22nd Feb saw the celebration of George Washington’s birthday with dinner of roast turkey, baked vegetables, salads and ice-cream. A welcome variation from the usual navy beans, saveloys and sauerkraut. A concert was held in the afternoon when we were presented with our ‘Crossing the Line’ certificates.
Honolulu
Sighted land early on Tuesday 23rd Feb and at 1000 Hrs berthed in Honolulu. Half of the RAAF contingent was granted shore leave that afternoon. I was in the other half who were given ‘liberty’ from 0830 hrs to 1200 Hrs the next morning.
So we were up early on Wednesday and down the gangplank at 0830 Hrs. I went with Keith Mills, Russ Martin and a few others primarily to buy new gramophone needles. On shore, the first thing we noticed was the number of shop assistants of Japanese descent and the heavily armed guards on all premises with a strong naval and military presence on the streets. We were wearing our tropical uniforms of khaki shirts and shorts and were taken as ‘boy scouts’ by many Americans, which did not go over too well. It was our first encounter with vehicles driven on the right hand side of the road and the ingrained habit of ‘look right’ before crossing soon had to be adjusted. I went very close to being hit by an army truck being driven by an Afro-American. It was a close shave, but fortunately my parents were not to receive that dreaded telegram.
Nowhere could we find gramophone needles-sewing needles, knitting needles. All sorts of needles, but no gramophone needles. Then it dawned on Russ Martin to give a play-acting role of a record spinning around on a turn table. And the shop assistant with a very serious expression said “You mean Phonograph needles”. Problem solved and mission completed. So the old record was going to cop a hiding for a few more days. There was other shopping to do, so we split up and went different ways. I stayed with Noel Hooper and we met an American Army Officer who took a real interest in us and invited us to have a look at the Pearl Harbour Naval Base. After going through a few check points, and might I add, given star treatment, we had to explain that we had to be back on board by 1200 Hrs and by then there was not enough time to go any further. We did get a view of the harbour and the devastation that had been caused and he agreed to take us back to the ship.
While we were ashore many seriously wounded and shell-shocked G.I’s from the Pacific Island battle zones were embarked for repatriation to their homeland. Many required full time medical attendants to apply necessary therapy to teach them to walk again and regain normal physical co-ordination. The ship was now crowded for the rest of the trip.
A band played on the wharf during the afternoon, and then it was ‘Aloha’ as we sailed away to strike rough seas and cold weather all Thursday and Friday, which kept us in our bunks and under blankets for most of the time. We were issued with sheep skin vests from the Australian Comforts Fund which were well received. The seas calmed down a bit by Saturday morning so I was able to enjoy breakfast of beans and an apple. Got some entertainment in the afternoon with the ack-ack guns firing at flak bursts. The Aussies also got some entertainment hearing the G.I’s calling their mates ‘cobras’ after hearing us call ours ‘cobbers’.
On Sunday 28th February, four days out of Honolulu, complaints were lodged about the breakfast because it was not hot. The weather was still cold and rainy. Church parade was held at 1000 Hrs. At 0100 Hrs we had advanced clocks by 30 minutes. In the afternoon I sewed some badges on Ben Smith’s overcoat and was rewarded with a sandwich-can only guess that he got it from the canteen. Clocks were advanced by 30 minutes at 0100 Hrs on Monday morning. We again woke to cold and cloudy weather but the sun managed to break through late in the morning. To keep us on our toes we were put through ‘Abandon Ship’ drill which didn’t go over too well with the American troops who embarked at Honolulu.
Up on deck after breakfast on Tuesday morning 2nd March to see a convoy ahead and a welcome to the sea gulls that had started to circle the ship as we moved towards land. Soon as it was a very spectacular view as we passed under the Golden Gate Bridge to enter San Francisco harbour and berth on the southern side opposite the famous Alcatraz prison island at 1600 Hrs when the tide was favourable. We were promptly disembarked, assembled on the wharf and marched to a ferry terminal to board the ferry across the harbour to Oakland where we were entrained and departed at 2000 Hrs for Vancouver.
We enjoy Our Trip to Vancouver Through to Edmonton
After a bit more than 3 weeks on the ship, it was luxury accommodation and service on the train, and I really enjoyed a good night’s sleep. It was breakfast in style on Wednesday morning as we sped through the foothills of the Cascade mountains, and we enjoyed the view of snow capped hills and frozen lakes for the first time. We descended on to the plains and farming communities of Oregon, fruit, chocolates, ice-cream papers and magazines (you name it) all available from the waiters on the train. We went through Roseburg, and on to Eugene, Albany, Salem (the Capital) and arrived in Portland just on dusk, with the snow capped Mt. Hood on the eastern horizon. The things we noted most during the day were the absence of fences between houses in the towns and cities, and the lack of paint on nearly all the wooden houses. Of course the Queenslanders could not help but notice the luxury of the train travel at speeds and stability that were unknown on the Queensland railways at that time. After such a full day of interest it was no trouble to settle back into the bunk for a good sleep as we travelled on overnight to Seattle and on to Vancouver.
Thursday 4th March was another memorable day. Woke at 0700 Hrs in Vancouver, had breakfast at the station then a pay parade to be issued with Canadian Dollars. Leave was granted from 1130 hrs until 1800 Hrs when we had to be back at the station. The Canadian hospitality came to the fore as we were approached by a Mr Keeler who introduced himself as a Rotarian (my first contact with Rotary) and offered a lift for a few of us into town to the tourist bureau and the YMCA where we enjoyed a meal for 5 cents. He arranged with us to call back at 1400 Hrs to pick us up and drive us around the sights of Vancouver and back to the station by 1800Hrs. There were three of us and as far as I can remember, although I am not sure, the other two may have been Ben Smith and Russ Martin. We were taken over the Lions Gate Bridge, through Stanley Park with its Indian Totem Poles and views of the snow capped Lions Head mountains as well as past the Houses of Parliament and through a few suburbs to be back at the station on time. After tea (what the Canadians called the evening meal) at the station we left by train at 2100 Hrs via the Canadian National Railways route through the Rockies to Edmonton.
We woke the next morning to be greeted by the most spectacular scenery as the long train snaked its way alongside frozen rivers and lakes and snow laden conifer tress in the foot hills, climbing all the time. All around were the majestic Rockies with not a tree on them but capped in snow. It was cold outside but we were in heated carriages with the same service that we enjoyed on the train from Oakland to Vancouver, but the waiters were Canadians. When we did stop at a station for the engine to take on water we could not resist the temptation to jump out and romp in the snow. Most were wearing their dungarees over the singlet and underpants, so it didn’t take long before the freezing temperatures scuttled them back to the warmth of the carriage. At our stop at Avola for 20 minutes it did not take long for a snow fight to develop and by some fluke or by accident a hard packed snowball hit the window of a carriage and broke it. (Jim Bateman it was). Anyway it made that carriage too cold for comfort so the occupants herded into adjoining carriages when we got under way again. Then we saw a bit of organization that you would not see on the Queensland Railways. As we pulled into Jasper the train stopped with the broken window right beside a ladder and a couple of tradesmen with the necessary tools and materials to repair the damage. In less than 20 minutes the new window was installed. We had now climbed to a good height and at Jasper there was a lot of sheet ice on the ground which caused us a few problems to stay on our feet. Three young boys gave us a bit of amusement as we threw our spare Aussie halfpennies along the ice and into snow drifts. After Jasper we crossed the Athabasca River and the highest point on the trip. From there it was downhill on to the prairies of Alberta. We had to stop for some unknown reason near Edson, before going on to Edmonton where we arrived early in the morning of Saturday 6th March 1943.
Avola – Where a carriage window was broken
Jasper – Where the window was fixed
During our 20 minute stop
We stayed on the train until 0600 Hrs and the arrival of a few canvas topped 3 ton trucks on to which we were loaded. The temperature was Minus 23. Fahrenheit and I soon realised that the best option was to be among the first to throw your kitbag in and jump in after it with others piling in after you to keep the cold at bay. We were taken immediately to No.3 Manning Depot (as the RCAF called it), given breakfast and allotted to barracks. We then had to assemble in the ‘Arena’ for a lecture on what to expect in our future movements and to remind us that in the RCAF the flag in front of HQ had to be saluted. This did not impress the Aussies. After that we were given leave until Monday morning. As a general rule most of the trainees under the Empire Training Scheme in Canada were given leave over the week-end. After a shave and a shower I teamed with an Ian Scott (RCAF) and went into town to the pictures and then to a dance at the Memorial Hall. It was very cold coming back to camp on the tram.
On Sunday morning we slept in until 1100 Hrs, then shaved, showered and had dinner before a few of us went into town to the YMCA which was well equipped with a ten-pin bowling alley, heated swimming pool, gymnasium, dance floor and dry canteen. Came back to camp reasonably early with Ben Smith and John Honeyman.
It was down to business on Monday morning as we were issued with flying suits and other gear needed. Photographs were taken for Identity Cards, Dental & Medical checks after dinner and then back into town with Bub Sargeant for a while before coming back to camp to write a few letters to home. On Tuesday morning we were paraded at 0900 Hrs and those mustered for training as Navigators were transported to Edmonton Airport where No.2 Air Observer School was situated, to be signed in, allotted to barracks and issued with text books and settled in after a quick trip into town to buy a few necessities. Three Australians-Jim Bateman, Bill Bowden and Geoff Cohen were assigned to Course No.71N1 along with a number of New Zealanders and Canadians. The remainder of the Australians, including myself, were assigned to Course No.71N2.
Navigators Course No. 71N2
No. 2 Air Observers School - EDMONTON, Alberta, CANADA
On Tuesday 9th March 1943, one month after embarking in Sydney, we started on the above course for training as Air Navigators. It was a rather quiet day, with the issue of text books and some navigation instruments. Even had time to write my first long letter home.
The following day however saw the start of what was to become a regular routine of breakfast, parade, lectures, dinner (at midday), more lectures, tea (evening) and study at night, interrupted on occasions with sport’s afternoons and later on with daylight and night flying. All interspersed with visits to the canteen where we soon learned to enjoy waffles with maple syrup, coke and ice-cream. On Friday at the end of the first week we experienced a very heavy snowfall, got issued with our navigation watches and had our first ‘Dry Swim’ as navigation exercises in the classroom are called. Leave was granted over most week-ends.
On Saturday morning we had another ‘dry swim’ to prepare us for our first flight and then it was stand-down until Monday morning. Church parades were always held on Sunday mornings. Went shopping on Saturday afternoon with Bub Sargent and to a show “Journey for Margaret”. Had a sleep-in on Sunday morning to 1100 Hrs, then shaved and showered and had a big dinner before settling down to write a few letters. Bub Sargent was doing the same and Keith Mills came by to try to get us to go out for tea.
On Monday 15th March we had the usual lecture periods, a pay parade at which the Red Cross managed to get a donation of $5- from us; study at night to keep up with the course. Between lectures the next day we were paraded for issue of battle dress, during which there was more snow fighting. For some reason Bub Sargent and I missed out on the issue that morning-they had probably run out of RAAF-Blue battle dresses in our size. Went to the pictures that night to see “In Which We Serve”. Bruce McGiffin came over from the Manning Depot while we were at lectures on Wednesday just to see how we were going. He was still awaiting a posting on to flying training. He was one of the “Bum Nut Club” on the troopship coming over. Got a letter from cousin Danny, in the Army in New Guinea, and answered it that day as well as writing home again. Lectures on Thursday included one on the camera which was very good. Made a visit to the barber before tea. On Friday we had more ‘dry swim’ exercises and at 1500 Hrs had a Wing’s parade for passing-out of earlier courses of Navigators and Bomb Aimers. Bub and I were issued with our battle dress, had a ‘signals’ lecture and I was put on my first duty on “Watch parade”. Cannot remember for sure now, just what that involved, but I think it meant you were not granted leave over the week-end. Had our usual lectures on Saturday morning, during which there was some excitement when a Boston crashed on the ‘drome. There was a false fire alarm in the barracks that night, probably something to do with Ben Smith smoking in bed. Was not feeling 100% and could feel the flu coming on. Still not feeling well of Sunday, just mooched around and went to bed early.
I Have a Spell in Hospital
On Monday 22nd March I was quite sick and stayed in bed, and was admitted to the Station Hospital with a severe attack of ‘flu. Bub Sargent and Ben Smith visited me after tea. The next day in hospital gave me something to write home about, particularly to Jean Hall who was a nurse in the Ipswich General Hospital. A nurse came and stripped me to the waist to wash me down, as she said, as far a possible. Then does likewise from the other end to wash me up as far as possible. Finally says “I now have to wash possible”. Slept most of Wednesday. Keith Mills and Ron Etherton dropped in with some mail that had arrived and on Thursday. Scotty Gall dropped in with some writing gear so that I could write a letter or two. Got discharged on Friday morning-missed the C.O’s parade. A couple of lectures in the afternoon and early to bed. Recuperated a bit on Saturday morning by sleeping in (no lectures) and then went into town after dinner with Bub Sargent. Met Ben Smith at the YMCA and went to a show at night. On Sunday morning did some study to catch up and after dinner went for a walk with Keith Mills and Ron Etherton, playing with some kids ice-skating in the frozen over gutters on the way.
Woke on Monday 29th March, (sister Margaret’s 18th birthday) to a great blanket of snow. 9 inches had fallen overnight, so the snow fights were alive again. This was when we experimented and discovered that an orange left on top of the ground froze solid in a very short time, but if buried in the snow took a long time to freeze We were due to have our ‘orientation’ flight the next day after muster and pay parade. The weather was dirty however, and this was scrubbed. Instead, we were given lectures on the layout of the Avro Anson, (the “Aggie”), and the 2nd navigator’s job of winding up the undercarriage after take-off, some 130 odd turns of the handle. For our training flights we were paired, the 1st Navigator did the log and plot charts and the 2nd Nav practiced map reading. I was paired with Scotty Gall, aged 30. After tea Keith Mills, Ron Etherton and I went to see “Random Harvest”.
Airborne at Last
Wednesday 31st March 1943 Whooppee!!! Airborne, Took off at 0907 Hrs in ‘Aggie’ No.6074 with bush pilot Mr Anderson on a flight plan: XD (Edmonton)-Wetaskiwin-Camrose-XD. Landed 1034 Hrs. What a familiarisation flight!!. Got a bit airsick and no wonder. The pilot thought the ‘Aggie’ was a fighter plane and shot up the school house at Looma where his girl friend was a teacher. Circled it a few times and could see through the windows as we flashed by.
Next day was April Fools Day but avoided being caught out as we had a packed day of more lectures. Then on Friday we had a few lectures and reported to the Records Office to have our fingerprints taken. Then in the afternoon we had our first photo flight taking hand held obliques. We were given a number of landmarks to photo and the pilot just went from one target to the next which was always in view because of the good visibility and the pilots local knowledge. No directions from the navigator were needed. In spite of the many banks & turns involved I did not get airsick, but others did suffer effects.
It was back in the air again on Saturday morning for another photo flight. This time it was taking vertical cross-country line overlaps from the school house at Namao to a bridge 2 miles S-W of there. Good fun-watch the drift. On these flights the duties of 1st and 2nd navigator were shared. Under strict instructions of course, not to let go of the camera when taking obliques out of the rear window. In the afternoon we relaxed—Ron Etherton, Keith Mills, Russ Martin, Lou Brimblecombe and I went into town, had two games of ten-pin bowling at the YMCA (Won the 2nd game), had tea at “Tony’s” and went to the pictures to see “One of Our Aircraft is Missing”. Back to barracks on the 2140 Hrs bus. As the weather conditions earlier in the week had set back the flying programme, some time was made up on Sunday. Church parade was held in the morning, and after dinner we were briefed for our first navigation exercise which was a flight of about 3 hours with 1st and 2nd Nav duties shared. Route was: XD–Fort Saskatchewan–Camrose-Lougheed-Mannville-Lake Yekau-XD. Took off at 1400 Hrs with Mr Ireland as pilot.
Training Continues
Included in lectures on Monday 5th April was a special talk from a Squadron Leader on the conditions prevailing in Britain. A signals lecture was held after tea, but I did not attend. On Tuesday morning, more lectures {classes on various subjects}, and after dinner we were transferred from “D” Barracks to a new barracks building across the road. Real ‘5 star’ accommodation, with central heating and bathroom/toilet facilities incorporated as well as the sleeping quarters. We still preferred to have some windows open and a bit of fresh air coming in, and Ben Smith still smoked in bed. It was quite a change, as before we had to run from the bath/toilet block back to your hut in temperatures that were unfit for brass monkeys. It was supposed to be a sports afternoon, but that had to be scrubbed.
On Wednesday morning we had another photo flight, this time with a female passenger, probably a friend of the pilot, Mr Lawrie. Then on Thursday we had a review and discussions on our first photo flight, as all the films had been developed and printed. This was followed by practice on the drift recorder. Leave was granted after dinner, from 1400 Hrs, but most of the class stayed in camp to catch up on studies and letter writing. After lectures etc on Friday I was rostered on Duty Watch parade, strolling around that night in rain & mud. More lectures on Saturday morning and more studies in the afternoon as we prepared for “Maps and Charts” exam. Duty Watch Parade before tea. Sunday was still wet and miserable and we studied most of the day, with Duty Watch Parades at 1000 Hrs and 1800 Hrs. A football appeared from somewhere, so a few fellows managed a game in the mud.
Got mail from home on Monday 12th April, with the photos that were taken when I was home on pre-embarkation leave. As the weather was still unsuitable for flying on Tuesday and Wednesday we were occupied with more studies and lectures as well as a game or two of football in the mud. I had to go over to the Manning Depot to have a photo taken and more fingerprinting. Got back in the air on Thursday for a photo exercise with the Ft. Saskatchewan bridge as our target. It was a very bumpy flight. On Friday it was back in the air again on Nav. Exercise No.2: XD- Bremner-Willow Creek-Beynon-Millet-Yekau Lake-XD. A very good trip. Got a telegram from home, and as it was the end of Duty Watch was granted 48 Hrs leave.
So on Saturday morning it was into town to do a bit of shopping, and while browsing through the book department of the Hudson Bay Company store I met a Mrs Gillespie who had some association with Australia, and she invited me out to tea that night, which I gratefully accepted. Went back to camp for dinner, and catch up on a bit of washing etc. Then went to Mrs Gillespie’s place, met her daughter Marsh who showed me over the nearby University after tea. Walked back to camp-about 6 miles. Caught up with studies on Sunday morning, and after dinner a few of us went on a long walk out past the riding ranch. It was about this time that John Stopp was posted from the course to another A.O.S. to complete his nav. course. (He went on to No.166 Squadron, and was shot down and killed on 13th June 1944 on a raid on Gelsenkirken-would have been very early in his tour)
On Monday 19th April we had our first exam in the morning on “Maps & Charts”. Got some mail, including Don Grant’s circular to the Bank staff in the services. Lectures that night on the stars-introduction to astro-navigation. More lectures on Tuesday morning and study in the afternoon to make up for the Easter Friday holiday at the end of the week. Collected my RCAF ID Card. Into the air again on Wednesday on Air Exercise No. 3 Took off at 0830 Hrs on route: XD-Bremner-Lloydminster-Marwayne-Bremner-XD. Almost went without my parachute harness, but it was a good trip. Went with Keith Mills to the pictures at night to see “Reunion in France”. Lectures all day on Thursday, and preparation for Air Exercise No. 4 which we were to fly next Sunday (Anzac Day). Stand-down on Good Friday so went out to tea with Mrs Gillespie & Marsh and met Lin Gilmore, a friend of Marsh’s and a brother of a Mrs Cairns who lived in Ipswich. Lectures again on Saturday morning and went into town shopping in the afternoon, met Lin and Marsh. Had tea with them and came back to camp to study. On Sunday (Anzac Day) we flew Exercise No.4 which was the first time we did an air-plot-previous flights were mainly map-reading. Route was: XD-Ft.Saskatchewan-Hughenden-Czar(Recce)-Wainwright-Ellerslie-XD. In the afternoon the Australians and New Zealanders held a remembrance service at the Cenotaph.
On Easter Monday, 26th April we had lectures in the morning and a photo flight in the afternoon. Then on Tuesday we had lectures all day. In the mail I got a letter from Don Grant with news about the bank employees who were in the services. On Wednesday we had an exam on “Magnets & Compasses” and flew Air Exercise No.5 in the afternoon. To Trochu & Torrington with a ‘recce’ of Three Hills. A very rough flight and most of us got air-sick. On Thursday we started studies on Astro Navigation and had a good lecture on Radio D/F Navigation which was very interesting. On Friday morning we had an exam on “Meteorology”, pay parade and an informative talk on the war in the Middle East. Late in the afternoon we took part in a Victory Loan parade through the streets of Edmonton with a pipe band leading the parade, and all the services involved.
Then on Saturday morning we flew Air Exercise No. 6 which was quite an experience. Mr Lightheart was the pilot and the route was: XD-Bremner-Scapa-Coronation-Bremner-XD. We climbed on track through cloud and heavy rain. Good experience in D.R.Navigation and instrument flying for the pilot. Most of the aircraft turned back but we soldiered on. At E.T.A Coronation came down through broken cloud and there under us was a small town and railway station that the pilot thought was Coronation, but he wanted to make sure and made a low level run past the station to see if we could read the station name. Too close the first time, so around again and stood off a bit further, when we were able to confirm that it was Coronation. So back into the cloud and D.R. Navigation back to Bremner and Base. I think at the end he may have homed in on a radio beam, but anyway I was pleased with the navigation exercise, and earned some brownie points for it.
The rain kept up in the afternoon so I went into town with Noel Hooper where we met Russ Martin and Bub Sargeant, and went to a dance with ‘Ivy” and a few of her friends that Russ and Bub had chatted up. On Sunday morning wrote letters home before dinner and in the afternoon went with Scotty Gall and Alex Taylor on a hike with the 20th Century Club. Here we met Alice Grosco, Mary, Isobel, Helen, Joe and a few others. Had a great time making a fire to toast marshmallows, and spin a few yarns about the ‘hoop ’snakes, and ‘wampoo’ pigeons in Australia. Alice became quite a good friend and kept up correspondence with me until I returned to Australia. On later hikes with Aussies on later courses she met Jim Cossart, who was on a Bomb Aimers Course, and was a friend of mine at Ipswich Grammar School in 1938-39. Jim lost his life on 14th March 1945 flying with 106 Sqdn on a rai to the oil plant at Luitzkendorf.
On Monday 3rd May it was lectures as usual and a crack at a D.R. Test in preparation for a mid-term exam on Friday. More lectures on Tuesday morning and two sports periods in the afternoon, when I would go out to the university track for athletics with a Canadian middle-distance runner, who was a good coach and gave me some good advice on the tactics of 440 and 880 Yard running. Brought my times in the 440 down to about 51 secs and the 880 to just on 2 mins. Called into town on the way back to camp and did some shopping. After tea did study on subject of ‘Photography’. Had our photography exam the next morning, it was an easy paper. In the afternoon we did another D.R. Test - ‘dry-swim’ for a bombing raid on Duisberg. Little did I realise then that I would bomb this target twice in one day seventeen months later. After that, prepared for a flight scheduled for the next morning. But the weather conditions worsened on Thursday and flying was scrubbed for the day.
In terms of arrangements made with Alice last week-end I phoned her (No.83882) to make a date for Saturday night. On Friday morning we had a C/O’s parade and our mid-term D.R. exam. Weather remained bad and flight scheduled for that night was scrubbed. Saturday morning was filled with lectures and after dinner it was flying again on Air Exercise No.6 that so many did not complete on the first attempt (to Scapa & Coronation). I had the job of 1st Nav. again, leaving Scotty to wind up the undercarriage and get a bit of map reading practice this time. It was a rough trip. Then, as arranged, I took Alice to a dance at the YMCA that night. Walked home in the rain.
A ‘phone call diversion during the week. Early in the week during a lecture the ‘phone rang and it turned out to be a girl wanting to speak Eric Sutton, or one of his pals. Somehow, I got the job, probably because I was nearest the phone and Eric saying that she would be referring to either Bob Smith or Keith Mills as he had mentioned those names to her when he met her last week-end. Three of us were regarded as the 3 musketeers, Keith & I were the two youngest on the course, and Eric was only a few months older. We had all enlisted on the same day as Aircrew Guards, been on separate postings for a few months, and then re-united at No. 2 Initial Training School at Bradfield Park to commence training as aircrew and mustered together to train as Navigators. To come on this course we were required to be age 19 by 10th January 1943, which was my nineteenth birthday, so I just made it as the baby of the course.
So to the phone I go - “All for one and one for all”. She explained that she had two very good friends and wanted to know if Eric and his two mates would like to join them one evening and go ‘shagging’. With a bit of quick thinking and with survival uppermost in mind I asked her to hang for a moment while I checked. It called for some reference to our Canadian Instructor which caused a bit of hilarity among the class and a few remarks about how you can be so lucky etc until he explained that in Canada the term meant ‘dancing’. With that bit of clarification and referral to Eric & Keith, I told her that we would be happy to meet them on Sunday afternoon. Had the usual church parade on Sunday morning and after dinner set off with Keith and Eric as leader to meet Mildred, Charlotte and Maureen. Spent some time with them at the YMCA and came back to camp in time for our first night flying exercise. It turned out the three girls became very good friends, I partnered Maureen O’Connor who was a primary school teacher. Took off at almost midnight on what was called exercise No. 21 for a 2 Hrs 45 mins flight, sharing 1st and 2nd Nav duties with Scotty Gall.
Monday 10th May saw us sleeping in until dinner time as we didn’t land from our night exercise the night before until after 0300 Hrs. Had lectures after dinner. Did very well with mail from home over the next two days. On Tuesday morning we flew exercise No.7, as 2nd Nav this time, and in the afternoon got the results of our mid-term D.R. exam. I got a mark of 87%, with which I was pleased. Had lectures all day Wednesday and a late night studying. On Thursday morning flew Exercise No. 8 “navigation by track error”, as 1st Nav. After dinner we were given leave. Went out with Maureen to the Capitol cinema and walked home with Keith who had taken Charlotte out, after we had seen the girls home. Made it a late night as it was an hour walk back to camp. Got more mail from home on Friday morning and had lectures all day. Detailed on Duty Watch Parade that night. Spent Saturday (15 May) in camp as I was on Duty Watch Parade, studied in the afternoon and prepared for night flying Exercise No.22. Took-off at 2305 Hrs, but had to return to Base with trouble in the starboard engine. Changed over to a ‘photo’ plane and took off again at 0045 Hrs (Sunday) for a 3 hours solo night flight. Didn’t get to bed until 0500 Hrs, but up again at 1030 Hrs to prepare for Air Exercise No.9, as 2nd Nav, that afternoon. Took of at 1335 Hrs, with Mr Barnard as pilot for a fight of 2 hrs 55 mins.
Had lectures all day on Monday 17th May and wrote 7 letters to friends at home to catch up on some of my mail. Also had to prepare for Air Exercise No.10 scheduled for the next day. It was lectures in the morning on Tuesday, and Air Exercise No.10 in the afternoon. Took off at 1355 Hrs with Mr Luyckfassel as pilot for a flight of 3hrs 15 mins as 1st Nav. It was a bumpy trip but a good navigation exercise as the pilot flew the courses given and didn’t tend to track crawl.
Wrote more letters and cards that night. Had lectures all day on Wednesday, and after tea prepared for Night Flying Exercise No.23. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Rathbone as pilot on a trip that took 3Hrs 15 mins down to Little Fish Lake. It was time off in the morning so we slept in. Had 2 lectures after dinner and went swimming at West End before tea. It was then more evening lectures and preparation for Air Exercise No. 11 the next morning. This consisted mainly of preliminary work on the flight plan. On Friday morning took off at 0855 Hrs for a 3 Hrs trip as 2nd Nav, enjoying the scenery and pretending to be map reading with the pilot Mr Neale keeping an eye on your performance, as the pilots had to file a report after each flight. Had two lectures after dinner, and as it was the end of my stint on ‘Duty Watch’ I went out with Maureen to the Capitol cinema and saw “Hitler’s Children”.
On Saturday and Sunday had 48 Hrs leave pass after duty watch. Went into town and banked $40 in to an account I had established with the Royal Bank, to bring my balance up to $80-. It was Red Cross day in town so I bought a fountain pen, then called on Maureen to say I could not go out with her that night as I had accepted an invitation out to tea with Mrs Gillespie. After tea went for a walk with Marsh while Mrs Gillespie went to the pictures with a friend. Slept in as usual on Sunday morning and did some preparatory flight plan work for a flight scheduled the next day. In the afternoon went hiking with the 20th Century Club and we were joined by several Aussie Sergeants from RAAF No.30 course who had their wings and were in transit through Edmonton.
On Monday morning 24th May 1943 we took off at 0830 Hrs On Air Exercise No.12 with Mr O’Hanlon as pilot. I was 1st Nav and was satisfied with good results. It was a 4 hour flight and we had to plot a square search and leading line search patterns. Study after dinner, and then after tea I did my laundry that had been soaking for a few days and wrote a few letters home. Lectures on Tuesday morning and sports in the afternoon when we played softball and got beaten by one run. After tea we were up till late doing Aircraft Recognition. Had lectures all day Wednesday and prepared for flight that night. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Craig as pilot on a 3 Hr 15 min flight navigating by D/F. Not a very satisfactory result as the pilot was obviously track crawling. After the night flight slept in until dinner time and then had a couple of lectures in the afternoon. Before tea went round to the University for athletics training (running & high jump). Got a telegram from home and at night it was practice with the sextant shooting a few stars. Called on to C/O’s parade on Friday morning and a passing out parade for Bomb Aimers. Sent a telegram home in the afternoon and as I was feeling a few sore muscles after yesterday’s athletic training I had a rub down and went to bed early. Had lectures on Saturday morning and moved to new classroom in new G.I.S. Buildings. Attended a Highlands Games in the afternoon where I represented the station in both High and Long Jumping. With not much success, but our team managed to come second overall. Met Marsh Gillespie at the games, who was there with two friends Pat and Betty. Flying was scheduled for that night, but had to be scrubbed owing to bad weather. Usual sleep-in on Sunday morning, and after dinner Keith Mills & I went out to Maureen’s home. Walked home in the rain.
On Monday 31st May it rained all day, but did not interfere with a full programme of lectures, but did cause night flying to be scrubbed again. Wrote home, and at night went out with Keith and Charlotte; Maureen was unable to come. The girls were going to Vancouver the next day. Bad weather continued all day Tuesday, so it was lectures all day and study at night. Got a card from Maureen on Wednesday to say the girls had arrived in Vancouver, and also got a letter from my old boss, Mr Lindsay Hall. We were supposed to have an Army Co-op exercise but that was washed out. Aldis Lamp tests in the afternoon and study at night. Put my forage cap in for dry cleaning. On Thursday (3rd June) had P.T. first thing in the morning and the “Synthetics on Astrograph”. Cannot remember what that entailed, probably an astro navigation dry swim. A morse test in the afternoon and two letters from home, one form Jean Hall and the Bank’s ‘Nautilus’ magazine. Answered Jean’s letter and also wrote one to Merle Green. It was usual C/O’s parade on Friday morning and our 13th week Navigation Test in the afternoon. Got a letter from Maureen, and after tea went in to town, went to a show, came back to camp and wrote a few letters. On Saturday morning we had more lectures, and after dinner wrote a couple of letters and did my washing. Went out to tea at Mrs Gillespie and went in to town with Marsh, bought progress numbers of Journal and Bulletin to send home. Usual sleep-in on Sunday and wrote more letters in the afternoon. Study after tea and preparation for a flight schedule for tommorrow.
On Monday 7th June we had lectures in the morning and flew Exercise No. 13 in the afternoon, as a 2nd Nav. Took off at 1425 Hrs and were airborne for 3Hrs 15 mins. More study after tea. Lectures most of the day on Tuesday with sports in the latter half of the afternoon. After tea went for athletics training at the university and came back to camp to prepare for tomorrow’s scheduled flight. Took off at 0855 Hrs on Wednesday on Air Exercise No.19 with Mr Williams as pilot on a low flying exercise of 3 Hrs 20 mins. It was great-best trip yet. After dinner got a letter from Maureen which I answered and also wrote some letters home. Had lectures all day Thursday as it rained all day. More running around in the mud, and athletics training at the university was cancelled. Friday saw lectures again all day, and start of another duty watch which I hoped would be my last time. The weather cleared up in the late afternoon and we were able to fly night exercise that night. Took off at 25 mins after midnight (Sat morn) with Mr Real as pilot. Usual 3 Hr trip as 1st Nav, being a night exercise. It was an interesting one on which a few got lost. Didn’t get into bed until 0430 Hrs so slept in until dinner time. Studied all afternoon as the study load was getting heavier, and it was early to bed as we had a flight scheduled for Sunday morning. Took off at 0855 Hrs with Mr Real as pilot, as 1st Nav on a flight of 2 Hrs 50 mins. Had dinner when we landed and slept all afternoon. Wrote a long letter home after tea.
For the week starting Monday 14th June we had a heavy programme of lectures and study as the weather continued to be poor, scrubbing all flying. I was on Duty Watch until Friday. It was still drizzling rain at the end of the week and on Saturday morning we had more lectures. After dinner Keith Mills and I went to a show, and then after tea we went to another show with Charlotte and Maureen, who were now back from Vancouver. Walked home from Charlotte’s home through large pools of water and mud. Was able to tell Maureen that I had received her card that morning that she had posted the day before in Calgary on the way home. Usual sleep-in on Sunday morning and study in the afternoon. Went to tea at Mrs Gillespie’s with Ian Pender and Don Plumb. Ian was on another course, and I cannot remember how Don came to be invited. A night flying exercise was scheduled, but had to be scrubbed.
On Monday 21st June it was still raining, so we had another full day of lectures and study. Got 2 letters from home. After tea managed to go to the university track for athletics training as the weather cleared during the afternoon. This enabled us to get airborne on Tuesday morning on Air Exercise No.15. Took off at 0855 Hrs, as 2nd Nav, with Mr Stewart as pilot on a flight of 3 Hrs 05 mins and managed to get some practice with the bubble sextant by taking a few shots on the sun. Rain came on again in the afternoon, so went to a film on the station “Road to Tokio”. It was still raining lightly on Wednesday, so it was lectures and study during the day, and after tea met Maureen in town and went to see “China”. Lectures all day on Thursday and training at the university track after tea. Saw Maureen and Charlotte on the way home. Weather cleared on Friday and was good enough to fly, so at 1435 Hrs took off with Mr Rungel as pilot on Air Exercise No.16 which was for only 2 hours.
On Saturday we got called for 2 lectures in the afternoon. Got letters from both of my sisters. Just after tea Maureen and Charlotte came riding bikes past the barracks so we had a bit of a yarn with them, but could not go out with them that evening as we had a flight scheduled for early the next morning. Immediately after breakfast on Sunday morning took off at 0910 Hrs with Mr Tibbets as pilot on Air Exercise No.17 as 1st Nav on a trip of 3 Hrs 25 mins to Cremona and a look at the Rockies. A very good flight. More athletics training at the university in the afternoon and then over to a sports ground where Keith Mills and Eric Sutton were playing cricket. Maureen, Charlotte and Mildred were there watching them. Took photos.
On Monday morning 28th June, we had ‘magnetism & compass’ exam and after dinner two periods of instruction/educational films. Two letters from Aussie in the mail. More training at the university after tea. On Tuesday morning another exam on Instruments and D/F. Went to the pictures after tea with Maureen, Keith and Charlotte to see “Happy go Lucky”. Was supposed to do Aircraft Recognition that night but missed it. Lectures all day on Wednesday and at 2355 Hrs took off on Air Exercise No.26. This exercise had been scrubbed about 6 times owing to bad weather. It was a 3 hour flight, which meant we didn’t get to bed until about 0400 Hrs on Thursday morning. So it was a sleep-in until 1045 Hrs.
Thursday 1st July was “Dominion Day” After dinner went to a sports meeting conducted by the Southside Business Ass’n, at the Southside Sports grounds which had a straight 220 yard track and a lap of about 880 yards. Ran in the 440 yards race and won it, for which I received the grand sum of $80-00. Soon after competed in the high jump, but could only manage 4th, which paid nothing. This was my first experience of a professional sports meeting that also included cycling. Athletes were not permitted to wear ‘spikes’. The dirty tricks played by the cyclists in team events really opened my eyes. Maureen and Keith and Charlotte came to the event and we celebrated afterwards by going out to tea at the Royal George on my winnings. At the meet 3 parachute jumpers put on a very interesting display.
Friday saw us with lectures all day and flying Air Exercise No.27 at night. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Lannon as pilot on a good flight of 3 Hrs 20 mins. At this time of the year in Edmonton it is nearly midnight before it gets dark, so night flying is fairly restricted. Usual sleep-in on Saturday morning after night flying. Saturday afternoon and Sunday saw the usual week-end chores, study and letter writing.
Monday 5th July saw the start of 2 weeks of intensive lectures, study, flying and exams to complete our course on time. In peace time the course would take over 12 months but in the urgency of the war situation had to be concentrated and focus on the essentials. Flew Air Exercise No.18 that morning. Took off at 0900 Hrs with Mr Real as pilot on a trip of 3 hours. Then on Tuesday afternoon we flew Air Exercise No.20. This was blindfold exercise that took us all over the map for almost 3 ½ hours. We took off at 0900 Hrs with Mr Filby as pilot. Air Exercise designated No.19 must have been cancelled. Bad weather prevented any flying from Wednesday to Friday. Got a long letter from my brother Alex on Wednesday and then one from Miss McPherson in Sydney on Saturday. Lectures all day on Saturday and study at night before flying Air Exercise No.28 which was a night navigation on the same course of daylight exercise No.10. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Barnard as pilot. Flew through storms and cloud out to Frog Lake. Slept in on Sunday morning-you were excused from Church Parade if you were flying the night before. After dinner studied meteorology for an hour or so and then went to watch Keith and Eric playing cricket and then we all met Maureen, Charlotte and Mildred at the corner of 109th and Jasper later in the afternoon.
On Monday 12th July we had our final D.R. (Navigation) test. Wrote home and did preparation for more flying tomorrow. A large bag of mail from Australia came in but I did not score a thing. Maureen phoned just after tea. On Tuesday(13th July) took off at 0835 Hrs with Mr Luyckfassel as pilot on Air Exercise No.21, which was a special, incorporating evasive action, designed to prepare us for active service conditions. More lectures in the afternoon and studied meteorology at night. Supposed to fly on Wednesday morning, but this was scrubbed-raining again. So we had our final meteorology exam. The rain kept up through Thursday and Friday so time was passed with sessions of lectures and study more lectures on Saturday morning, usual laundry chores and letter writing after dinner and as the weather had cleared prepared for flying that night after tea. This was night flight over the route of Exercise No.9 that we had flown in daylight two months ago. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Kellough as pilot and as 2nd Nav. I had to practice astro shots with the bubble sextant. That meant a sleep-in on Sunday morning and as we had some catch-up to do in order to finish the course on time another night flight was scheduled that evening. Took off at 2325 Hrs with Mr McCall as pilot on the route of Exercise No.11 that had previously been flown in daytime.
It was the usual sleep-in after night flying on Monday morning 19th July. In the afternoon and on Tuesday & Wednesday we had a few final written tests. On Wednesday night our final night flying test was scheduled. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Cusater as pilot on the route of Exercise No.12 flown in daytime. This flight of 3 Hrs 05 mins was the final air exercise on which we were assessed. On Thursday 22nd July after dinner we were advised that all had passed the course, and got instructions to attend to clearances for medical and dental and to hand in any equipment that had been issued to us. ‘Wings’ passing out parade would be held on Friday 23rd July 1943.
On Thursday night Keith, Eric and I took the girls out to The Barn and then went walked them home. We invited them to the ‘Wings’ parade, but they could not attend. Friday was a big day with the presentation of our ‘wings’ and the sewing of Sergeant’s stripes on our sleeves. At the pay parade after ‘wings’ presentation I was given a slip of paper with the instructions “Here is your Commission, it is now up to you to arrange for the issue of Officer’s Uniforms etc”. Also commissioned off course were Ivan Biddle and “Inky’ Keena who were posted to other Air Observer Schools as instructors, Ken Todd, Ted Hall, John Honeyman, Noel Hooper and Les Sabine. Ben Smith was on line-ball about passing and had to go to a review committee as at this stage he had admitted he had put his age back to enlist, and he was in fact aged 35 Yrs-not 30 years according to the records. Ben did eventually go on the fly in Bomber Command and lost his life on night of 24/25 Dec. 1944 on a raid on Cologne with 166 Squadron.
With kit bags packed and left at ‘despatch’ as instructed, I went to Maureen’s for tea. Her father drove me to the station where we left Edmonton by Canadian National Railway at 2130 Hrs for Toronto.
Reflections on leaving Edmonton
Thoughts that would be shared by all now on their way to the European Theatre of WW11.
All shared a sense of satisfaction and relief that we had earned our ‘wings’ as Air Navigators after a very intensive course of 4 ½ months that involved a total of 75 Hrs 55 mins of daylight flying and 34 Hrs 45 mins of night flying for the average member, and instruction and exams in 12 subjects such as Navigation, Maps & Charts, Magnetism & Compasses, Instruments, D.F/Wireless Telegraphy, Meteorology, Aerial Photography, Signals, Reconnaissance, Armament and Aircraft Recognition. In all I managed an overall pass of 82.4%. A few found the going hard towards the end of the course, as it was not easy and acknowledged the support, encouragement and assistance given by the chief instructor F/O. Brown (RCAF). He did encourage a few to hang in and was rewarded with their dedication and success. All realised though that there was still a long way to go with further training after our arrival in the UK before we were fully trained to assume the roll of a navigator in a crew on Bomber Command.
The main memories most of shared:-
• The extreme cold and snow covered prairies when we first
started flying, which made it difficult to judge height from
the air.
• The mud and slush when the snow did melt, and the river
thawed, and the great swarms of mosquitoes-large scotch
greys.
• The fields turning to green when wheat was planted and to
yellow as the dandelions came into bloom.
• The brown bears coming in close to town in search of food in
the late winter and playing with their cubs who often got a
disciplinary clout.
• Gophers popping in and out of their holes in the field beside
our barracks.
• Young children ice skating on the frozen gutters in the streets’
• Our own first try at ice skating on a frozen flooded tennis
court and being conned into playing ice hockey, which was
good because it gave you a hockey stick for support.
• The pain that a few suffered from frost bitten ears- in spite of
warnings.
• The Indian quarters that we passed through when walking to
town.
• The hospitality of the people.
• On a few reported occasions being mistaken for “Austrians’.
• The beauty of snow laden trees early in the morning.
• For Queenslanders—the 4 distinct seasons.
• Saluting the flag in front of HQ. The furore caused when an
item of female underwear was hoisted thereon one night and
the Aussies had no objection to saluting that particular
standard.
• The skill of the ‘Bush Pilots’ They were all civilians who had
good permanent work because of the Empire Training Scheme, but they were very competent at their job. True Canadian Geese-born to flying.
• Waffles and Maple Syrup and Coke and Ice Cream in the
Station canteen.
• Strictly taboo. But some made it** Flying under the high level
bridge.
• The sports facilities at the YMCA.
• Ben Smith’s accidents from smoking in bed.
Personally, there was the joy of wonderful friends made. The gang of the 20th Century Club and at the YMCA where I met Alice Grosco who kept up correspondence with me for two years after the war, until I told her I was going back to Scotland to marry Alma. Alice did have a special reason to keep in touch, as from a later Bomb Aimer course she met Jimmy Cossart on one of the Club’s regular hikes. He came from Boonah and was a boarder with me at Ipswich Grammar School 1938-39 and she was quite surprised when Jim told her he knew me. Later I was to meet Jim at the Boomerang Club in London on a few occasions until in the last months of the war he lost his life in a raid over Germany.
Perhaps the most cherished memory was the wonderful friendship that Keith and Eric and I enjoyed with Charlotte, Mildred and Maureen. They really treated us more like brothers and I would say did not put any pressure on us for a lasting relationship. We were welcomed into their homes. They truly were three girls who enjoyed the simple pleasures, and were good companions to each other. What you saw was what they were.
As we left Edmonton we were all aware that we were now on the way to the big adventure with its inevitable risks. Also we would soon be split up to go various ways. In fact when we got to Embarkation Depot at Halifax, after leave, a few of us would move into the Officers Mess, whilst the rest would be in the Sergeant’s Mess. But for the period of leave, and until we got to Halifax, those who were commissioned would continue with Sergeant’s stripes on our uniforms and stay as a group. Most important in our minds was to enjoy leave as we journeyed to Halifax across Canada with a break to visit New York. We had completed a course of flying training, all with over a 100Hrs up, and without an accident and with no loss of life.
These Were Fellow Course Participants
Following is a summary of the participants on the course and a brief detail of the operational experience of most, with pertinent information on those who lost their lives in training and on operations over Europe as well as those who were shot down and were taken Prisoner of War, or, in one case evaded capture.
After the war I kept in regular touch with Keith Mills, and since the late 1980’s with Lou Brimblecombe. We were the three youngest on the course. Eric Sutton did his tour with 622 Sqdn which was also based at Mildenhall where I served in XV/15 Squadron. And I did not get in contact with him again until December 2002, when he was traced living in Victoria. Roy Olsen moved to Tasmania after he retired as a school teacher and we had contact each Christmas. Noel Hooper, who came from the Nambour district died a few years after the war. Scotty Gall returned to work with the Bank of NSW and on retirement moved to Cooroy in Queensland, where I resumed contact in the early 1990’s. After his wife died he sold his property and moved to a retirement village in Brisbane, where he also died in 1999/2000. In one of those co-incidences in life, Scotty (or Vernon as he was known to his family) turned out to a brother of a friend we have known in the church at Alexandra Headland for many years.
It is interesting to note the service history of the ‘Todd’ Brothers, Ernie and Ken. They were both schoolteachers from the Newcastle area (both born in Canada). They enlisted together and went through initial training and operational training together and served on the same squadron flying in Wellingtons out of Foggia in Italy. They returned to their pre-service vocation. Ken, who was shot down and taken POW, died is 1986 at the age of 71 and Ernie died in 2002 at the age of 89.
Don Plumb “Bluey” did a tour in Halifaxes and died of acute leukaemia about 1987.
Course No.71N2-EATS-at No2. A.O.S EDMONTON, Canada. All members of RAAF
Duration 10/3/1943 to 23/7/1943,
Instructors:- F/O.W.H.Brown & P/O. Pogue ??? (both R.C.A.F)
NAME Number Birth Enlisted Discharged D.O.Death Posting on Rank Awards SeeNotes
Discharge ***
BIDDLE Ivan R. 424905 13/10/1913 09/10/1942 09/10/1945 8 O.T.U F/Lt Instructor in Canada
Goulburn Sydney
BRIMBLECOMBE C.L. 425592 23/12/1923 25/04/1942 07/12/1945 9 A.H.U F/O (218/514 Sqdn)
(Louis) Brisbane Brisbane
ETHERTON Ronald H. 423088 02/11/1921 20/06/1942 13/08/1944 76 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.1
Sydney Sydney
GALL V. Scott 424915 08/08/1912 09/10/1942 16/04/1946 1315 Flight F/O (467Sqdn)
Mosman NSW Sydney
HALL Ernest T 406976 17/02/1914 26/05/1941 25/02/1946 9 A.H.U F/Lt Instructor in Canada
Perth Perth
HONEYMAN John 429498 23/05/1923 08/10/1942 15/02/1946 1656 C.U F/Lt D.F.C.
Deepwater Brisbane
HOOPER R. Noel 425851 16/12/1923 21/05/1942 21/08/1945 1 P.H.U F/Lt *** No.2
Nambour Brisbane
KEENA Ilford N. 424870 12/10/1912 09/08/1942 22/06/1945 9 A.O.S F/O Instructor in Canada
Ballengarra Sydney
LEWIS John H. 423142 27/01/1923 20/06/1942 08/11/1943 3 A.F.U. Sgt. ***No.3
Broken Hill Sydney
MARTIN H. Russell 418289 28/12/1922 15/05/1942 13/12/1945 21 O.T.U F/O D.F.C
Melbourne Melbourne
MILLS Keith C. 425954 02/01/1924 21/05/1942 27/10/1945 78 Sqdn W/O ***No.4
Mackay Brisbane P.O.W
MURTHA Harold H. 429473 30/05/1922 08/10/1942 05/09/1945 12 O.T.U F/O (463 Sqdn)
Brisbane Brisbane
OLSEN Roy P. 429479 10/07/1920 08/10/1942 15/11/1945 640 Sqdn W/O ***No.5
Bundaberg Brisbane
PALFERY Noel J. 424920 16/05/1914 09/10/1942 18/07/1945 467 Sqdn F/O (467 Sqdn)
Brisbane Sydney
PLUM Donald A. 424934 17/12/1919 09/10/1942 17/12/1945 96 Sqdn F/O (466/462 Sqdns)
Inverell Sydney
NAME Number Birth Enlisted Discharged D.O.Death Posting on Rank Awards SeeNotes
Discharge ***
SABINE C.W. Leslie 426165 08/12/1917 23/05/1942 01/07/1946 466 Sqdn F/Lt. D.F.C.
Brisbane Brisbane
SARGENT Allan J. 410098 19/10/1918 08/11/1941 22/01/1946 1 M.R.U W/O ***No.6
(Bulb) Williamstown Melbourne 44 Sqdn-P.O.W.
SMITH Benjaminn H. 424891 24/03/1914 09/10/1942 24/12/1944 166 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.7
Merriwether Sydney
SMITH Ian H. 423913 20/10/1922 18/07/1942 18/06/1944 115 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.8
Katoomba Sydney
SMITH Robert W. 425992 10/01/1924 21/05/1942 12/12/1945 32 Base F/Lt (XV/15 Sqdn)
Brisbane Brisbane No.3 Group RAF Bomber Command
SUTTON Eric C. 425910 04/081923 21/05/1942 17/09/1945 84 O.T.U F/O (622 Sqdn)
Gympie Brisbane
TAYLOR Alexander 424804 04/08/1920 09/10/1942 02/01/9/1946 R.A.F. F/O
Arncliffe Sydney Dumbeswell
TODD Ernest 424942 30/12/1913 09/101942 10/08/1945 3 A.O.S F/O (142 Sqdn)
Canada Sydney Italy
TODD W. Kenneth 424878 16/07/1915 09/10/1942 06/12/1945 142 Sqdn F/Lt ***No.9
Canada Sydney
General Comments
All participants in the above course were members of the RAAF, and many were recruited under the “Air Crew Guard” category in May 1942. They left Australia (Sydney) on the USS “Hermitage”, departing on Wednesday 10th February 1943, arriving via Pago Pago and Hololulu at San Francisco on Tuesday 2nd March 1943, where they disembarked and then entrained at Oakland to go by rail, via Vancouver, to Edmonton in Canada where they disembarked on Saturday morning 6th March 1943 when the temperature was reading –23 (Fahrenheit).
Course No.71N2 started on 10th March at No.2 A.O.S at the Edmonton airfield with Avro Anson aircraft flown by civilian “Bush” Pilots. Passing out parade and presentation of wings with promotion to Sergeant was held on Friday 23rd July. Eight members were commissioned off course to rank of Pilot Officer. No casualties were recorded on training.
All but 3 were posted to “Y” (Embarkation) Depot in Halifax Nova Scotia (spending some time on leave in Montreal & New York on the way) where they embarked on the R.M.S “Queen Mary” on Friday 28th August 1943 and sailed to the Clyde in Scotland where they disembarked at Gourock on Tuesday 31st August 1943 and entrained for overnight travel to the RAAF’s No.11 Personnel Despatch and Reception Depot at Brighton. From here most were posted to various advanced training units to be incorporated into a crew and fly in Lancasters & Halifaxes of Bomber Command.
Postings as listed in the above schedule are the postings as recorded at the time the airman was recalled to No.11 P.D.R.C at Brighton for repatriationto Australia, or upon date of death, or at time of loss on operation and taken POW. Sqdn reference under notes is one they did tour with (where known).
Course 71N2- Details of Casualties, either loss of life or shot down and taken P.O.W, or Evaded Capture
No.1. Ronald Henry ETHERTON No.76 Squadron. In Halifax 111 LL578 MP-H Bar on night of 12/13 August 1944 took off from Holme-on-
Spalding At 2129 Hrs to bomb the Opel Motor factory at Russelsheim. Crashed 2Km N.E. of Hamm (Germany)
and all crew were killed. They rest in France in the Choloy War Cemetery, which suggests their graves were
investigated by an American Unit. Of the 297 aircraft (191 Lancasters, 96 Halifaxes 7 10 Mosquitoes) that took part
in the raid 7 Halifax & 13 Lancasters were lost. 6.7% of the force. Local reports stated the factory was only slightly
damaged.
No.2. Rupert Noel HOOPER No.463 Squadron. In Lancaster 111 LM597 JO-W on night of 24/25 June 1944 took off from Waddington at 2229
Hrs on their first ‘op’ to bomb flying bomb base at Prouville. Crew, with exception of the F/Eng, were all
RAAF; believed shot down by night fighter. B/A, W/O/P and both gunners were captured and taken POW
Pilot, F/Eng & Nav (Noel) evaded capture Pilot W/Cdr D.R.Donaldson RAAF was among the most senior officers
to evade capture in 1944.
.No.3 John Hedgley LEWIS The Course’s first casualty, in training, on 8th November 1943 at No.3 Advanced Flying Unit, Halfpenny Green.
Buried in Chester (Blacon) Cemetery, Cheshire, England. Section A Grave No154
.
No.4 Keith Cyril MILLS POW. No.78 Squadron. In Halifax 111 MZ692 EY-P on night of 22/23 June 1944 took off from Breighton at 2230 Hrs to
bomb railway yards at Laon. First operation for most of the crew. Shot down by enemy fire and baled out. 5 were
taken POW and 2 evaded capture. All the crew, with exception of the F/Eng, were RAAF. Keith was arrested in
France and taken into custody by the Gestapo, being held with other members of his crew for about 3 months in
Buchenwald Concentration Camp until ‘rescued’ by the Luftwaffe and transferred to Stalag Luft L3 Sagan and
Balaria. POW No.8018. 4 Halifaxes were lost on this Laon raid.
No.5 Roy Peter OLSEN POW. No.640 Sqdn. In Halifax 111 LK865 C8-Q on night of 27/28th May 1944 took off from Leconfield at 2356 Hrs to
bomb Military Camp at Bourg-Leopold. Shot down by night fighter and crashed 0228 hrs near Antwerp. Pilot,
F/Eng & M/U/G were killed. Roy was taken POW and held in L7 Stalag Luft, Bankau-Kruelberg. POW No.95.
No.6 Allan Joseph SARGENT POW. No44 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 LL938 KM-S on night of 21/22nd June 1944 took off from Dunholme Lodge at 2325
Hrs to bomb synthetis oil plant at Wesseling. Shot down by night fighter Pilot, B/A, W/O/P and R/G were killed
and are buried in Nederweert War Cemetery. Bub was taken POW and held in L7 Stalag Luft, Bankau-Kreulberg.
POW No.236. Of the 133 Lancasters & 6 Mosquitoes that took part on this raid, 37 Lancasters were lost—27.8%
of the force. 10/10 cloud was encountered and planned 5 Group’s Low-Level marking of the target was not
possible so H2S was used with only moderate success. 44, 49 & 619 Sqns lost 6 aircraft each. This was the last
occasion on which Bomber Command would suffer such a severe loss in operations to the Ruhr.
It is believed that above crew was the only Bomber Command crew lost in the war that comprised airmen from the 3 Commonwealth & Dominion air forces, plus a USAAF representative.
No.7 Benjamin Hartley SMITH No.166 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 NG297 AS-K2 on night of 24/25 December 1944 (Christmas Eve) took off from
Kirmington at 1515 Hrs to bomb railway communications at KOLN-Nippes (COLOGNE). Crashed in the target area. All the crew were killed and buried locally, since when their bodies have been interred in the Rheinsberg
War Cemetery.
97 Lancaster & 5 Mosquitoes took part—5 Lancasters were lost over the target area and 2 more on return to
England owing to bad weather. Oboe marking was used with very accurate results. Local reports showed that
railway tracks were severely damaged & an ammunition train blew up. Nearby airfield,(Butzweilerhof) also
damaged.
No.8 Ian Harrison SMITH No.115 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 HK559 A4-H on night of 17/18th June 1944 took off from Witchford at 0102 Hrs to
bomb oil installations at Montdidier. Dived into the ground and exploded with great force at Gannes (Oise), 5 Km N of St-Just-en-Chausse. All lie buried in the Gannes Communal Cemetery.
317 aircraft (196 Lancasters, 90 Halifaxes, 19 Mosquitoes & 12 Stirlings) took part in this and a similar targets at
Aubnoye and St Martin-l’Hortier. Targets were covered by cloud. Master bomber called off raid at Montdidier after
Only a few aircraft had bombed. Above was only aircraft lost on this operation.
No.9 William Kenneth TODD POW No.142 Sqdn. In Wellington Bomber took off from Foggia in Italy to bomb airfield on outskirts of Vienna. On 10th
May1944. It was crews 10th “Op”. Shot down by fighter in target area. In hospital in Vienna for short period before
going to Frankfurt for interrogation and to Stalagluft 3 at Sagan. And later to Luckenwald from where they were
repatriated to England..
NOTE
About 4/5 weeks after the course started John Henry STOPP, No.419738, born 3/7/1915 in Cairns Qld, Enlisted 10/10/1942 in Sydney was posted to another A.O.S to complete a Nav Course from which he was commissioned off course. On the night of 12/13 June 1944, flying with 166 Squadron on a raid on GELSENKIRKEN their Lancaster crashed in Holland and all on board were killed They were buried on 16th June 1944 in the ZELHEM General Cemetery It would appear that would have been very early in their tour of operations. .John Stopp was transferred when his flying Training-partner was hospitalised. I think it was Doug Rogers No.424609 who was commissioned off a later course and served in No4 Group RAF Bomber Command in Yorkshire - he was attached to 41 Base before returning to Australia.
Three other trainee navigators who sailed to Canada in the same draft were assigned to Course No.71N1. They were Jim Bateman No.423042 (149 Sqdn- awarded D.F.C), Bill Bowden No.424728 (261 Sqdn) and Geoff Cohen No.424725 who was commissioned off course and remained in Canada as an instructor at No.3 A.O.S.
Course 71N2 - Empire Training Scheme
No. 2 A.D.S. Edmonton – Alberta – Canada
10 March 1943 to 23 July 1943
Back Row: Keith Mills, Bob Sargent, Lou Brimblecombe, Noel Hooper, Eric Sutton, Alex Taylor
Middle Row: Ken Todd, Ernie Todd, Don Plumb, Noel Palfrey, Ron Etherton, Roy Olsen, Les Sabine,
Bob Smith, John Honeyman, Harold (Roy) Murtha
Front Row: Russ Martin, Ted Hall, Scotty Gall, Ian Biddle, W.H. Brown, ? , Ben Smith,
John Lewis, I.N. Keena, Ian Smith
We’ve Got Our Wings – Rookie Sergeants
The “Three Musketeers”
Eric Sutton, Bob Smith, Keith Mills
23rd.July 1943
As an L.A.C. in Edmonton
In Front of Wilsons Stationery Shop in Jasper Avenue
24 April 1943
Air Photography Exercises “Spring”
Bridge Over North Saskatchewan River about 1 ½ miles S.W. of Fort Saskatchewan
Looking S.W. in Direction of Edmonton Which is Visible in Distant Background
Notification of Selection for Appointment to Commissioned Rank
Effective 23rd July, 1943
1st July 1943
Dominion Day Sports – Winning the 440 yds
Eric Sutton, Keith Mills, Bob Smith
- at University Sports Ground
Keith said the Wrong Thing!
Have Wings *** Will Travel
From Edmonton, Canada to Brighton, England
We left Edmonton, with “N” Navigator wings and Sergeant’s stripes sewn on to our tunics, by train, at 2130 Hrs on Friday 23 July 1943. After the busy day of Wings Passing-out Parade and getting clearances we soon settled down to a good night’s sleep. Woke up in the early hours of Saturday at Saskatoon and travelled all day across the prairies through what seemed like endless fields of wheat and grazing country. It was almost express through Watrons, Rivers, Portage, La Prairie and arrived at Winnipeg at 1845 Hrs. Had a stop-over there and left again at 2000 Hrs. Into the bunk at 2230 Hrs for another good sleep. The scenery was different on Sunday as we moved into Ontario with mostly coniferous trees and a few Indian settlements. Arrived in Toronto at 0830 Hrs on Monday morning where those of us going to New York detrained and wandered around to have a look through a few shops before catching a train leaving at 1330 Hrs for Niagara. Had a few hours there to look over the Niagara Falls and then catch a train that left an hour late at 2230 Hrs down the Lee-High valley for New York. This was another train trip in the U.S. that went too fast to even count the telephone poles as they flashed by, and with the best of service from the Afro-American waiters on board.
New York and Sightseeing
Arrived in New York at 0900 Hrs on Tuesday 27th July and most of us including Keith Mills, Noel Hooper, Roy Olsen, Lou Brimblecombe, Russ Martin, Ian Smith, and Eric Sutton and myself made our way to the Anzac Club (somebody had the directions) where accommodation was arranged at the Wentworth Hotel-on the ground floor. Settled in to our rooms and had something to eat somewhere before we went to Madison Square Gardens where a circus was performing. After that we went to the Stage Door Canteen for tea, where we received a hospitable welcome and were given complimentary tickets for a few tours and shows the next day. Met the actress Connie Hayes there. On Wednesday morning we went on a sight-seeing tour during which we called into a few shops and I purchased a 2 ¼ X 2 ¼ Voigtlander camera which gave me good service for many years. After that we went to the Empire State Building and rode the elevator to the top. What a ride that was and what a view from the observation deck at the top. Keith, Roy, Lou, Noel, Russ and I then went for a stroll around Central Park where I took the first photos with the Voigtlander and on to the Stage Door Canteen for tea and more free tickets. The show that evening featured Xavier Cougat and his orchestra, the Andrew Sisters and other acts. We then went to a broadcast at the CBS studios before going back to the hotel.
Stayed in the hotel until midday on Thursday and then went to the Rialto on free tickets and on to the Rochefeller Centre to view an exhibition. Had tea and came back to the hotel to write a few letters. We were on the ground floor and it was hard to get a good sleep, the street outside was as busy at 0300 Hrs as it was at 1500 Hrs.
We Return to Canada
Noel Hooper and I decided that we had better do something about our Officers gear in Montreal and to leave New York a couple of days before the others. So on Friday morning we went to the station to enquire about trains. Met two girls going to the Statue of Liberty so went along for the ferry ride, back to the Anzac Club and a show at the Roxy. Caught a train by the skin of our teeth at 1850 Hrs. Had to change trains at Depew at 0500 Hrs on Saturday morning to go on to Toronto where we arrived at 0915 Hrs and left 30 minutes later for Montreal where we arrived at 1910 Hrs, running about 30 mins late as the train had hit a woman walking on the track about an hour out of the city. When we arrived we went to the YMCA where they arranged accommodation for us at 1491 Bishop Street.
On Sunday morning, 1st August, we went for a circular tour of the city by tram, jumping off at places of interest. Noel was bit non-plussed by the priests stopping on each step of a long climb up the hill to a large cathedral at the top. They appeared to pause briefly on each step in prayer. So, he taps one on the shoulder and recommended they install an escalator-a suggestion that was ignored. Asking directions on the tram was almost useless as the conductors gave the impression that they only conversed in French. We had tea at the YMCA and then went for a walk through the heart of the town. We must have given the impression of two lost souls as two girls approached us and started a conversation. Their names were Dorothy and Kay. They were students at the McGill University in Montreal and invited us to meet them the next afternoon and they would take us up Mont Royal to view the town by night.
We did our shopping on Monday morning where RAAF uniforms etc were available. Got issued with P/O’s braid, badges and cap, but decided to leave issue of quality uniforms and overcoat until we arrived in England. Met Dorothy and Kay as arranged in the afternoon and went up the mountain. As we had to meet up with the rest of our course on a train leaving Montreal at 1930 Hrs the next day the girls agreed to have dinner with us and then meet us again the next day at 1730 Hrs to show us over the University where they resided in one of the colleges on the campus. This we did on Tuesday after more sight seeing around the town and checking out of our accommodation. After our visit to the University it was a quick trip to the station with the girls to see us off and to catch up with the rest and board the train departing at 1930 Hrs. On the way to No.3 ‘Y’ Depot at Halifax. That was the Canadian designation for an embarkation depot.
Wednesday 4th August saw us travelling all day along the St.Lawrence River with its lumber mills, log jams and fishing villages and arrive in Halifax close to midnight raining cats and dogs. We were settled into barracks. Those who were commissioned off course were directed to the Officers Mess and Quarters and all others to the Sergeants Mess.
Halifax
Our late arrival did not prevent us being paraded at 0830 Hrs on Thursday and then attend to usual clearances etc. It seemed that there were still clearances whether you were arriving or departing. After dinner we were put through decompression chamber tests to assess our reactions to lack of oxygen. It was quite an experience as the chamber was decompressed to a height equivalent of about 18,000 feet. We were equipped with oxygen masks. At this height we were instructed to take off our oxygen masks under the supervision of trained personnel and to see how many times we could write the alphabet on the paper that had been issued. Supervisors kept an eye on each individual. I can remember being very pleased with myself as I visualised the alphabet written about six times on my piece of paper before I was told to put my oxygen mask back on again. Then I couldn’t believe my eyes-there was the alphabet written once and then down to about ‘m’ or ‘n’ before the pencil trailed away into a real scribble. Your mind had been telling you that all was well, so the danger of losing oxygen at heights over 10,000 feet was impressed on us. Most of us were non-smokers and had very similar results, but the smokers capacity to cope was really restricted and a couple had to be put back on oxygen very quickly.
On Friday we had a C.O.’s parade at 0800 Hrs and then it was back into the decompression chamber again for 2 hours, with oxygen masks kept on and listen to the supervisor giving more information on what we could expect flying for more than two hours at heights of over 20,000 feet. During this exercise the chamber was decompressed to a height equivalent of over 25,000 feet. After dinner it was P.T. exercise and games. Wrote a letter home and attended to a pile of washing that had accumulated.
Games of tennis and softball filled in most of Saturday morning. After dinner went into town with Ken and Ernie Todd (Ken had been commissioned off course but his brother Ernie was not) to the Anzac Club to give it the once over, and see what services and freebies were available there. Back to camp for a wash and change into clean clothes and after tea went back to a dance at the Anzac Club for a couple of hours. Slept in late on Sunday and spent all afternoon writing letters.
On Monday, 9th August, we were called on parade at 0800 Hrs for P.T. exercises and games. After dinner we underwent night vision tests, which I had trouble in passing and then back to more letter writing to catch up with my correspondence. Got a letter in the mail that day from Maureen. What seemed to be the established routine of parade, P.T. and games was the dose on Tuesday morning. For games, a rugby league match was organised for the Aussies and Kiwis between the Officers and the N.C.O.’s. It was a match that Keith Mills has not forgotten. I was playing on the wing for the Officers and going flat out for a certain try. I heard Keith behind me call out, “here Bob” when he had no chance of catching me. Not thinking I passed the ball back to Keith, who promptly propped, turned and set off back in the other direction. Unfortunately for him however, I was being supported by Kiwi P/O. Simon Snowden, of Maori descent and well built, and who was in the right position to effect a heavy tackle. Simon and I became good friends after that. Keith, I am sure learnt a lesson and did not appreciate the obstacle course we were put through after dinner.
On Wednesday morning, to keep us fit, we were employed on trench digging, and after dinner some of us were put through another night vision test. With a bit of assistance from a mate I did better than the test on Monday. Night vision was for gunners and not for navigators. Did my ironing after tea as we did not have the luxury of a batman yet.
Did well with mail on Thursday - 6 letters from home. After dinner went on a harbour cruise. I was on duty as Reception Officer that night and didn’t get to bed until 0430 Hrs on Friday. Received a telegram from home on Friday morning and another letter from Maureen. We had pay parade after which I went into town to buy a suit case, and did some ironing at night. On Saturday morning we had a lecture on ‘Rehabilition’ and I spent the afternoon writing letters to reply to those I had received during the week. Sunday was a very quiet day and a few of us went to a concert in the evening at the Anzac Club.
Monday 16th August was another good day for mail with 7 letters in the morning and 1 in the afternoon. So my correspondence was not up-to-date for too long. Pictures in the Officers Mess at night, “Desert Victory” and “The More the Merrier”. Usual parade and P.T. on Tuesday morning and into town after dinner for shopping and on to the Anzac Club for tea and a dance at night. More P.T. on Wednesday morning as we were waiting for a draft to embark. Went to see “Stage Door Canteen” at night with Simon Snowden. Since our football match we had spent a few times together looking around the sights of Halifax. Although he was of Maori blood, because of his surname he had become known as “Snowy”. Thursday afternoon was set aside for more sports and in the late afternoon we marched through town with a brass band at the head of the procession. It was into town again on Friday to buy a dressing gown and then to pictures at night to see “Jungle Book” Football practice occupied some time on Saturday morning. The bush telegraph was passing on a rumour that the “Queen Mary” was on the way from New York and would be calling within a few days, so I packed one of my kit bags in the afternoon. Slept in late on Sunday morning and after dinner went for a walk with Les Sabine around Mt Pleasant Park, and to the pictures in the Officers Mess after tea.
After mandatory parade at 0800 Hrs on Monday 23rd August we had lectures and a test on Aircraft Recognition. Managed to pass the test, but only just. After dinner went into town with ‘Snow’, met one of his mates and went to the Anzac Club for tea and a show afterwards. It was P.T. on Tuesday morning and we were given notice to be on parade again after dinner. That was a fair indication that a draft had been issued for embarkation. The draft was read out and as far as I can remember all the navigators from Course 72N2, except for a couple who did not come on to Halifax, were on it. We would be embarking within 48 hours. Broke off parade to have medical examinations, and then it was into town with ‘Snow’ again, who was also on the draft, for tea and the pictures to see “Song of the Islands”. On Wednesday morning we had to take our ‘Not wanted on Voyage’ baggage on parade and complete clearances. A few of us went to the Anzac Club that evening just to say good-bye to the place.
On Thursday 26th August 1943, we had pay parade in the morning, dinner and then our final parade with our ‘Wanted on Voyage’ baggage. We were then transported to the harbour and embarked on the “Queen Mary”. I was billeted in Cabin A24 with 14 others.
We Sail to the UK
Sailed early on Friday morning into good seas. It was back to two meals again while ‘in transit’. The ship had taken on a large contingent of American Servicemen in New York and it was very crowded. With such a large number on board, all were assigned to particular areas with coloured lines to follow to different venues to which they were allowed, such as sleeping quarters, bathroom facilities and Recreation and Entertainment areas. We had a limited deck space allotted to us and yellow lines to follow to the dining room and other colours to the toilets etc. On the lower decks the ‘other ranks’, mainly American troops, were assigned to sleeping areas on a shift basis.
The “Queen Mary” proceeded at full speed of over 30 knots on a zig-zag course and was unescorted. If you were walking down a passage-way when ‘she’ changed course by about 30 degrees you were pinned against the wall until ‘she’ got on a steady course again for another 15/20 minutes or thereabouts. You certainly had the feeling that a submarine would have very little chance of a torpedo attack. Time was passed playing cards, listening to music, reading the daily newspaper that was printed on board, writing letters and attending entertainment provided on board, which mainly favoured Officers. The seas stayed good all day on Saturday and at night most of us in Cabin A24 followed the relative coloured line to the large theatre on board to see a movie. Church Parade was held on Sunday, and another show in the theatre at night.
We continued to zig-zag through good seas at full speed all day Monday and enjoyed a concert in the lounge at night. On Tuesday we came around the north of Ireland and were greeted by friendly aircraft overhead and land in sight by mid-morning. This first sight of ‘the Old Country’ will remain in the memories of most on board for the rest of their life. There was a band of The Royal Marines on board and as we sailed up the Clyde past Arran with the Scottish coast of Ayrshire on our starboard the band played “Land of Hope and Glory”. As indeed it was at that time in history. There were not too many dry eyes on the decks, even among the American troops. We weighed anchor off Greenock and at 1900 Hrs were disembarked onto barges to be entrained at Greenock to travel to Brighton by rail.
Brighton, England
Travelled overnight and got our first encounter with a country at war with the blackout. Early in the morning the train steamed into the large railway yards at Crewe, then on to Rugby and the outskirts of London where we witnessed bomb damage for the first time. Arrived in Brighton at midday and were transported to No. 11 Personnel Despatch & Receipt Centre. Have never been able to work out how the despatch came before the receipt. We were assigned to billets. The N.C.O.’s to either the ‘Metropole’ or ‘Grande’ on the esplanade near the famous West Pavilion and the Officers to the Lions Head a bit further along to the east. Those establishments had been commandeered by the War Department and allotted to the RAAF’s No. 11 P.D.R.C, which had been transferred to Brighton from Bournemouth. So, on the 1st September 1943 we were officially disembarked in the United Kingdom. We spent the next two days attending to the requirements of reception, records, leave passes etc, and writing letters home as we awaited delivery of our ‘Not wanted on Voyage’ baggage.
In Central Park, New York
Roy Olsen, Keith Mills, Lou Brimblecombe, Bob Smith
Along the St Lawrence River - Part of the Aussie Contingent
Ross Martin and Ian Smith at the ‘Door’ in Tropical Uniform
In the Gardens – Halifax
P/O Bob Smith
Advanced Training-United Kingdom
Brighton, Sidmouth (Devon), West Freugh (Scotland)
Settling into No. 11 P.D.R.C. at Brighton, by midday on Saturday 4th September 1943 I had completed most of the requirements for reception and after lunch (now back to the system of calling the midday meal lunch and the evening meal dinner) I was rostered on my first duty as O.I.C. of one of the light ack-ack batteries on the esplanade, from 1400 Hrs to 1800 Hrs. Almost got court-marshalled when I gave permission to the two N.C.O.’s on the guns to fire a couple of rounds to test them. An English Army Major was soon on the scene to check on ‘the emergency’. After a bit of discussion he accepted my explanation and didn’t take the matter any further. After dinner I met ‘Snow’ who had also come over with the R.N.Z.A.F. contingent on the Queen Mary and who were also billeted with us in Brighton. We went to a dance at ‘The Palais’ that night. Had a very interesting conversation with a girl aged in her early twenties who came from Israel and was working her way through to a degree at an English University, as well as a couple of other girls who were more interested in ‘Snow’. They seemed to think he was a real heart throb. He was a good looking and good natured bloke.
This duty on the gun positions got me out of an awkward position on Sunday. We had Church Parade in the morning, usual roll-up, with quite a few Roman Catholics joining the Presbyterians. After lunch, by chance or design, Snow had met one of the girls we were talking to at the dance on Saturday night, and she suggested that he bring his friend along (that was me) as she had a friend to come with her and we could go to the pictures at night. Being a good friend I went along with him to the cinema on this blind date. Her friend turned out to be about 40 and did not appeal. There was no way I was going to be involved so I called Snow aside and explained the position. He saw my point of view and then backed me up with the explanation that I could not stay as I was rostered to go on Gun Duty in less than two hours. So I made a diplomatic departure and beat it post haste, feeling rather satisfied. Saw Snow the next morning and he told me I had made a wise decision.
On Monday morning I had more matters to attend to at reception. Mostly this was to deal with the issue of Officers uniforms etc. Got measured for my great-coat which was to be made by a tailor on Saville Row and issued with headgear-Officers for the use of.
Up to this point I had kept a small pocket diary since leaving Australia but discontinued the practice forthwith when it was brought to our attention in lectures and sessions held in connection with our reception at Brighton that diaries were not to be kept. This would be particularly enforced once we got on to operational squadrons. As a result from hereon I have to rely on memory and reflections with mates as we recalled our experiences in later years. For the next few weeks it was a daily routine of morning parade to hear who had been drafted to advanced flying schools etc, rostered on to duties such as the gun positions, or orders to attend lectures on the Brighton Pavilion. The beaches were heavily mined and this kept us on our guard when we were on gun duties, particularly when a stray dog wandered on to the beach. The Pavilion was also booby-trapped and was accessible only by walking a plank from the Esplanade.
When not on duties and on stand down we made regular trips to London on the train to get acquainted with the Boomerang Club in Australia House, and enjoy some food that was not available elsewhere. It also gave us an opportunity to explore that area of central London that was within walking distance and included many of the well known and historic buildings and landmarks. Here also, I was introduced to the Overseas Club whose members hosted Commonwealth servicemen on leave. I also had to go to London to be fitted and issued with my Officers Uniforms and Greatcoat. We were also introduced to sirens signalling an air-raid alert and ‘all-clear’, and the lives of Londoners who slept in the underground stations platforms. At Brighton the only enemy action I saw was one day when a German twin-engined bomber came in low over the channel, climbed to about 1000 feet over the town and as it circled around the outskirts dropped a stick of bombs and headed out to sea again. It was all over in less that two minutes and the gun batteries on the esplanade did not get a chance to fire at it.
I Go to Scotland On Leave
On 11th September 1943 I was given 7 days leave (authority POR 174/43) and headed off to Aberdeen to stay with Jim and Nan Joss to whom I had been referred by the Overseas League at the Boomerang Club. I wished to go to Aberdeen to have the chance to visit Kintore where by father and uncles spent leave during WW1. It was a wonderful introduction to Scotland, and the fore-runner of a few more happy times there when on leave which eventually led to meeting a lass who stole my heart, but more about that later. That’s in the future still. Got back from leave to learn that some of the course had been posted to Advanced Flying Units. Keith Mills and Eric Sutton and a few others had been posted to No. 4 Observer A.F.U. West Freugh, Scotland and John Lewis and Lou Brimblecombe had been posted to No. 3 A.F.U. at Halfpenny Green. A few weeks later John was to be our first loss of life when he was killed in an accident flying over Wales on a training exercise. A few days after I got back Noel Hooper, John Honeyman and myself were instructed to attend Course No.14 Aircrew Officers Training School at Sidmouth in Devon.
With necessary travel warrants and instructions we arrived in Sidmouth on Sunday 26th September. The three of us were impressed with the beauty of the English country side as we travelled through Hampshire and Dorset to Devon. It was hard to realise that the country was at war, until you passed an airfield or a large military establishment. We were met at the station and transported to the Training School that was situated in a stately mansion that was probably an up-market holiday resort in peace time.
More Training in Devon
The course was an intense period of lectures on Air Force Rules and Regulations, Physical Exercises, Field exercises with live ammunition, escape procedures and parade ground drills under an iron-fisted disciplinarian R.S.M. from one of the Guards Regiments, whom we referred to as the ‘screaming skull’, but not to his face. None of us was that brave. We were put over an obstacle course on the second day there and only a few of us managed to complete it in the approved time. I was still reasonably fit from athletics training and managed to go over all the obstacles except one, but within the time allowed. After 23 days we were put over the same course again and everyone passed, all the fittest they had ever been.
Field exercises included live ammunition with shots fired at medium range, hand grenades, firework crackers etc and it was our observation to identify the type and direction from which the detonation was heard and make quick decisions on evasion tactics. We were also given exercises in techniques of camouflage and the use of the terrain to move and avoid detection. In the event of being shot down over enemy territory it was your first duty to avoid capture. Parades and Parade-ground drills were real masterpieces with the R.S.M. in charge. The short straw must have had my name on it when it came to parade-ground drills. When we were given duties for colour parades and reviews. I landed the duties of S/M of Parade, Adjutant of Parade, C/O of Parade and Reviewing Officer of Parade. It is a mystery how I was not promoted immediately to rank of Air Commodore or above. Noel and John felt sorry for me-like b.hell they did!
On our first day we were fitted out and issued with khaki battle dress, army boots etc, and this was our standard dress for the course, except for evening meals when the traditions of dining in the Officers Mess were observed. A few got postings from the course either to A.F.U. or back to their unit. I remember one Aussie pilot who was sent to the course as a disciplinary measure after he pranged a ‘Wimpy’ on take-off at an O.T.U, apparently without injury to any of the crew. After about ten days he was posted back to his unit to take up further training with the crew. Nine Aussies started the course but there were only five of us there at the end. Leave was granted most nights and at week-ends, so we were able to spend some time in town and go to the pictures or a dance. Met a girl, Irene Collins, at a dance one night who asked me to escort her home-what a walk; I think it must have been to the next village. She worked in a shoe shop in town, and I did see her a couple of times after that when I went down town.
Most vivid memories of the course relate to small arms firing practice, throwing live hand grenades, and the cross country exercises when we somehow managed to make tracks through an apple orchard, stuff a few into our jackets and get back to discover that we had a sort of crab apple used for making cider. Also tried our hand at toasting chestnuts, but not much satisfaction there either. Drilling the squad when under the instruction of the ‘screaming skull’ provided a bit of entertainment, particularly when he decided to take over and show us how to do it. He would give the order ‘Quick March’ at the top of his voice and let the squad get down the road about 70/100 yards before giving the order ‘About Turn’. By the 50/60 yard mark the squad had agreed that from a certain person forward they would disregard the order, the ones at the crucial point would hesitate, and behind them they would do the about turn. That really curled the ‘mo’ and sent a string of invective over the countryside, when the ones in front said they did not hear him. He didn’t fall for it-had been through that mill many times before. We got the feeling that he would liked to blame the Aussies and give them a bit of extra drill, but as they were of higher rank he had to play it cool.
At week-ends we were given leave, although the whole course was de-facto stand-in for the local Home Guard Unit, we were given details of the mined areas on the beaches, most of which were at the base of high cliffs and difficult to reach. Generally it was the area immediately below these cliffs that were not mined. On our first Sunday Noel and John and I headed off west close to the coastline along the tops of the cliffs, almost to Exmouth from where we could see Torquay in the distance. As we had been walking for a bit over 2 hours, we decided to veer north to a village that had golf links nearby where we found a café and had lunch. We crossed a railway line, into a village called Otterton and followed country roads and lanes back to Sidmouth. The next Sunday we headed north towards Honinton and got as far as Aflington. On this walk, following roads and lanes off the main road we stopped to talk to some villagers to enquire if a village about 2 miles further north had a café that was opened on Sundays. They did not know, had lived there all their lives and had never been to that other village.
We would have walked about 20 miles on each of those Sunday hikes, and that kept us in good physical condition. Knowledge gained on the Sunday hikes proved very valuable later on and was put to good use. On the Tuesday of the last week we had our final test on the obstacle course. No problems for any of us, even up and over the poles that were fixed horizontally at varying heights between the trunks of two pine trees to a height of about 30 feet, the only obstacle that stumped me on our run over the course on our first day. I did not go over the top then, but under it. The next day we were given our final test of escape techniques. We were despatched at 0830 Hrs to go to a spot near the village of Axmouth which lay just south of the road to Lyme Regis and north of the seaside town of Seaton. It was up to us whether we went singly, or in small groups like a crew from an aircraft that had been shot down. But we had to get to the destination without being observed by the instructors who would be in positions at a couple of points along the way. The sergeant in charge of the exercise, when informed that Noel and John and I would stick together and go as a team for the exercise said that was a good idea and even recommended to the others to learn from these Aussies who often did well in this exercise. We did well, but it involved a bit of cunning.
Our plan was to let the field get away and ahead of us while we went to a café for morning tea to formulate our tactics. We had to be at the ‘target’ by 1600 Hrs. That gave us a bit over 7 hours to do about 9 or 10 miles measured in a straight line. We had prepared a bit beforehand, and by fair means or foul John had obtained a woman’s hat and shawl. After morning tea we set off walking to the village of Sidford less than 2 miles north of Sidmouth where we knew we could get a taxi and were sure that no scouts would be stationed along that route. I have a suspicion that John had had a discussion with a taxi driver in this village on one of our Sunday walks because we found him very co-operative and willing to help, although he was going to use up a bit of his petrol ration. Sometimes crosses my mind if he got a voucher from John to say his taxi had been commandeered for defence purposes. For him it was going to be a round trip of about 20 miles. I cannot remember what the fare was, but probably in the 5/10 Pounds range, and that was probably the best fare he had made on a Wednesday in war time. In the taxi we set off on the main road towards Lyme Regis and after about 5 miles turned right along a road that went past a quarry and then north-east to Colyford our destination for the taxi. On this last stretch we had a fair idea that scouts would be stationed, so John donned the hat with the shawl over his shoulders and sat up and surveyed the scene while Noel and I crouched down so as we could not be observed. With a bit of luck John spotted our friendly Sergeant sitting under a tree about 15 yards inside a field with a ditch between him and the road. No other scouts were seen. We left the taxi at Colyfield and walked the last mile or so to Axmouth and the designated meeting place. No one was expecting escapees to come in from a northerly direction so we arrived without being spotted to the amazement of the team that had congregated there. We timed things so that we did not arrive until just after 1530 Hrs. A few had already arrived carrying flags to indicate they had been spotted by one or more look-out scouts. Not long before 1600 Hrs the Sergeant, and other spotters arrived and were about to announce that no one had spotted the 3 Aussies, when he looked around to spot us and cried “How the hell did you three get here??” We told him we did not spot any other look-outs, but we did see him under a tree and where he was.
We had our story ready that we were coming up a ditch beside the road when we spotted him and realised we could not pass along that ditch without him seeing us, so we back-pedalled a bit using trees along the road as cover, and then crossed the road and away a bit to the north, which brought us in from that direction. We told him we were within the length of 2 cricket pitches from him, and that really had him flabbergasted. Somehow or another he got the correct information by Friday morning, and told us he was not very impressed, but couldn’t decide whether to admonish us for not entering into the true spirit of the exercise or just acknowledge that we had exercised initiative that we had so often been instructed to do.
Sunday 24th October saw the completion of our Air Crew Officers Training School, and on Monday morning we set off by train back to Brighton. We went via Salisbury where we had a stop over to have a look around the town and visit the famous cathedral. During WW1 my father had been billeted on Salisbury Plains with 41st Battalion A.I.F. and used to talk about the Cathedral and his visits around the area. I did not know it then, not even until the 1980’s, that my paternal great grandparents had come from East Hagbourne in Berkshire about 20 miles from Reading in the area that we were to-day travelling through.
Back at Brighton on Tuesday it was a return to the usual routine of morning parade, lectures and stand-downs as we waited for a posting to an Advanced Flying Unit. During this time we were attending a lecture in the old ball room on the Pavilion when the whole pier was rocked by an enormous blast. Someone had detonated one of the booby-trap mines on the end of the pier and really started some activity. We were evacuated very quickly. Never heard any more reports and whether there were any casualties apart from a few sea gulls. At Brighton a new contingent of EAT’s N.C.O.’s and Officers had arrived and the duties on the ack-ack guns had been assigned to them which gave us more time to take visits up to London.
My Posting Comes Through - Scotland
On Parade about 6th November my posting came through to No. 4 (Observers) Advanced Flying Unit at West Freugh, near Stranraer in Scotland. There were other navigators on the same posting that were on a course after No. 71 and arrived in Brighton about a month or so after I did. These included Keith Nunn, Hector Craig and Soapy Campbell. Noel Hooper and John Honeyman were posted to an A.F.U. affiliated with No 5 Group Bomber Command. I seemed assured to going into No. 3 Group which operated in East Anglia.
Those going to West Freugh left Brighton by train on Monday 8th November, travelled overnight, changing trains probably at Carlisle, and arrived in Stranraer and on to West Freugh by RAF transport on Tuesday to attend to the usual requirements of reception for a course that was due to start the next day. Keith, Hector, Soapy and I were all billeted in the same Nissen hut in the Officers quarters.
We certainly got our introduction to the Scottish weather coming into their winter. The famous Scotch Mist just hung on and on, in fact for the first six weeks we were there we never saw the sun from the ground, but at 2,500 feet you were above cloud and in clear sky. For the first few days we were kept in the lecture rooms for revision in most of the subjects we had studied at Edmonton and talks on what to expect as we moved on to become acquainted with new navigation aids etc that were coming into use in Bomber Command. Our air exercises at West Freugh over the 8 weeks we were there comprised 30 Hrs 35 mins of daylight flying and 18 Hrs of night flying atSS heights between 1500 feet and 5000 feet. The air exercises over routes as detailed in my log book were mostly over the Irish Sea area to landmarks in Northern Ireland, Wales and the Carlisle area to the East. In most cases the exercise started from Ailsa Craig, a landmark island in the Clyde Estuary. You had to be wary of your height and track to ensure you did not come to grief on the Isle of Man.
A great advantage of flying with RAF Staff Pilots was they flew the course given to them. They couldn’t see the ground anyway most of the time. This gave good experience in D.R. navigation and was a great help in charting an air plot. They were mostly very experienced pilots who had served with the RAF in India as well as on operations at home and were very experienced in flying Ansons and Oxfords.
Some Flying “Incidents”
The starting point of Ailsa Craig nearly caused an accident on one of our exercises. We had climbed through cloud and on course etc, when I said to the pilot we would proceed on our first course of the exercise from E.T.A. Ailsa Craig, which would have been not far out because of the short distance we had flown. He insisted on going below the cloud to get an accurate fix from which to start our exercise. Our course was nearly too accurate, as when we broke cloud at about 800 feet Ailsa Craig was almost dead ahead, and the faithful “Old Aggie” as we called the Anson flew past the cliff face too close for comfort. The pilot circled the island, flew a bit north of it and then came back on the course we were to fly on the first leg and climbed back into the cloud over the island with a satisfied look on his face.
On another exercise the first course was eastwards to Wigtown, and then on to Silloth, past a mountain that was about 1500 feet high near Gatehouse-on Fleet I think it was called ‘Crefell’ and it had claimed a few aircraft crashing into it, so we had to make sure we were at least at 2000 feet. For the exercise we had been given ‘met’ winds of 30/49 Knots from the west. By the time we got near Gatehouse-on Fleet it was obvious that the true wind was over 70 knots and in response to radio message we were recalled.
A flight of less than 30 minutes out took over 2 hours on the return with the Aggie at maximum air speed. Coming over the top of one of those high mountains you had the feeling you could just have jumped off like from a moving tram. A night exercise was scheduled to fly to Newcastle to give us navigation experience and the air defences there some dry-swim practice. Before we got as far as Silloth we were recalled as Newcastle was in fact being raided by the Luftwaffe. Sometimes I have wondered about the co-incidence. It was on one of those exercises that I had a bout of air sickness and on landing the pilot put it in his report. The O.C. Training ordered me to report to the M.O. for an assessment. I cannot remember what his examination involved but I was not scrubbed from flying.
On 30th December we were detailed on navigation exercises flying at 5000 ft. Two navigators were assigned to an exercise flying over the Irish Sea due south to Holyhead in Wales and then north west to Ballyquinton Point in Northern Island. This had the Isle of Man along this path. The two navigators on this route were Keith Nunn and Harold ‘Hal’ Peters, both graduates of No. 74N course. Most of the route was covered in cloud with base at about 1000 feet. It turned out to be a tragic day. The aircraft in which Hal Peters was flying must have descended through the cloud too soon and crashed into a mountain on the island. Hal was 33 years of age and came from Bentleigh in Victoria. He was buried in Andreas (St Andrew) Churchyard on the Isle of Man. My last navigation exercise at West Freugh, a week later, was over this same route.
Another flying incident at West Freugh that remains in my memory concerns the crash of a Hampden twin-engined bomber. A few of the RAF pilots were discussing the flying capabilities of this aircraft, a few of which were stationed at West Freugh for coastal surveillance work. A F/Sgt. pilot was arguing that the aircraft would not pull out of a spin. One of the ex-India RAF Officer pilots disagreed and said when the weather was clear enough he would take one up to about 5,000 feet, put it into a spin and pull out. He did this a few days later in sight of a few onlookers - but unfortunately the aircraft did not pull out of the spin and went down to crash into the sea. One of the ex-India pilots was heard to remark “That is only four of us left now”.
Leave in Oldhall – I meet Alma
As I had advised Jim and Nan Joss in Aberdeen that I had been posted to West Freugh, Nan wrote back to say that she had been in touch with a Friend/Cousin in Paisley and she and her husband would be happy to host me if I went to Glasgow. We were given 48 leave pass one week-end so I took the opportunity to go by bus, getting off at Oldhall between Paisley and Glasgow to visit Ronnie and Molly Whyte and their daughter Alma who lived at 39 Tylney Rd, Oldhall. This led to many enjoyable leaves in Aberdeen and Paisley when I came to be accepted freely by both families over the times ahead and which was eventually to see Alma and I marry. I think that we would both agree however that it was not love at first sight.
Hector Craig, who had some relatives in Glasgow came with me on the bus on our two week-end leaves. We were not happy with the smoke filled busses filled with farm workers in heavy sweaty smelling clothes, and not a window opened. It was winter, damp and cold, but some fresh air was desirable, so we would open the window a bit near our seat to get a look that only a Ranger’s fan would give a Celtic fan. Ronnie Whyte was a staunch Ranger’s follower and I was soon to learn of the rivalry between those two sides. The passion for football, what we called soccer, was new to us.
Our course at West Freugh was completed on 7th January 1944. Our posting came through the next day and we were given a few days to complete clearances-the usual medical, dental etc and pack our Officer issue steel trunk for despatch to our new station. Keith Nunn and Hector Craig and I were posted to No. 84 Operational Training Unit at Desborough in Northamptonshire. We realised then that we were destined for No. 3 group Bomber Command that was equipped with Lancasters. We were given 7days leave and travelling time and had to report to Desborough by 24th January (Auth POR 2/44). Travelling warrants were issued at the Adjutant’s office on 11th January, a day after my 20th birthday anniversary, and I went on leave to Aberdeen for a week and then to London for a few days to catch up with mates at the Boomerang Club.
Now it was on to joining a crew, further training as a crew with more advanced aircraft and at heights above 10,000 feet. As it turned out it was to bigger and better things and experiences that made men of us. ......
West Freugh – Laundry Hung Out to Dry In Our “Heated” Quarters
At Aircrew Officers Training School
Sidmouth, Devon
Noel Hooper, Bob Smith
Bob Smith, John Honeyman
Training as a Crew
Crew Formation at No. 84 O.T.U. (Operational Training Unit)
Desborough, Northamptonshire
For operational training I was posted to No. 84 O.T.U at Desborough in Northamptonshire, an Operational Training Unit under the control of No.3 Group, (RAF Bomber Command) as from 25th January 1944. This Unit was flying ex-operational Vickers Wellington X’s, with unit identification “IF”. This was our introduction to flying above 10,000 feet in aircraft equipped with oxygen. Radio I/D was “Foodramp”.
Along with Keith Nunn and Hector Craig I was accommodated in the Officer’s Quarters and went through the usual reception procedure. A programme of lectures and ‘dry-swim’ exercises started immediately and went on for two weeks. Flying exercises started on 15th Feb, crewed with a staff pilot and flying as a 2nd navigator under supervision, to gain experience on new special navigation equipment and flying at heights of 10,000 to 15,000 feet, wearing oxygen masks. Instructors, mostly with operational experience, assessed our work and passed us as satisfactory to proceed further into the formation of a crew and on to further training towards posting to an operational squadron. Over that first month lectures and tests occupied a lot of time, and were most interesting as we were instructed in new equipment coming into use, some of it still on the secret list. During that second fortnight we flew 2 daylight flying exercises and 1 night exercise of between 4 and 5 hours each. On 28th February after flying a special daylight exercise of 4 ½ hours at 15,000 feet all the aircrew under operational training were assembled at 1700 Hrs and told to sort themselves into crews by the next afternoon.
On 1st March 1944 our crew was formed. In the morning pilot F/Sgt. Ron Hastings approached me to see if I had been claimed yet and when he said he had obtained another Aussie as a Bomb Aimer and two RAF fellows who had come through a gunners course together and wanted to be together in a crew, I agreed to join them. Soon afterwards we approached a Wireless Operator who had many flying hours to his credit and had come from a unit where he was an instructor. So, for the time being we had a crew, with a Flight Engineer to be added when we went on to conversion to four engined bombers:-
The Crew:
Pilot F/Sgt Ronald William Hastings RAAF No.423112 Born 11 Nov 1922
Nav. F/O Robert Wylie Smith RAAF No.425992 Born 10 Jan 1924
B/A F/Sgt Harold Edward Burns RAAF No.422144 Born 5 Nov 1915
W/Op.F/Sgt Victor Frederick Pearce RAF No.1196145 Born 17 Jul 1920
M/U/G Sgt George Henry James Malyon RAF No.1432616 Born 7 Jan 1923
R/G SgtDonald George McFadden RAF No.1387716 Born 26 Feb 1923
All aircrew were volunteers, so the RAF fellows were in the RAF Volunteer Reserve. Between ourselves we were called respectively, Ron, Smithy, Bobby, Vic, Mike and Mac.
On 2nd March most of the newly formed crews, including us, were sent to the satellite ‘drome at Harrington, about 4/5 miles away, to fly a high level bombing exercise in daylight and then about 6 hours on circuits and bumps (which gave the navigator nothing to do) over 2 consecutive nights, and on the next night 2 ½ hours on high level bombing. Having completed these exercises it was back to the main ‘drome on 8th March to start a very intense month of flying training in daylight and at night. These exercises were always over approved set routes, sometimes with an experienced pilot as we went on long night flights, fighter affiliation exercises and high level bombing. Lectures still continued at times during the day and there were breaks for sports and evening/week-end leave.
Dealing With an Emergency
On 13th March, flying in an older Wellington 111 No. X3995 and letter coded “U” for Uncle we had an emergency forced upon us on take-off after lunch. Just as the aircraft started to lift off the runway the flap over the port wing fuel tank inlet sprung open, causing that wing to stall. As that wing started to drop it was only the quick corrective action by Ron that saved us from disaster. It took the combined effort of him and the Bomb Aimer who was standing beside him to hold the joy-stick hard over to starboard to keep the plane on level flight. The control tower had noticed our wild take-off, and before we could gather our wits they contacted us with a call “Foodramp Uncle-are you in trouble”. Ron replied with a brief description of the problem and immediately got a message back to circle if possible and come into land immediately as they would have emergency vehicles standing by. An experienced pilot was put in direct contact from the control tower to assist Ron. Although we did not know it at the time, sirens were sounded on the ‘drome and a fire tender, ambulance and crash wagon were rushed on to the tarmac. Ron instructed me to keep the runway on our starboard wing in sight and guide him around to the downwind end. Then, as he lined the aircraft up on the runway and started a landing approach he ordered all except “Bobby” Burns, the B/A, to take up crash positions, leaving the intercom to all positions open. With the two gunners I took up the crash position. Vic, the wireless operator, was tuned into a BBC radio broadcast and was not aware of the emergency, although he admitted later he thought the flying was a bit rough. I learned a lesson from this as I should have tapped Vic on the shoulder as I went past him to the crash position and beckoned him to join me.
Ron and Bobby managed to control the aircraft sufficiently to make a reasonable landing although it gave a severe lurch to port as we touched down, causing Mac, who was next to me in the crash position and had started to get to his feet as soon as the wheels touched the ground, to fall against me and force my head on to the side of the fuselage resulting in a bit of a lump on my right temple. Mac thought for a minute that he had severely hurt me as we both ended up lying on the floor. This lurch caused Vic to look around and see Mike, Mac and myself in the crash position and to wonder what was going on. So we had a bit of explaining to do. We were all O.K, and saw a certain humour in what happened next. As soon as we came to rest Ron contacted the control tower with their sign and the message “Foodramp Uncle here—we have pancaked”, only to get the immediate response “Foodramp Uncle, if you have pancaked you have not pancaked here”. A quick look around and we recognised the surroundings—we had landed at Harrington, the satellite strip. As they say, all is well that ends well, (in spite of Murphy’s Law). Transport was immediately sent out to the aircraft to take us back to the base ‘drome for a quick medical assessment, but we said we were O.K. The M.O told me I would probably get a black eye if any bruising came out and that my flying helmet had probably saved me from more serious injury. In reflection, it is possible that if Ron had attempted a full 360 degree turn back to the runway we had just taken off from, the outcome could have been much worse.
The M.O did not say anything about not flying for a day or two. The experience certainly strengthened our confidence in and respect for Ron, and taught us valuable lessons. We did not hear what happened to the ground crew responsible for fuelling the aircraft and ensuring that the wing flaps were properly secured. Probably went on a charge and received some form of punishment. The aircraft was given a thorough inspection, before it was moved and flown back to the base ‘drome. The undercarriage must have experienced some stress when we touched down. We flew again in the same aircraft four days later on a high level bombing exercise and had no problems.
By 8th April we had completed all the requirements of the course at O.T.U and were passed as fit material to proceed to conversion to four engine aircraft. We were given about 11 days leave (Auth POR 15/44) and instructed to report to No. 1653 H.C.U (Heavy Conversion Unit) at Chedburgh in Suffolk on 21st April. A signal had come through that a crew was required for an Australian Squadron in No.5 Group with a condition that it must comprise at least 4 Aussies in the crew. The only one to qualify on our course was P/O. George Edwards (Pilot) who had crewed with Keith Nunn as his navigator. Both had known Ron Hastings prior to this time. Keith had known Ron and his father before the war. Both Ron’s father and Keith were employed in the then Union Bank of Aust- later to become the ANZ Bank. Ron & George had trained together as pilots. That crew eventually went on to No.467 (RAAF) Squadron at Waddington in Lincoln and were shot down on their second ‘Op’ on 29th June 1944, bombing the flying bomb base at Beauvoir in France. George was killed and Keith was captured and taken POW. After the war Keith resumed his career with the Union Bank. I have no recollection of where Hector Craig and crew were posted to.
Previous Service history of our Crew members
Pilot “Ron”
When he was born in 1922 his family surname was ‘Heuzenroeder”. His father was employed in the Union Bank and in the mid-1930’s with the world scene focussing on the Nazi regime in Germany, and the bank considering his transfer to Manager of a country town, they requested him to change his surname. Ron was in secondary schooling at the time and chose the name ‘Hastings’.
Ron enlisted in Sydney on 20th June 1942 and was posted to No.2 I.T.S. at Bradfield Park. On 15th Oct 1942 he went to No.5 E.F.T.S at Narramine in N.S.W and on 17 Jan 1943 to No.8 S.F.T.S at Bundaberg in Queensland. On 7th May 1943 he graduated with his pilot’s wings and posted to No.2 Embarkation Depot with rank of Sergeant. Embarked in Sydney on 25th May 1943, travelling via the USA and arrived in the U.K. on 7th July 1943 at No.11 P.D.R.C at Brighton. On 7th Sep 1943 posted to No.15 (Pilot) A.F.U at Andover before posting to 84 O.T.U at Desborough on 25th January 1944.
Nav. “Smithy”
Enlisted 21st May 1942 at No.3 Recruit Centre, Eagle St, Brisbane in an intake of ‘Aircrew Guards’ and posted same day to No.3 Recruit Depot Maryborough Qld. On 13th June 1942 posted as ‘Air Crew Guard to No.1 A.O.S. Cootamundra N.S.W. where on 16th Sep 1942 was posted into No.73 Reserve Squadron. On 11th Oct 1942 posted to No.2 I.T.S. Bradfield Park , Sydney and on 2nd Jan 1943 to No.2 Embarkation Depot, Bradfield Park. Embarked Sydney on 8th Feb 1943 on troopship “U.S.S. Hermitage” to San Francisco and then by train to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. On 7th March 1943 posted to No.2 Air Observers School at Edmonton. Graduated with wings as a Navigator and granted a commission on 23rd July 1943. On 4th Aug 1943 posted to No. 1 “Y” (Embarkation) Depot at Halifax, Nova Scotia. On 26 Aug 1943 embarked on the “Queen Mary” to the UK. Disembarked on 1st Sep 1943 at Gourock, Scotland, and then by train to Brighton, England and posted to No.11 P.D.R.C. on 2nd Sep 1943. On 27th Sep 1943 attended Air Crew Officers Training School at Sidmouth, Devon, for a 4 week course. Posted 0n 9th Nov 1943 to No.4 (Observers) A.F.U at West Freugh, Scotland and on 25 Jan 1944 posted to No.84 O.T.U, Desborough,England.
B/Aimer ‘Bobbie’ or ‘Rabbie’
Enlisted on 25th April 1942 at No 2 Recruit Centre in Sydney and on same day posted to No.2 I.T.S at Bradfield Park. On 15 Aug 1942 posted to No.2 Embarkation Depot at Bradfield Park. And on 21st Aug 1942 posted to No.1 E.D. at Ascot Vale, Victoria. Embarked in Melbourne on 7th Sep 1942 and ‘disembarked’ No.3 Manning Depot, Edmonton Canada on 2nd October 1942. On 11th Oct 1942 posted to No.5 A.O.S at Winnipeg and on 29th Dec1942 posted to RCAF station at Trenton, then on 21st Feb 1943 posted to No.4 Bombing & Gunnery School at Fingal and on 16th May 1943 to No.4 A.O.S at London Ontario. On 13th Oct 1943 posted to No.1 ‘Y’ Depot at Halifax, Nova Scotia. Embarked at Halifax on 22nd Oct 1943 and ‘disembarked’ 31st Oct 1943 at No.11 P.D.R.C. Brighton, England. Posted to No.4 A.F.U. West Freugh, Scotland on 23rd Nov 1943 and on 25 Jan 1944 to No.84 O.T.U. at Desborough, England.
W/Op. Vic.
Enlisted in the RAF 2nd Dec 1941. Commenced flying training in August 1942 after transfer to the RAF V.R. After completion of Wireless Operator’s course was posted to Bobbington as an instructor prior to posting to No.84 O.T.U. Desborough on 25th Jan 1944
M/U/G. ‘Mike’
Enlisted in the RAF on 5th May 1941, in the RAF Regiment. Initial Training at Cardington, and on 30th June 1941 posted to White Waltham and Cranwell for a ground observers course before posting to the Outer Hebrides and Orkney Islands. In June 1943 volunteered for flying duty (R.A.F.V.R) I.T.W Bridlington ,Yorkshire and Air Gunnery Schools in Shropshire and Bishopscourt, Northern Ireland. Graduated with wings in Dec 1943 and posted to No.84 O.T.U, Desborough on 25th Jan 1944.
R/G. ‘Mac’.
Enlisted in the RAF on 5th Feb 1942 and served in the RAF Regiment until June 1943. when he volunteered for flying duties and had the same postings in flying training as ‘Mike’, which is why both wanted to stay together in the same crew. Both came from London.
The Crew in front of a ‘Wellington X’
Ground Staff
Mac, Vic, Mike, Bobbie, Ron Smithy
Hours flown at No.84 O.T.U.
Daylight – 34 Hrs 30 mins Night – 30 Hrs 30 mins
No. 1653 H.C.U. (Heavy Conversion Unit)
Chedburgh, Suffolk
This unit was equipped with ex-operational Stirlings 1 & 111. Unit I/D. H4.
On 21st April we were posted to No. 31 Base (No.3 Group R.A.F.Bomber Command), Stradishall, Suffolk, under whose administration were No.1653 H.C.U. and No.3 L.F.S. Feltwell for training in 4 engined heavy bombers. A Flight Engineer, straight from training at a Rolls Royce training school, was appointed to the crew. As a general rule this was a Flight Engineer’s introduction to flying. Sgt. Ron Partridge was added to the crew, and immediately earned the nick-name ‘Pheasant’ by Ron. His training in the Merlin engine at the Rolls Royce establishment was not put to use while we were flying Stirlings with radial engines, but was going to be valuable when we graduated on to the Lancaster Bomber. Ron was destined to stay with our crew only for our first 6 operational sorties.
After 3 weeks of extensive lectures, introductions to and instructions on the special equipment that we would be using on a squadron, most of it specialist to a particular crew member, and general information that applied to all given by experienced personnel on what to expect on operations over Europe as well as survival and escape techniques it was back to practical flying exercises. At first these were with an experienced pilot for dual familiarisation flights of circuits and bumps and then on to a high level navigation and bombing exercise before Ron was allowed to go solo with his crew.
We did not escape the now accepted ‘emergency’ that can crop up on training flights. On our last ‘dual’ flight on the morning of 18th May we had a F/O. Gill as Captain. On take-off he cut one engine to give Ron the necessary experience in that situation. It almost backfired as the aircraft we were in, R9287 H4-Y (Yoke) was rather sick on 3 engines and refused to climb while the under carriage was still down. Fortunately Chedburgh was on a plateau and the ground fell away from us. The under carriage was retracted and we did manage to gather a bit of speed to give us a safety margin above stalling. The ‘killed’ engine refused to re-start, so Ron also had experience with landing on 3 engines. An eventful 25 minutes. After lunch we were transferred to another aircraft and Ron was allowed to go solo with the crew for 2 hours of circuits and bumps.
Involved in a Diversionary Flight at Time of Normandy Landing
Over the next 18 days and nights we did a number of special cross country navigation and bombing exercises and then flew what was an ‘Op’, but it was not credited as such. It was on the night of 5/6th June 1944, the eve of “D.Day”. We took off at 2310 Hrs on a special exercise flying at 12000 feet which took us out over the North Sea, approaching the Belgian coast near Ostend and at about 20 miles from the coast altered course to roughly Nor-East for 15 mins, before turning to port and then heading back to base crossing the English Coast near Orfordness. We had been on a diversion raid to draw attention away from the landings on the Normanby Coast of France. When we got back over Suffolk we were given a triangular course to fly, still at 12,000 feet, until it was all clear for us to descend and land. Below was an extensive procession of aircraft heading towards France, so we soon realised that the invasion of German occupied Europe was under way. We landed about 0130 Hrs on 6th June, “D.Day”, and were informed that General Dwight Eisenhower would be broadcasting a special announcement later in the morning.
A day or two later we were paraded and given the duty of scouting through a near-by ‘wood’, as there had been a report that a parachutist had been seen to jump out of a German aircraft that had flown over. About 30 to 40 airmen hiked through that wood and surrounding fields, but found nothing. Later in the afternoon two farmers walked up to the guards at the station’s main gate with a suspect in tow. One was carrying a hay fork in a menacing manner. They found him on the edge of the wood, probably waiting for night to fall before moving on. Never did hear what the sequel to that was.
On 12th June, in the afternoon, we were detailed to take an aircraft on a flight test. On arrival at the aircraft we were met by a senior officer who informed us that an important passenger was on board who we had to deliver to Tempsford, the base of No.161 Special Duty squadron, and to fly below 500 feet all the way there and back. So I had to prepare a quick flight plan to Tempsford. When we got on board we discovered that our passenger was a very attractive young French lady, probably in her early 20’s, who was to be parachuted out over France that night on a special mission. What a girl?
No. 1653 Chedburgh – Suffolk
F/E Sgt Ron Partridge Added to The Crew That Went to “Ops”
Smithy, Bobbie, Ron, Pheasant?,
Mac, Mike, Vic
Two days later we completed out training at Chedburgh with a high level bombing and fighter affiliation exercise which involved corkscrews for which the Stirling was not particularly suited, and neither was my stomach. I have to admit that I did suffer some air-sickness on such occasions. On 14th June we were advised of our positing to No. 3 Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell in Norfolk and to attend to our clearances from Chedburgh.
Hours flown at No.1653 H.C.U.
- Daylight 27 Hrs 25 mins, Night 20 Hrs 25 mins
No. 3 L.F.S. (Lancaster Finishing School)
Feltwell, Norfolk
Still under our posting to No.31 Base, Stradishall we were attached to No.3 L.F.S from 18th June 1944 for a concentrated 10 day course of lectures and instructions and our introduction to the “Lancaster 1”. The squadrons of 3 Group were equipped with the Lancaster 1 and Lancaster 111. The course was mainly for the pilot. Instructors were pilots who had completed tours on the ‘Lanc’.
P.O. Treasure was assigned to our crew for 3 hours of dual and solo circuits and bumps in daylight on 23rd June and for the same at night the following day. The next day we were on our own for a test flying a triangle over Norfolk for over an hour and 2 days later flew a cross country navigation test of over 3 hours.
It was a great thrill to eventually get on to Lancasters. A vast improvement on the Wellington and Stirling and truly the most successful heavy bomber of WW11. It was a ‘plane that gave the crews a feeling of confidence. Its power and manoeuvrability and load carrying capacity exceeded all others at that time. As far as I was concerned I had reached my goal. After some operational experience, you wee convinced that every one who operated in the light and medium bombers in the early years of the war deserved a ‘gong’.
On 27th June 1944 we were advised that we were posted to No.XV/15 Squadron at Mildenhall, Suffolk, a permanent RAF Base and one of the jewels of Bomber Command.
Hours flown at No. 3 L.F.S.
- Daylight 4 Hrs 20 mins, Night 6 Hrs 20 mins
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Bob Smith's Memoirs
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Bob Smith
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2003-03
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Turkey
Turkey--Gallipoli
Australia
Queensland--Brisbane
Queensland--Ipswich
Queensland--Maryborough
New South Wales--Cootamundra
New South Wales--Sydney
New South Wales--Wagga Wagga
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Tasmania
Italy
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Royal Australian Air Force
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Bob's memoirs from his early training until he became operational.
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eng
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
106 Squadron
115 Squadron
142 Squadron
15 Squadron
1653 HCU
166 Squadron
3 Group
4 Group
44 Squadron
467 Squadron
49 Squadron
5 Group
619 Squadron
622 Squadron
640 Squadron
76 Squadron
78 Squadron
84 OTU
Advanced Flying Unit
aerial photograph
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
Beaufighter
bomb aimer
bombing
Boston
crash
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
entertainment
flight engineer
H2S
Halifax
Hampden
killed in action
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Master Bomber
mess
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Mosquito
navigator
Nissen hut
Oboe
observer
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Bishops Court
RAF Breighton
RAF Bridlington
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Cranwell
RAF Desborough
RAF Dunholme Lodge
RAF Feltwell
RAF Halfpenny Green
RAF Harrington
RAF Kirmington
RAF Leconfield
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Silloth
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tempsford
RAF Waddington
RAF West Freugh
RAF White Waltham
RAF Wigtown
RAF Witchford
Red Cross
sport
Stalag Luft 3
Stalag Luft 7
Stirling
training
V-1
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1700/33142/MElliottJD19200425-210211-01.1.pdf
6660bcb55ce3271637d50dcaab4b52c6
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Elliott, John Dale
J D Elliott
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. A memoir written by Flight Lieutenant John Elliott (b.1920, J20710 Royal Canadian Air Force) and 'The LOG' . He flew operations as a navigator with 428 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Gail Elliott and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2019-12-10
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Elliott, JD
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THE LOG
STALAG LUFT III
BELARIA SAGAN
Editor :
SQUADRON LEADER BRYCE COUSENS, R.A.F.
1939 1945
Illustrations and Marginal Sketches :
FLYING OFFICER TERENCE ENTRACT, R.A.F.V.R.
Chief Additional Contributors:
SQUADRON LEADER J. PRESTRIDGE, R.A.F.V.R. (F/O. PEPYS)
FLIGHT LIEUEENANT ROGER DE WEVER, ROYAL BELGIAN AIR FORCE (MILITARY SUPPLEMENTS)
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[Page Break]
R.A.F. OFFICER PRISONERS OF WAR ASSEMBLING FOR COUNTING ON A WINTER MORNING.
[Page Break]
FOREWORD
This book was originally to be printed and distributed shortly after our return from Germany in the summer of 2945. It was impossible to do so owning to paper shortages and other difficulties of which most subscribers will be aware. I am sorry there has been this delay but hope, nevertheless, that you will be pleased to receive your copy and that it will revive memories of some of the happier moments in a life that now seem far distant and much less unpleasant in retrospect.
You will notice that there are very few copies of the “LOG” in the book, owing to the fact that I divided the copy during the 1945 march and the other half was lost by the Officer who kindly offered to carry it to Luckenwalde. I have endeavoured to fill the gap by a short account of the march, from Sagan to Luckenwalde, and trust you will agree with my summary of that experience.
To those who were not Prisoners of War I hasten to explain that this book has not been published because of any supposed literary or historical merit but purely as a tangible souvenir to remind us of some of the joys, hopes, sorrows or disappointments which made up our days in Stalag Luft III: as such it may interest you.
I am sure that I shall be expressing the feelings of all my companions at Belaria in dedicating this book to the memory of those fifty-one brother officers murdered by the Germans after escaping in 1944. A facsimile of the front page of the “LOG” on that occasion, together with the Memorial Sheet, is published on the following pages.
BRYCE COUSENS
“THE EDITOR”
August 1947.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 19th April, 1944
In Memoriam
THE CAMP WILL HAVE BEEN SHOCKED TO HEAR OF THE DEATH OF *FORTY-ONE OF OUR COMRADES WHO DIED RECENTLY IN THE PERFORMANCE OF THEIR DUTY. AS A MARK OF OUR ESTEEM, AFFECTION AND RESPECT, IT HAS BEEN DECIDED THAT ALL ENTERTAINMENTS WILL CEASE UNTIL A MEMORIAL SERVICE HAS BEEN HELD.
THIS SERVICE WILL TAKE THE FORM OF A PARADE SERVICE FOR THE ENTIRE CAMP AND WILL BE HELD ON THE SPORTS GROUND IMMEDIATELY AFTER MORNING APPELL ON THURSDAY, 13TH APRIL; OR, IF WET, AFTER THE FIRST FINE APPELL SUBSEQUENTLY.
“They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”
SENIOR BRITISH OFFICER
*This tragic figure was subsequently learnt to be fifty-one. – ED.
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Memorial Service
TO THOSE OFFICERS SHOT AFTER ESCAPING FROM STALAG LUFT III,
MARCH, 1944
HYMN
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast
And our eternal home.
Beneath the shadow of thy throne,
They saints have dwelt secure,
Sufficient in thine arm alone
And our defence is sure.
Before the hills in order stood,
Our earth received her frame,
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the same.
A thousand ages in thy sight,
Are like an evening gone,
Short as the watch that ends the night,
Before the rising sun.
Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all it’s sons away,
They fly forgotten as a dream,
Dies at the opening day.
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast
And our eternal home.
PRAYER – PSALM 23
The Lord is my shepherd, therefore can I lack nothing,
He shall feed me in green pastures and lead me forth besides the water of comfort.
He shall convert my soul; and bring me forth in the paths or righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff comfort me
Thou shalt prepare a table before me, against them that troubles me; thou hast anointed
My head with oil, and my cup shall be full.
But thy loving kindness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Glory be to the Father…….
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PRAYER
Minister: May the souls of the faithful, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Congregation: Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord : and let light perpetual shine upon them.
PRAYERS
THE LESSON
ADDRESS
HYMN
God of our father, known of old,
Lord of our far flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
LEST WE FORGET, LEST WE FORGET.
The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captain and the kings depart,
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An ancient and contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
LEAT WE FORGET, LEST WE FORGET.
If, drunk with sight if power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe,
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the law,
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
LEST WE FORGET, LEST WE FORGET.
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word
Thy mercy on they people, Lord:
THE GRACE
LAST POST
REVEILLE
THE NATIONAL ANTHEM
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THE LOG
BELARIA 22nd, May, 1944
NUMBER SEVENTEEN
EDITORIAL
An interesting week – two new purges and the consequent news from home. Things over there would not appear to have changed much in the last year, except that such commodities as oranges, lemons, Americans and eggs are more plentiful then they were. In the camp there has been little of note except the great popularity of the new sports field. This will undoubtedly increase as the weather improves.
The Service Education Scheme has also proved very –popular – in fact over seven hundred and fifty names have been taken on the rolls of the seven subjects offered. The Senior British Officer will open the series today (22nd) with a lecture on the “History of the Royal Air Force.” All those who have enrolled are invited. The promoters of the scheme regret that they cannot invite the whole camp to such an interesting lecture but the space in the wash house next to the Chapel is not large enough. Incidentally, this building is now out of bounds as a wash house at all hours. Will you please assist by observing this rule?
We are all looking forward to “Arsenic and Old Lace” and one who was privileged to see the dress rehearsal has promised us first-class entertainment. An immense amount of work has been put into the production and a novelty is introduced in that the producer and the Cast provided their own back room boys for design and construction of the set.
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DAY BY DAY
Monday 22nd May
1830 hours –“Arsenic and Old Lace” Theatre.
Tuesday, 23rd May
Wednesday, 24th May } 1830 “Arsenic and Old Lace” Camp Theatre
Thursday, 25th May
Friday, 26th May
Sunday 28th May, (Whit Sunday)
0930 hours – Holy Communion, Chapel.
1115 hours – Morning Service, Theatre.
Hymns : “Our Blest Redeemer”
“Gracious Spirit, Holy Ghost”
“Come, Holy Ghost our Souls Inspire”
1825 hours – Evening Service, Chapel.
1930 hours – “The 1936-38 British Antarctic Expedition” by Corporal M. Walker.
…
A letter recently received states that Professor Felix Ehrenhaft, of New York claims to have established the existence of currents of magnetism flowing like electricity. Other researchers however, are dubious if his claims; as he had previously claimed to have proved the existence of charges smaller than the electron, a discovered which turned out to be invalid.
GREEN FINGERS
A further supply of English seeds arrived last week from Sagan. They consist, mainly, of types of vegetable seeds already distributed. All the cucumber, celery, parsley, dwarf beans and radish have been issued through block gardening officers to whom anyone requiring more seed should apply.
CUMCUMBER (Ridge). The principal requirements for cucumber are an abundance of organic matter with moderate moisture. In dry weather they must be kept well watered, or they will be attacked by Red Spider. The seed should be planted in groups of three, about 18 inches apart. If convenient, it
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is better to raise them indoors; sowing now and transplanting outside in June. Seed should not be planted in the open till the end of May.
PARSLEY. Seed can be planted outside immediately. The ground must be deeply dug. Parsley makes and excellent boarder to the vegetable plot. Seeds must be sown very thinly and covered with ½ inch of soil.
DWARF BEAN. Sow singly, 6 inches apart, covering with two inches of soil. This bean likes moist soil in a sheltered place. The fair period of germination is about 10 days.
We are trying to get a supply of string for tying up peas, if we success it will be distributed to blocks.
…
A letter received here and dated 26th March says that all next of kin have been advised that Air Mail to P.O.W. will be stopped w.e.f. 1st April, 1944.
…
The cheese ration has been reduced, at home from four to two ounces.
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CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Now that’s what Colonel Lovelace said
When Cromwell in a rage,
Committed him to prison for
A rather lengthy stay.
He, to his sweet Althea wrote
That it was quite O.K.
He didn’t mind as long as he
Was master of his soul
And left alone with ink and pen,
Her virtues to extol.
It would be nice if we could have
Friend Lovelace with us now,
A “Kriegsgefangener” today,
He’d change his tune. And how!
If Tommy-guns, barb-wires and guards
Are not an implication
That we are in prison, they’re
A DAMN FINE IMITATION!
BEHIND THE SCENES
Many hours of hard work have been out in on the “Arsenic and Old Lace” Set, and the final results should be delightful to the audience as it as it has been to the back room boys. However, you will be able to judge for yourselves as the play starts a five nights run tonight. As a play, it is easy to understand why it has enjoyed such as very long run in London and New York. Finally, as a point of interest, the monstrous character in the play, which was played by Boris Karloff for a year or so in New York is now played by the somewhat faded movie director Erich Von Stronheim.
The band will play during intervals. The overture, which is arranged by Leonard Whiteley, is snappy if a little bizarre.
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The band are also working on rehearsals with the revue music, all of which are new compositions. The title of the revue is taken from one of F/O Ryders numbers – “Give us the Air” – F/Lt. Hill and W/O Lawrence are now satisfied that the chorus are in absolute precision and that reinforcement work on the foundations will be quite unnecessary.
…
The Prisoner of War Fund shop in Cirencester, Glos, took over £900 0s. 0d. in December of last year.
Members of the Canadian Forces, whose medical category is C3 or below are being discharged. No compensation or gratuity is being paid.
…
Colonel Knox, U.S. Navy Secretary, who died recently, left an estate valued at 2,000,000 dollars.
V.B.
THE DIARY OF P/O PEPYS, P.O.W. XV.II.
Tuesday, 15th May. A.D. 1644
BELARIA
Can at last out pen to paper as the alcoholic vapours have left me: never before in this life was I so troubled, but not I alone, for I can clearly recollect a short man with twinkling eyes and round face who, as Adjutant, did hold the right hand of My Lord the Group Captain and trip a pretty measure, perchance by accident; see how the madness spreads for the Editor of the LOG, a gaunt man, well versed in navigation, did roll erratically to his room, and many more besides. ‘Tis whispered even that my Lord Parselle and Tuck did sleep uneasy. But enough that it did signal the German fears that our invasion was nigh upon them; still, it has not come yet, though hope runs high. This day seems suspicious by its multum in parvo; our guarded opening play by a search in Parselle Place, followed quickly by the cessation of water supply for the morning. But this did not bother many, as we all queued, like women at a table sale, for our parole cards, which will simplify the
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manner of entering the sports field; though the spectators are few and they are ordered to watch the play and not the Reich maidens without. After noon I did watch one wretched guard, on the road, who was charging his musket, and even as he did so it exploded in his hands, the shot travelling fast towards Sagan. But how astonished he looked and quite embarrassed by his exhibition.
Thursday, 18th May
Oh! dismal day, nearly continuous rain and grey skies kept us confined to our quarters. The only happy ones amongst us were the ten newcomers, who arrived last night. They brought little news, though one, at least, left England only a few days ago; in fact, he was so new that he asked an elderly prisoner where the Gentleman’s Lavatory was – to receive the suave reply: “There’s no Gentleman’s Lavatory here – We all use the Abort.”
Tonight we hear that Casino is on our hands – And so to bed, pleased that the Brown jobs have got their finger out.
…
Prime Minster de Valera opened his election campaign last Saturday in in [sic] Co. Clare. He declared that the neutrality question had nothing to so with the poll, which should decide purely internal issues, General Richard Mulcahy, Leader of the Opposition, echoed de Valera’s words in his opening speech in Cork, saying that the result of the election was purely domestic consequence. K.Z.
…
Last Friday the Stockholm Police confiscated 134 kilogrammes of gold, it was found in a house in the city. The origin of this gold has not, as yet, been announced. D. Ang.
…
“….. despite the Badoglio betrayal which was the cause of all our reverses, from Stalingrad to Tarnopol…” (From an article buy D. Ley) D. Ang.
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England has directed an appeal to Hungary, Rumania, Bulgaria and Finland to withdraw from Germany’s war and to make their contributions to the coming Allied victory. B.B.Z.
…
By the provisions of the “Statute for the Safeguarding of Marriages, Families and Motherhood,” the penalty of abortion has been reinforced, with the effect that the death sentence is now applicable in certain cases. Heinrich Schulz has already been sentences and executed under this order, B.B.Z
…
A Squadron Leader has suffered at the fangs of the “Lodgers” in Block I. We are reliably informed, however, that there is no cause for serious alarm. It was a very senior bug.
BAND AND MUSIC NOTES
After the success of the bands, “new music” for “Hay Fever,” we are following the same lines for the interval music for “Arsenic and Old Lace.” We are delighted by the ovation we received after playing the old timers in a new style and shall, therefore, continue in that style.
Two days ago the bass fiddle was completely wrecked; it has been seen lying on a shelf in the band room. This is a loss that deals the orchestra a hard blow; and, whilst it is assumed that the occurrence was an accident, we deplore the necessity for having to store such instruments in an insecure spot. This was entirely due to the threat of the casual onlooker who has no business in the theatre but insists on playing every instrument in sight. Several instruments have been damaged in this manner and feeling in the band is running high. * Made in 1844!
…
The largest head seen in the district of Armstrong has recently fallen to the gun of Herbert Bannister, who brought down a 48 point deer, (Armstrong is in B.C.).
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B
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IN THE LIBRARY NOW
ANTIC HAY. By Aldous Huxley.
Mr. Huxley’s novels are a mixture of the laboratory and lecturer’s dais. He takes a collection of characters, experiments with them and then uses them to expound his theories on life.
Antic Hay has no plot to speak of, it is a loosely connected series of incidents which show a number of people under various circumstances, their reactions are closely studied and analysed. They are artificial characters living on a world which is a laboratory approximation to reality. Their conversation is intelligent and witty; they discuss a number of subjects and propound Mr. Huxley’s theories in delightful polished dialogue.
A charming display of wit and erudition, with a quiet vein of satire running through it; intended to convey, apparently a suggestion of the utter futility of life.
…Written in the 1860’s :-
“The Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge presents his compliments to the Directors of the Eastern Countries Railway and begs to inform them the he has learnt with regret that it is the intention of the Eastern Counties Railway to run excursion trains to Cambridge on the Lord’s Day with the object of attracting foreigners and undesirable characters to the University of Cambridge on that sacred day,
The Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge wishes to point out to the Director of the Eastern Counties Railway that such a proceeding would be as displeasing to Almighty God as it would be to the Vice-Chancellor or the University of Cambridge.”
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SPORTS NOTES
SPORTS’ EQUIPMENT. (Soccer). We have sufficient shirts, boots and jerseys to equip two teams, but it quite obvious that if the equipment is used for every match, it will not last very long, therefore only those playing in the First League or other equally important matched will be issued with this equipment. Second League players will be issued with soccer boots only and will play, as at present in whites or colours.
If more kit arrives this arrangement will be modified. We have a reasonable stock of soccer balls in spite of the wear and tear on the small pitch.
(Rugby). Balls are the main problem and the soft shoes a secondary, but important . As regards the balls, apart from the two shapeless ones in use at the moment, we have a new practice ball and one “puntabout”. As a last resort I have four new American footballs. Urgent demands have gone on for standard rugger balls and I hope that some will arrive in the near future.
The shorts and coloured shirts will be worn in all important games and boots will be supplied for the forwards and full-backs.
(Hockey). The 36 hockey sticks which arrived recently are of very poor quality and it is necessary to keep the number of games down to the present figure in order to keep the game going as long as possible, There will be three games every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday and four per day for the rest of the week. No sticks will be issued for unorganised practice, I hope that hockey enthusiasts will appreciate and understand the position. These are the first sticks to appear in 2 ½ years and may well be the last. Equipment is on order and, before long, we may be able to have full games on the sports field.
(Baseball). We have a good supply of balls at the moment, three baseball bats and twenty softball bats, We are very short of mitts and gloves, but can expect no help from Carlswalde, who are equally short,
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Baseball uniforms are coming through now, compromising shirts, trousers and shoes and we are first on the list for the next consignment,
We have a good stock of volley balls and teniquoit rings, but are short of basket balls. No fencing masks have arrived yet, so instruction in still impossible.
The inter-block soccer league starts on Monday 22nd – weather permitting. Block 3 has combined with Block 4, and 1st and 2nd League teams will be fielded by the combination and all other blocks. Various games of general interest will be arranged. An international series – Officers v. N.C.O.’s, etc., etc.- and it is hoped that many more spectators will be on the touchline by the time the series begins.
After a number of practice games of Rugger, it was decided to open the season with a Block Knockout Competition. The fist games have already been played with the following results:-
1st
Block 1 v. 2 – 6-0
Block 3 v. 5 – 3-3 (re-play).
Block 6 v. 4 – 3-3 (re-play).
2ND
Block 6 v. 3 – 12-0.
Block 2 v. 1 and 4 8-0.
It is very gratifying to see the enthusiasm displayed by all players and the rugger season has really opened with a swing. It is hoped that this interest will be maintained and that the field and weather will permit a series of international games in addition to the Block or Club fixtures,. A 7-a-side tournament will be arranged later in the season.
Oberfeldwebel Hentschel, until recently Major Rudel’s air gunner, has been killed in Russia. V.B.
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COUNT YOUR COUPONS
He met her at a party and instinctively he knew
That she was acquiescent and adorable,
He manages to persuade her, before the party broke
That for him to drive her home was not deplorable[delight,
He made a slight reconnaissance and found to his
Topographically her contours were caressable,
But, as the mileage mounted, imagine his dismay-
Geographically the wench was not accessible!
The Rt. Hon. Mr. Fraser, Prime Minter of New Zealand, recently declared “Although China, at the moment, represents no great factor in world power, she is destined to become a great nation.” V.B.
Lord Halifax, British Ambassador to the United Stated, speaking recently at Denver, said : “India’s progress has reached a point where only one obstacle remains in the way if the total independence offered by England, The attainment of this goal has been delayed, not because of English reluctance to delegate their power, but because an agreement between the Hindus, Moslems, Princes and other Indian groups has not yet been reached.” V.B.
…
Severe frosts, which set in recently, are reported to have destroyed 50-90 per cent. Of this year’s fruit harvest in England V.B.
STAGE AND SCREEN NEWS
Gary Cooper has been visiting Australia to entertain the troops; he also made several broadcast while there.
Deanna Durbin’s latest picture “the Butler’s Sister,” is said to be very entertaining.
A new film “My Friend Flicka,” in technicolour with a youthful star, concerns the friendship of a young boy and his worse. Although it sounds to have all the makings of a nauseating story it is said to be good. The shots include some fine scenic views of Oregon Country.
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Glen Miller and his band were in the Marines as entertainers. One night they played a swing version of “Star Spangled Banner.” Glen Miller and his band are in the army now.
Irving Berlin’s London Show “This is the Army” has been filmed. The cast of the film version includes George Murphy and Irving Berlin.
…
United States Forces Military Police in England wear white uniforms and belts. We are told that they are universally known as “Snowdrops.”
…
Wing Commander Gibson is engages in making speeches up and down the country for various good causes. It is said that he is to be nominated for a constituency.
The following translation is taken from the paper Das Reich of Sunday, 21st May, 1944:-
“After the failure of the Soviets to break though towards Galatz, they have now regrouped their forces preparatory to a big offensive at three points. At the same time 3 ½ million Americans and Englishmen are ready to embark, partly with new weapons, on the long planned invasion. On the bridgeheads at Nettuno the re-inforced allies are ready for an offensive similar to the one which has begun at Cassino.
Stalin has publicly insisted that these operations be synchronised; this can occur in two different ways:-
(1) The starting of these concentric thrusts on the same date; considerable technical difficulties stand in the way of such an undertaking.
(2) Or these operations can occur successively; the question arises whether the attack at Cassino is the first thrust in this plan, which would be followed by similar blows in the East.
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The plan is that these two simultaneous thrusts should draw large numbers of tropes from the west wall, in order to simplify the attack there. It is anticipated that there will be two major attacks the first in the area between Jassy and Tarnopol, the second on the European West Coast in the proximity of England. This does not mean that possibilities in Italy, the Balkans, or the South Coast of France should be overlooked. Nor should the mention of Norway and Western Sweden, in Allied propaganda, be cast aside.
The Anglo-American air forces have prepared these two points; firstly, the bombing in South East Europe is calculated to seriously affect the supplies to our troops fighting Tito’s forces and the Russian forces on the Southern portion of the East front and to cut the East-W Gest traffic. Secondly, the bombing of certain coastal areas in Belgium and N. France is intended to keep the German West front in a state of siege and, literally, throttle any internal troop movements. The bandits in the Balkans are pressing towards Serbia with an obvious aim and the bandit army in France has the task of holding down substantial forces if our troops.
The political offensive against the Axis and its allies is designed to beat breached into the Ventral European defensive systems. The political pressure against the neutrals is intended to stop the supply of materials to the Germans.
The state of weather, moon and tide will give the signal for the enemy invasion machine to burst forth, unless the whole invasion propaganda is a bluff, in which caser, of course, it will rebound on the enemy.
However, the enemy plan contains certain definite mistakes; neither the bombing of raw material and industrial centres, nor successes on the neutral front can seriously affect the German defensive power, in view of the Central European policy of building up huge reserves of these commodities. Over a long period this object might be achieves but the attack has not, as yet, been carried on long enough.
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Intensive attacks on the Western, Northern and Central European railway cannot, in the long run, success in seriously affecting the movement of troops or supplies, because relatively short sketches of railway line are involved and these temporary gaps can be bridged by other of transport; and such damage can be quickly repaired.
Over and above all this – sufficient reserves are available in the centre of the theatre of operations, to give the Higher Command all possible support in the event of a concentric or general attack.
Lastly, a synchronised attack on the continent might, possibly, show better than ever before, the political tension in the Allied Camp – This is true of the Anglo-American-Russian discussions about claims on Norwegian and Swedish territory and also the divergence of views over the Spanish question and, especially, over the Balkans.
And, in addition to all these factors Germany has not yet shot her last bolt on land or sea.” Das Reich.
EMPIRE DAY RUGGER
BRITISH 0 : DOMINIONS 3.
The solidarity of the Empire was displayed to Silesia on May 24th, when representatives of the Dominions (and “far-flung outposts”) played a hard game of Rugby against the Mother Country in even harder foreign soil.
Conditions were not ideal for players or spectators, due to the well-baked soil and the prevalence of a strong cross-wind.
The game got underway with the Dominions winning the toss and electing to play with the wind. The British forwards, using their weight, established superiority over the Dominions and, for the first quarter of an hour, controlled the ball well in the tight and loose. Several resultant three-quarter movements were broken by the Dominions’ stubborn defence, particularly on the wings.
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Neither side was in danger during the first half, except for two threatening drives started by Walshe, British centre three-quarter, which did not develop. A penalty was taken dangerously near the British goal, but Lissett’s kick failed to rise. The first half ended with the Dominion forwards establishing their superiority in the tight scrums, getting the ball back well.
Play was resumed with the dominions on the offensive, both sides producing several very good movements, The British attempted to drop goal from a mark by Bell, forward, which rebounded from the post; a concerted forward and centre movement was only defeated when the ball passed the “dead ball “ line, with Strong, British half-back, in hot, but unsuccessful pursuit. The Dominions made several breaks through instigated by Lissett, centre three- quarter, which failed on the wing; a dangerous forward movement in the British goal ended in a five yards scrum.
A penalty awarded against the British in front of their goal was successfully kicked by Lissett to produce the only score in a very well fought game.
The hooking of Gericke, the defensive play of MacDonald, and hard work of Lissett in the Dominions team were counted by the safe handling of the ball by Strong, the tackling of Hamilton, substituting on the wing, and the British centres.
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The “Trap”, or entrance to a tunnel, after discovery by the Germans.
DOWN A TUNNEL.
Photographs were discovered among German records.
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Deutsche Allgemeine Beitung Berlin, Mittwoch 7. Juni 1944
Die Invasion hat begonnen
Abwehr und Kampf in vollen Gange
VOLKISCHER BEOBACHTER, Berlin, Mittwoch 7, Juni 1944
Nach Längerem Zögern dem Drägen der Sowjets nachgegeben
Die Schlacht im Western hat begonnen
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THE LOG
BELARIA 12th June, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY
EDITORIAL
PRESENT indications point to a successful conclusion of hostilities within a short time and tend to focus our attention on the secondary, but none the less important, considerations of post-war re-establishment if service personnel.
It will obviously be necessary to maintain large land, sea and air forces for a long period after the final armistice is signed. Such forces, however, will be composed of a relatively small proportion of the numbers now actively engaged and in all probability will be reduced to a practical minimum, in political concurrence with the demands on long suffering tax-payers.
The problem of the readjustment of the civilian employees of war industries will be coincidental with the problem raises by the absorption, into civilian employment, of the demobilised soldiery. Millions of new jobs must be found to accommodate these people. The question has not been overlooked by several governments of the Allied Powers, nor have they been shelved while the necessary attention is devoted to the essential business of winning the war. It would appear that our governments have borne in mind, to some degree, the experience gained after the armistice in 1918.
It is a matter of great interest to consider the various means that may be employed. We are able to visualise to some extent the broad basis on which the problems have been approached, although this information is far from complete.
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The primary consideration must be that of assuring everyone a livelihood during the period of social re-adjustment. To achieve this it will be necessary to prevent the demobilisation of personnel who cannot, for the moment, be absorbed into economically satisfactory employment,
There are several factors which have received attention in the industrial sphere, It has been realised that the changeover from war industry to the manufacture of consumer goods must be well in hand before the termination of hostilities, Definite steps have been taken to ensure that this will be the case, and- while it is a matter more directly affecting, those employed in war industry – it should have a most salutary effect on the problem of providing suitable employment for ex-service personnel.
Further, it is confidently anticipated that the increased industrial developments resulting directly from war-time technical advances in aircraft production, plastics and radio communication – to mention only a few of the more obvious possibilities – will provide opportunities for re-employment on a large scale.
It is interesting to note that inter-allied co-operation after the war will not be limited to the military sphere, this would seem to contrast with the generally gloomy views as to trade conditions after the war, and recognition of the fact that Great Britain must have adequate share of the world trade is more than a step in the right direction. It seems to substantiate the prognostication that there will be, among the Allied powers, a definite planned economy directed towards effective stabilization of foreign trade and exchange on a mutually beneficial basis.
The various other plans and consideration, such as educational schemes planned on effective functional lines, agricultural assistance provisions and subsidized emigration to less thickly populated areas, are all directed towards achieving satisfactory rehabilitation with I minimum of disruption.
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CHURCH SERVICE, Sunday, June 8th, 1944
(2nd Sunday after Trinity)
0930 hours- Holy Communion, Chapel.
1115 hours – O.D. Service, Theatre. (Conducted by F/O Cribb)
1815 hours – Evening Service, Theatre.
Hymns : “Holy Father, cheer our way”
“God that madest earth and Heaven”
“The day thou gavest, Lord, is ended”
THE FOOD SITUATION AT BELARIA
It is extremely probable that internal rail communications in Germany will be considerably affected by current events and many officers will have wondered whether this will affect the Red Cross food parcel supply. We sent a reporter to interview the parcels officer and his views are published hereunder:-
Q. How long will the present stock of parcels at Belaria last?
A. About nine weeks at the present strength of the camp.
Q. Have you any news of the 14,000 parcels ordered direct from Geneva?
A. we have now been informed that this shipment has, in error, been unloaded at Sagan and is now in their store. In view of this we have written to Geneva asking for a replacement to be sent here direct.
Q. Will Sagan supply us if we run short?
A. They have been asked to do so until our supplies arrive, we have not yet had their answer, but I have no doubt that the will comply.
Q. In view of possible difficulties with rail transport ans also with local cartage from Sagan, do you recommend that messes try to build up a stock of non-perishable foodstuffs?
A. Yes, by all means.
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The Victoria Cross has been awarded To:-
CAPTAIN PHILIP SIDNEY
F-Lt ? HILL
F-Sgt. ? AARON
We regret that we are unable to supply the names of the R.A.F. holders or details of the citations. Captain Sidney was awarded his V.C. for serviced at Anzio.
Distinguishes Flying Crosses have been awarded to :-
F/Lt. Lazenby, F/O Middleton, F/O. Buckonridge, S-Ldr. Marshall, F/O. Hill. Group Captain N. Pickard, D.S.O. and 2 bars, D.F.C., is reported missing.
THE DIARY OF P/O PEPYS, P.O.W.
Monday, 5th June, A.D. 1944
BELARIA
During the Appelle this morning did see the guards in the Vorlager wearing their gasmasks, a premonitory symptom, for to be mindful of an invasion is one this, but to be expectant of gas is an odious matter. At this time we did learn of the foreclosure of the sports field, some rumoured for the building of heated showers and a swimming place, but it was all a falsity, for nothing was further from our minds of the builders. I learnt that one of the new “purge” which did arrive yesterday approached my Lord Tuck, whist my Lord was in is undress uniform and said “I say, old boy, were you a fighter type?” The crisis is now past and our physician says that they are both doing well – though knowing our physician, he may have has his bridge opponents in mind, or his is rapacious where cards are concerned – oft playing two games at once. What news this day, for we learn of the making over of ROME to us, a capital moved in the right direction. Tomorrow is the official birthday of our Sovereign Lord the King and we will parade in honour; so this night a great cleansing of our brasses and boots.
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Tuesday, 6th June
This morning it did rain and our parade for the King was cancelled – all our cleansing in vain – But the news did not damp our spirits, for to-day we did learn that our soldiers are, even now, fighting on this continent and progressing towards is. They were put ashore early this morning on the coast of France and now the battle rages; for this is the determinate struggle and our patience will soon be rewarded. We can now dare to hope to be home for this Christmas, as an old and senior officer, inured to false hopes, whispered to me. Even our Adjutant’s eye did gleam and I believe he has been asking new prisoners for details of the trains to London town. HOPE AND FACT MAY DIFFER BUT HOME IS IN SIGHT. And so to bed, in a room full of rumours and preparations for the morrow’s parade.
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GREEN FINGERS
Some of the tomato plants were found to be broken at the growing point. If you received any in this condition they should be left to push out a lateral from one the axils of the leaves and this shoot should them be trained upwards and treated as they normal stem. If all the laterals have already been removed no shoot will appear and the plant is useless and should be discarded as it will no produce leaves and, possibly, one small bunch of under-sized fruit. The SPINACH is running to seed very quickly. There is no way of avoiding this in out soil. Crinkled leaves mean that your plant has been attacked by blackfly.
PARSNIP will benefit from a dressing of soot, fresh manure (if you know a horse) should be avoided.
All vegetable seeds have now been issued.
Only with greatest of difficulty was Churchill dissuaded from following the invasion troops to France; so affirmed Admiral Ramsay, who directed naval operations. Only when he has been convinced that his personal protection would impose a great added burden on the invasion forces, would he give up the project. Since the first landings it has been almost impossible to induce him to rest, even for a few hours. B.B.Z.
…
One or two of the more enterprising London newspapers have chartered private aircraft to fly their latest editions across the Channel to the troops in France. B.B.Z.
…
In the East we have been forced to the painful recourse of evacuating wide areas won by the blood of German and German Allied soldiers. But this was necessary for two reasons; firstly, to hold up the politico-military drive on Italy and secondly, and more importantly, to be assured – in keeping with the military tenets of Napoleon and Moltke – of adequate strength on the decisive theatre of war. V.B.
C
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According to an announcement by the ministry of War and Transport 588,000 persons have been killed or injured in the street accidents since the beginning of the war. This figure exceeds the total English ware losses during the same period. B.B.Z.
…
The Revue – “Give Us Air” – opens on Tuesday and will run for five nights. This show will be followed by the presentation of “French Without Tears.”
THE ATTACKON WESTERN FRANCE
The following items of news and information on the above subject are taken from articles printed in the German papers during the week:-
Neutral reports have stated that the date of the invasion was decided upon as long as August, 943; when Roosevelt and Churchill met at Quebec.
The American Major General J.F. Miller has been reduced to the rank of Lieut. Colonel and sent back to the United States. At a cocktail party he revealed the approximate date of the invasion by remarking: “I give you my word of honour that the invasion will take place before the 13th of June.”
The only German naval forces opposing the British concentration were speedboats. The British forces totalled at least 280 ships of all kinds, among them 6 battleships, cruisers, destroyers, armoured cruisers, landing boats, etc. The Warspite, Nelson, Ramillies and Rodney were named among the British battleships and the Nevada, Texas and Arkansas among the American. A German bomber attacking the naval forces reported that: “the scene is lit up, at times ,as bright as day. Captain T. shouts in astonishment to his observer, “You can throw them out where y like, you’ll hit a ship anywhere.”
The parachute troops, who were landed in Normandy, included a group of Red Indians who called themselves the “Dirty Thirteen” and are trained specially for demolition work. They have the traditional red and black wat paint on their
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Faces and their heads are shaven smooth. Also included were life size dolls, loaded with explosive, which were thrown out by parachute East of the Orne.
Early reports of simultaneous landing between Calais and Dunkirk proved to be false. The invasion fleet which was seen to be approaching this area proved to be a diversion.
A British press photographer is reported to have spent half an hour on the Orne bridgehead on Tuesday, and to have said, among other things: “I was at the Anzio landing too, but that was nothing to this hell. The Germans had a cleverly worked out system of machine gun nests and held their fire until the first Allied soldiers had landed; then they loosed a hurricane of steel and fire upon the swarm on the beach. At the same time the artillery fired on the boats on their way to the shore.”
From D.A.Z.: “The German people has received the news of the start of the invasion with calm, almost with a sense of relief. It will continue to bear the burden even if the present front is followed by others and even if Churchill should call to his aid the war sabotage in the Occupied Territories, as proclaimed two years ago.”
“AT LAST:” is the only phrased to sum up the feelings of the man in the street in England, on hearing the news. There were no demonstrations, no declarations of optimism. People felt too tense and serious. Neutral correspondent remarked: “Everyone knows what is in front of him: too many have relations and friends among the men who are off to France to have anything left over for enthusiasm or for rejoicing over victory in advance” The churches were open for prayer. Kind George broadcast to the English people and the Empire, urging them to pray. English publicity was sober. Churchill’s speech in the House was made without any dramatic effects. The few other speakers said very little. Mr. Gallagher, the Communist M.P. who has persistently demanded the second front, wanted to address a vote of thanks to Churchill but his feelings were too much for him; he was overcome by tears, and, breaking off in the middle of a sentence, sank back to his seat.
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The British Broadcasting Company found itself compelled to re-broadcast German announcements, to keep the British public abreast of the situation. It was not until 9 o’clock (a.m. or p.m. ? Ed.) that any official news from British sources was forthcoming.
From THE O.K.W. COMMUNIQUE FOR 6.6.44
In the course of last night the enemy began his long prepared and long anticipated attack on Western Europe. After an initial heavy bombardment of out coastal defences, the enemy landed air-borne troops at several points on the N. French coast, between Cherbourg and Le Harve, at the same time carrying out sea-borne landings supported by strong naval units. Bitter fighting is in progress in the coastal sectors under attack.
THIRTEEN TO THE DOZEN (1st in the series)
CAPTAIN LEVY
I’m walking around this here compound minding my own business when up comes one of them guys called Economists. He tells me this that when we get home a government guy is coming to you to assess all your possessions, (That means everything that a guy’s got). This guy is going to let you know how much cash your possessions are worth. Then he takes only thirty per cent. of it from you and pays the war debts just as quick like winking an eye. Now let me warn you, be careful of what you pack in the old kit-bag and I also suggest that we should submit an application now for a nudist camp preferable the mix type for exkriegies. Because the less you have the less you have to pay. But I feel sorry for those chaos this got them Rolex timers instead of paying £10 like they thought. “It’s going to be £13,” I says this economist guy, “they can’t do that to me.” Then he says, “That or else inflations. “ So I keep quiet and think to myself, And this is what, says my brain box. Pay it, it’s a good thing. Now first thing, a good full glass of beer with a rich snow scene on top of each mug for 4d. instead of 1s., also 10 smokes for 6d. instead of
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1s. 6d. But if youse [sic] guys that’s packing your kitbags to go home in six weeks bring to much possessions you’re going to pay lots like a Rolex watch guys, therefore get less beer. A second thought maybe inflation would be a good thing because we all have to join the nudist camp even Hedy Lamarr.
The day of the utility suit is past. It is no longer compulsory and one can now order suits with the usual number of packets, trouser turnups, etc.
…
Sir Montague Norman has resigned his position as Governor of the Bank of England.
…
“LILAC DOMINO” has been revived at the Haymarket Theatre.
SHOOT YOUR LINE
If you’re just a brand new “kriegie”
And you’re feeling kind of dazed,
When an “old boy” tells a story
Never show that you’re amazed,
It’s a line.
When he tries a bit of baiting
Just to see if you will rise,
Keep right on with what you’re doing,
Show no traces of surprise,
It’s a line.
Don’t go asking foolish questions
(You’ll be wised up soon enough)
‘Cause you’ll get sarcastic answers
Which are known as “heavy stuff,”
It’s a line.
Should you hear someone suggesting
That you “haven’t got a clue,”
Don’t let on you even heard him
N ever let it bother you
It’s a line.
One day you will find a “new boy”
And when your turn has come,
Don’t stand around and gape at him,
But extricate your thumb,
Shoot your line.
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BASIL BEETON’S CORNER
4 Cups Semolina. 1Pkt. Can. Raisins.
2 Spoons Sugar ½ Tin Oleomargarine.
Work margarine into semolina very thoroughly. Add 4 or 5 spoons of cold water, until mixture is a workable dough. Take care not to get mixture too wet, add raisins and mix thoroughly.
Roll dough into sausage shape and place in a greased baking dish, cover with greased paper, bake slowly for 435-60 minutes.
Cut into slices and serve with hot ginger syrup sauce (1/3 water).
OUR STOVE
It wasn’t as though I wanted to make a stove, I didn’t even suggest the idea. The other chaps suddenly remembered all sorts of gravely important matters which demanded immediate attention; being a new kriegie I was scarcely in a position to question them. Before disappearing on their vital errands, however, the proffered much advise. Which incinerators to get the tins from, where to dig up the clay, how to acquire the bricks whose scissors to borrow for he tin-cutting and so forth. They started to drift back again, just as I cut myself for the fourth time. That was after I’d collected everything including a few pointed remarks from the Squadron Leader whose bricks seemed to be his dearest possession. Not that I was suspicious, mark you; but it did seem funny that all their important engagements were so well timed.
I thought that I was doing pretty well but evidently, in their eyes, my efforts were pathetic. They looked significantly at each other, with sorrowful shaking of their heads and the air of glum disapproval was very discouraging.
Admittedly they started to help, though couldn’t help noticing that their efforts were mostly verbal, and involved nothing of a messy, dangerous or tedious mature. I scarcely liked to point out that we couldn’t afford to break to many bricks, or to spoil the tins I’d cut, but when, inadvertently they
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knocked down the one wall I’d built, I was moved to suggest that they applied the benefits of their experience and finish the job themselves. His caused some umbrage and led to pointed remarks and muttered references to “Needless Sarcasm,” “only trying to help,” “New Kriegies,” “Clueless types” etc., etc.
The strained atmosphere had worn off by the time I had finished the job. Enough, anyway, to enable them to kindly enlighten me as to what was wrong with the stove; what I should have done instead; why it would never burn properly and how I would learn these things, with experience.
By late brew time they were actually boasting about their stove to our visitors, describing its virtues and how they built it; I must day that they were good enough to say I had assisted them.
REFERENCE LIBRARY
We have been asked to announces that books on technical subjects are in the technical reference library and are retained so that officers wishing to study specific subjects may be able to refer to the appropriate text books at any time. Only the officers teaching under the educational scheme or those studying for a particular examination are permitted to withdraw books, and only on the recommendations of the Education Officer. It is to be regretted that two books removed without authority, are still missing from the library.
…
From the Illustrierte Zeitung, April, 1944:-
Written by the German Philosopher LAGARDE in 1881:-
“A conflict with Russia will free land between the East of Poland and the Black Sea, for German settlers.
It is unbearable that history should always go to the West, whilst excellent land is lying fallow in the East; which the Sarmations, who are a burden on Europe, could acquire by a simple migration; while
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room can be found for the Germans – now vanishing into America – by throwing the Muscovites back from our doorstep.”
…
“There is nothing new under the sun.”
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On the occasion of the fist German success against the invader, Hitler received a telegram of congratulations from the Japanese Prime Minister TOJO. P.Z.
THE BELARIA CRAWL
In a brief interview with the principal and their envoy plenipotentiary some illuminating information was obtained. It appears that the “crawl” was on settle of a wager over the probable date of the invasion; May 31st having been the “deadline.” Our readers are reminded that the preservation of dignity was the first consideration of the protagonists and their staff who made the arrangements.
The Envoy Plenipotentiary, in reply to a question assured us that feelings of the utmost cordiality existed between the principals. The winner remarked that, delighted as he would have been to lose this wager, he was of the opinion that we should se the invasion before the end of the month. The crawler endorsed this opinion and added, as a last remark before dashing off on all fours, “ALL IS LOST, SAVE HONOUR; I HAVE BEEN DOUBLECROSSED BY EISENHOWER:”
On the sound of the alert by the Master Herald, the crawler assumed the prescribed position, preceded by the Master at Arms, flanked by the Guard of Honour and followed by the Winner, the Master Buckler, the Envoy Plenipotentiary and the representatives of the Fourth Estate. Another fanfare was sounded, there was a tense hush, then a crash of cymbals the signal to start, from the Master Starter. The large crowd roared and the long awaited Belaria Crawl was under way. The crawler made good time over the first lap, 5 mins. 31 1/5 secs. At the first dormer her was greeted by the Master
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Victualler and was suitably refreshed by courtesy of the winner. The Fourth Estate was suitably and properly victualled.
The required procedure was carried out on the second and third laps, with due regard fort dignity and ceremonial. The home stretch was crawled to the strains of “Blaze Away,” the principal sustaining a smooth gait and easy rolling action; he finished the feat to the acclamations of the onlookers, having done the last lap in 4mins. 16 1/5 sec., making a total crawling time of 21 mins. 36 1/5 sec. – a record likely to stand for some time. The crawlers’ final remark was brief but to the point: “I AM SURE,” he said, “THAT IF THERE HAD BEEN 15 MORE DAYS IN MAY, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A DIFFERENT STORY.”
The Residential Physician, Dr. Everard Monteuuis, the carried out an examination in chambers and advised the crawler to take things easy for a long time and to have an immediate and complete change of air.
The serving of refreshments, supplied to all participants by courtesy of the crawler, marked the conclusion of a most satisfactory event. Everyone now looks forward to the repeat performance, with embellishments, scheduled for next October.
DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS
THE ROCKET RACKET
The alleged menace of the (hitherto) secret weapon has been fully exploited in the German Press and we quote a few extracts:-
“According to the British Embassy in Stockholm, the English capital had the longest air-raid of the war on Thursday night and Friday morning (16th and 17th), new German explosives have been used. The Londoners spent sixteen hours in shelters
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And underground stations… The Home Secretary was forced to make an appeasing statement, in which he tried to minimise the damage caused… The London Press calls this “unaimed Bomber” new German trick, which will not have the desired effect…An observer, who claims to have seen one of the pilotless aircraft, stated that it looked almost like a toy and moved at a low altitude with flames shooting out of its tail.” (D.A.Z).
“The eye-witness reports, although they differ on many points, agree that the shells are filled with high-explosive and explode a few seconds after they hit the ground. The mysterious aircraft, they also said, developed a fabulous speed, they flew in groups of two or three, occasionally singly, at a height of 3,000 feet, others just at roof level.. An analysis of the different accounts results in the following composite picture:-
The shells develop a tremendous speed.
All had a bright light at their tail end.
Behind the shells a sparkling tail develops,
This – according to British suppositions – originates from exhaust gases.” (D.A.Z.)
“According to the Svenka Dagleblatt it is not only difficult, but also dangerous for the British Fighters to engage the ‘Robot’ aircraft. The latter are much faster than was originally believed and when the British fighter approached too near, it may happen that he destroys himself at the same time as the ‘Robot.’” (B.Z.)
“The Daily Herald says ‘it is clear that we have no means to fight these rocket bombs.’” (B.Z.)
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[Image MURDERR INCORPORTATED]
ARSENIC AND OLD LACE
The fact that the play is mentioned in the Editorial Mr. Pepys’ diary, and the letter on page 40, would appear to render a lengthy notice redundant. The production was well up to the high standard we have some to expect of F/Lt. Hall. Other producers would do well to note the small touched such as the dust on the shoes of Dr *Epstein after the interment in the cellar and roving eyes of Grandfather above the cellar door.
Your critic has recently seen the play in London and the outstanding difference between the
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production were portrayals of Mortimer and Jonathan. The latter was, on the professional stage, a subtly sinister person and, as such, was much more effective than the overgrown “school bully” effect presented here; the former-Mortimer-as portrayed on our stage, was a burlesque of Nauton Wayne’s playing of the part, even to the make-up. This was probably deliberate and, in view of the lack of professional talent, may have been wise. The audiences will have judged for themselves.
The Aunts, Abby and Martha, were delightful and stood out well above the rest of the cast; this does not imply that they lacked support. The minor parts were filled, mostly, with new talent, and it is obvious that, with experience, we shall have the makings of a really good selection of players which to cast.
*(ED.NOTE: The mistake is not mine, for Ep. Please read Ein.).
…
We have been asked to publish a reminder to all those rehearsing for forthcoming productions. Please be punctual. Delay in starting rehearsals plays “merry hell” with the schedule.
…
3,000 allied prisoners-of-war were present quartered at Stalag Luft I, Barth. It is reported that this number includes 600 R.A.F. personnel. A recent letter from the Senior Allied Officer at Barth acknowledges with thanks Reich Marks and other gifts from Stag Luft III. The S.A.O. states that they are short of necessary equipment for repairing boots, clothing, etc., but the food position has improved slightly.
…
It is interesting to note that “Arsenic and Old Lace,” written by two Americans, Moss Hart and Kaufmann, has been running for 18 months in London and 3 ½ years in New York, Boris Karloff played the part of Jonathon in the New York version.
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VOLKISCHER BEOBACHTER
Berlin, Sonnerbend, 17 Juni 1944
It neuen Sprengkörpen größten Kalibers
Gegen London und Südengland
GERMAN NEWSPAPEWR HEADLINE WHEN V1 WAS FIRST USED.
[Image]
A GENERAL VIEW OF THE CAMP AT BELARIA.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 19th June, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY-ONE
EDITORIAL
It is obvious that the joint planning of post-war industry and trade with a view to providing maximum re-employment is only one of the many problems which have confronted the governments of the Allied powers in their efforts to prepare for the forthcoming demobilisation.
Governments assistance in the education and technical training of ex-service personnel has already provided form to a standard where they may have re-absorbed into civilian life properly equipped to face the future with confidence born of knowledge and ability rather than optimism. In some cases this assistance will take the form of bursaries and scholarships; in others it will take the form of free educational facilities plus adequate living allowances. Alternatively, and almost certainly, there will be substantial payment in the form of rehabilitation subsistence allowances or gratuities sufficient to finance the period of instruction.
Modern warfare demands that we have a lengthy and vigorous training for its successful prosecution; the modern industrial and commercial world, too, will find room for those who can prove themselves skilled and competent. It is an unavoidable and unpleasant circumstance that the exigencies of war should require the services of a whole generation of young men, just as they arrive at the crucial point of their education or training, and that they must be asked to sacrifice these all important formative years. There seems to be, in official circles, a
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Growing appreciation of this sacrifice and its extent; in some cases definite steps are being taken to offset or compensate for the resultant disadvantages.
It only remains to point out that those members of the services who do not intend to remain on the permanent strength and who do not have essential background or training, will do well to consider seriously ways and means of fitting themselves for future employment. Wherever possible, savings from pay and gratuities, should be regarded as capital and be reserved for this purpose.
In addition to the plans already discussed, extensive preparations have been made for providing assistance for those wishing to take up or resume farming. Naturally the countries most interested in these plans for setting up returned men as farmers and ranchers are those Dominions and Colonies which have large available areas of land suitable for agriculture. This does not mean that ex-servicemen from other countries will be excluded from participation. Although no definite statement has been forthcoming, it seems certain that they will be encouraged and assisted in any plans they may have for emigrating, as potential farmers, to these dominions. Prospective farmers, with previous experience, will find no difficulty in obtaining adequate financial assistance from the state. Those lacking this experience will be able to obtain it under the most favourable conditions, with the assurance of further assistance when the training period has been completed.
It is reassuring to note that everything possible is being done to avoid the tragic errors of the ex-solider settlement schemes introduced after the last war; when men, absolutely unsuited for farming were allotted holdings of land and then left to fend for themselves.
The new plans aimed at achieving permanent and economically successful re-establishment of the returned Service men; in such a manner that they are assured of a reasonable opportunity to become independent, satisfied member of the community.
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TO ALL AT BELARIA
I am glad to take the opportunity, kindly given me, of introducing myself through the LOG.
I have come here to be a Camp Chaplain along with Padre Powell, whim I had the pleasure of knowing at Oflag IX A/Z.
I am Church of Scotland and Parish Minister of St. Andrews. The Services I conduct will be according to the Presbyterian form. I hope that these services (similar to those which F/O Cribb bas been conducting) will continue to be welcomed by members of all denominations to whom they are familiar through custom and so dear by association.
There is no room, however, for denominational separateness and I look forward to sharing the Services and other Ministerial work of the Camp with Padre Powell, and desire to be of use in whatever directions I can. W.E.K.RANKIN.
…
FUKUDA, a member of the Japanese Army Headquarter Intelligence Staff, recently gave a lecture on the Japanese offensive operations in Honan. He stated that the object of this offensive was not so much the subjugation of Chunking as the prevention of the American intention to use Chinese bombing bases for the attack on Japan. D.A.Z.
…
General Eisenhower, Marshall, Arnold and King of the United States Forces, have paid a visit to Normandy during the last few days. D.A.Z.
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“GIVE US THE AIR”
Your critic attended the third night of this revue and came away from the theatre completely baffled as to the objects of the author-producer. The music, some original and some, new arrangements of old themes, was excellent. The band were on the top of their form and a delight to listen to.
The script was well larded with stock jokes of the “Waterworks Engineer” type and with broad digs at some of the personnel of the camp. I was left with the impression that “Anything for a Laugh” has been the guiding principle of the author. If this was his intention, he succeeded beyond all doubt, the audience laughed heartily at many of the jokes – possibly without remembering that they had been doing so for many many years. The humour (?) was, at times, very broad, noticeably in the Brain (T)rust sketch, and a little originality and subtlety would have been welcome.
The chorus were a popular troupe and their well-drilled performances pointed to may hours of unremitting labour on the part of the de ballet Professor Woad’s performance, too, was the high-spot of an otherwise sticky sketch.
The honours of the evening go to the author-producer, for all the hard work he must have put into the production; to the composer of the music which we enjoyed so much; to the band who put it over so well, and to W/O Wagstaffe, for his pleasant renderings of songs with little appeal and less meaning. The settings were well designed and executed; particularly the opening set and the “Boogie Woogie” background.
…
The One-Act okay completion takes place during this week. Details will be announced.
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THE DIARY OF P/O PEPYS, P.O.W. XXI.
IIth June, A.D. 1944
A Long sleep, this morning being Lord’s Day. After church did see the Senior Naval Officers who was much relieved that the new arrivals of yesterday did not include any Naval officer more senior than himself. His crew is increasing and there should be sufficient to man the boats if it is a wet autumn. Our cook tells me that as he was collecting flowers in the sports field a postern did approach and ask if he was going to make tea from the; he could not have been well informed, for we have three pounds of real tea upon our shelves.
Monday, 12th June
Once again our family increases, for we have drawn the lowest card and, a large body of men having arrived for Heydekrug, we must have two more quarters. Twelve in a room is a swarm and we live likes bees in a hive; as there are no beds for the newcomers they must sleep on the tables and benches, with their belongs tucked into every corner. This evening did ensue a worthy sight; there is one of our number who insists on violating the air with the screech of his practice on the bagpipes, during the day out ears are tormented by the melancholy shrieks and squeals of the pipes, which, I learn, turns Scottish men fighting mad. Driven to desperation, out brave Senior Belgian Officer led the Legion of Tuck Tenements in the opposition against the strident cacophony. But they must needs retreat, for the would-be piper, an Antipodean to boot, blew so hard as to drive them away. Now out gallant Allies, so adapt at sabotage, are concocting a satisfactory end to this bag of wind.
Wednesday, 14th June
Last, night I did see the new revue at the theatre, this was a new brand of amusement for us and many like it much; for the chorus was very attractive and the music, which was home-grown was excellent in composition and execution. A dull day again. And so to bed, wondering why there was no German communique to cheer our spirits.
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QUIET PERIOD
“Oh, hello there, come on in. How’s everything going? I haven’t seen you for ages – you must be studying to be a hermit.”
“What’s that? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Come on over here and sit down beside me.”
“Oh, you knocked three or four times. Now isn’t that funny. I never even noticed.”
“What’s that? Oh, no, I’m not getting deaf. At least, I don’t think so. S[peak a little louder. People seem to mumble so much these days.”
“Do you know everybody here? What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Oh, yes – a bit noisy, but you get used to that.”
“That fellow over there? Oh, he’s just doing a bit o tin-bashing. Yes, he’s quite good at it. Makes all kinds of things.
“What did you say? A blacksmith in civvy life? Oh no, I think he was a book keeper. Oh, I see it now. You were joking. Ha, ha. You always were a wit weren’t you?”
“That dark chap? Just learning? Oh, no, he’s been playing the violin for at least two months. He’s just practising scales now.”
“What’s that you say? Sounds like a cat on a tin roof?> Well, I guess it’s a matter of taste.”
“Those four? Well, you see, they’re playing kin. Not din, old boy, kin –K-I-N. A game some Belgians brought from the Congo.”
“What did you say? Should have left it there – But, really, old boy, it’s a lot of fun.”
“What? Why do they make so much noise? Oh, that’s all part of the game, you see- Pardon – You think chess would be better. I don’t quite follow you.”
“Him? What? Oh, he’s just showing how he used to attack. What’s that you say? The noise? Well, that’s just his way of imitating a Merlin. Yes. He’s really very interesting. You should hear him do an air-raid siren. Perhaps he will if you ask him.”
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“Pardon? What did you say? Can he imitate an Oyster? How do you mean?”
“What? You won’t stay for tea? But I thought you said you…”
“Well, really, old man, there’s no need to shout about it – Well, I know it says “Quiet Period,” but…”
“What? A madhouse did you say….”
“Well, really, old boy…..!!”
POLITICAL EDUCATION
We frequently hear the suggestion that many of the world present difficulties are due to a lack of political education among the masses of people of the leading nations. There is a widely held view that if the general public were competently instructed in political and administrative affairs, it would be less susceptible to specious propaganda and less prone to such manifestations of mass hysteria as have marked history since the last war, and that a politically intelligent electorate would make the taks of modern government more simple.
Political education, obviously, cannot be taught in the same manner as mathematics or English literature. The needs if an expanding, changing civilisation and the steady evolution of the administration apparatus call for some sort of curriculum which would have to be adaptable to current development. Equally obvious is the necessity for safeguards to prevent any scheme of political evolution becoming a political instrument of the regime in power.
It is interesting to speculate upon possible means of providing a curriculum of political education for, as an instance, our secondary schools. A curriculum might be prepared by a special committee, headed by a permanent official of the Board of Education, The members of this committee would be representative of all shades and colours of political opinion; the courses of study which they would prepare would assure that every student, on attaining
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Matriculation standard, would have a thorough grasp of both the machinery of administration as it exists and of the aims and objective of all the leading political groups.
Education, along these lines, might go far towards reducing the incidence of prejudice and emotion upon modern problems of statecraft and ensure a rational approach to the nation’s affairs.
BAND AD MUSIC NOTES
A meeting of entertainment officers was held at Sagan during last week as a result Belaria was allotted several new musical instruments. These include a new piano, our outstanding need, and a new bass fiddle, the present one being in a very sorry state. Other instruments include a set of drums, 3 saxophones, 1 trumpet, 3 clarinets and miscellaneous effects. The instruments will complete every section of the band with new instruments.
The interval music for the forthcoming show – FRENCH WITHOUT TEARS - will be played by the Tango section, directed by Flying Officer Ryder.
FLIGHT SERGEANT CLOVER, R.A.F.
Those kriegies who know S/Ldr. Cranswick, D.S.O., D.F.C., may be interested to hear that both he and Flt. Sgt. Clover are now screened.
This gallant N.C.O. is particularly fine Alsatian dog belonging to the Squadron Leader, they have just retired from operations after ninety-six trips by the latter and one by the Flight Sergeant. They joined the squadron together and Clover participated keenly to be a born airdog, never batting an eyelid in the tightest turn.
It was decided to take him on an operational flight; oxygen raised rather a problem but Clover insisted that he could cope and proves it by sleeping soundly at all altitudes above 15,000 feet. The aircraft returned safely to its base, but unfortunately, was forced to make a belly landing. The crew
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escaped unhurt but despite this it proved to be Clover’s first and last ‘op.’ A.M.F. case? Not on your life. Just Flight Commander’s orders.
Clover maintains a log-book which is handed in for signature with those of other aircrew at the end of each month and all his trips have been properly authorised by the Flight Commander. The ‘Duty’ column in the log-book contains some rather unorthodox entries such a: “Getting cheesed as second Wop – moving to second engineer’s position.” etc.
When not operating himself, Clover maintained a keen interest in the safety of his crew; on operational nights he would watch take-off with a critical eye from their dispersal point, whence he refused to budge until the long awaited drone raised his head. Soon aircraft were landing in quick succession remaining unidentified by ground crews until they were nearly in the respective dispersals. By some sixth sense, denied to mere humans, Clover knew immediately Cranswick had touched down and passed on the news by barking loudly and excitedly wagging his tail. This happened not once or twice but on every trip and he was never found to be incorrect.
We wonder whether he has been commissioned yet, it must be great fun for him shooting his operational line to less ambitious types of his kind and we don’t doubt it has been worth many a pint of its canine equivalent in the Sergeant’s Mess of the O.T.U. at which he and his master now serve.
THE ATTACK ON THE WESTERN FRONT
The first reports were confused and often contradictory but following main outlines have emerged. The actual invasion consisted of four main episodes:-
(a) Heavy bombardment from the air.
(b) Parachute landings.
(c) Reinforcements of parachutists by transport aircraft and gliders.
(d) Coastal landings under the protection of naval artillery.
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The landings were spread along the coast from Le Havre to Cap’de la Hague; there were, in addition, numerous airborne attacks all over the peninsula of Cotentin. These resolved themselves into two main areas, the British positions north of Bayeux and the Americans north of Carenton and up the east coast of Cotentin. A second large series of landing occurred on the evening and night of Tuesday, 6th; a noticeable feature of these landings was the vast number of gliders and transport aircraft used; a third followed on the afternoon and evening of Tuesday, 8th. The British forces pushed South and, on Thursday, had taken Bayeux. They had a bulge East of Orne, but it was here and at Caen that the main German resistance was encountered, no further progress has been reported from this region. N Saturday, 10th the British and Americans joined up at Isigny. Since then there have been three main thrusts:-
The Americans pushed West and took Carenton on Monday, 2th. Since then their main attack has gone North-West supported by further attacks and heavy artillery from the navy on the North-East corner of Cotentin, on Thursday, 15th; their main advance reached a point between Valognes and Montebourg.
The main British attack has gone along the roads radiating South, South-East and South-West from Bayeux and on Wednesday, 14th, fighting was reported South of Tilly and Balleroy and as far as Caumont, about 30 kms. inland.
The Americans on the British West flank have advanced South-East from Carenton and have crossed the Bayeux-St. Lo road.
The allies have been supported by a continuous naval and air bombardment. The Germans report that a big battle is impending.
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[Image – THE CAST OF ROPE]
BEHIND THE SCENES
The entertainments officers of all six camps met at Sagan during last week and were informed that further meetings of this sort are forbidden by the German authorities.
We have succeeded in securing another piano, anyone wishing to practise should see Flying Officer Whiteley.
The electric gramophone is still in the Vorlager, we hope to get it in =when some new classical records are available
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The film projector, plus films (titles unknown), will start a tour of all camps during the week. Dates of showing are not yet decided for this camp.
…
The Rushcliff Commission has recommended that high rates of pay should be made to the members of the Queen Alexandra Nursing Service. The present rates are about £350 per annum for an experienced and certified nursing sister.
CHURCH SERVICES FOR 25TH JUNE, 1944
3rd Sunday after Trinity.
0930 hours – Holy Communion, Chapel.
1115 hours – Camp Service (C. of E.) Theatre.
Hymn: “Christ, whose glory fills the skies.”
“Thy Kingdom come, O God.”
“Rejoice, the Lord is king.”
Preacher: Rev. C.P. Powell).
1815 hours – Evening Prayers, Chapel.
…
You are reminded that there is a meeting of the Belaria Branch of the Northern Heights Model Club every Wednesday at 1630 hours in the Fiction Library.
…
The German A.R.P. Association has published an explanatory statement about the ever-recurring assertion that terror-bombers spray the target-towns with phosphorus. It appears that target marking bombs have given the deceptive impression of raining phosphorous. Distant and close observation leads to the erroneous impression that phosphorous is being sprayed. Sometimes fires or direct hits cause the bombload to explode and the liquid burning mass is the resultant spectacle. Similar result is produced when a phosphorus bomb gets stuck in the ground and throws its contents upwards, the burning mass is violently ejected to a height of sixty feet or more and comes down in the firm of a flaming spray. In no case will an actual rain of liquid phosphorous be observed. D.A.Z.
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General Montgomery crossed the Channel by destroyer on the 8th June, his tactical H.Q. are now established somewhere in Normandy. D.A.Z
…
Darnars, Secretary General for the Maintenance of Order and Chief of the Militia, has been appointed Secretary of State for the Interior but will retain his previous duties. D.A.Z.
…
The French themselves know that the recent air-raids on French cities were for the purpose of destroying possible French Industrial competition after the war. P.Z.
…
During the period of rationing 26th June to 23rd July, the quota of 100 grammes of animal fats will be omitted. The deficiency will be made up by an increase of the butter, margarine and salad oil ration. B.B.Z.
…
The official British News Service reports from Allied Headquarters that the situation in France is regarded there with “cautious optimism.” B.B.Z.
…
British War Correspondents report that, on the fall of Bayeux, invasion troops were greeted by the jubilant populace with garlands of roses and apple blossom. The streets of the town were said to be covered with a carpet of flowers. On their entry into the town the soldiers were stopped by the joyful inhabitants and regaled with ham and red burgundy. P.Z
…
The Rt. Hon. Herbert Morrison has stated that England has spent £19,000,000,000, on the war. V.B.
HOBSON’S CHOICE
32 year old Mata Schindler, of Suszenback, Silesia, has been employed by a farmer since 1933 as an assistant in the house and also to help with farm work. The latter part of her duties ceased to appeal to her and she decided to give up the
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position. Her employer could not, however, find a replacement and she, Mata, was compelled to stay on in the job. Despite this order Miss Schindler got the idea of burning down the farm buildings and she set light to sheds containing equipment, cattle etc. By good fortune the wind changed so that the farmhouse and a mill with reserve of grain were saved. The culprit appeared before the court in Leignitz and was sentenced to 8 years’ imprisonment to be followed by 8 years’ “Loss of Honour.” It was only the fact that she was considered to be slightly mental that prevented the court from enforcing the Death Penalty, which would have been normal in such a case. V.B.
…
German Reparation bonds have increased in value on the London Stock exchange, since the Invasion, while shipping shares have gone down. Shares in French Railway Companies have increased in value from £15 to £75. D.A.Z.
…
Although the enemy, who has been steadily concentrating his forces has been attacking at many different points, these offensive and defensive actions serve, at bottom, the purpose of testing the relative strength on all fronts so that focal points for greater operations can be found D.A.Z.
LITTLE TALKS – I.
(With apologies to A.P. Herbert)
“Hello, old man.”
“Hello there, where have you been all these ages.”
“Oh! I don’t know…. It’s been weeks since I saw you.”
“Yes, it is …. You know it’s damned funny how two people living in the same camp can go for weeks without so much clapping eyes on each other.”
“That’s funny, I was talking to a man only yesterday about that. He had some mad scheme about ‘boarding out’ and ‘kriegie holidays’ and ..”
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..
“Kriegie holidays!.... sounds alright. What was the big idea?”
“Oh! It was a system of boarding out one man from each mess to some other mess for a week… quite well worked out, on the whole… but I had to tell him you’d never get everyone to agree.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea – can you remember how it works?”
“Well I can give you a rough outline, but you’d really have to see the man to get the lowdown. It went something like this…Each Mess would set aside one bed as a holiday bed and it would be occupied, for a week, by a mess visitor who would not do any work in the mess during this stay. Of course, it would be a different visitor every week.”
“But what would happen to Joe? I mean the man who gave up his bed for the visitors.”
“That’s easy! He would be out visiting himself for the first week and when he came back, one of the others in the mess would go for his holidays, leaving his bed empty for the first fellow or Joe as you call him.”
“Oh! I see… it’s quite simple really – it’s a wonder it hasn’t been thought of before.”
“It has, I think. I heard that in one camp, squadron leaders would move from mess to mess a month at a time. It’s much the same.”
“It would be a good thing, you know. Have you noticed how new kriegies seem to bring new life to a mess? There’s always such a lot of new things to talk about.”
“Yes, that’s true – but I think the big thing would be a complete change for the visitor, one week out of every eight.”
“Yes, I get awfully tired of the same old faces, week after week. There’s one aspect that would be rather difficult. Wouldn’t it be a bind for the adjutant, never knowing where anyone was?”
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“Well of course, if the scheme came into practice, there would be an officer i/c Holidays, who would keep check on all the names and messes and make out lists from week to week; the numbers in the blocks would always be the same.”
“Look, old boy, I’ve got to go now, will you come over and natter to the mess about this to-morrow? I like the idea – come to tea.”
“Thanks a lot. I’d like to come. About four?”
“Yes, that’ll be grand – cheerio old boy!”
“Cheerio!”
…
Sunday long-distance day trains have been so poorly patronised for some time that in view of the heavy burdens places on the German Railways at the moment, their continuance seems inadvisable. Consequently all fast express trains, on Sundays, will be cancelled on the railway systems of Germany, the Protectorate and General Government area. The locomotives and railway personnel this released will shortly be diverted to essential good traffic. B.B.Z
…
Officers, Warrant Officers and N.C.O.’s who are attending classes in the Service Education Scheme are asked to note that a new programme of lectures has between posted in the usual place. This will take effect from 19th June, 1944.
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“APPELL” OR ROLL CALL, WHEN, TWICE DAILY, WE WERE COUNTED BY THE GERMAN OFFICER IN CHARGE OF THE CAMP.
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SET-BUILDING AND ORCHESTRA PRACTICE IN THE THEATRE.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 10th July, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY FIVE
EDITORIAL
The foreclosure of the theatre has brought the building and the entertainment staff into the front line of Camp politics. There is a large section of the community who consider that the theatre should now be administered by a committee which should supersede the autocracy at present in power. The feeling is a great tribute to the success of theatrical developments under the existing control; implying, as it does, that the whole matter is now too large and complex for one man to handle.
The LOG agrees with the opinion which advocates the institution of a committee and feels that this is a good opportunity to present its views on the subject. While recrimination is fruitless it is hoped that our suggestions for the future may prove helpful to those who will decide the policy.
We are informed that there should be no difficulty in replacing the floor horizontally, other than the replacement number of the piles upon it rests; this change would be a great boon to the general public because it would make the building suitable for such general activities as boxing, fencing, gymnasium, reading room and library, to mention only a few of the possibilities. It is realised that these activated would have to be fitted in with rehearsals and band practice, making it desirable that the membership of the committee should consist of an equal number of (theatrical) laymen and professionals.
There may be a feeling, particularly among the entertainments staff, that the LOG should not
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interfere in such matters; we can reply that these pages are only public expression of camp opinion and, as such, should deal with and discuss any non-officail matters affecting the general welfare. It should be remembered that the value of the theatre to members of the audience is, at present limited to two hours of amusement every 15 to 20 days, and, delightful though this may be, there are many who feel that the building is not being fully exploited for “THE GREATEST GOOD OF THE GREATEST NUMBER.”
We are sure that the people to whom these remarks apply will rise above petty annoyance and view the whole matter from a detached point of view. This expression of opinion is not designed or intended to detract in any way from our gratitude for the joy and amusement which they have, repeatedly, given us – we are sure that they will continue to do so. When the original plans for the theatre were accepted we had no idea that the camp would ever be so overcrowded; the present upheaval would seem to be a good opportunity to adapt ourselves to the new conditions.
…
Martin Glinberger, from Hohenwart, was recently inducted into the Landwacht for temporary emergency service. He arrived late at his first appell and also left before the order to dismiss had been given, so that it was necessary to send home a second notification, which he ignored.
He was similarly absent from a large scale muster doe a search for escaped prisoners-of-war and from a parade for allocation of guard duties. The Amtsgericht charged with his case very properly consideration a prison sentence justifiable and awarded him three months detentions. D.A.Z.
…
The harem has now been abolished in Iran. The new marriage law allows a maximum of two wives to every man, and only this is the consent of the first wife is forthcoming for the husband’s marrying again. K.Z.
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A BIRDS-EYE VIEW OF THE GREATEST MILITARY UNDERTAKING IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND
“I couldn’t understand it at all. It was raining and visibility was very poor. Then I saw that it wasn’t land at all, but a vast fleet of landing barges, literally thousands of them, They were packed so close together it looked just like solid land; I realised that the Invasion was on but I couldn’t stop to watch – I was on the way to bomb a coastal battery in France, I saw them again on the return trip and, as I crossed the English coast, I saw thousands of English aircraft heading South, while over England there were lights flickering in every direction as glider trains were being manoeuvres into position for the great attack.”
In these words one of the recent arrivals summed up his impressions. He added that the whole operation was started in extremely poor weather conditions and the low cloud hampered air operations to a great extent. Bomber crews were instructed to fly beneath the cloud base I the target was not visible from the predetermined bombing height. Numerous aerodromes and marshalling yards were bombed from heights between 1,000 and 2,000 feet, despite these tactics the losses from flak were negligible.
On the Sunday following the invasion Mr. Churchill said that the Light of London would be shining again for Christmas, 1944 and in a final message to the troops General Montgomery stated that they were entering the final battle against Germany, for all time, and declared that he had every confidence that the wear in Europe will be brought to a victorious conclusion by the autumn of this year.
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created by a 2,000 pound aerial bomb. Their speed is thought to vary between 350 and 450 miles per hour and many have been shot down by flak and night-fighters. London is her usual calm and phlegmatic self and carries on as usual. In England the weapon is regarded more as an instrument of propaganda for the German Home Front than as a major factor in the campaign.
In a recent statement Mr. Churchill said that prisoners-of-war in Germany would be repatriated to England within three weeks of the cessation of hostilities.
The war in the Pacific is progressing favourable. The Americans are establishing numerous air bases on the Chinese mainland and it is reported that two heavy raids have been made by B.29’s upon Japan. It is confidently predicted that this activity will increase during the next few months.
His MAJESTY THE KING made a personal visit of inspection to the Normandy bridgehead several days after the Invasion.
General (Field Marshall) Smuts and Mr. Churchill have also been seen in the battle area in France.
A large contingent of English girls who have married members of the Canadian Forces in England have left for Canada to get to know the country and prepare homes for their returning husbands.
The Americans have set up a special organisation in London to arrange for and assist with the affairs of the thousands of English girls who have married Americans.
…
“Young Canadian girls only report for military service because in this way they can travel overseas and thus not let their best prospects out of their sight, reports the News Chronical of Ottawa. The Canadian girls are very much disturbed because 16,000 of their by friends have already married overseas, particularly in England.
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These facts make them afraid that even the greatest love may not withstand the test of several years’ separation, coupled simultaneously with keen competition.” D. Angr.
…
D.F.C.’s. have been awarded to :- F/Lt. C. Pearce. F/O. R. Rogers.
RETREAT
CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH, ON, ON… how tired the men are, yet we go on… why is it the other eight way up in front don’t look so tired as we do… they couldn’t so…perhaps with my thumbs under the straps the pack will be easier… no, I’ve tried that before… hot isn’t the word for this… better on the grass perhaps… look back again, they may be …Karen and the children must get back for them.. wish I was a kid and could have a good blubber … oh, it’s hot… helmet’s tighter … funny how I’ve got through two years of retreat without being caught .. wonder if I shall get home … oh darling, I must, I must.. a pilsner, a month’s pay for just one of’em now … pity to disturb these flowers with these bloody boots … still no on behind, but … oh, hell, why are they scattering in front – a tank – a Tiger? NO! – it’s THEM – yes, it’s them – run, run back again … but I can’t … down, flat, dust, flowers, choking …Karen, Karen, where are you?... where?...you …you…
…
Three years ago in Australia, two Avro Ansons collided in mid-air. Everyone bailed out except LAC Fuller, a trainee pilot of the lower aircraft. The two aircraft were locked together, but the pilot by using the controls of his own aircraft and the engines of the other which were still running managed to make a safe belly-landing.
Sequel: F/Lt. Fuller, D.F.C., was killed recently while riding a push bike.
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Beatrix Potter, the well known English author and illustrator of the famous children’s books, “Jeremy Fisher,” “Squirrel Nutkin,” “Pete Rabbit,” etc., died recently.
…
Stephen Leacock, Canadian professor of economics and popular humorous writer died a short time again.
THE DIARY OF P/O PEPYS, P.O.W. XXV
Monday, 3rd July. A.D. 1944
Another Monday, how the weeks do fly, for it was this day last week that we lost our theatre, the wash-house, aborts and classrooms, too. After some days we regained our wash-house and aborts, for if they had been taken apart as was our theatre, it would have been an odorous as well as odious prospect for us. Did this morning peep into the theatre and did see the shambles of the last week; some say it will remain so until the war’s end which may be true unless they quickly return it to us; this interference is not so well appreciated outside the camp. In spite of these disturbances and disruptions we are adaptable, even yestermorn our padres held an al fresco service, where the few rain drops only damped the organ. This evening two inhabitants of Tuck Tenements, that verminous Augean stable of the compound, did make a protest by choosing to sleep out of doors; but our guards, perturbed lest take cold, took them to the cooler – a seemingly illogical proceeding – however, due to the recent arrests and storage of our Red Cross food, the cells were full; so our two conscientious objectors were returned to their tenement, there being no gain to either side.
Thursday, 6th July
Today there was no search of our quarters, as there has been these last two mornings and some books arrived to while away our few remaining hours. I did learn that we shall be losing our Reference Libraries, for though the size of our compound is further reduced the numbers increase,
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So the libraries must move to other quarters. Came one to ask if I should prefer that we play cricket for three months, instead of football, to which I readily agreed. Tho’ I do not play either it would at least be good for a spectator, if we are to see the last match of the season at Lord’s. And so to bed, the O.K.W. communique reporting a steady closing of our friends upon all sides.
BREAKFAT ; 1015 hours :-
One Tin Salmon
One Tin Sardine
Biscuits (Canadian) and butter
Coffee
LUNCHEON: 1200 hours:-
½ Tin Bully Beef
Biscuits, butter and marmalade
Coffee
1400 hours:-
½ Tin Bully Beef
Biscuits, butter and marmalade
Coffee
1600 and 1800 hours: (each)
½ Tin York Roll
Biscuits, butter and Marmalade
Coffee
200 hours:-
Biscuits, butter and marmalade
Cheese
Coffee
Dry prunes, raisins and chocolate at frequent intervals.
This was the menu for the officer who, to clinch and argument, attempted to eat a full Canadian food parcel in 12 hours. The conditions stated that evacuation, other than by normal methods, disqualified the principal. The parcel contains some 14,000 calories and the normal kriegie’s daily diet provides at most 2,500 calories. It is of interest to mote that a lumber jack consumes, in one day, meals with a calorific value of 7,000. Apparently the butter was the most difficult item, to get down;
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It is reported that the officer ate a hearty breakfast the next morning and is now none the worse for his “bash.”
We are informed, by old kriegies, that this feat has been attempted many times, but this is first successful one. The point that is t can be done has now been proven and it is hoped that no further food will be wasted in this way.
…
General Montgomery is now in command of all British and American troops in France.
THE BOOMERANG CLUB
The inaugural meeting of the Belaria Boomerang Club took place during last week. It was attended by 34 Australians who selected the title of the club and proceeded to elect officers.
Various titles were suggested, “Abbo Club,” “Wallaby Club,” and “Kangaroo Club” being among these which were rejected. A chairman and secretary were appointed and additional posts of entertainment, sports and education officers were filled. The “Social and Entertainment Officer “ will, in addition to his other duties, welcome and assist any new Australian prisoners who may arrive.
The membership of the club is open to any Australian at Belaria and its avowed objects are to look after the sporting, educational and social activities of Australians in the camp.
Meetings will be held fortnightly and will include a short talk of general interest. The first of these talks will be given by F/O Carmody, who will discuss the achievements of the R.A.A.F. cricket team in England
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The present personnel of the camp is 728 officers and N.C.O.’s. The figure is made up as follows:-
British Isles (Including Brit. Nats.) 449
Canadian “ “ “ “ 184
Australian “””” 40
New Zealand “”” 28
South African “”” 27
And three rabbits of uncertain parentage.
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Joe Lewis, who is still in England, has stated that he is not going to defend his title. His present engagements are confined to entertainments for the Troops.
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Five-day Test matches are to be abolished. County cricket will be restricted to 2-day matches
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The question of demobilisation has been discusses in the House and we are informed that the following conclusions were published :-
Servicemen are to be discharged in the following order –
1st Preference : Married Men
2nd “ Men with their own businesses.
3rd “ Prisoners of War.
4th “ Length of Service.
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The Daily Worker is in circulation again in the United Kingdom, its reporters are not, however, allowed within the fighting zone.
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The Duchess of Gloucester has cancelled all her engagements.
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Douglas Fairbanks, Junr., has been awarded the Silver Star for Gallantry in the Mediterranean theatre. He has recently visited Corsica.
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Mr. Winston Churchill recently asked the House for a vote of confidence. The voting of 360 – 4 in favour of the motion will ensure that the Education Bill is passed by the Commons. The school leaving age of 16 has been one of the moat controversial points of the debated on this Bill. One of the speakers in this series of debated found it necessary to remark that : “Of Course the Public Schools are open to all classes.”
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THEY’RE SAYING IT IN GERMANY
Dr. Walter Trautmann in the Pariser Zeitung:-
“The enemies in the East and West will not take the fences built in front of them. For a year and a half the Reich has been taking blow after blow, without being diverted from the preparations for the decision which is now at hand. We have reached the point when the last cards in this unequalled conflict are played and the far-sighted German policy will bear fruit.. So take your course
Destiny…We are sure of this – that History will judge that we Germans have done more than our duty towards the land of the setting sun.”
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The Borsen Zeitung: “Although our armies, in the frame of the difficult retreating movements, have taken up the approximate position when we the advance in 1941 started battles have had the important result of weakening the Soviet Armed Forces, so decisively, that it is only with a crushing numerical superiority that they are able to take up the fight with the German and their Allies.
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From Hitler’s funeral oration over General Oberst Dietl :-
“May his example pervade and inspire many German officers and Generals; may they learn how to be hard as well as, occasionally, gracious; how to be ruthless in their demands as well as considerate for the soldiers and their trouble. May they above all, learn how to radiate confidence under all circumstances; especially in periods of crisis – in order to exalt every single man - and how to repudiate every single thought that a battle backed by the fanaticism of a whole nation, would end otherwise than in victory, no matter how the situation might be at the moment.
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From a speech by Hitler at a reception held last week:
“One day Victory will compensate us all for what every single man has had to sacrifice; the troubles he has had to bear and the blood he and his family have had to pay.”
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Der Angriff reports that the English defence is so helpless before the attacks of the weapon VI that the King has “given private instructions to his subjects, which ignore the Royal Air Force, the A.A. and the Balloon Barrage. He declared, plainly and simply, ‘I believe the only possibility of protection, if one sees the thing flying at one, is to throw oneself on the ground, and, in a crouching position, to await developments.’”
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The Vice-President of the U.S.A., Wallace, during the recent visit to Chungking, prophesied that the Sino-Japanese war would end within the next twelve months. Das R.
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“And so the task of carrying on the offensive devolved mainly on the U-boats, with their familiar great success, which, since the middle of 1943, were temporarily checked by technical defences. With our available means it was impossible to come up against the enemy’s overwhelming sea-power, which finally enabled him to send considerable striking forces to England, North Africa and S. Italy – and this defines the present naval situation. It may be asked:” Where are the battleships and the U-boats now?; as to the latter, the closely watched Channel area, unfavourable for operations under water, offers but limited possibilities and it is much more profitable for them to engage the enemy on the open sea-routes and at the Western Exit; thus forcing him to take maximum security measures and rendering his supply problem acute.
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The bulk of the U-boats are still being modified. To engage the few heavy units against the superior forces concentrated in the Channel would mean their immediate loss without corresponding gain. They are more important elsewhere.”
(From an article about naval aspects of the Invasion, written by the German Rea Admiral Gadow).
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The bane “V.I, “ in which “V” stands for “VERGELTUNG” (retaliation) is an indication that the weapon is but the first of a series of retaliatory weapons, with which the enemy will have to reckon in the near future. D.A.Z.
DIVINE SERVICES for Sunday, 6th July 16th.
(Fourth Sunday after Trinity)
0930 hours – Holy Communion, Chapel.
1115 hours – Camp Service, C. of E.
Hymns: “Immortal, Invisible, God only wise”
“Lead, kindly Light”
“Love Divine, all Loves excelling”
Preachers : Rev. W.E.K. Rankin.
1815 hours – Evening Prayers, C. of E.
Hymns: “All praise to Thee, my God this night”
“Father of Peace and God of Love”
Address: Rev. W.E.K. Rankin.
Last month’s total of 2,363 incoming letter hits a new level. 70 per cent. of these letters were from the Dominions. A few early April letters have arrived from the U.K., and it appears that, earlier in this year, our letters were taking about 2 ½ months
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to reach their destinations. The S.B.O. in the East Camp has made very strong protests to the mail department and an improvement is hoped for.
The “Express” forms are taking just as long as the normal mail.
475 Reichmarks was paid to the Germans for air mail charges in June.
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The Swedish athlete, Gunder Haegg, has beaten one of his own world records by covering two miles in 8 mins. 46.4 secs.
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The Daily Mail reports that land workers in South East England have been issued with steel helmets to protect them from continual fall of A.A. barrage shrapnel. D.A.Z.
LITTLE TALKS
(with apologies to A.P.H.)
“Fifteen two … fifteen four and two’s eight…”
“God! You’re driving me mad with that blasted game.”
“Sorry, old boy… I didn’t quite catch what you said?”
“Oh! Nothing, I’m sorry…I’ve got blackout blues. Don’t take any notice of me.”
“We’ve finished now, what are black-out blues?”
“Don’t you know?... doesn’t it ever worry you?... this 10 to 12 shoulder to shoulder shut in, swearing, sweating, sardine tine of a barrack house. It’s the same every night: and what can you do? You come in at ten o’clock and sit down to supper – you get up from supper, you pick up a book, you put it down again…noise!! …noise!...noise! The House of Stone was nothing to this…ten till twelve from now till the cows come home.”
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“Yes, I know, but it’s the same everywhere. All over the world, in War and Peace, people curse these two hours. They are the lowest ebb of life’s disappointment…think of London… business has ceased and entertainments are dragging to a close.. too late for dinner and too early for the night clubs… trains and buses crowded with people who are wishing that they were at home without the bother of getting there, most of them thinking of the horrors of the morrow…I read a good description of it somewhere…or maybe it was a play.”
“thinking of other people being miserable doesn’t make me particularly happy.”
“I’m coming to that…First of all, you’ve got to realise that being in prison camp isn’t the only cause of your particular ‘low’ although I’d be the last to deny that this place is pretty bloody. The, when you’ve managed to isolate the causes, you can start thinking about the counter-measures… I don’t like to shoot the “old kriegies” line, but how do you think we got through the winter. You may not have to face that problem but you can tackle your present difficulties easily.”
“And what does the Oracle suggest?”
“Well you’ve got to accept the fact there will always be noise and if it disturbs your reading, you must find something to do where the noises makes no difference. There are lots of different ways… I knew a fellow who used to spend each evening in a different mess and worked round the rooms in rotation, another fellow made a list of all the things he had to do next year, John makes model aircraft and Jimmy fills up his log book. I play cards myself…It doesn’t matter what you do, so long as you make it a routine, Treat is as something which must be done, like washing up and so on. Form a ten to twelve habit and you’ll find the time passes… but you must excuse me …I must get my bed before the lights go out.”
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BEHIND THE SCENES
The situation in theatreland is causing a lot of speculation and rumour, these latter vary from the people who say it will open this week to those who contend that it will not open again as a theatre at all. “FRENCH WOTHOUT TEARS” will be presented as soon as possible, if it does open again. The new instruments, with the exception of the piano, have arrived and the band is enthusiastically rehearsing the new music which arrived simultaneously.
The visit of the Y.M.C.A. representative was of little interest, the only business being the placing of orders to meet our future requirements.
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A haystack was burnt in Piccadilly recently, during a large harvest workers’ rally.
[Image- Spring time for Henry]
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PORTS NOTES
The Germans show no sign of commencing their building operations on the Sports field so it may be worth while laying down a running track; if there are enough keen athletes to justify the trouble, as meeting will be held in about six weeks’ time. As soon as the track is completed the field will, doubtless, be put out of bounds for construction work, this is a risk that cannot be avoided. The football season closes on Tuesday and work will be started on a cricket pitch; we have no roller but attempts are being made to hire one.
Net practice is a problem as we have so few balls, tennis balls (soaked in water) will have to suffice.
Preparation of the pitch will start on Wednesday and it is hoped that enthusiasts will give their full support.
[Image –Famous Last words 3.]
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ROUND AND ABOUT
One of our reporters strolled around the camp last week, it was the first time he’s ever done it with his eyes open (we didn’t mean to tell you his name) and some of his observations were amusing.
He spent the last two days, since his epic walk, trying to find the moral portrayed by seven kriegies leaning over the walls of the rabbit’s play pen and laughing like help at their efforts to escape. He also made a note that, although the temperature has risen, the efforts at keeping the swill bin areas clean seem to have decreased, while the abort sported a large number of open and unoccupied seats. This will lead to inevitable trouble unless everybody will really co-operate.
Since the theatre was ripped apart, we have been wallowing in reprisals, even worshipping and washing being subjected to the jack boot. We are an adaptable community, however, and the news and weather took the edge off these incidents, helping is to realise that such futile behaviour had no ultimate consequence.
One other point upon which a note was made, is it possible to divert a little of our gardening energy and enthusiasm to clear the paths and other wasted acres of the weeds, thistles, dandelions etc., which abound there.
At this point in his observations the reporter passed the sports field wire and buttonholing an interpreter, he became so absorbed in listening in to Canada’s national sport that he forgot his assignment. If we can wake him up in time we’ll send him out again this week and report his opinions in the next issue.
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The orchestra will be giving an open-air concert next Wednesday.
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[Image Glimpses into the future. 1.]
[Image – Glimpses into the future.2.]
This and the following pages contain some of the weekly “ENTRACT” cartoons from copies of the “LOG” not republished.
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[Image – Glimpses into the future No.3]
[Image – Glimpses into the future 5]
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[Image - Popular misconceptions (at home ) 1]
[Image – Popular misconceptions (in Camp) 2]
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[Image – Popular misconceptions (at home) 3]
[Image – Popular misconceptions (at home) 7]
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THE LOG
BELARIA 4th September, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY-NINE
EDITORIAL
WE are told that the war is not in its sixth year and that we should take Editorial notice of the fact. What is one to say about it? It would be easy to moralise or wax sentimental, or even, perhaps, to talk about the tots who are wondering, like the child of our cartoon what the word “Peace” means. It could be great theme and – for that very reason – your Editor refuses to tackle it. Our contemporaries like the Times and Manchester Guardian will doubtless carry leasers on the subject which you will be able to read when you have returned and con no longer get your LOG. It would seem that our ample stocks of food and cigarettes, etc., are causing embarrassment to our custodians and that the amount we may keep in our rooms is to be limited. The only logical reason we can find for this action is that the Germans which to be in the position to withhold all or some of our food and tobacco should they ever wish to force our hand.
The office boys is reflecting out feelings when he explains to visitors that he is not in his usual state of torpor because every time he wales up another few towns are written off in France and it is such a bother catching up, we only hope that the troops don’t ever come to feel the same thing. Our military adviser has authorised us to say that it is his considered opinion that we are unlikely to be here next September, unless you are considering a tour of Silesia under the auspices of Strength through Joy – and, , if you must have Joy – well, charity, after all, begins at home.
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THE LAST PHASE
An article under the title “The Secrets of the last Phase of the War” was published in the D.A>Z. of 30th August. Owing to its length we are only able to publish extracts:-
“In six months, at the most, we shall all realise what few now know – that this last phase of the war, which commenced on 16th June, 1944, has a secret – and that the last three months have a character very different from that which we believe. This period is the most dramatic that is was a matter of seconds and millimetres and that is must have been possible to calculate why Germany won. It is fantastic… as fact look very much otherwise for us now. Kharkov fell, Stalingrad fell, etc., … and the Russians still came on …Kiev fell.. they are in front of Warsaw, Cracow and East Prussia… Divisions were thrown against them and had to withdraw… Regiments disappeared … Supplied vanished in the Russian more… there is a shortage of guns and tanks… something must stop them… but they still advance. In Italy… Rome falls .. the English are on the march… bringing up their crazy masses of guns and aircraft, and now they are in Florence.
On the 6th June… The Invasion … with its raging inferno of bombs and shells .. the counter attacks collapse and increasingly the bombers roll over Germany and Lay our towns in ruins … A frightful picture … but the picture is false, if we did not know this then Churchill could teach us, as it looks very different to him too. In six months everyone will know this. We came very close to forcing a decision in 1940, it failed due to Soviet Russia…joining forces with capitalism ... England breathed again… “General Time” began to work… Now we know why we are making the final effort and it is not beyond our strength. We have never given up in a critical position. The last price we have to pay will be paid, with every method and all out strength.
VICTORY IS REALLY VERY NEAR.
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“OUR OWN LITTLE SHELLS”
“All I want to do when I get back is to crawl into my own shell and lead my own life within my own small circle. To hell with the British Empire.” So spoke an officer friend of mine, a man of considerable experience, on the circuit a few days ago.
One (being English) wonders how many Englishmen subscribed to this point of view and how many will devote much thought to the business of governing the country after the glad return.
Here, in a prison camp, are to be found many people who will talk, intelligently and otherwise, about England, her political shortcomings, her economic problems, and her social evils. Some with rare feel, even vitriolic; others with a curious sense of detachment, as though reluctant to realise that such problems exist and are theirs to solve.
It is difficult to judge whether the unusual conditions under which we now live tend to focus extra attentions on these questions, or whether it is that world events of recent years have awakened a new sense of civil responsibility in the minds of hitherto regardless citizens.
On our return to England and the resumption of normal life, many subjects of thought and discussion which loom large on our present horizons will assume minute proportions against the distractions of re-discovered freedom and, in many cases, the bustle of return to civilian careers. How many minds will be diverted this from the pressing problems of the nation? With the grim and bitter example before us of personal indifference to national and world events of the pre-war years, resulting in the greatest of catastrophes, can we afford not to display the keenest of interest in the affairs of Britain and the world at large?
It is to be hoped that, in the very near future, the pressing need for enlightenment and instruction and stimulation in the art of civil administration, both local and national, will be met by revised
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curricula in all of our schools. Meanwhile, a gap remains to be filled. It is abundantly clear that our generation must fill it.
Should we crawl into our own little shells?
ALLES IST VERBOTEN
These extracts from the D.A.Z. will give readers some idea of the restrictions which were recently introduced. It is emphasised that these are only a few from a most impressive list:-
All theatres, variety shows, cabarets and dramatic schools etc., to be closed.
All circuses to be reduced to the minimum necessary to keep animals alive.
All orchestras, music schools, etc., to be disbanded or closed forthwith. The only exceptions to this ruling are some of the leading combinations who will be used for broadcasting.
Creative Art – All exhibitions, competitions, academies and private art schools to be closed forthwith.
”The daily press to be limited to a few four page “rational” dailies who may only publish one edition per day. The Illustrierte Beobachter and the Berlin Illustrierte are to be the only magazines. All non-technical publications and writings are prohibited, with the exception of school books and standard political works.
All the “Strength through Joy” (ENSA type) entertainments for the Forces are to be stopped, with the sole exception of radio and film programmes.
The Minister of Public Instructions has introduced restrictions in education to enable tens of thousands of boys and girls whose comrades have long been working for the war effort to be freed for this effort.
A single basic ration card, to cover all the essentials, has been introduced. This will save 200,000,000 cards in every six-monthly rationing period.
Working hours in public administrative offices, etc., to be standardised at a weekly minimum of sixty hours.
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General stoppage of all leave, with the exception of men over 65 and women over 50 years of age.
The introduction of a new” Order of Security of the total War Effort.” Whereby the law can proceed with the utmost severity against those who carelessly or intentionally, sabotage the war effort, Imprisonment or fines can be imposed, with penal servitude or death, in severe cases.
Recent arrivals report that a memorial service for the fifty R.A.F. officer= prisoners-of-war who were shot by the Germans was held at the famous London church, St. Martin’s-in-the –Fields.
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Bicycles must be very scarce at home. A man who bought a second-hand bicycle for £1 in 1937 has just sold it for £7 10s. 0d.
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The Australian Government is now controlling the price of second-hand cars throughout the country.
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The New Zealand Government has discharged a number of men who have over four year’s war service. In some cases these men were recalled from the Middle East.
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Scottish shipyards are reported to be in full production, and even to be putting in full overtime.
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A film biography of Gentleman Jim Corbett has been made, with Errol Flynn in the title role.
The film version of “Dear Octopus” has been showing in South Africa.
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English and South African churches held daily services during the early days of the invasion.
There are very few new books in the Fiction Library shelves at the moment, and there is little prospect of getting more from home. We therefore appeal to you to donate any personal books with which you have finished.
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TEST MATCH
13th August, 1944
The hour’s postponement of this early awaited game was scarcely enough to allow our ire to subside at the sight of dozens of frolicsome Germans cavorting heavily on the carefully prepared wicket. However, no great damage was done and the many spectators settled down in the warm sunshine with great hopes of some interesting cricket. They were not disappointed.
England won the toss and elected to field, the bowling being opened by Wainwright from the Sagan end. Australia’s opening pair, Grimbly and G. Smith, seemed well at home right from the start and out on 24 runs before Grimbly’s wicket fell to Wainwrights’s consistently good-length bowling. Grimbly’s effortless 20 showed us some fine strikes, while Smith scored a useful 11 before Kelshall send his ball flying. Kelshall was replaces by Norrie, but by now, with Hogg and Carmody obviously on top of bowling, Australia seemed set fort at least 200 runs. However, the unexpected dismissal of the latter, l.b.w. from what appeared to be ab easy ball, closely followed by Hogg who scooped another back into the bowler’s hand, gave matters a different aspect. Particularly so when the Kangaroo’s tail didn’t even quiver, and with the rapid fall of the last seven wickets the went only from 107 for 3 to 126 all out, of which Carmody scored a polished an forceful 62 and Hogg a well-needed 17. England’s fieldling included some remarkable pick-ups and was irreproachable throughout. Norrie’s bowling took 5 wickets for 25, while Wainwright bowled valiantly through the who innings, capturing 3 wickets for 60.
England’s inning was a tale of dogged effort in the face of very accurate and difficult bowling. The opening pair, Strong and Rice, clearly were ill at ease, and before lunch the latter feel to Keen, brining Kelshall in to bat. Pearson’s spins puzzled him at first, but he made himself at home and scored 57 in a very polished innings before being
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bowled in the moist simple of fashion by Pearson. Carmody replaced Keen at the Sagan end, and later Todd, with his curious action and vicious spins. Both held the batsmen down, though Goodall scored a stylish and badly-needed 12 for England before being caught by G. Smith off Pearson. At this point England’s chances looked very good, but wickets fell quickly for very few hard-won runs, leading to the climax when England’s last batsman went to the crease needing to make but 4 runs to win. Barely had these been wrested from the bowler hen Hogg caught Turner of Pearson, leaving England winning the winner by one solitary run. Among others, Strong’s opening 15 and Pease’s 12 were invaluable.
Australia’s bowlers, of whom Pearson was most successful, with 8 wickets for 70, kept the English batsmen worried from the start to finish, and has their field been up to standard of England’s the result would have been very different. As it was, England deserved her victory, and the spectators enjoyed the first-class cricket played, as well as the tense finish.
May we have more!
BEHIND THE SCENES
Reconstruction work in the theatre was completed well ahead of schedule, but unfortunately sickness of some of the musicians prevented the band giving an early performance. Consequently “Someone at the Door,” a comedy in three acts, produced by W/O Lawrence, open on the 28th.
Following this is a programme which includes radio plays =, band shows, straight plays, films and “music hours,” providing entertainment until the end of October.
A second One Act Play competition is being run, this time open to all, and it is hoped the actors and producers, new and old, will make this at least as successful as the last competition.
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[Image – Belaria Theatre Dressing Room – 1944]
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“IN FRANCE 280 TERROISTS WERE KILLED...”
It was in August of 1939 that I started a mountaineering holiday in the Haute Savoie district of France. A holiday during which I was to learn of the contempt with which the French of those parts held the enemy; a holiday which was to terminate so suddenly with the news of the German advance through Poland.
And now all I have left of those days are the memories. Memories of old friends and the grandeur of the scenery. Jean, who was the fat postman of St. Gervais; Renee, the student at the Grenoble University; and Georges, my drunken friend of the Chasseurs Alpins. Those rugged peaks, a natural frontier between France and Italy, and those deep, narrow valleys, so cool in the evening.
War dared to intrude into those parts and the world deserted them. It was then that “the Maquis” was formed. They called themselves “the Maquis” because in Corsica the maquis is that undergrowth which covers the interior of the island, very wild and secretive.
They obtained arms and ammunition and became so powerful that, when the Germans refused to release the 80 hostages taken in Grenoble, at the expiration of the time limit proposed, the army barracks on that town were blown to pieces. 200 Germans were killed.
They were hunted down, trapped, dispersed, and still they reformed, an eternal flame of liberty in that corner of France. Jean must now be carrying messages for them. Renee has probably nursed their sick; and the drunken Georges will certainly leas a group of saboteurs. And those rugged mountain – what hiding places they conceal; those dark valleys – what natural ambuscades.
It is now August of 1944, an August which sees the Germans going through Poland again – this time in a different direction.
And so, these evenings when we stand in from of the communique, pencil in one hand and cigarette
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packet in the other, excitedly noting down the great Russian drive and the Allied attacks, let us remember the debt we owe when we read “ …. And in France, 280 Terrorists were killed.”
SPORTS’ NOTES
ATHLETICS. The running track should be finished by Wednesday, and a plan showing distances, etc., will be shown on the sports notice board. A jumping pit will be constructed for high and long jump practice. An effort will be made to arrange a training period before morning appel, and in addition, if there is sufficient interest, a further hour each day.
FENCING. Masks have not yet arrived so an expert “tin-basher” is busy working on the Mark 1. Until a set is available, only preliminary instruction will be possible. Will all those desiring instruction give their names to F/Lt. G. Sproates, (hospital) who will arrange classes. The names of those with previous experience are also required.
BASEBALL. A second diamond is to be tried out in the bottom left-hand corner of the sports field, and if the outfield is not too complicated games will be played on both diamonds at the same time.
A young woman has been brought to justice in Aix-La-Chapelle for falsely describing herself as a mother, and thereby obtaining extra ration coupons. A friend of hers had swapped these coupons with her for cigarette. Both girls received appreciable prison sentences.
??????? BRT. VERSENKT
The English Merchant Navy must admit that it has lost the war – this is clearly proved by an article from the pen of the British Naval expert Sit Archibald Hurd in the London monthly Nineteenth Century and After. Hurd state point blank: “Germany has succeeded in overthrowing England from her proud position on the seas” The English Merchant Navy suffered the heaviest losses – hundreds of big
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liners, oil tankers, et., were lost. About 28,000 experienced officers and men of the Merchant Navy have lost their lives. In this war the British Merchant Navy has been crippled. D. Ang.
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According to a report from the American Periodical News Weekly, the inflexible and proud attitude of German Prisoners- of -War in England and America is causing concern in Washington.
These young men, the article points out, are Nazis to the core. When they return to Germany after the war they will form a firm nucleus, around which a strong Germany will gather. News Weekly says that “realistic” measures are being prepared in Washington – although, as the paper admits, political education of P.O.W.’s is probibited [sic] by the Geneva Convention. D. Ang.
“ONE THING AT A TIME” or “KRIEG IST KRIEG UND SCHNAPPS IST SCHNAPPS”
The United States Army Command has warned American soldiers that it will take a poor view of any marriages between then and French women.
The Washington Post carried an article amount a brochure which has been issued to all American soldiers warning them of the undesirability of relations with the women of the country which they would be passing. The Frenchwoman, it said, is not the frivolous person portrayed in Hollywood films – most of them wish to get married and settle down.
The soldiers have been warned that they cannot expect free transport for women whom they have married in defiance of these instructions and that it may be difficult for them to get into the United States.
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The Reichsminister for Air has issued a new order relating to “public Air Raid Warning.” All business and public activity and all traffic is to
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continue normally during these periods. It is not permissible, therefore, to resort to air raid shelter or more distant refuges when the sirens sound. Only when the seeking of shelters is recommended by radio may factory air raid wardens order people to the shelters. V.B.
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1,577,000 voted against 1,396,000 rejected the Australian Government’s plea for retention of its special powers for five years after the war. V.B.
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EXTRACTS FROM “NOWOJE SLOWO”
During the last terror attack on Berlin counterfeit ration cards were dropped. They were meant for travellers and restaurants. Anyone who finds these cards and does not give them up is liable to the heaviest punishment.
The dropped ration cards are easily distinguishable from the official ones. The headings are larger, the writing is less legible and there is brighter. Above all, the counterfeit meat coupons are made of white tissue, whereas correct coupons are printed on a coloured background.”
The Berlin Emergency Court sentences the couple Arthur and Marianne Peikert of Guterberg to two years imprisonment for attempting to buy sausage and cheese with counterfeit ration cards, dropped form enemy aircraft. The sentence of 15 months imprisonment and two years loss of honour was imposed on Anna Domke, of Blankenfield, for similar offence.”
“At 0500 hours on the morning of 1st August the insurrection of the Polish ‘Bandits’ erected barricades, or coerced the civilian population to do so. They had their strongholds in buildings, covering the streets with their fire, hampering the traffic of the city, and obstructing the main cross-roads.
The Wehrmacht freed the vital centres with immediate counter-measures, re-took the Power station and inflicted heavy casualties upon the
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‘bandits’ The bandits put up a strong resistance despite Stuka attacks against their main points of resistance and , in some cases, fought to the last rifle to maintain their blockade of cross-roads etc., they even continued to resist in bombed and burning houses. Their methods are cunning and ruthless. Their aim is to create chaos, especially among the “East” troops serving with Wehrmacht. The bandits are mainly recruited from young men between the ages of 15 and 21 years.” V.B.
…
On first looking into a British Red Cross Parcel and seeing the Meat Roll:-
From time to time the human race
Has tampered with its meals,
And teeth have clamped on even worse
Than tripe, or jellied eels.
Sweeny Todd, with sharpened blade,
Whipped “bods” beneath his floor,
Then Mrs. Todd with skilful hands
Made pies of them next door.
An ancient witch, with dark intent,
Abducted Hans and Grete;,
And named them for her plat du jour
Buy roasting them in metal.
A dusky Amazonian tribe
So something quaintly sicking -
Catch beetled under mossy stones
And munch them while still kicking.
More recently, an Aryan race,
In search of something news,
Make bread to feed their hungry mobs
From sawdust, rye and glue.
But all these gents are somewhat old,
Their history rather musty,
We have an entrant to the ring,
Presenting – Mr Lusty.
…
Now that we have a “warning wire to keep us from touching it, that old term “warning rail” seems rather redundant. Why not the “no-warning rail?”
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Internal Abwehr reports a very daring and successful escape participated in by the S.B.R. and two other rabbit of junior ranks. The attractive reward offered has produced no results, but a distinct odour of rabbit-stew could be detected escaping from Block Ones’s kitchen the other day.
The needles, please, Watson.
“SOMEONE AT THE DOOR”
“Beggars can’t be choosers” and the producer made the best of an uninspired play with his most enjoyable presentation of “Someone at the Door.” Farce fought realism to carry melodrama without mustachios.
“Ronnie” gained on the swings of laughter what he lost on the roundabout of dramatic effect; had he used a little more restraint he would have been very convincing, nevertheless he was laughter-maker-in-chief.
The acting and female mannerisms of his sister Sally were was marred by lack of dramatic feeling, consistently good and showed great promise.
The confident portrayal of “Bill Reid” was marred by lack of dramatic feeling, but Sgt. Spedding showed admirable restraint in a part which would have been spoiled by burlesque. His subordinate, Constable O’Brien, was his equal in characterisation and serves as an excellent foil to his stolid official dignity.
I was delighted with the superb portrayal of “Price” by the producer. He made us laugh, thrilled us, horrified us and yet in the end had our sympathy
.
The only complaint, and that was a small one, was with the performance of “Kappel,” the squire-villain. He was less successful as the villain than he was as the squire, this shortcoming, couples with badly written third act, was responsible or a slight fall of interest towards the end of the play.
The setting designed by F/Lt Allen, the lighting, the backstage effects and the costumes were well up to the highest standard we have come to expect.
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In looking forward to W/O Lawrence’s next productions I suggest that he should consider the play as a whole rather than as the vehicle for individual character parts and aim for a cohesion which does not allow interest to lag for a moment. Nevertheless, he gave us two hours of excellent entertainment, which we thoroughly enjoyed.
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
Who are the people who have the infernal impudence to write factious and would-be intellectual remarks in the margins of our library books? The book A more than Happy Countryman is a case in point. Certain opinions are expressed by the author, and some vandal has seen fit to annotate all points of disagreement. This is one of the more unpleasant forms of selfishness and an expression of intellectual snobbishness.
…
A camp grocer has been appointed which will combine these duties with that of tobacconist-in-chief. This officer will be responsible for the storage of food, etc., under the scheme. We are informed, although, we don’t believe it, that he is racket-proof and a non-smoker.
…
The busy rush of affairs is the camp seems to make it impossible for many members of theatre audience to arrive punctually. We are certain that of these same people had paid a guinea or so for the seat they would arrive on time – anyhow, it’s damned bad manners.
Who said “Autumn for Henry?” –
…
General der Infanterie Arthur Hauffe, General commanding an Army Corps, has been killed in the battle of East of Lemberg. D.Ang.
…
Officers who wish to order a copy of the LOG, souvenir edition, are requested to call at Room 2, Block 6, between the houses of 14500 and 1530 on Wednesday and Thursday of this week.
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SQUANDERED YEARS
Of the many pressing questions which will call for attention after returning to England in the near future that of education is one to be placed very high on the list.
As we all know, some only too well, this subject has been food for endless controversy for many weary years.
Of all its aspects, however, it would seem that insufficient constructive attention has been paid to the question of school curricula, to decide whether generally they are outmoded and, if so, to instate measures designates to revise the subject matter being taught in the majority of schools.
There seems to be small room for doubt that the war years, bringing with them new and hitherto unknown, responsibilities, have inculcated into our generation a different perspective, broader knowledge and a revised, if not entirely new, set of values. The majority of us may say, at the risk of appearing smug, that in the light of our wider contact with other people from all counties we are better able to realise the value of our respective educations and to judge what proportion has been of any practical use since our classroom days. Many realise the futility of much that we learnt. Other recall with bitterness, the lack of guidance from disinterested teachers and unwise parents at a time when their own values were juvenile and they were unable to appreciate the potential worth of the subjects they we restudying, or neglecting to study, as the case might have been.
War-time environments and the contemplation of the fast-approaching problems of reversion to civilian careers tend to recall these shortcomings of our educational syllabi. Thus we can more readily appreciate the advantages that may accrue to future scholars by timely consideration of this aspect of the education systems.
Many people feel that much more attention in our schools should be devoted to subjects of practical value, such as civics, international affairs, physiology….
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[Image – MAJOR BARBARA]
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[Image – FRENCH WITHOUT TEARS]
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NOTICE
INFORMATION HAS BEEN RECEIVED FROM THE GERMAN AUTHORITIES THAT CERTAIN AREAS IN GERMANY, APPARENTLY IN THE VICINITY OF THEIR ARMAMENT AND WAR INDUSTRIES, HAVE BEEN PRESCRIBED IN WHICH ANY UNAUTHORISED PERSON IS LIABLE TO BE SHOT ON SIGHT.
A REQUEST FOR MAPS SHOWING THESE AREAS HAS BEEN REFUSED ON THE GRUNDS THAT IT IS UNDESIRABLE FOR THE GERMAN AUTHORITIES TO PUBLISH AREAS IN WHICH THEIR ARMAMENTS INDUSTRIES ARE SIUTATED.
ANY PRISONER OF WAR WHO ESCAPES OR CONTEMPLATES AN ESPACE IS ADVISED TO AVOID SUCH AREAS IF POSSIBLE.
GROUP CAPTAIN,
Senior British Officer,
28th September, 1944
This notice was publically displayed, much to the bewilderment of the German Staff who tool it all very seriously – ED.
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[Image – MUSIC SOCIETY OF LOWER SILESIA]
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THE LOG
BELERIA Christmas, 1944
VOLUME TWO
NUMBER FIVE
EDITORIAL
We hope that the repatriates who left on Friday last are now well on the way home, speeded by our good wishes and hopes for the recovery when they achieve civilised conditions. One or two members of each of these parties has promised to write news letters from home they have never materialised, but we may hope that one at least of this party will be able to spare us the time an thought.
The skating rinks have been very popular and it is no uncommon sight to see several of the camp personalities flat on their backs in various corners of the rink at the same time. I am told that this is an essential part of learning the art and am reminded of happier days on the staff of a wartime flying training school, where a large number of the pupils seemed to think that the same qualification applies.
The Christmas show is over and has been generally voted the best of its kind. Whilst agreeing with this vote of approval I would suggest that, if all shows are now going to last for more than two hours, the signature tune of the band might well be “Cheek to Cheek.” The innovation of “brews” at half-time was a success and we feel it is only a matter of time before the backstage experts have entered a stalls and pit bar.
Our producers are becoming more ambitious ad we hear that G.B.Shaw’s “St. Joan” is going into rehearsal. This should be very interesting test of ability for the producer and actors involved and we are understand that the stage may be widened to enable an adequate set deign to be built.
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FOR THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR THE 50 OFFICERS WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN MARCH, 1944
The ceremony held at the Stalag Luft III cemetery during the afternoon of 4th December, 1944, was attended by the Senior British Officers of the three Royal Air Force compounds, two padres and thirty other Officers, representative of the nationalities of the fallen.
A memorial, as shown in the accompanying illustration, has been erected. The three tablets shown in the drawing are engraved with the names of the Officers who were killed and the large inscription across the front of the cairn is shown at the foot of the sketch.
The Service was also attended by the Swiss Minister to Germany and M. Naville, of the Swizz Embassy, accompanied by Major Dr. Simoleit, of the Lager Staff at Sagan.
At the conclusion of the Service, which was conducted by Padres Goudreau and Jones of the North Camp, a trumpeter sounded the Last Post and wreathes were laid by the Senior British Officers and by M. Neville, on behalf of the Protecting Power.
The Swiss Ambassador shook hands with the three Group Captains before leaving and expressed the sincere sympathy of the Swiss Nation,
“At the going down of the sun
An in the morning,
We shall remember them.”
…
Wreaths were laid on the tombs of Clemenceau and Marshal Foch by Winston Churchill, during one of his recent visits to Paris. D.A.Z.
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THE LAST TRUMP
Whether “fanfare” was a Requiem for the Old Year or a salute to the New remains in doubt, that the production fulfilled our expectations and earned it’s title us clear – (loud and clear).
Some people, quite a number apparently appreciate crooners and twitch kids, other tolerate them, of course this is a season of almost unlimited good will. Humour from Bow was well driven home and “Home Town” deserved it’s applause. “One man in his time plays many parts,” but Carmen Miranda was a new “High”; the lady herself will have to look to her laurels, that is if she wears any. Guying the Womens’ Services is_____________, well anyway, there are very few old kriegies here to whom the W.A.A.F. might still be a novelty, if not an experience.
Had the Andwell Sisters sung “Bei Mir Bist du Schon” twice more, we should have been word perfect, but even that wouldn’t have lessened our enjoyment of the act.
Antoinette would no doubt be at home in almost any dockside tavern, while drunk compensated us for our dry Christmas and unobtrusively, but convincingly showed us a glimpse of what might have been.
Perhaps one of two members of the band forgot that they were therefore the eight evenings to amuse the audience, and indulged in private by-play at the expense of the show; but it was a good band show, well played and produced – but so loud.
The raffle which was organised to raise cigarettes for the Communal Cigarette fund was a great success. More than 14,000 cigarettes were raised by sale of tickets. The winning ticket was numbered 64 and the prize of 1,000 Sweet Caporals went to a room in Block 15. Cigarettes will be distributed every Tuesday, between 1400 and 1430 hours; those who are in need should apply to Room 5, Block 21, at this time.
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BASIL BEETON’S CORNER
Stuffing to serve with Xmas Turkey. (For 12)
½ Bowl Barley.
2 Cups of Breadcrumbs.
3 Tablespoons Thyme or mixed herbs.
1 Teaspoon Salt
2 ozs. Margarine.
Work margarine into breadcrumbs and barley and mix together. Then, add thyme and salt and mix well. Line dish with margarine and bake in slow for 1 hour. Do not burn.
Icing for the Christmas Cake
As we shall be getting and buts in the Xmas Parcels you can now make your cakes look attractive. An excellent white sugar icing can be made as follows:
1 Packet Canadian Sugar or equal amount of Reich sugar.
½ Cup water.
Mix sugar and water thoroughly and add Klim to make heavy white paste. Spread over cake with a wet knife and smooth carefully to 1/8” thick. Garnish with cherries and nuts. This icing will set hard.
A soft icing can be made by adding ¼ lb. of Reich margarine to the above mixture. Beat the margarine with a fork until it reaches the consistency of clotted cream before mixing with sugar and Klim. This soft icing can be spread to any required thickness.
HOUDE, a former Mayor of Montreal, was recently re-elected to what office with a majority of 14,000 votes. He was sent to a concentration camp in 1940, because he had encouraged French Canadians to refuse military service. He was released very recently. V.B.
Enemy transports, under the protection of very strong naval units, penetrated into the Sea of SULU in the Philippines, on the 15th December. The landed 1 division in the vicinity of SAN JOSE and one the S.W. corner of the Island of MINDORO. Heavy fighting is in progress. V.B.
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THE DIARY OF F/O PEPYS, P.O.W.
20th December, A.D. 1944
BELARIA
Yuletide nearly upon us and we did have a great debate on the decoration of our chamber, some holding that it was too bitter a parody of the old days; while others wished to capture some of the essence of this time of rejoicing. But after all peaceable to bed, we shall have decorations and suffer our nostalgia silently. Now to make the best of our plight will spend this week a-cooking. To have the largest dinner ever, for which we have been saving, and all this despite our special parcel issue which will add turkey, sausage and face flannel to our menu. Did discourse with Basil Beeton on the latter and he, uncertain of American custom, did think they would make good garnishings. To-day from the Vorlager did receive our Christmas store of food. ‘Twas good to see our store of eggs safely back, unbroken; but what envious looks from those improvident neighbours who had eaten their reserves – as they say here: “Wie gewonnen, so zerrinnen.”
I did see the play by St. John Ervine, in the theatre, but it was lacking in interest and the building was cold; more stoves are being now fitted, so we shall see the Christmas revels in comfort, for rumour hath it that “FANFARE” is two and a half hours of excellent variety. Soon too it is hoped to improve our gramophone and, as more records are here, we shall have more musique.
Did learn from the O.K.W. this evening of the big new German counter-attacks to drive or armies back to France. This did remind me of the gigantic German counter –attacks at Sitomir in the Russo-German War, which did give the enemy breathing space for the further withdrawal. So the war goes on, the certain end coming nearer though some are blind to this.
This morning a big search – even extending to the complement of the flagship on morning Appelle. The only serious loss was suffered by the Commander
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of the ship, who did lose his cellar of wine, despite the pleas that was for medicinal purposes. And so, finally, to bed. Wishing all good men a Happy Christmas and a Happier New Year in the homelands.
THE GERMAN COUNTER-OFFENSIVE
Owing to a shortage of information it is too early to form any conclusive opinion on the German counter-offensive in the West. We will, however, endeavour to suggest a few lines of thought along which the subject might be pursued.
On the 16th December the Germans started a large-scale offensive, between the HIGH FEN and the North of LUXEMBURG. That is to say between the two points, in the North on the River ROER and in the South on the River SAAR, where the Allied pressure was, and still is, the strongest. This portion of the front, held by the American 1st Army, was necessarily thinly garrisoned. The attack followed a strong artillery preparation and is supported by large tank forces and an intensive air screen.
Although the Germans claim to have taken the Allies completely by surprise, their preparations cannot have wholly escaped the notice of Allied air reconnaissance.
It is clear that the Germans expect more than local gains; they pursue strategical gains, unknown to us, but which we will try to guess.
Attack is often the best form of defence, especially when the element of surprise can be used successfully. A successful attack would also bring the initiative, always a favourable element in warfare, back into German ands. It is also probable that the Germans wish to relieve the pressure, both at DUREN and on the SAAR.
Did the German High Command want to disorganise an impending Allied attack? We doubt it; it would precipitate the rouble rather than avoid the danger, as the offensive would move into concentrations of considerable strength.
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On the contrary, the German offensive might well have been the result of Allied weakness in this sector, strong attack with the maximum available forces would be a natural reaction. Finally, this attack as been a vast factor in improving the German morale, this was undoubtedly on of their arms.
After having retreated and ….. and retreated ever since AVRANCHES, sometimes slowly, often very fast indeed, German divisions are again on the offensive.
The Germans appear to expect no less than the re conquest of FRANCE and BELGIUM. It only goes to prove the heights and depths go German morale.
If this German offensive fails, the re-action will be terrible indeed for Hitler’s Reich.
Eisenhower had the necessary room and the necessary reserves to manoeuvre and master the situation should it become serious. On the other hand, will the Germans, even if their hope are exceeded, venture far into BELGIUM, with the danger of large forces on either lank, waiting to cut them off?
In any case, the main task for the Allies is to fight the enemy, wherever he is. They have superiority in men, material and aircraft.
We are convinced that the German counter offensive only means a precipitation of the final issue.
From a letter:-
Here is a quotation from a booklet called “HUMANITY KEEPS AN APPOINTMENT.” It says: “ A member of the educational committee of Stalag Luft III summed up the attitude of Prisoner Students when he wrote ‘Without the aid of your Educational Service this P.O.W. life would be one of stagnation, but through the efforts of the New Bodleian Library it is a period of praiseworthy effort in adverse conditions.’” The booklet having quoted this letter, adds:
“If I had the power I wold inform everybody and every employer in England and the Dominions that the letter P.O.W. can, and often do, imply an added qualification.”
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A CHRISTMAS LETTER
I’d like to be home for this Christmas, my dear
To share all the sweet joys with you;
The laughter and fun of a happier year,
The same as we once used to do.
We’d put up the tree on the parlour again,
All tinsel and colour and light;
With ribbons and popcorn and striped candy-can
And crown’d with a star shining bright.
In the evening we’d sit by the old fireplace,
With the children all tucked in bed
And smile as we thought of tomorrow’s mad race,
To be first with that shiny new sled.
Then I’d kiss you again, my dearest of dears,
And whisper my thanks, just to you,
For the courage and patience and love through the years,
That have meant more than you ever knew.
Yes, I’ll be there for Christmas, the same as before;
Wherever you are I’ll be near.
In my dream I’ll be with you to tell you once more-
Merry Christmas, God Bless You, my dear.
From TOUCHSTONE, Oflag VII B’s monthly magazine:-
“Regarding rank, the New Zealand officers are the only ones who have regular promotion and nearly all of them are brigadiers. However, they are all very reasonable and democratic …. I sometimes wonder whether the old days weren’t perhaps, better when Germans were Germans, Britons and Canadians were chained. We felt darn sorry for them – I mean as far as one can feel sorry for a Canadian – their sufferings welded us into a real community.”
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“IT’S THE LAST LARST VORD IN PITCHERS”
Dr. Goebbels has said, “the film…. Is a cultural bridge between nations…..” but after viewing “Dixie Gugan” and The Spoiler,” one can feel that the bridge is creaking badly at the joints. Presumably the Moguls of Wardour Street, with a fat benign smile, despatch the reel as suitable entertainment for a long-suffering and helpless kriegie audience. Perhaps they are right. For officers, presumed to be intelligent adults appear to find pleasure and stimulation in the vapid hip-swingings of the curiously inept taxi-driver or the synthetic tinkling of a dance-hall harlot (Goodbye Roy – Splash, sob, choke, splash – Cut to fight in Gold Mine).
It makes one distinctly apprehensive. In England, after all, one can escape the high-pressure sex programme of La Grable or the persuasive machinations of Victor Mature by seeking immediate sanctuary in a tavern or the waxworks. But here one is compelled to swallow the celluloid offerings and be grateful.
The modern American film is calculated to entertain an audience with an average mental age of twelve years; in England, for obvious reasons the mental age is put at fourteen years and the average film with Hedy Lamarr as Elizabeth, Lana Turner as Mary Queen of Scots and Red Skelton as Essex, makes a great profit, although the film has a much inspirations and aesthetic value as a Group Captain’s hat. Even the strangely wooden Mr. Flynn has ventured into history and pantaloons for the benefit of the public at large and Warner Bros. in particular.
So, shall we at Christmas join reverently together in a quiet prayer of grateful thanks to the kind donor? No Sir – not if they continue this supply of tripe. Far less injurious to be in a top bunk, breathing mountain air and Edgar Wallace – which, by comparison with Randy Scott, has the constructive value of Aristotle.
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[Image – SEEING OUT THE LAST OF THE WAR YEARS]
[Image – THOUGH THE WIRE – WINTER, 1944.]
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[Image – The first Mrs Fraser]
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THE FIRST MRS. FRASER
The play itself was, perhaps, an unfortunate choice for cosmopolitan audiences, but we realise that the choice is very limited, both by scripts and performers. It was equally unfortunate that the playgoers, with frozen feet and numbed minds, were not in their usual receptive mood, a fact which does not help but greatly hinders amateur performances. Perhaps audiences will remember that and be a little more generous with laughs and applause. This would be easier now that the heating system of the theatre has been improved and you will be adequately warmed.
Janet Fraser was well taken, the best performance of the evening and undoubtedly the best we have had from this actor. James Fraser ha moments of conviction but, yet again, he appeared to be moving by numbers, his strictly stylised performances must be loosened up before he achieves a convincing stage presence. Elsie, the second Mrs. Fraser, appeared to have been greatly influenced by the manner of a certain Miss West, this was not your critic’s idea of the part but, if such an interpretation was intended, wit was quite well done.
Ninian stood out from an undistinguished lot of minor performers, if he can curb a tendency to gabble the latter half of long speeches he will be a useful addition to our dramatis personae.
The set was well designed and the props, particularly, were good. The colour scheme of pink and blue was, perhaps more suited to a boudoir then a drawing room, even though it was a feminine drawing room.
We now look forward to “FANFARE” the Christmas show. We do so with confidence, since the production is in the capable charge of F/O Whitely who has never failed to produce the goods.
A one-legged man won the high jump by clearing 5ft. 7ins. At the College Sports at Pretoria recently. He lost his right leg, two inches below the knee, when he was a boy. De Villiers who normally uses crutches, stands square before the bar, hops to it, springs with his left leg – an astonishing performance.
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RESOLUTION
I don’t see that there’s much point in making many resolutions for the New Year that is almost upon us. It seems a better idea to wait a few months until we are back in circulation again and then make our resolves, in accordance with the new conditions and surrounding that we shall find. Our lives here are pretty much ordered for us and there is little room for further restrictions, however well intended they may be.
There is, however, one habit of ours that we might are to alter. We might get a little more joy and correspondingly less melancholy if we focussed our attention more upon the future and less upon the past.
It is a curious fact that bygone events seen happier as they recede into time. Nothing ever seems so good as it was “Way back.” Thus we find ourselves at this time thinking wistfully of Christmases of old; progressively, from childhood up to those wizard mess parties and the attendant pleasure. Seldom are the unenjoyable hours recalled.
Now I thought it would be a good idea to adopt the same scheme, but in reverse. For there is much to look forward to now. A reasonable Christmas compared with what might have been. Longer days, with Spring in the offing. Home pretty soon, and happiness that we shall never have known before, even in retrospect. The company of our loved ones, getting the car out, wearing a decent suit of clothes and dozens of smaller pleasures that we can all readily visualise.
So I think I’ll make just one Resolution. To dwell on the future, instead of the past. Christmas 1939 was a joyous affair but Christmas 1945 cannot fail to be the best ever.
Although I suppose that even then, reclining and replete after the family Christmas dinner, we’ll be shooting a line to an admiring (?) audience about the advantages of being able to roll onto the “pit” straight from the table, etc, etc,.
Perhaps it is nice to look back sometimes.
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Untersturmfuhrer RAILTON M. FREEMAN,
alias
*Pilot Officer RAILTON M. FREEAN,
Alias
The Rat that left the ship that will not sink
An article appeared in Der Angriff of 23rd December 1944, purporting to be written by the above-named individual. We had intended to publish excerpts from this article but have decided not to do so. It contains no remarks which are worth reproducing dealing chiefly with the medical treatment of seriously wounded British and Germans behind the Allied front line. It quoted an article from the Daily News of 1929 to support the argument, and says: “how a captured solider who was wounded would be treated by the Anglo-Americans can easily be estimated when one reads the point of view of the British doctor on the treatment of their own soldiers.” – A point of view written in 1929 by an individual who was writing of Army Medical Services from the outlook of an Army Commander, trying to view the situation dispassionately.
The mentality which will allow a man to desert his country, however dangerous her position, has been well applied to the type of propaganda which the article tried to put across. The arguments would not convince a child of five and the spite and fear in the mind of the writer can be clearly recognised. We presume that the profession of such spite is a necessity to continued existence. The fears are certainly well grounded.
The article says a lot about Prisoner-of-War- among other things: “good food! They (The British) are nor even interested in feeding their own people; especially enemy prisoners-of- war,” many such inaccurate statements and false arguments.
This “Freeman,” ironically names, is now an officer of the “Waffen S.S.,” his alternative to becoming a prison-of-war. He and his loathsome brotherhood, who have violated all codes of deny and military ethics, wold do well to remember that we shall return home as “Freemen, “ he will continue to be Freeman.
*Sentenced to death at the Old Bailey in 1945.
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JOB DOESN’T LIVE HERE
I grow weary of these “Realists.” They are in their elements now, with mud all around, half-parcels in their bellies and yet another Xmas in Kriegiedom nigh is upon us. Winter shadowing the light at the end of the tunnel and the days marching by in slow procession. How smug they are, these cold comforters, with their widening smiles and their unspoken “I told you so’s.” How patently pleased with themselves as they explain the futility of hoping at all and as they superciliously decry the “childish refusal of face facts” of the cheerier souls who are happy to see the world and the war with rose tinted vision.
Perhaps we should have paid more homage to the profundity of these lofty gentlemen. Possibly they haven’t been accorded their due measure of respect for their long-sightedness. Though it does seem a pity that they couldn’t have foreseen their arrival in Germany and taken suitable preventive measure, thereby depriving is of their cheerless company.
For of that use are such gloomy prophets among us? Going around and inflicting, unasked, their wearisome theories on the erstwhile hopeful kriegie. Seizing upon the slightest display of optimism and carefully proving it’s lack of foundation, gazing with increasing pride at the lengthening face of the unwilling victim. If self-appraisal alone is not enough for these comforters of Job, then let them write books of their convictions, not to be published until the events have taken place.
We don’t want to listen to them. They defeat themselves with their own arguments. For it is so clear that this “realism” is naught but a clock for their lack of courage to hope and the fear of being disappointed, should any hitch keep is here for a few months longer. The very people who loftily decry the “refusal of the facts” are themselves the refusers. Let them gather courage and a different sort of smile. Let them bash the store of “D” bars, which they have undoubtedly saved against their beloved “rainy days.” Let them stop making
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Dozens of fivers from the faith of others. I hope that the war will end this year and am happy in my hope. I don’t want anyone to go to the bother of explaining to my why it will not.
THE AMERICA – CANADA QUIZ
Intended as a stop-gap to fill in the theatre schedule, QUIZ was a howling success in more ways than one and the capacity audience was quick to show it’s appreciation.
The Canadian team was frequently stumped by the, questions propounded by eh six Army Corps opponents, but managed to nose out a closely contested victory
Has the Americans known that George Washington made the original survey for the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, that the Hawaian[sic] Islands are also known as the Sandwich Islands, or that you don’t have to cross a State border to go from Buffalo, N.Y. to Detroit, Mich., it would have been a different story.
One the other hand, the Canadians were unfamiliar with smokeless electric trains and national anthems and lost points of the “King” who runs their Government.
The frequent “I pass” surrenders produced gales of mirth from the audience, particularly when some luckless contestant fell for an old gag. We still are not quite sure whether it is the Yang Tze or the Hoang Ho which is known as China’s sorrow and maybe Port Moresby isn’t in New Guinea, but it was good fun.
For a “first-time” presentation QUIZ provided excellent entertainment and subject matter for any number of arguments. We look forward to a return match between these contestants and more of the same with teams from other nationalities and services participating.
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WEST FRONT VIGNETTES
He left England in a fighter, as one of the escort to 72 Marauders who were doing a tactical raid….After being hit by Flak, he baled out over the target area and landed, by parachute, in the middle of the area which was still being bombed…With his bare hands he scrabbled a hole in the soil and had barely settled into it when a large force of Liberators followed up and showered bombs around hi,….
He was not hit. A few moments later a low rumbling noise made him peer over the edge of his hole…
An enemy Tiger tank was rolling towards his hole, the cupola was open and the commander was looking backwards – the Tiger was retreating-! The Englishman, 22 years old leapt out of his hole and the tank rolled by without seeing him… more aeroplanes in the vicinity forced him back into the hole…. The sound of voices raised his head again and he saw Allied infantry approaching from the East…. Leaping out of the hole for the second time, he asked them the way back to our lines…. They told him and asked him to escort four prisoners. He undertook this and set off…Four hours later a weary and harassed Pilot Officer reported back in our lines and handed over 160 prisoners, who – as he puts it – “Had been slung at him en route” He was unarmed.
…
Seen from a patrolling fighter on the evening of “D” day ;-
Two battleships standing about six miles off the coast with a screen of fighters above them… every naval craft within range joining them in pouring fire over the beachhead…. A bomber force on the way to bomb the marshalling yards at Caen… Thunderbolts screaming sown to strafe retreat enemy forces…. Vari-coloured parachutes being dropped with supplies for the airborne troops….a tank bottle going on between Caen and the Beachhead, with 15 or so in flames…. and, one mile from the centre or this scene, a solitary Frenchman with two horses drives a straight furrow over the land he has been tilling for 35 years… And adequate comment?
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[Image – This year – next year – sometime…]
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To the Editor – THE LOG
I am taking this opportunity to convey to all ranks of this Camp my sincere greetings for Christmas and New Year.
Most of us were convinced that we should be spending them at our homes with our families and I am most heartened and impressed by the way everyone has accepted the severe disappointment and has refused to indulge in fruitless self-pity.
In a message received from Her Majesty the Queen, the certainly of a very early reunion with our loved ones is expressed, and this, I know, finds an echo in the hearts of all of us.
It seems an appropriate time to thank, on behalf of the whole Camp, those who have carried out Camp tasks voluntarily throughout the year, and, to choose only one of many such jobs, especially do I congratulate the road building party for their stout efforts in building and bettering the Camp roads.
I am delighted to find that the American contingent is still with us over this period of good-will, and that we have the opportunity of further cementing the friendship and understanding between our two great nations, and most particularly do I include them, and all other of our Allies within the Camp, in these most Cordial Greetings.
GROUP CAPT.
SENIOR BRITISH OFFICER.
20th December, 1944.
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[Newspaper Image]
The Camp, BERLIN, AUGUST 5, 1944
World and War News
HOME NEWS IN BRIEF
A facsimile of the front page of “THE CAMP” – produced by the Germans and distributed to British P.O.W. Camps – The reproduction on the opposite page is the front page of the Christmas 1944 number.
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[Newspaper Image]
The Camp BERLIN DECEMBER 1944
HOLY NIGHT, SILENT NIGHT
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The selection of “Editorials” which occupy the following pages are taken from issue of the “LOG” which have not been reprinted in full in this book, They are included in the hope that some of the remarks and events noted therein may serve to remind ex-inmates of Belaria of some of our domestic problems and amusements.
THE EDITOR
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THE LOG
BELARIA 14th February, 1944
NUMBER THREE
EDITORIAL
The most notable feature of camp activity this week is, undoubtedly, the remarkable stride mace in the reconstruction of the theatre. I was privileged by an invitation to visit this seat of industry on Friday last: my former visit has been on the previous Sunday. I opened the door – walked in – and promptly turned round to walk out again, thinking I was in the wrong hut; or perhaps, round that familiar bend. A second glance reassured me and my amazed sense took in the transformation. An orchestra in the dressing room provided a suitable background, with what appeared to be “concerted individual instrument practice,” to the melody being played by sundry carpenters, electricians and general factota.
The floor has assumed a “gor-blimey” angle which will enable all the audience to see the stage which is well on the way to completion, and the orchestra pit is nearly finished.
Although we are asked to bring stools to the band shows tonight and tomorrow, I am told that there will be Red Cross armchair seating for a house of one hundred and fifty.
This is a great feat for the common good and I am sure that I shall be expressing everybody’s opinion when I render thanks and congratulations to the Entertainments Officer and his staff for a good job well done.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 21st February, 1944
NUMBER FOUR
EDITOIAL
Several incidents of importance to us all have occurred during the past week. The question of the cut in German rations has been dealt with elsewhere and since that was written we learn that the macaroni ration has been reduced by 75 grammes per fortnight.
One item of information which we have received, however, deserves special treatment. Foodacco has been open for less than a week and I regret to have a report that is it already being exploited by those among us who take advantage of that mutual trust which the very foundation of harmony in P.O.W. life. In one instance a customer sold 500 cigarettes to Foodacco in Player’s 10 packets – thirty of these packets were found to contain inferior grades of cigarettes of mixed brands. To quote another case – two tins of cocoa were accepted from a man and bother were subsequently found to be half full. One of these had been resealed.
We should all like to believe that these occurrences were accidental, but, in the case of the cigarettes and the resealed time of cocoa, such belief would amount to foolishness.
Gentlemen – I present these cases to you as one of the most abominable types of theft and only do so because you can assist in stamping out such practices – DO not distrust your fellowmen without very good reason – but, if you have such reason – it is imperative that you take immediate action. The best action being to report to it your Block Commander.
We are all convinced that 99.9 per cent. Of the personnel of this camp would not stoop to such practices and by dealing with it early we hope to kill off the tendencies of the other 0.1 per cent. In conclusion, I should mention that it is the S.B.O.’s intention to publish the name of any offender caught hereafter: in addition to any other action he may deem necessary The LOG will gladly give additional publicity to any such incident.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 5th June, 1944
NUMBER NINETEEN
EDITORIAL
The reprisals instituted last week are still in force and severely restrict the activity of our educationalists and horticulturalists. The latter, however, show more ability to rise above the difficulty, prodigious feats are performed daily with table knives and forks. Indeed, one sometimes wonders of they are horticulturalists or merely hungry kriegies “going back to the land.”
The wager which ended in the crawl will, doubtless, be the forerunner of other such incidents. One can only hope that they will be as well arranged and conducted.
The mail situation is still deplorable and letters from home make it apparent that out mail is taking longer than ever to reach it’s destination.
The new purge brought some interesting news pf home and it was particularly gratifying to hear the food situation is very good. They report that the greatest optimism prevails, but it is not having effect of slowing down the pace of production or preparation. It was also reassuring to hear that the raids on London and other English cities have caused little or no damage.
We are now approaching the summer solsticial day which will herald the shortening nights and the paling of those tanned torsos, now such a common sight. Opinion would seem to indicate that this paling will be completed under our own skies – or shall we be re-acquainted it under the Pacific sun?
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THE LOG
BELARIA 16th June, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY-TWO
EDITORIAL
The possibilities of emigration, subsided or otherwise, as one mans of providing satisfactory rehabilitation for ex-service men, particularly those of the United Kingdom, have received a great deal of attention from Government organisations entrusted which the planning and preparations for the re-absorption of service personnel into civilian life. It is generally accepted that there will be a large scale voluntary transfer of population from the British Isles to the Dominions, in furtherance of the inter-Allied planned economy.
In the past, migration was promoted and encourage largely for political reasons or the benefit of vested interests and with little or no regard for the welfare of the emigrants or the country of destinations. One of the principal abuses inherent in this system was the deliberate creation of false conceptions as to the opportunities available or prospective settler. Latter day economic conditions have some away with most of these ill-founded beliefs, clearing the way for planned migration designed to get the requirements of those countries willing to accept new citizens.
Three principal factors suggest themselves as criteria of the suitability of prospective settlers in these countries. They are adaptability, ability and permanency.
The recently pioneered countries place a premium on “doing,” People are judged entirely by their capabilities and the greatest rewards go to those with the most initiative. In consequence “push” is more important than “pull,” and skills or specialist training is a most valuable asset. Prospective immigrants will do well to bear in mind that these countries usually have a more than adequate supply of unskilled labour, but will always be able to provide opportunities to those who can offer skilled craftsmanship or specialised training.
While there is a definite tendency to minimise the importance of nationalism, it must be remembered that emigration to another country presupposes a willingness to accept and conform the customs and traditions of the country, with a minimum of individious comparison. It is most desirable that the settlers should make every effort to become absorbed into the national entity, avoiding any tendency to form isolated communities with the nation.
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No country is willing to absorb immigrants into it’s [sic] national economy and them to sit back and witness their departure “back to the old country,” as soon as they have accumulated sufficient capital for retirement or whatever other plans they may have formulated. The younger nations want citizens, not transients; people intending to establish themselves as permanent resident will be afforded every reasonable assistance, and the achievements of their aim will be dependent on their own efforts and capabilities.
Wartime contracts have afforded services personnel many chances to acquire a fair knowledge of conditions and probable post-war trends in other countries. Large numbers have had the important advantages of contact with members of the overseas forces and should have formed a reasonably accurate estimate, upon which to base future plans for emigration.
In conclusion, it may be said that although we know that the streets of the cities in the younger countries are not “paved with gold,” there are and will continue to be excellent opportunities for those willing to and able meet the essential requirements.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 24th July, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY-SIX
EDITORIAL
The Editor has been constrained to move into Sick Quarters for a short time. It was, of course, entirely coincidental that this should take place the day before he was due to commence a weeks stooging, and an issue of THE LOG due to appear. Fortunately, he has ordained that, for the time being, THE LOG will be published fortnightly. It is felt that this will help materially in overcoming production difficulties caused by the present dearth of suitable copy.
Definite steps have been taken to meet out need of greater privacy. The appearance of wooden screens along those sections of Camp exposed to the road would appear to indicate that there is no local shortage of scrap lumber. The vegetable issues of the last week have been rather overwhelming, and one could wish that the Protecting Power would send their representative more frequently. We now have unrestricted use of the classrooms and the education schemes are forging ahead. The news that nine of our fellow-prisoners are leaving to be repatriated is most welcome. With them go our best wishes for a speedy journey home and the hope that we will be seeing them again very soon in more pleasant surroundings.
The editorial which appeared in out last issue advocating the changes in the administration and availability of the theatre has occasioned a number of Letters to the Editor. Several considerations have altered out original intention of publishing the. Until such time as The Editor is back on the job, the publication of these and any other letter on this subject which may be submitted will be left in abeyance.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 21st August, 1944
NUMBER TWENTY-EIGHT
OVERHEARD comments from new arrivals indicate that there exists some misapprehension as to certain of the “news items” appearing in THE LOG. The publication of informative material of this nature is obviously dependant on three sources: Extracts from letter; information received from recent arrivals; and translations of extracts from German newspapers. Information received from the first two sourced is, if possible, checked and verified before insertion in these columns. Translated extracts from German publications may be identified by the appended initial of the newspaper source, and readers are expected to evaluate these with reserve.
With the appearance of the most optimistic “new Purge” to date, our strategists have been enjoying a field day deducing substantiations for pet theories. At last we seem to have achieved Mr. Churchill’s “the beginning of the end.”
We are pleased to note the presence of F/Lt. J. Reid, v.c., among the more recent arrivals on camp.
An undesirable demonstration of the futility of arguing right versus might took [ace last week. The innocent party most concerned escaped with painful and possibly permanent injury thanks only to his own good fortune. So long as the present condition prevails, it can not be emphasized too strongly that prisoners must take every precaution to avoid anything remotely resembling an infringement of the warning rail regulations. Casuistic submissions afford no defence against bullets.
The regrettable breakdown of projection equipment resulted in some of the camp not seeing the film, but we are told that it will be repaired and retuned next week, when extra showings will be given.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 18TH September 1944
NUMBER THIRTY
EDITORIAL
Since the publication of our last issue there have been several important changes in camp life. The closing of the sports field was a great loss, but this is undoubtedly offset by the opportunity, this created, of going for walks outside the wire and seeing something of the countryside.
The inmates of Block One had a short return to their winter quarters, but found that the enemy has not yet been driven out. At the time of going to press they find themselves scattered all over the camp in other peoples’ blankets. Neither of the blocks have yet caught fire and se we may hope that this treatment will be effective.
Those who were fortunate enough to see the bandshow will agree that it was quite the best entertainment of it’s [sic] type we have yet seen or heard. We anxiously await the re-opening of the show, in the hope that it will be possible to sneak in with a stool and hear it again.
Most people are not yet feeling the drop in rations. This is probably due to the abundance of vegetable. Messes are, however, strongly advised to try and avoid the uses of their reserve Red Cross food; against the day when the vegetables are no longer available or in the unlikely event of the complete failure of the parcel supply.
Betting over the end of the war seems to vary between the 5th and 30th October, expecting those confirmed pessimists who gloomily pronounce that “We shall probably be home this year.”
It is a great relief to most of us to note that the dead-end kids and their fezzes have gone to ground, we can but hope that they are not thinking another “Secret Satorialism.”
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THE LOG
BELARIA 6th November, 1944
VOLUME TWO
NUMBER ONE
EDITORIAL
The editorial and sub-editorial of last week’s Wire will explain our apparently premature withdrawal from retirement. While we are delight to welcome a youngest to the ranks of Kriegie journalism, we cannot agree that the Camp will “Have the benefit of two papers” (sic). We trust that you do not look for benefit in THE LOG; you are doomed for disappointment, we haven’t any to spare.
The heroic cuspidor in the extension to the Camp had led us to expect an American occupation but, as yet, none of the many rumours as to the identity of our new readers has crystallised into fact. The block which is open, Number Eighteen, will have to be filled before the others are inhabited and there is still no certainty about the occupants.
The Senior British Officer has been informed that the food parcel situation is becoming acute; in fact the S.B.O.’s at Calswalde are seriously considering whether we should be reduced to quarter parcels weekly. The present stock of parcels will take us to December 25th at the existing rate of issue and with our present strength. Letters have been received from the International and British Red Cross saying that every effort is being made to forward more food and that personal parcels are also coming through. We may, therefore, cherish a reasonable hope that, even if we drop to the quarter issue, the position should improve before long. Spero meliora.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 20th November, 1944
VOLUME TWO
NUMBER TWO
WE must open this issue by extending a hearty welcome to our American colleagues, those among us who come from the Centre Camp will remember what pleasant companions they were and it will be most refreshing to hear their point of view on questions which have been on our minds recently.
We have devoted a lot of space, three pages, to the article on President Roosevelt in the hope that it will provide, to British readers anyway, some enlightenment on the significance of this re-election. America has come to appreciate his shrew pre-vision and a different election result, with it’s interferences in a long-term policy, might well have proved disastrous to American and international affairs.
Public debated, now a weekly event, will give people the opportunity of getting a broader view and a new outlook on national and international problems. Many of the better thinkers of our generation have perished in the war, we shall have to take their places. Here is your chance to study the problems and incidentally, to practice the expression of your views; the latter, however shrews are of no value if you cannot put them over.
The food position, a prisoner’s greatest pre-occupation, seems to have resolved itself into a state where the issue will be the same as before, with the exception that tins must be returned within 24 hours of issue. The question of communal messing, should we drop to quarter parcels, is still under consideration, this may happy within the next fortnight but we still hope that “reinforcements” will arrive in time.
In conclusion, we must apologise that this issue will have to be published in two parts, those pages which are missing today (November 20th) were held up by the unserviceability of the typewriter and will be published as soon as possible.
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THE LOG
BELARIA 4th December, 1944
VOLUME TWO
NUMBER THREE
EDITORIAL
The senior British Officer has asked us to let all new arrivals know that various services on the camp such as watchmaking, hair-cutting, shoe and clothes repairing, etc., are one on a communal basis. The officers and N.C.O.’s who carry out these jobs do so on a voluntary basis and the tools and materials they use are supplied by the Red Cross or Y.M.C.A. You need, therefore, feel no hesitation is asking for such things as watch repairs, etc., and, of course, there is no question of payment. The Officer who does the watchmaking is most anxious that new prisoners with broken watches should take them along to him as soon after arrival as possible. This often prevents further damage and lightens his task.
At the time of going to print, we hear rumours about a film which is thought to be coming into the camp. The theatre officer has been advised that one, probably a Dietrich, is due – but we’ve heard that one before. However, it may arrive Morgen Fruh.
Conversation with the representative of the Y.M.C.A. discloses the fact the 3,000,000 Red Cross food parcels from America and United Kingdom have passed through Sweden. They are destined for camps in the Eastern part of Germany and we may expect our share as soon as the local transport can cope.
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Readers of these military news commentaries, of which two specimens are included, who were not P.0.W. must realise that they were based on facts (?) obtained from the German Press and information obtained from newly-arrived P.O.W. Any news we obtained from our secret wireless could not be incorporated since the “LOG” was always read by the Germans in the hope that we should disclose knowledge of events only obtained by “unorthodox” means.
SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT
THE OFFENSIVE ON THE WEST FRONT
Out last summary on the offensive in the West said little about the fighting itself. It would probably be better, therefore, to start from the beginning. Many interesting details have come to light since.
Readers should be reminded that mistakes may occur when commentaries on military events are made so shortly after their occurrence, there is only one source of information and much guesswork and reading between the lines has to be done. Those who feel great interest in the matter must wait for a few years, until the generals on both sides have published their memoirs, etc.
Where was the front before the offensive started?
From the MOERDYK (Bridge on the Waal, S. of Dordrecht) along the WALL to NYMWEGEN, then back to the MAAS at GENNEP. North of BENLO it left the MAAS to form the so-called German Bridgehead S.E. of HELMOND. The front went round to WEERT on the NOORDER KANAAL, then crossed the MAAS in the region of MAASEYCK until it turned South, West of GEILENKIRCHEN. So to STOLBERG, ECHTERNACH and the MOSELLE, which it more or less followed to PONT-A-MOUSSON, leaving a bridgehead to the Germans West of METZ. From PONT-A-MOUSSON, to CHATEAU-SALINS (Salzburgen) BACCARAT, GERARDMER, CORNIMONT, West of BELFORT, MONTBELIARD and the SWISS frontier.
THE ARMIES AND THEIR COMMANDERS
Canadian 1st Army. – General CRERAR, from the MOERDYCK to NYMWEGEN.
British 2nd Army. – General DEMPSEY, from NYMWEGEN to North of GEILENKIRCHEN.
If the original arrangement of the Invasion armies has not been changed, these two armies constitute Field Marshal MONTGOMERY’S Army Group.
American 9th Army. – General SIMPSON, from GEILENKIRCHEN to STOLBERG. This army was intended as left wing to :
American 1st Army. – General HODGE, from STOLBERG to ECHTERNACH, possibly to DEIDENHOFEN.
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American 3rd Army. – General PATTON, from ECHTERNACH (or DEIDENHOFEN) to the RHINE_MARNE CANAL.
American 7th Army.- General PATCH, from the PHONE-MARNE CANAL to the BELFORT GAP (BURGUNDISCHE PFORTE).
Gaullist 1st Army. – General BETHOUART, from the BELFORT GAP to the Swiss frontier.
The above-mentioned Armies constitute General BRADLEY’s (12th) Army Group. The disparity in size between the two Army Groups is obvious. It is possible, therefore, that SIMPSON is included in MONTGOMERY’S Army Group.
The fighting started on the 650 kilometre line, between NYMWEGEN and the SWISS frontier. EISENHOWER’S bid, in the opening stage, was 20 divisions. These were not spread out equally, but a greater concentration of troops and material was made there, where main points of fighting were desired or expected. Whereas both wings were still in front of the SIEGFRIED LINE and had to close in on it, the Allies in the AACHEN area had been in contact with the SIEGFRIED LINE for some considerable time, (first and second battles of AACHEN). Consequently a breakthrough in this area would be decisive and it was here that EISENHOWER concentrated his forces. We shall return later to this subject.
Other concentration points were built South East of HELMOND, METZ and BELFORT.
I. The American 1st Army. – General PATTON’s attack was the prelude to the general Allied offensive.
The main intentions were :-
(1) The fall of METZ, a fortified position of some importance, commanding the historical invasion route between the ARDENNES and the VOSGES (Louise XIV – Von Moltke).
(2) To close in on the SIEGFRIED LINE, running parallel to and behind the SAAR.
On the 8th November two spearhead were sent across the MOSELLE, on both sides of METZ, with the aim of surrounding the town.
The first spearhead built a bridgehead at KONIGSMACHERN, North East of DIEDENHOFEN. This advance as, at first, checked. The second spearhead was more successful. Starting along a line between PONT-A-MOUSSON and SALZBURGEN, it took NOMENY, DELM, SALZBURGEB itself and DIEUZE is quick succession. Advancing to MORCHINGEN, PATTON, delivered a frontal attack against DIEDENHOFEN, which was soon taken against, METZ, and against the MOSELLE, between these two towns.
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The frontal attack on the MOSELLE was repulsed on both wings, but in the centre the Americans forced the bridgehead over the river at UECKINGEN. It is probably this spearhead which swung round and finally cut off METZ from the EAST. But we cannot be sure. The frontal attack on METZ caused heavy fighting to develop, especially at GRAVELOTTE. The Americans then slowly closed in and took the town leaving behind a few isolated strong points in the outer defences, which the Germans claim still holding out. The fighting for METZ itself had so much relieved the pressure of North East of DIEDENHOFEN that by the 17th the bridgehead at KONIGSMARCHEN has been widened and deepened and SIERCK was threatened.
On the 18th, PATTON was able to renew his attack East of DIEDENHOFEN on the direction of the lower NIEV and of the SAAR between MARZIG and SAARLEUTERN. The Germans had to give ground and, on the 19th, the front was back eastward of SIERCK to BUSENDORF (west of SAARLAUTEN) and to the East of MORCHINGEN.
At the moment PATTON is firmly established on a line running near or along the SAAR, from the south-west of TRIER to about FINSTINGEN. There seems to be a deep penetration to BITSCH. On the other hand neither FORBACH nor ASSRBRUCKEN have been mentioned. PATTON’S initial aims have been fulfilled.
2. The British Second Army. – The Germans have, so far, given little detail about this offensive under the command of General DEMPSEY. The attack started on the 1th along the NOORDER-KANAAL, South East of HELMOND. It was preceded by an enormous artillery barrage. The German, have expected the attack, had very cunningly evacuated their positions before the barrage began.
On the next day a bridgehead over the KANAAL was established at WEERT, and by the 18th the Germans had only a bridgehead over the MAAS, including the two towns of VENLO ad ROERMOND. On the 23rd they mentioned British attempts to cross the MAA in the region of VENLO. Nothing more has been heard of this venture. At the present moment, the Germans refer to their small bridgehead at ROERMOND, which seems to imply the VENLO is now in Allied hands.
On the 16th of November, three other thrusts started, one on the RHINE-MARNE KANAAL, one in the BELFORT GAP and one in the region east of AACHEN. As the latter turned out to be the main Allied push, we will leave it to the last.
3. The American 7th Army.- General PATCH’s attack again on the 16th. It was part of EISENHOWER’S scheme of engaging the Germans on the entire front. Preventing them from shifting beg reserves along it.
A main point of fighting was built on his left wing, which as still on the plains (RHINE-MARNE KANAAL), but he brought his army to bear on the entire front of the VOSGES. The Americans slowly worked themselves up to the crest, the first significance event occurred on the 18th, after two days of intensive preparatory fighting. The Americans broke through from EADONVILLERS along the road to SCHIRMEK. Fighting was continued for this very important pass and it was taken on the 22nd.
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The road to STRASBOURG was in danger; and the Germans had to send some of their local reserves in an attempt to save the town. Meanwhile, another breakthrough has been forced, slightly North of the first one, Emerging from the PARROY forest, the Americans broke through West of SAARBURG, along the RHINE-MARNE KANAAL. The Germans, taken by surprise, were checkmated. Pushing swiftly on to PFALZBURG on the 22nd, the Allies took ZABERN on the 23rd, and made 30 kilometres on their last triumphant dash to STRASBOURG, which, except for a few fortifications, was taken on the 24th. During that time the first spearhead had only reached OLSHEIM. PATCH’S effort on his left wing had the effect of a beautiful “Disengage – double and lunge.” The advance on the remainder of the front was not so fast, but in the light of what had happened in the BELFORT GAP it is much better to let the Germans stay where they are, at least for the time being.
4. The Gaullist 1st Army. – This army under the command of General BETHOUART (of NARVIK fame), consists of Moroccan troops, Free French and a few American regiments. Their offensive also started about the 16th. On the 18thm heavy fighting developed on both sides of the DOUBS in the MONTBELIARD area and the French broke through on the 19th, South of BELFORT. Leaving a mask South and South West of the town, they pushed on and reached the RHINE North of BASL on the 23rd.
They then turned left and three divisions reached MULHAUSEN on the 24th. The French did not have the necessary reserves to push on further. This seems to indicate that a success in this area had not been expected and the exploitation of the De Gaullist success had to be improvised. The Germans, on their part, with an attack from the West of Altkirch towards the Swiss frontier, tried to cut the French off from the bases. The available reserves were used for the frustration of this German counter-move and the French attack along the RHINE was slowed down slightly. The Germans now feel the disadvantage of having to fight with a major obstacle in their rear and few avenues of retreat leading to and over this obstacle. With the Allies at STRASBOURG and at MULHUSEN, their position might soon prove, hopeless, but they will do everything in their power to disentangle their Army of the Vosges. We look forward to a week of spectacular military events in the area.
THE OFFENSIVE EAST OF AACHEN
The offensive is called the Third Battle of AACHEN. EISENHOWER has employed the greatest possible concentration of troops and material. The bulk of the fighting sustained by the American 9th Army under General SIMPSON between GEILENKIRCHEN and STOLBERG. On the left flank of this Army substantial portions of the British 2nd Army have been thrown in North of GEILENKIRCHEN, and on the right flank, the greater part of the American first Army under General HODGE. This, on a 72 kilometre (42 mile) front, nearly two whole armies are engaged. We estimate this force at about 450,000 men,. The artillery barrage prior to and during the fighting used 20 tons of explosive per hour. Numerous squadrons of the Tactical
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Air Force were used in support and attacked every imaginable target – tanks rolling stock, supply columns, bridged, machine gun nest, flack emplacements, troop movements and troop concentrations.
The intention underlying this offensive was very plain; to widen the sent previously made in the SIEGFRIED LINE; to make this line yield under the repeated massive blows, to pour strategical reserves through the gap and to disorganise the German resistance on the left bank of the RHINE, between DUSSLEDORF and BONN.
The offensive started at 1100 hours on the 16th of November , on a 30 kilometre (18 mile) front, between GEILENKIRVHEN and GRESSENICH (3 ½ miles East of STOLBERG). On the first day the Allies achieved two penetrations about two miles apart.
On the second day, the 16th, the fighting spread North and South over a 70 kilometre front. The Germans put up a stubborn resistance, only yielding inch by inch. They could not prevent Allied success near WUERSELEN, along the AACHEN-JULICH road. On the 18th the strongest pressure was in the area of GEILENKIRCHEN.
On the 19th further pushes were made to the Eastwards in the Southern sector, East of GRESSENICH, in the forest of HUERTGEN and slightly South of it at VOSSENNACK.
So it continued all along the AACHEN front. One the 21st a big effort was made to crush the German resistance East of GEILENKIRCHEN; at GERONSWEIDER 120 tanks attacked on a 1,500 yard front. It must be this force, with infantry following up, which as reported to be nearing KINNICH (on the RUR) on the 25th.
To deal with ESCHWEIDER, the Americans had recourse to the usual tactics. Two spearheads outflanked the town to the North and South on the 22nd. They met East of the town on the 23rd, and stormed it on the 24th. The force, attacking from the South and South-West, consisted of two armoured divisions and three infantry divisions. This is indicative of the concentration on other points of the front.
At the same time, on the 24th November, the Americans who had scored the initial success North-East of WURSELEN on the 17th, appeared in sight of JULICH.
At the moment the fronts appeared as the bend from the North of GEILENKIRCHEN to LINNICH, JULICH, West of DUREN, East of Vossenack, then joining the old front probably West on MONSCHAU. The Americans are slightly less than halfway between AACHEN and COLOGNE, but their aim is not achieved; fighting continues with unabated fury on both sides.
In conclusion. – Although the greatest successes have been scored in the Allied right wing, our chances lie on the Central sector. Another week of fighting should bring both wings into direct contact with the SIEGFRIED LINE and, we confidently hope, the rupture of this line by the American 1st and 9th Armies. We are waiting for EISENHOWER’S rebid. Meanwhile fighting continues.
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SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT
THE OFFENSIVE IN THE WEST
Those who did not expect an Allied offensive before next spring ad quite a few arguments in their favour. Firstly, a winter offensive would demand special equipment for the men, special coolant for armoured fighting vehicles and rolling stock, and the shorter days and bad weather would considerably restrict the telling effects of our air superiority. Lastly, we had plenty of time, so why hurry? But those who patiently and confidently kept waiting for an offensive before the winter set in with all its rigours, at last saw their hope materialise and their arguments prevail.
The enemy must not be allowed to recover from the blow he has suffered in France, Belgium and the Netherlands. The new general call-up in Germany must not bear fruit, the men of the German Volkessturm must not be given the opportunity of becoming well –trained and well-equipped soldiers.
The respite was given to the Germans was unavoidable. The disrupted communications in the liberated countries had to be repaired and re-organised. Above all, ANTWERP has to be cleared, the free flow of supplies into this vital port had to be guaranteed. Even if, through other Atlantic ports, enough reserves could be piled up to start a general offensive in the West, ANTWERP was the only port which would ensure that the hell-fire about to break loose would be adequately fed.
Meanwhile tanks, rolling stock, general equipment and armaments could be minutely overhauled. Well employed, the time would not be wasted.
A few days after the channel into ANTWERP was freed, the offensive started along the whole part of the Allied front, which was directly facing Germany; on the 8th of November in the region of METZ, on the 14th November South-East of HELMOND, in Holland, and on the 16th around AACHEN. It is difficult to say where the heaviest fighting is going on. General EISENHOWER probably wants to test the whole German line; to engage vigorously everywhere and to find a weak spot. He will then attack, with all his remaining strength, at the weakest point.
The possibilities of developing a successful war of movement after a break-through is in the different sectors depend largely upon the topography of the country. It might be interesting to discuss them.
On the extreme right wing the country is mountainous – about 4,500 feet above sea level – in such areas, as a rule, roads and railways are few; this would mean certain restrictions on the strategical exploitation of a break-through, where fast mechanical forces must advance on a broad front, must be able to manoeuvre freely, causing confusion in the enemy’s rear.
Apart from the fact the nearby RHINE might break the swing of a fresh “war of movement” affording as it does good conditions for a determined rearguard action, we must consider the possibilities of effective defensive warfare in the fortified
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SCHWARDWALD, a mountainous wooded country with comparatively few roads. Those who argue that the scarcity of the roads in the event of a breakthrough would give full scope to the Air forces must remember that the first aim of any offensive is the destruction of the opponent, by killing, wounding or capture, and only an army can achieve this on the scale required.
One the left wing, between NYMWEGEN and ROERMOND, a break-through would be very effective. The distance from this sector to the RUHR, is short, about 30 miles. The communications, roads, etc to and from this vital industrial centre are plentiful and good; a war of movement in this area, a quick thrust towards the RUHR would endanger Germany’s economic and military position.
There are two setbacks:-
(1) The Allies have not yet completely mastered the left bank of the MEUSE, let along crossed the river. The main German defences are undoubtedly on eh right bank.
(2) The RHINE is comparatively near, and consequently there is little space to cut off the Germans on the left bank of the river. The latter must be regarded as a serious obstacle.
A break-through in the area GEILENKIRCHEN-STOLENBERG would smash the German central sector, the collapse of this would have immediate and far-reaching repercussions on both wings, particularly on the extreme left wing, between MOERDYK and NYMWEGEN.
The German advance bastion would be in a hopeless position I the event of an Allied break-through East of AACHEN. While on both wings the Allies have not yet contacted the SIEGFRIED LINE, in the AACHEN area they have been fighting in the line for some time. The German communiques repeatedly referred to pill boxes, dugouts and fortifies positions. A break-through in this area would, certainly, be decisive.
An Allied success in LORRAINE would probably yield the best strategical results. The distance to the RHONE (between STRASBOURG and MAINZ) is greater than from the other sectors. The region East of THIONVILLE-CHATEAU SALINS is flat and open, with good communications leading towards the mining district of the SAAR. General PATTON in an attempt to cut off the German retreat towards the RHINE, would have ample manoeuvring space. With some luck it might be possible to destroy the German forces opposing PATTON before many of them had crossed the RHINE, which would be left undefended.
Furthermore, at a moment when the Germans have to distil every drop of their fuel from coal, the loss of the SAAR coal-mines would be a serious blow to their war machine.
Let us now consider the various components of the whole offensive:-
(1) General PATTON’S 3rd American Army delivered the initial blow. His first intention was to outflank METZ from the North and South and make the two
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pincers meet East of the town. The Northern spearhead crossed the MOSELLE at KINIGSMACHERN, North of THIONVILLE, but German resistance then slowed up their advance. The Southern thrust was more successful. Starting from PONT-A-MOUSSON, it successively took NOMENY, DELME, CHATEAU-SALINS-MORCHINGEN and is now in the region of DIEUZE. The Germans prevented these two pincers from meeting.
To relieve the pressure at the bridgehead of KNIGSMARCHEN, PATTON attacked the MOSELLE between THORNVILLE and METZ and established a bridge head at UECKINGEN, halfway between. At the same time he delivered a frontal attack at THIONVILLE, which was taken on the 16th November. Soon GRAVELOTTE fell, and at present the Allies are closing in on METZ from all sides. We must bear in mind the fact that PATTON has not yet reached the 1939 German board, and that the SIEGFRIED LINE lies beyond. PATTON’S intention, therefore, is the acquisition of an easy jumping-off place for the carrying of the war of movement into the heart of Germany.
(2) On the 14th November, General DEMPSEY, with the British 2nd Army, started for the MEUSE in the direction of VENLO and ROERMOND, with the intention of clearing all German forces from the West bank of the river. This offensive seems to have met with great success. The Germans, at first, talked about an Allied bridgehead over the MOORSER CANAL at WEERT an now about their own bridgehead over the MEUSE at ROERMOND.
(3) Two days later, on the 16th November, activity flared up on the VOSGES front and the 3rd battle of AACHEN began.
(a) From BELFORT to BACCARAT we should regard PATTON’S attack as intended to pin down the German forces, preventing them from drafting reserves to the other sectors.
(b) The Germans, so far, have announced few details of the fighting in the STOLBERG area. Ferocious fighting with masses of artillery and tanks is going on over a 50 mile front; but no new names have yet been mentioned; the Germans have, however, claimed that an average of 40 tanks per day have been destroyed.
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THE LOG
ON THE MARCH
GREAT SELTAN 30TH January, 1945
VOLUME TWO
NUMBER FORTY EIGHT
We must apologise for being a day late in publishing this issue. It should have been on the boards of Belaria yesterday; since we do not speak Russian it is perhaps as well that it wasn’t. It is strange how men adapt themselves to changing conditions and there could be no more convincing proof of this than the production of some two or three hundred sledges in thirty minutes, their variety of design and efficiency is a credit to Kriegie ingenuity.
The first day’s march seems to have been found difficult by most people but everyone agrees that the next was much easier, I tis only a matter of getting used to it apparently, if you heat anyone grousing remind them of our troops sleeping and fighting in the open on the West Front or the Russians on the East, not very far East either. Rumour puts them about 30 kms. from here, but she always id exaggerate.
We should like to advise everybody to go easy with their rations. It seems quite likely that we shall be some time on this march and it is suggested that you budget for a minimum of 14 days; do not stint yourself on this account, with the full parcel you have and extra rations you brought, it should be possible to feed very well.
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Readers may be glad to hear that the manuscript for the Souvenir Edition has been brought along, we do not guarantee that it will be carried indefinitely (it weighs 9 ½ lbs.) but every effort will be made to get it home.
To-day is a Heaven-sent chance to get yourself set up for the rest of the great trek. Get your socks etc., dry, the best way is to put them near your body, possibly between your shirt and tunic under the arms. When we start marching again you should on no account, sit in the snow or on milestones, etc., this leads to rheumatism, piles or other frightful trouble which will aggravate the difficultly of walking.
In conclusion, don’t let it all get you down – all you have to do is to keep your bowels, ears and mnd open.
R.O.T.F.B.
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THE MARCH
January 27th Stalag Luft III. Sagan
AT 9.30 tonight the camp was warned to be ready to leave in 30 minutes. This was the usual German timing, however, and we finally paraded at 0015 hours on the morning of Sunday the 29th. This was a lucky delay as it gave is time to make sledges upon which to tow our kit, enabling us of course, to carry much more. The greatest ingenuity was shown in constructing these vehicles and everything from coal boxes to Red Cross arm chairs when into their making.
It is impossible to describe our feelings when we were told to march and I won’t attempt to do so but the immediate reaction was interesting. We had never been in such a situation before. We were about to leave behind an accumulation of books, equipment, food, clothing, cigarettes, etc., which had been accumulated during the past five years and officers who had hoarded every safety-pin, nail and bit of broken glass were to be seen trying to give away thousands of cigarette, brand new clothing, and all other things which they could not carry but did not wish to burn or leave for the Germans. We felt that this move indicated that the war was very nearly over and were accordingly in the highest of spirits.
The 0015 hours parade was eventually dismissed at 0145 and we were told that we should be really be going in about an hour and a half, so went we back to our quarter and rechecked boots, pack, etc., and had a good meal. One very bitter aspect of this move was that out much looked forward to British Red Cross Xmas parcels which had arrived later were to have been issued the next day. Of course, we never got them.
We eventually left at 5a.m. on the Sunday, and a very strange procession would its way across the German countryside for 20 kilometres to a small village called Kunau – the drawing will give you some idea of the variety of clothing which we were wearing and we must have been a very strange
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sight to German eyes. Many people had decided that overcoats were much too heavy for a long march and had made capes or hoods out of blankets – others were wearing home-made puttee, some were in Balaclavas, some in the remains of flying kit, and a few- very few- in R.A.F. uniform of various types. Most of us were smoking pipes and everybody was towing or carrying odd looking bundles of kit and equipment, to which were attached kettles, jugs, milk tins and water bottles. All our pockets were filled with things we had decided at the last moment we could not leave behind and it was strange to dip your hand into a conglomeration of raw potatoes, razor blades, black bread and probably a fork or spoon seized at the last moment.
On arrival at Kunau we were put into barns. The march itself had not been bad – the roads were frozen and sledging was easy, but many of us were very foot-sore and everybody was extremely tired. We cooked meals over small fires and made a brew f tea or coffee. (I should have mentioned that we each had a whole Red Cross parcel which we had collected on marching out. Owing to the fact that the Germans, throughout the whole march, gave us little or no food, these parcels undoubtedly saved many of us from serious illness and possibly from the fate which occurred to other less fortunate groups of prisoners who were also on the march.)
The lucky people in the barns were those who managed to get a cow to sleep with – they were delightfully warm and very friendly. But most people found it very cold and did not sleep much that night. Another thing which many of us discovered was that n these conditions it is very dangerous to sleep with your boots on because they freeze solid and contract, and one wakes up in agony.
We were up early next morning and set off again about 9 o’clock and marched through Wiesau to Gross Selten. We arrived there at about 1600 hours and were put into a large farmyard with much netter barns than the night before and plenty of straw. The German people along the road were
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All very friendly and at times it was almost like being a unit of a liberating army – they would rush out with hot water and anything they could spare ad barter with us for cigarettes. Our guards, who were Volsturmers of an average age of about 65, were apathetic about this, as indeed they were apathetic about this, as indeed they were about the whole match, but the Luftwaffe officers in charge of the column got extremely annoyed and tried to prevent fraternisation by reminding the civilian that we were the very gangsters and child murderers of whom Dr. Goebbels had warned them to beware. This had no effect whatever. As soon as the officers’ backs were turned the business was resumes and we were sent on our way with a wave and a smile.
There was plenty of scrap wood about in the farm yard at Gross Selten and we made meals of corned beef etc., and settled down for the night. We were very lucky in our barn since it had electric light. The farmer was very irate when he discovered we had it on, but one cigarette seemed to placate him over this. We did not make the mistake of keeping our boots on this time, and by struggling together in the straw had a really warm and restful night – except for those whose ashes and pains from unaccustomed marching kept them awake.
We were wakened at 7.30 the next morning, and having made coffee with hot water which we bought from the farm labourers’’ wives exchange for cigarettes, we were paraded for counting at 0930 hours. To our delight we were told that we would be staying here all day for the rest. There was great rejoicing over this and the rumour mongers who had not been idle since we left Sagan really came into their form. “…. The Russians were 3 kilometres away …. The British and Americans had crossed the Rhine ….Hitler had gone completely round the bed and Goering had taken over and was discussing peace terms, etc., etc., “ We could, of course, get no German papers, and owing to the fact that the column had split up, the wireless, which had been dispersed among several people, was also split and we could not use it, so that we could get no real news to confirm or deny
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these rumours. I published o one page log on the lines of “it could be worse” – this is included in this book. It amused people to see it in these odd surrounding, but as the oil in the typewriter was frozen the printing was tricky. Entract did a drawing of a Kriegie with a sledge – very good considering that his hands too were frozen from the cold.
An interesting part of this day’s stay was that a motorised section of a German Panzer Division. Chased out of Lipmannstadt by the Russians, arrived in charge of one officer. It consisted of several lorries and the officer’s car, The troops were all very friendly and only too anxious to trade their rations for our cigarettes or coffee – they assured us that the war would be over in a day or two ( this was January 29th) and there was only one incident with these people, which occurred when somebody removed a goose from the officer’s car. He complained to the Group Captain and threatened that strong measure would be taken if this bird was not returned. An appeal was made for this return, but it was not forthcoming – the truth of the matter was that it had already been cooked and eaten The German officer grew to feel, however, that a 4 ounce bar of chocolate and 100 American cigarettes was ample compensation and the matter was settled this way.
The farmyard around which our barns were built looked like a Gipsy camp, with hundreds of little fires heating jam tins of water and people stirring a has or stew. It was altogether a very happy day because the German opinion that the war would be over in a few days had spread around and nothing could have dampen our spirits
We left there the next morning at about 0800 hours and did 20 kilometres through Tappferstadt, to Birkenstadt. The temperature rose in the afternoon and a slight thaw set in. The sludge made sledging much more difficult, and we did not arrive till 1700 hours. We were put into barns again – these barns were unheated and unlit, and even in the daytime there was little light – in sharp contrast to the adjacent shed which housed 98
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Friesland cows and had central heating, running water and electric light: We had by now got wise to the fact that it was far better to group together and make large communal meals, and we fed better from then on; but since we were locked into the bard at 1700 hours we got very hungry during the night, as of course we could neither smoke not light fires owing to the great danger of fire in the straw. Another inconvenience of being locked in the barns at 1700 hours every night was that these barns contained no water taps or any form of sanitary arrangement. A note in my diary written that night echoes the general feeling “Although dead tired, I feel very well – my feet are holding out well and apart from al the aches and pains inevitable after so much marching, everything is fine.”
I gave a small girl of eight a piece of chocolate and she looked at me very suspiciously when I told her to eat it and refused to do so until I had nibbled a small piece off the corner to demonstrate its edible properties. She then ate some herself and the ecstatic expression on her face as she got the flavour was wonderful to see. She had never seen chocolate before: She became very friendly after this and I showed her photos of my two children, which excited her very much, and she gradually became less nervous of me, until when we left I found it quite difficult to shake her off as she followed me down the road, hoping for more chocolate.
February 1st
We spent the whole day there again because, we understood, the parties marching ahead of us had slowed down and there was no accommodation on the road. We got one fifth of a loaf of bread that day – the first German rations for 5 days. The farmer in whose barn we were billeted got very annoyed at the way his straw, etc., was being moved about. He shouted and bellowed at everybody n German to no effect – he then told the Group Captain that he was surprised at the conduct of British officers in a foreign country. It was pointed out to hi, that the officers concerned were in completely strange circumstances and they the Germans had
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[Image – ON THE MARCH]
[Image – BARN AT BIRKENSTADT]
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[Image – 8 CHEVAUX, 40 HOMMES. SPREMBERG – LUCKENWALDE, 1945,]
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Broken nearly every article of the Geneva convention in their treatment of us during the last 5 days – we therefore felt under no obligation to be of good behaviour. One of the members of our “mess” begged, borrowed or stole a chicken from somebody and it was boiled and divided among 21 of us – I got the wish-bone and thought that I was unlucky until I saw someone with the beak.
A great blow fell in the afternoon when it started to thaw rapidly – by 1600 hours the thaw was complete and we realised the worst had happened. From now on everything had to be carried on our backs.
The next day we set off over very heavy country and owing to the thaw the mud was ankle deep. Nobody was very cheerful by the time we arrived at Schonheide where we were split into parties of 100 and thrown into damp strawless, unlit barns. The doors were immediately locked and therefore we could not cook a hot meal. Everybody was dead beat, however, and after some biscuits and margarine settled down to sleep.
Next day we marched to Spremberg where we were taken to a very large German Tank Corps depot and locked into the empty tank sheds. An hour later we were given half a litre of hot liquid containing no meat or solids but having a faintly cereal flavour. This was the first “hot meal” the Germans had given us since leaving Sagan 7 days previously. We entrained during the afternoon into empty cattle trucks and at 1630 hours we were locked in – 50 men to each, which made it quite impossible for us all to lie or sit down at once, so we took it in turned to do so. Seven hours later the train left the station and we were told that our destination was Luckenwalde, a large Stalag 32 miles south of Berlin and about 60 miles from our present position. Next morning we were still going, with frequent stops in railway sidings, and we arrived at Luckenwalde Station at about 1700 hours.
It was just beginning to get dark and the Germans had great trouble in counting us before marching off to the camp. When they had done so four times
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with different results, none of which was the figure they expected, we marched off in the rain to the camp where we spent an hour and a half standing outside the gates waiting for admission - there was no apparent reason for this. When we finally got into the camp 2000 hours we were searched, deloused, etc., until 0600 hours, the next morning when we were shown our new barracks.
It is impossible to describe the revulsion and disgust we all felt on seeing them – they were squalid and sordid buildings with great parched of damp all over the inside walls and ceilings. The door would not shut and most of the windows were broken. Three tiered beds in sets of 12, accommodating 200 men in each room, were indescribably filthy, with dirty and half filled paliasses. There was nowhere to cook our food and the water was turned off so that we could not even wash.
During the train journey from Spemberg the senior British officer of our party was visited by a German Foreign Office official who, without giving any reason, asked for a statement from the British that the German had made every attempt to improve condition on the march and that we were quite satisfied with their behaviour in this respect. This was undoubtedly an attempt to offset the indignation shown by the World Press over the whole incident, and, with typical German propaganda methods, it was implied that the giving of such a statement would greatly improve our living conditions at the new camp. The statement was, of course, refused. On arrival home we were dismayed to find that our relatives had been greatly upset by the very exaggerated stories of this march which has been splashed over the cheap “dailies”. It is regrettable that the people responsible for this type of press sensationalism cannot, for a moment, put themselves I the other people’s places.
Stag IIIa, Luckenwalde
This camp contained many nationalities including British, American, French, Russian, Italian, Jugoslav, Czechoslovakian and Norwegian officers and soldiers.
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We were the only R.A.F. contingent and it turned out that the Group Captain was the senior British officer in the camp. He immediately made representations to the Commandant to get in touch with the Red Cross authorities of the protecting power. This was the most urgent since there was no Red Cross food and we were having to live entirely on German rations, which at the time consisted of one fifth of a loaf, half a litre of soup, about 6 potatoes and one ounce of margarine per a per day. This diet contained just over half the calorific value of a man’s minimum daily requirements but apart from feeling hungry we found that we were quite fit on it provided that we did not exert ourselves in any way at all.
A far greater lack was that of literature. We had no books of any sort- they had been too heavy to carry – and there was no camp library. This period of just lying about with nothing to read, no mail coming in or out, and a perpetual hunger, was very trying and it is interesting that the topic of food was the only one discussed by anybody – people used to spend hours discussing the meals they would have when they got their parcels or when they got home and although it was a form of self-torture, everybody found themselves doing it. This was slightly relieved on February 23rd, three weeks after our arrival, when the 600 Norwegian officers gave us a gift of some Danish Red Cross parcels. It worked out at about one fifth of a parcel each and included small quantities of butter, cheese, Ryvita, sausage, sugar, molasses and oatmeal. The generosity which promoted this gift from those who were already short can only be appreciated by those who were there. It was a splendid gesture for which we shall never cease to be grateful to our Norwegian friends.
The lack of literature and educational facilities forced people to seek other occupation and it was interesting to watch how people one knew well reacted to these new condition. Many started to learn language from the Polish officers who were in our compound – they were very anxious to learn English of which many had a smattering, and were
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Willing in exchange to teach Polish, Russian, German or Spanish which most of them spoke fluently.
The Doctor from our camp at Sagen had marched with us – Capt. Montuuis R.A.M.C. – and had used nearly all his portable medical supplies during his valiant work caring for those who fell ill or had foot trouble on the march. His hospital at Luckenwalde consisted of a small walled-off section of a barrack without any heating or water in it (although this was later improved) and the Germans could not or would not, produce any medical supplies. We were fortunate, however in that the general health of the contingent was food and there was a German run hospital in the immediate neighbourhood of the camp which could deal with really serious cases. Nothing could be done, however, for the hundreds of people which suffered from an epidemic or sore throats and bad colds – luckily this cleared up without any serious development.
A regular supply of American Red Cross parcels began to come in about the middle of March and this, of course, improved the general conditions enormously. There is no question that, whatever one’s normal environment it is possible to out up almost indefinitely with the utmost discomfort, dirt and squalor provided that you are reasonably fed and warmly clad. The arrival of this food, together with the improvement in the news, which we were getting daily through our secret wireless, enabled us to ignore the unpleasant side of the life.
There were persistent rumours throughout our stay at Luckenwalde that we should move again when the Russians came close and we allows held reserves of food against this possibility, which took shape when we were marched to the station on Saturday, April 14th, where a train was waiting, ostensibly to take us to Moosbery near Munich – this journey did not see, at all pleasant in view of the great activity of R.A.F. and American aircraft. We did, however, manage to persuade the Germans to provide the paint and allow us to embellish the tops of the carriages with the letter “R.A.F.- P.O.W.” in yellow.
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[IMAGE – PER ARDUD AD ASTRA! A THREE TIER NIGHTMARE]
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We were locked in the train on Saturday night and told that we should leave as soon as the engine was available to pull us out. The German civilians living round the station were very friendly, and once again, only top anxious to trade their meagre rations for our coffee and cigarettes. The German railway staff looked upon the whole thing as a huge joke and had told us on arrival at the station that there was no hope of an engine ever arriving to take us to Moosberg. This proved to be true when we were marched back to the camp on the evening of Sunday the 15th.
It was now becoming apparent that the war could not last much longer and our “Defence Scheme,” which had been long planned to cover the moment when the Germans fled, was reviews and brought up to date. The German staff of the camp were becoming increasingly polite and obsequious – many of them going to the extent of asking for “good conduct notes” which they could present to the oncoming enemy, and their one prayer was that the British or Americans would arrive first.
And here I will digress to tell of one German interrogating officer who, when asked by a British prisoner whether he thought the Russians or Western allies would reach Berlin first said: “the Western Allies – even if we have to send transport for them” (this remark was made in September ’44!)..
The Defence Scheme, which I have already mentioned, was organised in secret and designed to keep the vital services of the camp going after the German left – it was also necessary in a camp of this size to have some systems of picketing the perimeter to prevent prisoners wandering off individually or n groups and endangering themselves in the local fighting. It was realised, too, that large numbers of displaced persons for the military commanders of advancing forces. While still in German hands we managed to contact the senior representative of each nationality in the camp and got their agreement to our proposals. The situation,
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As we foresaw it, was that we should awaken one morning and find the Germans had gone. Things turned out very differently because on the morning of Saturday, 21st April it became obvious that the German were about to leave. The first indication was that the sentry boxes were no longer manned, and then, one by one, the guards and sentries in the camp were withdrawn. At about mid-day the Germans paraded just outside the main gate in full marching order and the Commandant sent for the Senior Officer of the Camp, General Otto Ruge, Commander in Chief of Norwegian Forces. There was some delay in finding the General and the Germans were in such a hurry that they would not wait and selected the nearest senior looking officer who happened to be an American and formally handed over to him. They then marched out of the camp and were not seen again until some of them re-appeared in the Russian prison cages.
It should be appreciated that we were now completely surrounded by Germans, although they had officially evacuated the camp. There were not Allied Forced in sight, and there was some doubt as to how long we should be left in this sort of No Man’s Land. The water and light had been cut off at the mains in the local town, but the Works Service of our organization found some fire trailer pumps and pumped up water from static pools to maintain essential services. The light question could not be overcome until the power station was going again. A report from the patrol in Luckenwalde says “Quiet and orderly throughout the time. By 1100 hours all available food was distributed, and the factory manager of an armament works making breech blocks was yesterday ordered to destroy the vital parts of his machinery – which was done. Civilian are being evacuated by Police order, but the Volksturmers are still in the town. In the woods near the camp is a party of 7 or 8 S.S. troops and 100 soldiers who have visited the came and stated that anyone outside the wire would be fired upon and that any overt acts of hostility would bring drastic reprisals.” There was a light artillery unit in the woods north of the camp
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under a German general and we were not a little surprised when his officer visited us to say that unless the 8 rifles stolen from his men were immediately returned he would open fire upon the camp. The rifles had apparently been taken by some of the members of the camp and an appeal was made. They were found and returned to hm. The day was generally very quiet and, of course there was plenty to do inside the camp organising food distribution, cooking, reception of refugees who were pouring n from working parties, etc., etc. There were no incidents inside the camp – which is a great tribute to the discipline of the 25,000 inhabitants of all ranks and nationalities. Everyone went to bed that night wondering whether the morning would bring Russians or Americans. From the activity around they appeared to be about equi-distant from us. This later proved to be a false assumption.
At about one o’clock on Sunday morning April 21st a German aircraft strafed the camp This was the first time during the whole of our stay in Germany that we had been in any way directly affected by air warfare. However, the effect of this was fortunately not very serious The pilot flew up the main street of the camp and most of his shells fell in that street – it was amusing however to see people baling out of top bunks and landing on people who were simultaneously baling out of the tier below. Another amusing incident during this night was a visit from the Mayor or Luckenwalde who wanted to hand over the town to us. This offer was of course, refused by General Ruge. It was probable that the townspeople felt that this might in some way hold off the Russians, of whom, they lived in greatest terror.
At about 0500 hours on the Sunday a light Russian armoured car drove into the Camp at a high Speed, pulling up with a jerk outside our headquarters. A small and very dirty Russian emerged and was immediately surrounded by delirious prisoners who felt that at last they were on their way home. He, (the Russian) seemed to be very excited and grabbed
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everybody in sight, kissing them and slapping them on the back. They left about 20 minutes later and took General Ruge to report to their headquarters. They also took the senior American officer and an interpreter, who were perched up on the outside of the viehicle [sic] but ended their journey rapidly when fired upon just outside the camp. They did a smart roll into the ditch and the armoured car went on to Luckenwalde.
By this time there was continuous fighting in the woods all around us, but somehow none of the shells or bullets seemed to land in the camp. At about 10 o’clock a party of several Russians tanks and armoured cars drove in. As they were driving through the camp the German party in the woods just to the west of the camp opened fire on them, but caused no casualties. We could get no information from these people as to our evacuation since they were spear-head troops but they told us that the occupation forces would be along very soon and our position would be made clear. With this party of tanks and armoured cars was a large troop carrier filled with Tommy Gunners and it was very strange to note that one of these was a very attractive 19 year old girl, dressed like a man in a short smock ad breeches. It was incongruous to watch this women very battle stained and with a Tommy Gun across her knee, produce a dainty white handkerchief. She was asked to what unit she belonged and replied with obvious pride, “I am a soldier of the Red Army” but would say no more. Here it should be mentioned that the security observed by all ranks of the Red Army was of a very high order. They must have been extremely well trained on the subject and the penalties for leakage were, of course, very severe.
While this was going on the Russians were occupying the town of Luckenwalde and passing through in great numbers. Several independent reliable witnesses stated that apart from the firing of pistol shots into the air the occupation was quickly and effectively carries out. The discipline and behaviour of the Russian troops was reported
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as being correct in every way and the Germans were undoubtedly astonished and very relieves at this.
By 1100 most of the Russian troops had passed through and the German civilians began looting shops, taking particularly footwear and linen goods. White flags were flying everywhere and civilians were asking: “Where are the Americans?” The German civilian’s also looted the town bakery taking all the flour.
All Russian prisoners in the camp, approximately 9.000 were released today and anyone who could walk were given rifles and told to go and shoot Germans. One party of these Russians ex-prisoners was ambushed by German civilians I the wood near the gate and four of them were killed. The civilians responsible were subsequently captured. The German neighbourhood were now being broken up into small parties and many of them came and tried to surrender to the British or American camp. We took these prisoners on for subsequent handing over to the Russian authorities. One of these Germans, who had been the driver of a food lorry, said that he considered himself better off now under them than he had been in the last days of Naziism. [sic]
During these next few days we were frequently visited by Russian officers but could not get our position clarified. They also brought a film unit and photographers who took photographs of the various groups of prisoners and filmed the funeral of the eight Russian soldiers who had been found starved to death in a barrack in the camp. Another visiting Russia officer told us that there were still four German divisions in the area – two tank and two infantry – but that since the tank divisions had no tanks and the infantry division no boots they were only employing one Russian division to mop them up.
On the 26th April, Major General Famin of the Repatriation Board on Koniev’s staff visited the camp – he was accompanied by a bodyguard with a tommy-gun who posted himself outside the
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S.B.O.’s office throughout the interview. He said that he believed that owing to the approach of the two armies and the congestion of the lines of communication in the Russian rear it was most probable that we would return home via the West and assured us that whatever our route everything was being done to get us home as rapidly as possible.
A Russian girl interpreter, youthful, attractive and very smartly dresses in a tailored uniform and wearing Russian boots visited Camp yesterday. She remarked on the smartness and bearing of the British and American prisoners. She said that this camp resembled no other which her unit has yet liberated. Other camps have needed a Russian administrative staff to run them and on occasions the prisoners immediate on liberation have abandoned the camps for luxurious German quarters which they have badly despoiled. The interpreters, whose name is Maya and rank sergeant, visited some of our barracks and said that she considered them disgusting accommodation and that in view of the difficultly in living in them they were kept in remarkably good condition and the officers appeared to keep themselves smarter and more presentable than might have been expected. Sergeant Maya only began to earn English five months ago. Sher applied to join a fighting unit but was posted as interpreter. A number of Russian officers have expressed their gratification at the discipline and administrative organisation of the camp and for the past few days of continual stream of Russian officers has been reaching the camp to see that British officers look like and how they behave. The Russian officers who are not on duty are very willing to speak on political matters. One Russian major deprecated the pre-war propaganda which he considered had misled both British and Russian in respect of each other as individuals. He said that the Russian people have a genuine respect and admiration for Mr. Churchill whose “personality is very sympathetic” to them. They had all considered the death of President Roosevelt a great loss. This officer, however, preferred more
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than anything to talk about his small two-year-old son, of whom he carried a large photograph.
Another Russian officer said that his wife and three children had been shot by the Germans in Murmansk and his own main interest in life now was the pursuit and extinction of Nazis.
Senior Russian officers, including a political officer and senior Allied officers yesterday attended a funeral near this camp of a number of Russian ex-prisoners of war. No religious service was held at all but a number of speeches were made and a firing party of Russian ex-prisoners of war fired a number of live rounds which included a burst of a tommy-gun fire, over the grave. The Russian political officer made a rousing speech which ended in the words “Death to the Fascist Invaders.”
The following is an account of a visit to Luckenwalde by one of our officers yesterday:-
“There is very little damage In the town and only two buildings damaged by shells or bombs were seen in a five hour visit. Both of the damaged buildings were factories. There were a few traces of street fighting where house were spattered with machine-gun bullets and some trees on ether sidewalk had been uprooted by passing tanks. Convoys of tanks and 3-ton lorries were still passing through the town mostly arriving from the south-easterly direction and going west. Life in the town appears to be extremely quiet, even dull. The civilian in the streets are almost all women ad old men. Those of Russian extraction wear a res arm-band for security and as a symbol of peaceful intentions.
“German civilian are continually stopping British officers to ask them when the Americans or the English will arrive. The reaction to the reply that they will probably not come to this area is dismay and sometimes tears. The German civilians appear to be gathering in their houses and having large number of gloom sessions. Requests to Germans for articles which are being requisitioned are very swiftly met without hesitation or question. All photographic and radio stores have been looted by
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the Germans and during yesterday’s tour to requisition sets for the barrack blocks of tis camp, very little success was met with. The Russians in units attached to Luckenwalde all seem to be most anxious to talk to officers about their captivity and will even listen with great interest to anyone’s ‘shot down’ story.”
Our problems were being increased by the hundreds of civilian refugees who were applying for permission to enter the camp -these included a large number of women and children and we had no facilities to look after them. One barrack was, however, allotted to them and everything possible was done to make them comfortable and to feed them. They were all interrogated before admittance and any who were doubtful cases or obviously German were thrown out. This caused not a little heart-burning in some of the most difficult cases - where, for instance, a Belgian arrived with his German wife whom. Of course, we could not admit. We were lucky in having a quantity of unclaimed parcels which had been sent by relative to women in German internment camps these were opened and their contents distributed to the needy. It was a new experience for the R.A.F. officers to hold clothing parades and distribute feminine civilian clothing.
The situation in Luckenwalde continues to be extremely quiet. The Russians were reported to be searching civilian’s’ houses for arms. Civilian were appearing more in the streets, though usually only in groups – women shopped but did not go out alone. The resistance groups in the woods were losing their ardour and little firing was heard. During the day a German leaflet entitled “The Avenger” was dropped by a German aircraft. Its main theme was that the situation was not so bad and that no attention should be paid to the enemy’s lies on the wireless – Hitler and Goebbels were said to be in Berlin directing and decisive battle of the war.
At 1330 hours today the Senior Allied Officer was called to Luckenwalde to see a Senior Russian Officer.
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The Senior Allied Officer left with the intention of requesting:-
1.Representatives from this camp should be allowed to go by car to Marshal Koniev’s Headquarters to try to obtain more information, and to try to get in touch with the British and American Liaison Officers to the Russian Army.
2.Representatives from this camp should be flown to Allied Headquarters.
The Senior Allied Officer has neglected no opportunity for obtaining information concerning evacuation plans concerning the camp. He has continually stressed to all the Russian officers whom he has interviewed how unsatisfactory it is for all those in camp to remain here for any length of time and how bored and discouraged everyone in the camp feels.
All the Russian officers to who, he has spoken have shown the greatest sympathy and understanding and willingness to make our situation tolerable and to expedite repatriation.
SIGNALS
The various Security Signals Services of the Oflag and Stalag have functioned according to plan from the beginning. As a result of this the Allied authorities in the West should have been in full possessions of our conditions and local situations for some day. The Allied Signals Service of the Camp has picked up a number of prisoners of war stations working according to the prepared plan. One of the strongest signals received has been from a prisoner of war camp near Regensberg.
No replies have come in to us or any other prisoner of war camps but this is not unexpected as there has been no immediate emergency.
Among other signals picked up have been intercom. conversations between air crews.
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SUPPLY
The Allied Supply Officer with a staff of 50 including leaders if the foraging parties has to cater for approximately 15,900 men.
Although he has the greatest assistance from the Russian authorities who have made every effort to respond to his demand notes it has not so far been possible to organise food issues on a 48-hour basis.
The new Russian Base Organisation with which the Supply Officer is already in contact has promised to facilitate this. The Supply Officer states today that the food organisation and the food situation generally shows improvements with the arrival of the Russians’ permanent administration. Hitherto food issue has been working on an 8-hour cycle which has meant the issue of food almost immediately on arrival. Food is issued by the Supply Organisation direct to the 5 camp kitchens where it is divided on a pro-rata basis for the whole camp. Most of the bread has been coming in from Russian stores. Flour has been commandeered and bread is also being baked in Luckenwalde by Russian and other Allied bakers. Yesterday a quarter of a loaf was issued by the changeover of Russian administration caused some delay and at mid-day today it was not known what the ratio would be.
The following are a few figures of supplies received in a the camp for the whole period April 24th to April 26th inclusive:- 9,015 loaves of bread; Pork -95 kilogrammes and 82 sides of pork; 7 head of cattle; Potatoes – 4 tons; Beef and beef tallow – 854 kilogrammes; Flour – 3,000 kilogrammes; Corn meal and wheat – 5,375 kilogrammes beef tallow – 854 kilogrammes; Flour – 3,000 kilogrammes; Corn meal and wheat – 5,375 kilogrammes; Salt – 625 kilogrammes; Pudding Powder – 625 kilogrammes; Butter – 1,850 kilogrammes; onions – 150 kilogrammes; Soup Powder – 150 kilogrammes; Dried vegetables for soup – 15,700 kilogrammes; Sugar – 6,000 kilogrammes.
It is hoped to make arrangements under which members of the camp shall accompany Russian
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Police Patrols in the town. The large number of French Commandos which arrive in the camp for orders from time to time will be dealt with by French Patrols.
The new Russian Town Major yesterday sent for the German Mayor of Luckenwalde and expressed his disapproval of the water supply. There has been water in the town, but the Germans have not taken the trouble to build up a head of pressure for the camp. The Russian Town Major told the Mayor that it would be unfortunate if pressure for the camp was not built up immediately. The Mayor of Luckenwalde appreciated the point.
In the past few days Polish Officers in this camp have received visits from several Russian officers including one from the Political Affairs Department. The Polish Officer were told that the Western boundary of the new Poland would be the Oder and East Prussia and Danzig would be Polish thus eliminating the old Polish Corridor. Poland’s Eastern boundary will be the Curzon Line. The Russians stated that all Polish towns are now under a Polish Commandant. The Russians promised all the Poles in the camp a quick return home and said that letters would be forwarded to their families in Poland and agreed to supply them with Russian and Polish newspapers if they could be obtained. Three Polish Senior Officers arrived here yesterday from a camp for high ranking Polish Officers near Berlin. They said that the rest of the party was on the way here.
A German civilian who came to this camp requesting shelter yesterday told the Camp Intelligence office that according to a Czech railway worker whom he met on his way here there has been fighting in Berlin between S.S. and Wehrmacht troops and Volksturmers.
The Camp supply officer said this evening that among the stores bought on today were 20 tins of potatoes, enough bread for an issue of one sixth of a loaf per man tomorrow and enough sugar for an issue of 50 grams per head. About 800 pounds of meat had come in so that there would be meat in
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the pea soup tomorrow. It is hoped t obtain enough bread for the next issue to be a quarter of a loaf. Forage parties have located several more sources of supply and permission is being sought from the Russians to work them. These stores contain sugar, jam, barley, oatmeal, potatoes, rice and canned meat.
Works Department Staff from the camp, in Luckenwalde this evening met two American War Correspondents, a man and a woman, both in khaki with green U.S. War Correspondent tabs. They were on their way through to Berlin there whey hoped t be the first American War Correspondents to enter the city. They have heard about Stalag IIIA and they sent good wishes to everyone in the Camp for a safe and quick return home.
Latest news of the camp water supply is that the authorities hope to have town water up here within two days. The electric booster pump for raising the pressure to supply the camp has been out of commission because the wires in the woods had been cut and repair was difficult because of local snipers.
The first Americans from the Western Front have arrived in Luckenwalde.
A Russian woman lieutenant who is a Medical officer attached to local forces of the Red Army called at the camp at 2215 hours and requested details of all sick by 0600 hours this morning. She required the list to be divided into 3 sections – 1. Seriously ill; 2. Patients confined to bed; 3. Patients not bed-ridden. The return was made to her at the required time and it showed that there were 215 seriously ill, 177 other patients confined to bed and 881 other patients – a total of 1,273. Their nationalities were: British, American, Polish, Norwegian, French, Yugoslav, Italian, Czecho-Slav, Rumanain [sic] and Belgian. The Russian officer who was blond, smartly dressed and appeared to be very efficient was not able to give any information about the time of the evacuation of the sick.
There is still more evidence that the open countryside around us s very much an operational area.
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A Russian Colonel paying a social call on the S.A.O. last night said that there were estimated to be approximately 15,000 Germans still loose within a 16 mile area of Luckenwalde. They are wandering about in disorganised bands and attempting to drive West. They have been without food for five days and are inclined to be rather desperate. One member of this camp who had taken off on his own to try and get west ran into a group of them about 5 miles from here yesterday and had to talk rather fast before he could get away. They warned him that there would be a lot of shooting going on in the woods. A member of a camp Forage Party who had difficulty in identifying himself to a Russian patrol also found himself in a rather difficult situation. German civilians around Luckenwalde are only too anxious to have members of the Allied forced living with them as they are under the impression that this gives them protection and exemption from Russian occupation orders. In fact, any member of this camp who takes up residence in a German house opens himself to being suspect by the Russians and foregoes the protection from military operations which the camp affords. A few members of this camp have already paid for their misunderstanding of this with their lives.
FOOD
The Camp Supply Organisation this morning had enough bread for an issue of one-fifth of a loaf. Other dry ration issues will be : 100 grammes of sugar, 30 grammes of pudding powder and 300 grammes of potatoes. 30 pigs weighing approximately 200 pounds each are also coming in. A stock of peas has been located at a Hitler Youth Camp near Juterbog. The Supply Officer says that the camp is poorer by some considerable amount of sugar and potatoes which were in a store at a village close to the camp. These supplies were awaiting collection by a Camp Foraging Party but they were removed by an unofficial foraging party: Unofficially foraging and requisitioning is, in fact, nothing but robbery of camp supplies. Every assistance is being given to our foraging parties by the Russians. A foraging
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Party leader said today: “The Russians are not very keen on paper work but when they are told to do something they go flat out, through all obstacles will they have done it.”
The following is a description by an Allies representative from the camp who was present this morning in the Luckenwalde Municipal Offices at the interview between the Russian Town Major and the Burgomaster of Luckenwalde.
The Town Major is a man of about 40 years of age, of rugged appearance and well over six feet tall. During the interview two other Russian officers, both very operational types, and each as tall as the Town Major sat beside him at the head of the Town Council Room table. The Burgomaster of Luckenwalde, a harassed looking little grey-haired man with spectacles, who is collaborating as hard as he can was accompanied by his assistant and his interpreter. The Town Major spoke quietly and firmly and did not raise his voice once. The only shouting was done by the three Germans who shouted at each other. The Town Major told the Burgomaster that the obtaining of meat, food and water supply for this camp was to have priority over everything else. He requested a complete inventory of all farms, farm stock, food and equipment in this area and ordered the delivery of 15 cows to the camp today. When the Burgomaster protested that the water situation was too difficult owing to lack of fuel the Town Major said that transport and workers would be placed at his disposal at once so that a search for fuel could be made. The Burgomaster was given permission to use his own car and was told that the Russian authorities would supply him with all his fuel and service and repair the car whenever he wished. When the Burgomaster asked if he might keep his radio set the Town Major asked why. The Burgomaster replied that he wished to be able to know the correct time. The Town Major was highly amused by this reply and told the Burgomaster that he thought the Russian authorities would be able to tell him the correct time whenever he wished.
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There has been a big crowd of German civilians delivering their radio sets to the Russian authorities at the Town Major’s office all day today. A number of these are being serviced and repairs by the camp staff and the cocks in the Stalag and Oflag have priority for them.
Some Russian officers who visited the S.A.O.’s offices this morning has just come from Potsdam. They said theta the town was not as badly smashed as Berlin and quoted a Red Air Force pilot who had been over Berlin this morning and said that the capital was ablaze from end to end.
They were asked why Marshal Stalin has never come to England or outside Russia to meet Mr. Churchill. Their reply was “Mr. Churchill and the American President only have one job each. Marshal Stalin is Commander in Chief of the Forces, Prime Minister and Leader of the nation and he cannot possibly spare the tome to leave the Soviet Union.” The Russians do not like their political officers to be referred to as Political Commissars. They are known in the Red Army as “Officers in charge of Military Morale and Political Education.”
The Russian Colonel who visited the S.A.O. last night asked the S.A.O. why the Germans fight the Russians to the death, but are anxious to surrender to the Anglo-American forces. The S.A.O. replied that this was due to German propaganda attempts to split the Allies and to the fact that the Germans were well aware of the devastation and terrorism which they has spread in Russia. He added that surrendering to the Anglo-American forces would in no way protect them from their just punishment for their crimes in Russia. This reply met with great success and the Colonel commented “That is a very good answer.”
The Colonel related that he visited two caps in Poland, one near Lublin known as “The Camp of Death.” In these two camps alone, he said 11,000,000 people had been slaughtered by the Germans. The Lublin camp had eight large crematoriums for the burning of bodies, The Germans’ method of
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execution was to take large groups of prisoners to a building which they said was a de-louser. They took all the prisoner’s clothes away and locked tem in the shower room and then turned on the poison gas system. The ashes of the burned bodies were sold as fertiliser and used in the manufacture of road-making material. The Commandant and the S.S. staff of the camp were captured. After a court martial they were all hanged in the main square of Lublin. The Colonel also stated that he had seen direct evidence of a German atrocity when a mother was forced to watch her child being hung and was them raped in the presence of her father and afterwards shot.
A member of the Foraging Party from this camp yesterday passed a coulomb of German prisoners of war being marched south. The first half a dozen files were officers. In the middle of them was our late Appel Officer, Hauptmann Lien, known as “The Porker.” It was raining and he seemed to be finding his pack and blanket very heavy. An unconfirmed report says that the late Security Officer of this camp is shovelling coal in Luckenwalde.
Today the first elements of the Russian Repatriation Committee arrived in the camp. They had been on the road for five days and were much too tired to discuss detail that evening.
At 1 a.m. this morning Captain Medvedev visited the Senior Allied Officer again and gave him a few more details of his organisation and plans. An account of this interview was given later this morning by the Senior Allied Officer to the Senior Officers of national groups.
Captain Medvedev told the Senior Allied Officer that he has brought his own wireless station with him for direct communication with his Commanding General at Marshal Renier’s Headquarters. He said that later in the morning he wanted to visit the British and American Oflags and Stalags, and the other compounds as soon as he has time, when he wold also meet Senior Allied officers and Compound Commanders. He said that he would discuss later with the Russian authorities in the
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town, the possibility of bringing all the French prisoners in the area under one single command.
He asked a lot of questions and was somewhat surprised and gratified to find the general organisation and administration which exists in the camp. He appeared to have come with the impression that he might find here a conglomerate mass which he would have to sort and organise.
He had no news about General Ruger, which has now left the camp, and said that he and his convoy has been five days and nights on the road and even his military information was five days old. He said that he hoped that it would be possible to get entertainments going such as concerts, films, lectures and dances while awaiting repatriation orders. It is hoped the some Inter-Allied Committee will be organised for entertainments. The camp has two theatres, one of which is still under construction.
At 0230 hours, by which time 33 lorries of his convoy had arrived, Captain Medvedev, who is a hard driving and hard working officer, told his men “You can dismiss now and as you are very tired, you need not start work again until 6 a.m.” They were back at work at 6 a.m. t continue unloading, sorting and distributing, and 17 more lorries are arriving today.
The camp organisation for the reception of the Commission last night, although it was turned on with very little warning, worked very smoothly. The Norwegian Kitchen Officer and his staff supplied a good meal to all the Russians during the night and are continuing to look after them and new arrivals today. The Camp Accommodation Officer managed to find quarters and bedding for all the Russian officers and men and for the 15 women other ranks and the two women officers who love by themselves and mess with the officers.
The Garrison Commander has just informed the Senior Allied Officer that he is expecting high officers dealing with repatriation and accompanied by and International Commission to visit the camp shortly.
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In respect of other work by the camp for the reception of Captain Medvedev’s Commission during the night. Allied Officers, N.C.O.’s and men did a very fine job in helping the Russian unload and park their lorries with great dispatch. A staff of 25 Allied interpreters was on duty, meeting the trucks at the gate as they arrived, supervising unloading and helping the Russians to find their food and quarters. 50 pigs were unloaded and were billeted in the counting pen outside of Oflag. In spite of the protests of the Senior Pig, nothing could be done to give them better accommodation. Among the supplies which the Russians brought with them there is a large quantity of clothing, musical instruments, entertainers are also on their way.
Captain Medvedev’s second in command is an Officer in Command of Military Morale and Political Education. He has already promised us Russian, English and American films and concert parties and is arranging for Russian airmen to visit the compounds as soon as possible, It is quite clear that the Russian intend to give the best possible time until repatriation arrangement are complete.
When interviewed this morning, the Camp Supply Officer, as he watched stores pouring in from the Russian transport under the direction of a girl officer said “These girl lieutenants are very efficient, they certainly keep their men on the run and get things done.” They seem to have everything we need – margarine, noodles, barley, rice – which will go to the sick – and four. There are at least ten tons of flour unloaded and there will be an issue of 50 grammes of margarine and 100 fresh meat this morning. We have received three truck- loads of live pigs and 12 head of cattle. There is corn meal for soup thickening and the Russians have promised us ten tons of bread a day. We are hoping to get every man in the camp two good meals a day and the kitchens will probably work on a 24-hour bass. There will be plenty of peas from now on as any amount will come in.
Among other things the Russians have brought three truck loads of brand new blankets, a load of
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white sheets, two trucks of pots and pans, knives, forks and spoons, and ten bags of tobacco. It appears that the lorries started out empty in many cases and filled up from German towns and villages on the way as all the supplies seem to be German. More loads are coming in and we intend to push it out to the camp as soon as possible beginning this morning.
During the morning Captain Medvedev, in accordance with his intentions last night visited the American and British Oflag and Stalag. For the information of those who did not see him, he wears khaki uniform and breeches and high boots and carrier a map case. He comes from the Caucasus, is 24 years of age and wears the Stalingrad Defence medal and the Soviet Cross for gallantry. Above these decorations are three wound stripes, one in gold for severe wounds, one in red for light wounds and one in black for shell shock.
Captain Medvedev was completely horrified by our conditions inside the camp. He considered all barrack blocks depressing, gloom and very overcrowded. The tented camp conditions he considered terrible and was visibly shaken by the tented camp’s water supply, toilet arrangements and overcrowding and he said that he would do everything possible to move these men away to better quarter at the earliest moment. The Senior American Officer entirely agreed with him about this. In respect of the barrack blocks he said that where were four or five camps in the neighbourhood which he would go and inspect at once to try and find better accommodation. In this respect he Senior Allied officer told Captain Medvedev that he felt that the inconvenience of a move would raise an unnecessary amount of personal difficulties and inconveniences as well as administrative problems for a few days of comparative comfort. He told the Captain what when we move, which he hoped would be as soon as possible, it should be a move straight home.
Captain Medvedev was satisfied with Oflag and Stalag kitchens and examined the food that was
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being cooked as well as the food on hand. In his inspection of the barracks he was particularly interested to know which contained aircrew and which ground personnel. He referred to the Aircrew Barracks as “The place where eagles live.” He said he would obtain brooms and equipment for the cleaning out of Barrack Blocks but that, in his opinion, a move to better quarters was essential and he is going to report our conditions at once to his commanding General with whom the decision rests. Immediately after his visit around the camp, he left to visit neighbouring camps to see if there was any good accommodation. He was most interests, during his tour, in the pressure cooking stokes which he saw at work.
An English woman and her two children re now living in the camp, the arrived after a four day journey from Berlin. They had great difficulty reaching here without getting involved in front line fighting and on several occasions they were under fire. The English woman’s Name is reported to be Thomas and she is a native of Blackheath.
Mrs Thomas was riding on a cart through Luckenwalde with two Dutch youths who were giving her and her children a lift to Torgau and the Americans. As they were passing through Luckenwalde Mrs. Thomas spotted the Union Jack on the British Liaison Officer’s car. She shouted to the car to stop and as a result she is now being looked after here where she will stay with her children until repatriation has been arranged. The children are John, aged ten, and Diane, aged seven. Their experience has not in the lease affected their high spirits and they are both perfectly fit except for blistered feet.
During the day, 10 armed German soldiers came up to the gate to surrender and asked where they American forces were. When told that they were at Torgau, they left the camp in a south westerly direction and many parties of German soldiers were seen to be heading for the American lines. Today also saw the first order of the Russian Occupational
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troops posted in Luckenwalde. This requires all German civilians to hand in wireless sets. They were told that these would be modified so as to receive only one station and then returned.
General Famin, who is in charge of repatriation of prisoners of war in this area, visited the Senior Allied Officer today.
Shortly after his arrival he sent for the Senior Officer of each national group in the camp and to each one issued an order regarding the discipline of his unit. He confirmed that Wing Commander Collard should continue to be responsible for the whole camp and act as Senior Allied Officer. He said that his verbal confirmation of this will be followed by a written order which will be published she said that our own governments have been informed of the numbers of their own nationals in the camp, and the respective governments in consultation with the Soviet Government will decide time and method of repatriation. This has not yet been decided and General Famin said that he had no information concerning it. The Senior Allied Officer told the General that all nationalities in the camp were becoming rather bored and were anxious to get home. Though they realised the difficulties due to transport and communications, they would like some information and the Senior Allied Officer asked General Famin for his personal opinion on two points: 1- How long it would be before we should leave here to go home. To this General Famin replied “There is no immediate prospect.” Point 2 was concerning our route home. To this General Famin replied that he thought it would be west through the front although the possibility of going by Odessa still esixted. [sic]. He stressed that both his replies were only personal opinions.
According to his information General Famin said that he had never heard of any Allied Liaison Officer with Red Army formations and the repatriations of prisoners is dealt with through diplomatic channels. In spite of this he said that Allied officers might well come to visit the camp and in fact he enquire if any had yet arrived.
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General Famin next told the Senior Allied Officer that he considered the conditions of this camp were intolerable for us ad he could not allow us to love here in such uncomfortable circumstances. The Senior Allied Officer while agreeing as to the discomfort of the camp, said that he doubted whether the administrative difficulties involved in moving the camp would be justified, and as we should be in our new quarters for such a short time, he felt that on the whole most members of the camp would prefer to remain here. However, General Famin was clearly very concerned about our welfare and insisted on the Senior Allied Officer accompanying him to visit the Adolf Hitler Lager, about six miles from here on the road to Juterbog. The Adolf Hitler Lager is a German Officer’s Rest Camp and Training School. The Senior Allied Officer reports that it is built and equipped on a most luxurious scale. It is quite evidently a showplace, with a sport stadium, showers, baths, a swimming pool and officer’s club and a canteen. It is situated in very pleasant woodland surroundings and has excellent buildings, which clearly could accommodate the whole of the camp without the slightest discomfort or overcrowding. It has been looted a good deal and on the whole is in good repair and condition.
At the conclusion of the visit to the camp, General Famin said that he had decided that everyone in this camp except Poles and Italian move to the Adolf Hitler Lager, and he issued on order to that effect.
The opinion of the Senior Allied Officer on this move is that there are a great many administrative difficulties in the way and it should not be regarded as immediately effective. Allied Headquarters in the camp has already sent a party to investigate the Adolf Hitler Lager and it has been found that before we can move there the water and electricity will have to be made serviceable and cleaning and billeting parties will have to spend some time there.
The party which went to the Adolf Hitler camp found that some 15,000 French civilian had been
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lodged in there about six hours before we arrived, with the inevitable results that the place has been very thoroughly looted before we wold stop it. This, added to a great amount of wilful damage, made the prospect of living there seem very unattractive. However the advance party got to work and attempted to clear it up. The biggest difficulty as getting the French to evacuate the barracked which has been allotted to British and American officers. This was quite impossible until Marushka came to our aid, (she was an interpreter of the Russian forces but was always dressed I mufti) and it was amusing to have to admit that where our efforts had failed to move the French she did it quite easily by slinging a tommy gun over the shoulder of her blue dress and just appeared in the doorway of each building. The French were out in about 15 minutes.
It was while we were at this camp that we saw German forces moving down one road and the Russian Army moving down another half a mile away – the camp being situated between these two roads. They appeared to be unaware of each other and our efforts to tell the Russians that the Germans were so near were ignored by their commander.
We were now beginning to realise that the Russian forces carried no food with them at all. Our rations had been decreasing steadily since their arrival, for although the quantities given earlier may sound impressive, it should be realised that this had to be divided between the 30,000 or so who now comprised the population of the camp. The whole food position was causing some concern as it was obvious that the local resources being found by ourselves and the Russian would shortly be exhausted, while there was no sign or our immediate repatriation. The general outlook was unsatisfactory and prisoners were feeling very hopeless, with the inevitable results that large numbers of all nationalities were leaving the camp hoping to find their own way west. This, of course, was happening all over Germany and resulted in General Eisenhower’s broadcast orders to stay put.
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The question of the move to the Adolf Hitler Lager has by now become a major issue between ourselves and the Russians. They had reduced the accommodation originally booked for us and it had been completely overrun and ransacked, so that it really seemed that a move would be no improvement. The Russians would not see this point of view and it was necessary to persuade Captain Medvedev to go over and inspect the proposed accommodation before he would agree that it might be better to stay where we are.
A new arrival today was the Russian officer in charge of morale and political education, who announced that he was detailed to provide entertainment and lectures for our delight. He also told us that a cinema would be got going and said that the first film would be “Hurricane.” He was anxious to organise amateur dramatic societies for all nationalities. This looked to us like a very long term policy, and caused people to feel more unsettled than ever, and more inclined to move west under their own steam.
On the morning of May 2nd, fighting seemed to flare up all round us, many shells passing over the camp and several landing inside. Machine gun bullets were whizzing about and people were warned to get under cover. One of our foraging partied on its way to a village near here found some German front line reinforcements dug in behind camouflaged machine guns and 40m.m. guns. They were a despondent crew, and once again asked the inevitable “Where are the Americans?” to whom they wished to surrender. The Russians subsequently reported that all Germans in the area had been captured and told us that they believed American Forces were only 12 miles to the west – this unfortunately proved to be false. Large numbers of German prisoner were passing all day, in a worse physical; condition than any we had seen before – they were so tired and starved through hiding in the woods that they could hardly get one foot in front of the other. They were a mixed lot of S.S. infantry and Luftwaffe aircrew. One column of about 5,000 of these prisoners was escorted by
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Only two Russians near the front and one at the rear – and yet seemed to be making no attempt to escape into the surrounding woods, which would have been very easy.
One of the occupations of the Intelligence branch of our organisation was investigating all the German files and documents. These contained a lot of interesting information and gave a good insight into the curious working of the official German mind. One file told of a prisoner charged with consorting with a German woman and paying her with chocolate. The German woman claimed that she was only exercising her profession. This was investigated and found to be true, but since chocolate was an irregular form of fee, she was sentences to a year’s imprisonment whilst the prisoner of war was sentenced to 10 days’ solitary confinement: Another strikes a plaintive note when complaining of the lack of tact in official propaganda leaflets. It appears that one day large placards were placed by the Germans in this camp and other Stalags saying “…Will the enemy land? He has tried before. Dieppe is the answer! And then, in triumphant words “Let him come!” The propaganda officer complained that the enemy obeyed the invitation the very day that the placards were posted up and that propaganda was only useful when carefully handled. Another document tells of a prisoner faced with a charge of living at various times with twelve German woman all the women denied the charge and the prisoner was found not guilty, with the comment that he must be boasting.
Other volumes told stories of successful escapes, but one contained a long bad luck story of six Frenchmen being swindles by a mysterious railway official in Berlin whom, according to orders from the escape organisation, the Frenchman met in a small café in Berlin – having successfully escaped from the camp. They were met according to plan by an alleged French civilian dressed as a German railway worker. He collected 400 marks from each of the prisoners and promised to send them home to France. That night he took them to a small
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local station and sealed them into a truck. After a for day journey they had become tired of waiting and were puzzled to find their compass indicating a southerly direction, so they broke open the wagon and looked out, to find that they were just crossing the Danish frontier. They travelled back to Berlin by passenger train after spending a couple of days riding about the Berlin underground to keep warm they contacted their railway worker again. Once again he took them to a siding and sealed them into a truck. By now they were thoroughly suspicious, and climbing out of the truck they read it destination label which showed that it was going to Russia. A little later the six prisoners. who were captured by Railway Police, denounced the men who had taken their money and send them the wrong way home.
Another German order on discipline among the documents found read “The best way to maintain discipline among the Russians is to beat the, but as the High Command has forbidden this, it should be done by the Camp Police.” One Camp Commandant was posted away after a number of his officers had made a joint complain about his manners and behaviour – the chief complaint seemed to be that he was bad tempered and ill-mannered at breakfast in the mess, and refused to say good morning to his officers: Another document told of the examination of a crashed American bomber just outside Berlin and how a German Hauptman ordered a number of Volkstrumers to climb into the aircraft and inspect it. They hesitate, until assured they had Hauptman’s full authority and then one of them climbed into the aircraft. While examining the controls and instruments in a gun turret he pressed the trigger and another Volksturmer who was standing outside looking in had both his legs blown off at the knee by a burst of fire. The German report added than among the objects found in the aircraft was a copy of instructions for pilots landing behind the Russian front.
On May 3rd and 4th, the battered and weary advance guard of the Norwegians, British and Americans at Joe’s Place folded their monogrammed
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sheets, and with a last regretful look at the cinema to seat a thousand with its piles of tangled film, marched back to Stalag IIIA over yesterday’s battlefield to the sound of desultory rifle shots from the woods. The American guard is due to arrive this morning. The Allies from the Stalag were defeated by the ever-increasing horde of refugee which poured into the Lager through the gate nearest the section allotted to the Stalag party. These refugees very naturally took up quarter in the nearest empty building. They were clean quarters, though somewhat short of furniture and fittings, which had been removed by the earlier refugees who were successfully evicted and sent to their own portion of the camp. The cleaning party them cleaned up, and the rooms were ready for the main party of British, Americans and Norwegians, only to be filled by another influx of refugees.
The sad story began when the advance guard arrived to find refugees in possession. At a conference between Allied officers and Captain Medvedev, area of the Lager were allotted to the various nations. Then came the problem of shepherding the refugees into the areas. Naturally, they were reluctant to leave, and there were some incidents; still, they left most of the buildings – but not so the beds or fitting. These they took with them, with the exception of the built-in wash-basin, which in many cases they wantonly smashed.
Much wanton damage was done all over the Lager, apart from the chaos caused by the rifling of desks and cupboards for the odd bottle or box of cigars. The attitude of those who caused most of the damaged was summed up by one youth ‘The Germans smashed my country up, so I smashed up theirs.’ Unfortunately that particular property which was smashed does not belong to the Germans, but to the Russians. For this reason, the Russians asked that a guard should be mounted over certain store houses in which valuable material was not only being looted, but wantonly smashed. Brand-new typewriters were to be seen, hanging drunkenly half out of their packing cases after being swiped with a crowbar; thousands of coloured pencils.
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Scattered from their boxes made the floor difficult to walk upon; movie projectors were torn from their cases and their lenses ripped away; delicate talkie apparatus was trodden underfoot. In response to the Russian request a guard of 600 Americans was mounted, with 200 men on duty at time. Keys and padlocks were found, and many of the buildings locked. The guard carried sticks after one and two incidents which occurred shortly after it was mounted. On Monday night the refugees began to turn ugly, and on several occasions was only averted by the prompt action of Marushka, a Russian girl attached to the Red Army interpreter. Marushka would turn out in the middle of the night, sling a tommy gun over her shoulder, run down to the stores and quell the trouble by sticking her gun into some infuriated refugee’s stomach and clearing him off in a language which body else understood.
In the end one of the refugees drew an automatic and after that is became clear that four out of five of them were armed. Batons are no good against guns and to the regret of the American guard, they had to be withdrawn.
In order to prevent the refugees looting in the area allotted to be American, British and Norwegians, it was found necessary to patrol it, and the refugees followed suit with a patrol around their area. An order was issued by the Russians that all firearms should be handed in, and a certain number were collected, but obviously not all.
On Tuesday, Captain Medvedev reduced the area allotted to the Stalag party by accommodation for 1,600 men, and also stated that the officer’s mess would be taken over as Russian headquarters. It was pointed out that this change left adequate room for our numbers, apart from the insufficiency of beds. The removal of the officers’ mess reduced the accommodation and also took the only available kitchens and dining rooms for the use of the officers. Captain Medvedev returned to the Stalag, and the Lager advance party continued their unequal struggle with the refugees.
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The situation for the British, Americans and Norwegians was further complicated by the failure of the authorities at Luckenwalde to turn the electricity on. A Russian officer assured the British officer i/c Detachment on Monday that the Burgomaster’s life depended on the power coming on the next day. Presumably the Burgomaster is dead for there was no power in the camp up to Wednesday evening. As far as the technicians were able to tell, the lighting, water, sewage and telephone systems had not been sabotaged, and all that was necessary for a final check was the throwing of the main switch in Luckenwalde. The Germans must have left Adolf Hitler Lager at a moment’s notice for there were half-eaten meals on the tables in the mess and unfinished cups of coffee in the anti-rooms. Tear-off calendars in the offices showed the date April 20.
“An auxiliary pumping plant was found and got to work, and it was possible to keep water on for a period of the day. The staff from the Stalag operating plant did a very good work to supply just under half a million gallons a day to those in the Lager.
“A number of auxiliary petrol plants for lighting were found in the stores, and one of these was installed to supply light to the temporary headquarters. The refugees rapidly caught on to the idea and now there are generators running all over the Lager with stolen petrol.
Two incidents which occurred on Wednesday brought the situation to the danger mark; one of the Stalag party was shot at by a refugee as he was cycling through the Lager behind a lorry, and a certain of the refugees were observed removing a stock of tear gas from the armoury to their part of the camp. So on Wednesday evening the advance party, with the exception of eight technicians to keep the essential services going and the American guard returned on foot to Stalag. The refugees, among their loot, glances up and stared at their departing Allies.”
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Today we notices large numbers of Russians racing back from the Berlin direction, who stated their destination was the Dresden and Czechoslovakian fronts. They appeared to have collected some very fine transport in Berlin and many Russian officers were speeding by in Mercedes Benz luxury cars. Among the troops seen in Luckenwalde today were some Russian women cavalry, who looked very smart and disciplined and who ride through the town two abreast. Their uniforms were covered with long dark blue cloaks and cavalry sabres hung by their sides. Their hair was cut short and they wore khaki Field Service caps. Members of our Police Patrol in Luckenwalde were invited to look over a 60 ton Stalin tank this morning, while it was undergoing running repairs at a tank repair park. This tank had a 125 m.m. gun fixed in a 360 degree turret and two heavy calibre machine guns. The armoured plate of the gun turret and two heavy calibre machine guns. The armoured plate of the gun turret was not less than 8” thick. They were not allowed inside the tank, but those who looked through the turret door said that is was very roomy indeed and had V type water cooled engine. The tank is built to a very fine proportions, low and flat topped and was painted grey green. It seemed to be about the same size as a German Tiger.
Great excitement was caused today by the arrival of two American correspondents – Bob Vermilion of the United Press and Lewis Azrael of the Baltimore News Post. They arrived here from the American bridgehead at Barby, passing through the link-up area at Wittenberg. One of their remarks is worth reproducing as late as this. They said “We came here in a jeep without any pass and had no trouble getting through the Russian lines – one of the most amazing things we have ever seen is the way the Germans greeted us here. English and Americans seem to be the most popular people in the world and one German threw his arms round my neck when he heard I was American. There have been any number of Germans drowned trying to swim the Elbe to the American lines and the mass surrender of the whole division is not at all uncommon. German civilians in the American
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occupied area are giving no trouble at all -there is no sniping or booby traps or any of the things that were threatened. The Germans seem to be so regimented and accustomed to taking orders that their attitude is:”Nazis have gone - here is someone else in a uniform giving orders ad they obey.” There was great excitement in the came as we were able to send letter back through the kindness of these two correspondents, knowing they if they got home, which was more than likely, they would be the first out people had had for six months. Captain Edward Beatty, a United Press Correspondent who had been a prisoner, returned which his colleagues and took back information about our numbers and situation to Supreme Allied Headquarter. A statement issued at 1630 hours that evening by the Senior Allied Officer ran as follows: -
“An arrangement, at present somewhat unofficial, has been made with Lieutenant Klietz of the American 83rd Division to start evacuating American, British and Norwegian personnel from this camp tomorrow. Russian agreement has not yet been obtained, but it is intended to proceed with the arrangement. Details will be issued to Unit Commander later.”
This raised all our hope and everybody went round congratulating everybody else and packing their kit. It all came to nothing, however, for on the next day, May 5th, the following statement was issued:-
“The Senior Allied Officer reports that the surgeon in charge of the convoy of 23 U.S. Army ambulances which arrived here at 1300 hours, Lieut. Col. D.W. Clotselter, of the 83rd Division, has given the following information.
“The ambulance convoy will today evacuate the bulk of the American, British and Norwegian sick, and will return tomorrow for the balance.
“The lorry convoy in on its way here, by the Lieut. Col. Cannot give its time of arrival or strength because his division has been busy evacuating an ex-prison camp at Altengrabow. Altengrabow is in the Russian occupation zone,
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but the prison camp there was liberates by the Americans. The bulk of the lorries for our evacuation have to come today from Hildesheim, just south of Hanover, 135kn miles from here. They are bringing 1,000 K-rations which will be issued to Americans, British and Norwegians immediately on arrival.
“The following are the details which Lieut. Col. Clotselter has given to the Senior Allied Officer regarding standard evacuation route which the 83rd division has been using for other Camps.
“Sick will be taken to Schonebeck, eight miles south south-east of Magdeburg, where they will be delivered to a Collecting Centre. From there, after treatment, the less serious cases will be flown to Hildesheim. Serious cases will probably be sent back to Base Hospitals
“The fit will be taken by lorry via the American bridgehead over the Elbe at Zerbst, opposite Barby, and direct to Hildesheim, and distance of 240 miles in all. Form Hildesheim, British personnel are flown direct to England, and American to the the [sic] Channel Coast to await early departure to the United States. It is presumed that Norwegian personnel will proceed to England.
“The Senior Allied Officer state, I hope it will be possible to arrange for all British, Americans and Norwegians here to be evacuate by this procedure. Naturally it cannot be regarded as finally settled and we must await the arrival of the trucks.’”
Later the same day hope sprang again when this state was issued:-
“Captain Sincavich, U.S. Army, a P.O.W. contact officer from S.H.Q.A.E.F. arrived in the Camp at 1630 today. He brought two lorry loads of bread and two of K-rations, which have already been handed over to Supply.
Captain Sincavich has given the following information to the Senior Allied Officer:
“The main convoy of truck will not arrive until tomorrow when, Captain Sincavich hopes,
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sufficient will come to complete the evacuation. They will bring more K-rations with them. As regards the route of our evacuation he says that the trucks will go to Schonebeck, eight miles south south-east of Magdeburg in the first instance, where it is possible that personnel will be transferred to a train for Hildesheim. Alternatively the trucks may go right through to Hildesheim. The routine at Hildesheim is the ex- P.O.W.’s are de-loused, reclothed if necessary, and generally dusted off. They are then formed into groups of 26 and flown of in C-47’s, the British straight to England, and the Americans to the Channel Coast. The average stay at Hildesheim has been 24 to 48 house and is to some extent dependent on flying weather.
“Captain Sincavich took away with him nominal rolls of British, Americans and Norwegians and requested documents and information regarding German war criminals which will be given to him tomorrow when he returned as he hoped to do.”
Nineteen American lorries, mostly driven by coloured troops, arrived on the evening of the 6th of May, and it was generally felt that at long last we were really on our way home. Slight doubts arose, however, when at 2000 hours that evening the Russians informed us that no prisoners could leave with the American lorries sine Russian authority had not yet been received from Koniev’s Headquarters. Despite this, we felt that we should nevertheless, go in defiance of Russian orders. Imagine our dismay next morning when the Russians fired over our heads of our people embarking in these lorries and forced them back into the camp. Each lorry was searched as it left to make sure that it carried no prisoners and vehicles would be interned if they removed a single prisoner. It was impossible to describe our feelings as these lorries drove through the came on their way back, to the American lines with nobody on board at all, and it cannot be denied that most of us for the first and probably last time,
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[IMAGE – As made by out “Tin- Bashers” from Red Cross packing cases, milk and Jam tine, etc, ]
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[IMAGE – Messing equipment supplied to each room of 16 officers.]
[IMAGE - Two-tier bed, wooden frame with straw-filled palliasse.]
[IMAGE – Reading the “LOG” on a summer morning.]
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felt that we were completely cut off from our own countries and Governments There seemed to be no good reason for this Russian order and we all thought there must be some political influence at work to prevent our departure. This was confirmed a night or two later with the Russian broadcast about alleged holding by the Allies of 800 Russian officers who had be captured fighting with the German in Normandy shortly after D-Day. The reception of this broadcast deepened our gloom and we began to wonder if we should ever get home at all.
Another result of this general pessimism was that more and more people set off on their own for the American lines, until finally between five and six thousand British and American prisoners had left the camp. Not all of these had easy passages, as the following account will show.
“Three officers left here the day before yester and marched in a south-westerly direction towards the American line – they had hone about 10 miles when they were stopped by a German patrol of one Feldwebel ad 9 men who asked them where they were going and were very hostile. One finding that British were heading for American lines they demanded safe conduct to the same destination saying that if this were denied they would shoot our men. Fortunately senior of these three officers thought quickly and pointed out that a party of thirteen was extremely unlikely to get through and the only result of the whole manoeuvre as proposed by the Feldwebel would be to the them all interned, He also told them how well the German prisoners were being treated by the Russians and suggested that they gave themselves up The Germans were all armed with Tommy Guns and had they forced the situation it might have been very unpleasant, However when out men produced some chocolate and cigarettes sufficient weight was apparently added to make the argument convincing and the Germans went off in another direction.”
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Many groups or individuals encounters such Germans , and unfortunately did not all have such an easy conclusions.
We were now getting daily visited from the Russian officers who all said they were repatriation officials and who all said that we should be leaving the day after their visit. Each one seemed to have a slightly better story than the last, and it was impossible not to continue hoping that one of them knew what he was talking about. This situation dragged on for another 123 days, during which time a party of about 40 officers and N.C.O.’s who had left here to go west, arrived back in camp having been picked up by the Russians and taken to Stalag Luft III Sagen our old camp in Silesia. They told us that the town of Sagan has ben totally devastated, and that German prisoners of war arrived there at a rate of 20,000 a day. It appeared that Stalag Luft III, which houses 12,000 British and American Ait Force officers in cramped conditions, now held 143,000 German prisoners.
This long delay gave the Intelligence staff of the R.A.F. organisation chance to make a very full investigation into Germans who were guilty of crimes against prisoners of war. A few of the cases are listed here.
The list of War Criminals was handed to the U.S. authorities wen whey were in the camp included the names of several German officers, we’ll known to members of the camp. Bemann, Sturzkopf, Simm and Rademacher are included among the most notorious. Two Germans responsible for the shooting of an American Air Corps officer in the centre camo at Sagan-Hauptmann Seifert and Feldwebel Althof - are also listed. A member of the Gestapo group responsible for the murders of the British officers at the same camp is named by Group Captain Kellet. Apart from the Germans known to us personally for their incorrect behaviour and ill treatment of Allied officers and men, there is a very comprehensive list of the principle Nazis of Luckenwalde; many of their names have been supplied by Sergeant Major Henderson, British Man
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of Confidence in Stalag IIIA. Their offences range from pilfering of the Red Cross store to actual brutality and manhandling of Allied P.O.W’s.
Hauptmann Bemann is charged with the deliberate destruction and theft of clothing and food belonging to British Officers; he is further indicted with being “continually insulating to British officer in his remarks and bearing.”
Major Sturzkopf – “ Bulk Issues” – is charges with continually lying and misrepresentation to the calculated detriment of the interests of the British prisoners, moreover he encouraged his solders to be as vicious and ruthless as possible during searches and this caused wanton looting and destruction of their property. He sentenced many prisoners to the cells without a shred of evidence against them and was known to be generally deceitful and vicious.
Hauptmann Rademacher incited his soldiers to strike British officers with their rifle butts, he displayed a violent and uncontrollable temper and drew and fired off his revolver on numerous occasions with the idea of intimidating the prisoners or provoking and incident. He lost no opportunity of humiliating and ill-treating British officers and took a fiendish delight in the destruction of their clothing under the guide of searching them.
Last, but not least there is Hautpmann Simm, the hotel manager, who probably achieved the greater personal loathing among Allied prisoner than any other of his colleagues. Possessed of a mean and spiteful nature, he did everything possible to make us uncomfortable or to humiliate us. He incited the Camp Commandant to take spiteful action against the prisoners and lost no opportunity of insulting them himself.
A case outside our own experience is that of Lieut. Janke, charged with brutality to the Polish officers of this camp during the move here. This brave German is now the possessor of a set of Polish papers taken from a dead Pole and is for the moment spared the knowledge that he is being searched for under is alias as well as his
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proper name and that his ponderous subterfuges were transparent from the first.
Lastly there is Obergefreite Gisevius who is perhaps typical of the whole Nazi system. For this Corporal had more power in the Stalag IIIA than the Commandant himself. A rabid Nazi, he was “the power behind the throne” and dictated his wished and commands to this superiors whenever he chose to do so. He was responsible for keeping many prisoners in the cells for months at a stretch without a trial and doing his best to deprive them of their food. Many eccentricities of German conduct are explained by the presence of such men as this corporal in the ranks of the German army.”
Two more officers who returned told the following story:-
“We got as far as Juterbog and found that we could not get on the direct Dresden road as there was a German pocket in the way, so with the help of Russian transport we turned south-east and reached Muskau on the first day. All that was necessary to get rides on the Russian lorries was to ask one of the Russian girl traffic controllers to stop a lorry going our way. Out identity was never really seriously questioned. The statement that we were British was almost always immediately accepted and we were sometimes embraced enthusiastically and invited to celebration feasts. At Maskau we were billeted in a large hotel which was the Russian officers’ mess. Here we met out first Russian Air Force officers, a Major and two Captains. They were the most smartly dressed and polished Russian officers we had yet seen. They were both fighter pilots, the major claiming 73 air victories and the Captains about 50 apiece. We got on to the subject of tactics, types and performances right away. They said that their best and latest fighter was the “MYK” with a top speed of about 310 miles an hour. They thought that the Airocobra compared very favourably with the best fighters but obviously considered that our people were line-shooting when told of the speed of some of our own
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aircraft. The latest spitfire the Russians had flown was the Mark 5 and they firmly refused to believe the latest marks do any better. “You cannot change an aircraft such as that,” they said, “it is always the same aircraft no matter what you do to it.” All these officers had fought the Spanish campaign and were now flying Yaks.”
The Russian authorities at Sagen had visited Stalag Luft III cemetery there and places flowers and wreaths on the graved of the 50 North Camp officer murdered by the Gestapo in April ’44. Following this they took photographs of the graves and the memorial, sending the negatives straight back to Moscow.
At 21.30 hours on the 9th May, the Norwegians were told they would be leaving in lorries in 45 minutes time. Many of these officers had already gone to bed and some were strolling about inside the camp. However, loading started under flood-lighting at midnight, the arrangements being that 10 officers and their luggage would travel in each lorry. Owing to the short notice, it was impossible for them to have a meal before they left, but most of them had time to boil up a brew, since the greater part of their luggage was already packed. Of the 1,044 Norwegian there, 806 left in these lorries; 238, comprising the aged and sick, being left behind for later repatriation.
Nothing of importance happened until May 11th when we received another visit from General Famin. In a meeting lasting from 23.00 hours in the 11th until 0200 hours on the 12th he expressed the greatest dis-satisfaction over the unofficial evacuation from this camp, and demanded from the Senior British officer a written report there and then. He also obtained a written report from the senior American officer. He told us that the American General Hodges had confirmed that no orders had been given on the American side to evacuate this camp, and added that is any further British left the camp, the Senior British officer would be interned. It appeared that the General had expressed strong disapproval of the manner in which his staff here
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had looked after us, particularly in the matter of food, and he informed us that Captain Medvedev would be court-martialled. With regard to the date of our repatriation, the only information that he gave was that the Russian authorities now only awaited word from the British and Americans that they were ready to receive the camp. The General also issued orders that the French were to leave Stalag IIIA and move to the Adolf Hitler Lager, and by 5 o’clock that evening larger number of them were on the way. We were authorised to take over two camps previously occupied by the German staff of Stalag IIA – this gave us much more space and surroundings were much pleasanter- plenty of gardens, orchards, etc. having been planted around these quarters.
By about May 13th, the Russians were once again getting very tired of having people for our camp wandering about the town and district, and demanded that we should have frequent parades to make sure everyone was staying within camp bounds. They went to the lengths of apprehending and returning British ex-prisoners under armed escort, and demanding that they should be subjected to disciplinary actions. It became evident that house to house searched by the Russians were being made to prevent entry into these houses of allied ex-prisoners, who the Germans were begging to go and live with them as some form of protection against the Russian soldiery. It was now becoming usual for a couple of Americans to arrive in a jeep during the afternoon drive around the country, and since they were not aware of the strength of the Russian feeling about the earlier unofficial evacuation, they must have been somewhat taken aback by the Russians’ distinctly emphatic attitude about their immediate departure. They were not allowed to contact allied personnel and were always told to return toothier lines immediately. This did not, however, prevent messages getting through which we hoped would speed out repatriation.
Despite all Russian precautions, prisoners were leaving the camp daily and heading westwards.
(200)
[Page Break]
In view of the Russian feeling in this matter, the decrease in our numbers was becoming serious and he Russian orders were reiterated by the Senior Allied officers, together with a repetition of their own orders on the subject. But despite all this, it was difficult to achieve or maintain a philosophical attitude. The Russians plays, literature, films etc., had never materialised, and the majority of the prisoners who had nothing to do found time hanging heavy on their hands. We were reminded that once upon a time we were able to be cheerful with the certainty of many months and even years of captivity ahead, and told that the prospect of a few days or even a week or two should not dismay us. Such statements were small comfort, because it was this latter fact which really caused the dissatisfaction among us - the knowledge that we could, without any enemy interference, be home in a matter of hours, overcame any philosophy one could evolve.
[Image – “GONE AWAY.”]
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[Page Break]
Any Enquiries should be made to :-
BRYCE COUSENS,
THE COTTAGE,
THIRLESTAINE HOUSE,
CHELTENHAM, GLOS.
Published by Bryce Cousens.
Printed by Burr’s Press, Rodney Road, Cheltenham.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The Log
Description
An account of the resource
Experiences of the prisoners of war in the Belaria camp of Stalag Luft 3 by Squadron Leader Bryce Cousens. It contains stories, poems and illustrations.
Creator
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Bryce Cousens
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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1947
Contributor
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Claire Monk
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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202 printed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Poetry
Artwork
Identifier
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MElliottJD19200425-210211-01
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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France
Germany
Great Britain
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Luckenwalde
Poland
Poland--Żagań
Temporal Coverage
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1939
1940
1943
1944-02-14
1944-02-21
1944-03
1944-04
1944-04-01
1944-04-19
1944-05-21
1944-05-22
1944-06-05
1944-06-07
1944-06-11
1944-06-12
1944-06-16
1944-06-17
1944-06-19
1944-06-25
1944-07-03
1944-07-08
1944-07-24
1944-08-13
1944-08-21
1944-09-04
1944-09-18
1944-09-28
1944-11-06
1944-11-20
1944-12-04
1944-12-20
1944-12-23
1945-01-30
arts and crafts
entertainment
escaping
Holocaust
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
prisoner of war
sport
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 1
Stalag Luft 3
the long march
V-1
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1001/16396/BRoomCARoomCAv1.2.pdf
0e3af1949a3e18695e58b0dd671f294d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Joseph, David
D Joseph
Description
An account of the resource
22 items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant David Joseph (1576383, Royal Air Force) and contains his decorations, log book, memoirs, correspondence and a list of prisoners of war at Stalag Luft 4. He flew operations as a pilot with 76 Squadron from RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor until his aircraft was shot down on 18 March 1944 on an operation to Frankfurt and he became a prisoner of war. The collection also contains a letter to Mrs Ramsay about the loss of her son, Flying Officer Kenneth Ramsay and photographs of his final resting place. <br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Brian Joseph and catalogued by Barry Hunter.<br /><br />Additional information on Kenneth Grant Ramsay is available via the <a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/223173/">IBCC Losses Database</a>.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-05-22
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
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Joseph, D
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[inserted] [signature] P/D. [/inserted]
[inserted] Dulag Luft, Stalag Luft III Sagan, Stalag Luft VI Heydekrug, Stalag Luft IV Gross Tyschow [sic], Stalag 357, Fallingbostel. [/inserted]
[underlined] HOW WE TOOK THE GOOD NEWS FROM GROSSE TYCHOW TO FALLINGBOSTEL [/underlined]
OR
[underlined] THE ARMY THAT DIDN’T MARCH ON ITS STOMACH [/underlined]
OR
[underlined] THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING, HURRAH, HURRAH [/underlined]!
AN AUTHENTIC DIARY OF THE FORCED MARCH UNDERTAKEN BY ROYAL AIR FORCE P.O.W.S – COMPILED BY W/O C.A. ROOM.
1945 6th Feb.
[inserted] from Stalag Luft Gross Tyschow [sic]
Camp leader crashes into the barrack at 12:30 a.m. and wakes the whole lot of us, with the news that we’re being evacuated on foot at 12 noon today. What a bloody panic! Everyone tears around and has a woof of all outstanding grub (if any). Frank thinks of nothing else but a cup of char, and on goes the jug, and we bung ion all the tea and condensed milk we’ve got. You can stand a spoon upright in the old cup! Then we all climb back into bed again to dream of what lies ahead.
Up bright and early, no-one can sleep, and we make last-minute adjustments to the home-made packs (towel and braces), in which we are carrying our pathetic bundles. Room the Refugee! Roll the two blankets up and after a hasty meal of warm spuds in their jackets, plus straw, dirt and grass, we all pile out for Roll-Call. Move off at 11:30 a.m. into the Vorlager, and we pass a line of sentry-boxes standing empty and desolate. Never thought we’d ever see them empty like this! We are issued with a full Red Cross pa rcel[sic] of food and one-third of a loaf of bread, the first bread we’ve seen for a month. Pass by the sick-bay where a couple of hundred of the boys are being left behind without protection to await the arrival of the Russians. Then at 12:30 p.m. we set course. The roads are covered in ice, slush, snow and what have you. We pass over the Neifhside Road, scene of the famous “Run up the Road” on 19th July, 1944. First eleven kilos are covered in good time, we are all feeling fresh, then we strike out across muddy fields and cart tracks to Naffin, where we are bunged into barns for the night. Caked in mud and snow, and the old decrepit German cart plus sledge are bogged in the lane. We couldn’t care less! Arbeits Kommando 957, Stalag 111D is situated on the road and we meet French and Canadian P.O.W.s. No food issued by the horrible goons and I have to creep unobserved into the cowshed to get a cup of cold water! Wizard sleep, we’re all dead tired, and during the night a ruddy rat bites me on the cheek, gnawing his way through the straw, one blanket, pullover, scarf and cap. Some teeth!
[page break]
-2-
7th Feb. 11 Miles
Up quite early and we have a slice of bread and cheese before we set out at 9 a.m. Bach up mud-caked lane and across a ploughed field to reach the main road. My feet weigh at least 5 lbs. each with the good German soil adhering to them. Rain and sleet for 8 miles and everyone thoroughly miserable. We shall be sleeping in wet blankets to-night but on a cart. Everyone is stiff and aching from the first day’s march and after a gruelling 17 miles we reach Reselkow. Another Kommando from Stalag 11D here, and we meet Canadians from Dieppe. Bloody awful night, no room in barn, a nd[sic] again no food from Jerry. Jack and I have had two slices of bread to-day and a cup of coffee, (wet and warm). Wet and uncomfortable and boy, do my feet and legs ache! Every picture tells a story.
17 Miles
8th Feb. Off we go a t[sic] 9.a.m. Stolzenburg 10:15 a.m. and at noon we reach the main Stettin-Danzig road. Turn left towards Stettin (70 miles) and we have an opportunity to see how long the column is – 2,000 men, three abreast take up an awful lot of roads. Meet many evacuees from the East, with their pathetic heap of belongings piled on to a make-shift cart, drawn by a horse which looks as though it will drop dead at any moment. We’re just as tired too! While we are having a break for “lunch”, one slice of bread and cheese – a load of French P.O.W.s come along the road begging cigarettes from us. They fight among themselves to grab those we offer before the German guards hustle them along. I break the ice on a puddle to get a cup of moderately clean water, my thirst is so great. Hobenfier at 5:30 p.m. after 17 miles, where we expect to bed down for the night. Everyone on his knees, with aching legs, and sore and blistered feet, and tired, wet and miserable. Join the Air Force and Fly! Almost collapse when we learn we have to march another three miles over a road knee-deep in snow, to an outlying farm. Jack and I end up in a chaff-cutting shed, with Swedes, turnips and mangolds all around us. Wash our feet in hot water brought to us by a Russian slave worker and I take the old boots off for the first time since we set out. I regret it later on! German guard brings in a bucket of soup for the dogs guarding us. The dogs didn’t even see the soup, some hungry P.O.W.s woofed the whole lot.
20 Miles
9th Feb. Some stupid German calls us at 6 a.m., with the news that we are marching at 7 a.m. We are due for a day’s rest after three days of marching, and I almost weep, after the gruelling day we had yesterday. However, it is later altered
[page break]
-3-
9th Feb. to a day of rest and I’m back on the straw in no time. spuds issued both morning and afternoon. Bandage my feet and remain horizontal for the rest of the day.
NIL
10th Feb. Set off a t[sic] 7 a.m. and reach the main road at 8 a.m. Convoys of Army pontoon and soldiers going West, presumably retreating from Joe’s onward drive. One mile on main road to Stettin then turn due West towards Greifenburg, along a rough and muddy road. 1/4 loaf per man issued here and then we pass through a small village where buckets of cold water, fruit juice and hot ersatz coffee are left by the roadside. What has come over the Germans? Any other time they would have spat at us without hesitation accompanying their spitting efforts with remarks such as “Luftgangsters”, “Terrorfliegers”, etc. Reach Probbilow at 4:30 p.m. and the Frau supplies hot water to 100 of us. Have my first wash for five days. Feet very wet and blisters still troublesome.
13 Miles
11th Feb. Set off at 8:15 a.m., roads icy, but dry. Sun shining and the blokes are decidedly more cheerful. Griefenburg reached at 10 a.m., first big town we’ve passed through. I jump on to the pavement to dodge a lorry and get shoved into the gutter by a particularly nasty-looking civilian, Swear under my breath. We see some Frenchmen wearing the flash of the Free French Forces in Germany! Dozens of evacuees on the roads. Reach Kukahn at 2 p.m. and we split up into parties of 100 for each barn in the village. While Jack gets our bed ready, I hobble around the yard and find a French prisoner. Out comes my best French and he comes across with a huge sandwich full of sausage and onions. Just like giving me a three course dinner and Jack and I knock it back at once. Spuds and hot water brought out by the Hausfrau but it’s far too cold to strip off and wash. We sleep under a haycart and spend a comfortable night.
13 Miles
12th Feb. Jack’s birthday to-day, he’s 24. Gets an extra cup of water from me for a present, all I can afford! We hit the road at 8 a.m. and hike through a wood for three miles. Volzin at 9 a.m., Dorphagen at 10:15 a.m. One cup of hot macaroni soup issued from mobile field kitchen, very nice but I could drink ten cups and still want more. Lutzenhagen at 12:30 p.m. and reach Goerke at 4 p.m. where we have booked rooms for the night. Jack and I sleep in the chaff-cutting joint once more, next to the cowshed. Wizard bed and my French gets us some onions, bread and milk from a French P.O.W. Comfortable night and woken up at 6:30 a.m. by French
[page break]
-4-
12th Feb. and Polish prisoners from the farm who want to cut the chaff and turnips.
13 miles
13th Feb. A day of rest, thank heaven! Some generous French prisoners give Jack and Myself some porridge and milk, fried spuds and onions. Only decent meal we’ve had for nearly five weeks. We purchase a small sheep for 50 marks from the farmer and the boys slaughter it. Divided among 600 men, and my share is as big as a sugar knob. 100 German officers and men have 4 sheep between them. Higher mathematics as taught by the Fuehrer! Kicked out of our comfortable quarters by an irate farmer who has caught the boys milking his cows. They drained ‘em dry. Deadly night in an old barn, about three feet of straw between Jack and I, on a slope as well. We swear at each other during the night.
NIL
14th Feb. The “Gentlemen Tramps” move off a t[sic] the respectable hour of 10 a.m., and cover three miles through ankle-deep mud. Then three more miles through a rainstorm and blankets and clothes very, very wet. We’re not going very far to-day, finish at noon and the Germans issue 1/7 lb. of margarine, six dry biscuits (no bread available) and 1/5 lb. of corned beef. I smell a big rat! Billeted at Dobberphul where the barn leaks like a sieve and rats, and other livestock play a lively tattoo on my chest all night. First taste of bartering. Hobnob with an attractive fraulein who lives on the farm and for one square of chocolate she gives me an egg and 1/3 of a loaf of bread. Wizard!
6 Miles
15th Feb. My 25th B irthday[sic] to-day, my aching back, I feel as though I’m 55! Off we got at 7:45 a.m. and hit the main SWINEMUNDE road. On to Tessin at 10a.m. and here we pass three dead horses on the road. Not much left of them, and the dogs attached to the column have a nibble as they go by. I turn my nose up although I’m pretty hungry. If it was a dead bullock, I mught [sic] have a go, my mother wouldn’t know! Go through Hagen at 10:30 a.m., last town on the mainland, and then we cross the bridge to the island and crawl through Wollin. The Huns graciously allow us to rest outside the town, after a five mile stretch. We plod on and on and at 5 p.m. we reach Pritter, 2-1/2 miles from the port of Swinemunde. Record run to-day so my feet tell me, anyway. No accommodation in barns so we rough it out in the open, or cleared woodland. Make a tent from bracken but it falls down.
[page break]
-5-
15th Feb. Cup of soup from mobile kitchen then Jack and I curl up together and we kip down on the grass with my overcoat beneath us. Heavy frost at night and we wake up absolutely frozen. Obviously! Can hardly feel my feet. There are some 1,800 of our party here along with 800 Tommies and Russians whom we picked up in ghe [sic] afternoon. Much stealing goes on, blokes lose their food and belongings. It’s tragic when a person robs his pals through hunger. We’ll stick it on the Reparations Bill when it’s all over.
24 Miles
16th Feb. [inserted] What a birthday! 22 today. [/inserted] Up at 6:30 a.m. and hobbling down the main road by 7:30 a.m. After an hour’s march, we reach Swinemunde, the great Baltic Port. The ferry to the second island isn’t due for three hours, so we hang around and wait. We’ve had nothing to eat or drink to-day and the German soldiers and civilians try and sell us cold water for 5 cigarettes a cup. We prefer to go thirsty. We jump on the ferry at 11:30 and as soon as we get comfortable downstairs, it’s time to get off again! On the island, a German soldier sells me 1/6 of a loaf of bread for 20 cigarettes! Sheer robbery but Jack and I are feeling pretty hungry. March through Zirchow at noon and we pass huge Naval barracks where the boys of the Kriegsmarine line up and watch us go by with arrogance written all over them. At Crenzow we go into barns and Jack and myself secure a comfortable berth underneath the threshing machine. We corner a Russian and buy two cattle cakes from him for five cigarettes. With a splash of jam on them they are quite appetising. Amazing what we do eat these days. Hot water dished up.
12-1/2 Miles
17th Feb. Away by 8:30 a.m. and through Usedom at noon after a wea ry[sic] monotonous plod. Last town before the mainland and cross the Parge Bridge at 1 p.m. On cobblestones for five miles and my poor feet suffer! I might as well walk on a bed of nails, it couldn’t hurt any more. Plenty of F.W.190’s and Me. 109’s circling above us, and we pass by their aerodrome. Everyone tired and brassed off after the long trek of the previous two days. Boots drying out at las t[sic], but I’ve lost the heel of one of them and walk with a perpetual limp. At Murchin, we are herded into barns along with the Russians from Luft 4. Accommodation terrible, no room at all and during the night the Russians crawl over and do a spot of grub-lifting. We’re hungry enough but they’re a darn sight hungrier. The food stakes are grim at the moment. Hardly any cold water available, and no hot water at all. Five rotten spuds given to each man. Cold and miserable and morale low at the moment.
[page break]
-6-
18th Feb. Set course a t[sic] 9:15 a.m. and after five miles, we reach Anklam which has been pounded by the Yanks quite a few times. Plenty of evidence here and the civilians give us particularly sour looks. One old gaffer waves his walking stick threateningly, quite near me, and I put on a spurt. My poor old feet complain too! Weary hike for another 8 miles to Nerdin where we are rewarded with a good barn and a generous farmer for a pleasant change. Hot water in a tub and I have a shave, wash and even clean my teeth in a small pig sty and Jack finds six old spuds in a trough so we go to town. Wizard soup made in a milk tin from spuds, hot water, one onion and breadcrumbs. Funny how a wash, shave and some food send our morale up by leaps and bounds.
13 Miles
19th Feb. Cup of coffee and some soup before we leave a t[sic] 7:30 a.m. Learn tha t[sic] the German High Command have ordered all Burgomasters not to issue spuds to prisoners so we’re in a sorry spot. If we have to rely on our minute quantities of Red Cross food we’ll never see England again; I’m sure of it. Several blokes have disappeared from the column, we get smaller every day. Where the hell they are, we don’t know.
Bit risky, buzzing off at the moment with the food situation as it is, and the Germans are rather panicky with the trigger finger. Dead straight road for nine miles, terribly monotonous. Long “lunch” interval, the Germans must be getting tired as well. Not much use giving us all this time, we’ve nothing to eat, might as well go on walking nearer home. Turn off to main Berlin-Neubrandenburg road. Berlin is 100 miles to the S.W. Walk through woods later, pas t[sic] Italian P.W. camp and here we see a brutal German guard flogging a dog with a whip and a stick and hate written all over his ugly face. Reach a farm at Seltz, but no room for us there. Issued with a cup of hot green water (pea soup) from the mobile kitchen and then we plod on by moonlight with the boys singing some good old Army songs. After three miles we hit Hermannshobe and its deadly trying to fix up some sleeping space in the darkness. Jack and I end up in a cellar with cobwebs and rats all over the shop. Some bright spark decides that “our cellar” is the latrine during the night. I never swore so much in all my life.
18 Miles
20th Feb. Day of rest is proclaimed and about time too. We’ve been on the plod for six days and our plates of meat are crying out for a break. I pinch a cup of fresh milk from a willing cow in the cowshed and after seven spuds for breakfast I’m violently sick. We’ve had very little food lately and a big “woof” of spuds was too much for me. I sell Auntie’s blue pullover that I was wea ring[sic] when I was shot down, and a couple of Polish slave workers give me 1/2 loaf of bread and some cooked beans. Cold and miserable
[page break]
-7-
20th Feb. All day so decide on going to bed early. Lots of the boys are cooking the ears of wheat that they’ve stolen from the barn and are trying to make a cereal. Not very successfully however. Learn that we have five miles to cover tomorrow, then sixteen miles the next day to Neubrandenburg where we are due to stay in a Stalag. I’ll believe that when we get there. These Germans change their tactics too many times.
NIL
21st Feb. Off at 9:45 a.m. Miss the soup issue, not enough to go round. First four miles up a muddy cart-tract [sic] and I’m pretty puffed at the end of it. The German guards buy bread in the village. Poor propaganda! They can’t even feed their own troops, let alone us poor prisoners. Do a deal with a guard on the roadside, 1/6 loaf of bread and a hunk of lard for twelve dirty old cigarettes. As sick by the roadside later on. Do I feel grim! Getting pretty weak these days but have to plod on somehow. At Gutskow, we are housed in a decent barn and we get a liberal issue of spuds. At this farm there is a girl who was in Boston, U.S.A. in the middle of January, as an internee and has just been repatriated. What the hell she came back to this mess for, I just can’t imagine! The Yanks look at her goggle-eyed, they can’t believe that she was in the golden States so recently. But they all draw the line at speaking to her. Hot brew and spuds at 5 p.m. and we then hit the hay. For me, it’s the warmest and most comfortable night since we began the hike, but poor old Jack is in a deadly state. He’s been eating someof [sic] the cooked beans that we traded for my pullover and they’re playing havoc with his stomach. I didn’t touch them hungry though I was. He’s up half the night and has job to make the door over the mass of sprawling bodies. Guards refuse to let him out of the barn and it’s just too bad on the bloke sleeping by the door! The beans are given to Geoff next morning, in disgust and the name of Poland stinks a t[sic] the moment.
7 Miles
22nd Feb. A day of Rest! We remain in the pit till la te[sic] then queue for 1-1/2 hours for one cup of lukewarm water. Peel a few spuds in the farmyard and at 4 p.m. we are issued with a cup of soup, hot water and five spuds. I get fatter every day, I don’t think. Anyway, it’s hot, and warms us a little. Put the flag out! The Germans issue some rations – 2/5 loaf of bread, 1/11 lb. meat (stinking corned beef) and 1/4 lb. of margarine. The Army can again march on it’s stomach for a few miles anyway. Jack groggy all day, very weak at the moment – I don’t think I’ve seen him look so ill. Don’t feel so good myself either. Stomach weak and sick three times today.
NIL
[page break]
-8-
23rd Feb. Ja ck[sic] too ill to march, so gets on sick wagon. Can’t divide our grub in time and he needs someone with him, so I tag along. A very bumpy ride over cart tracks. S/C 8 a.m. and our stomachs turn over several times en route. Pass through village with funeral in progress at the early hour or 9 a.m. [underlined] He [/underlined] doesn’t care who wins the war anyway. Our two horses exhausted after pulling the wagon through deep mud! Change horses and take on four this time. Reminds us of the stage coach era. Kleef Bahnhof 12:30 p.m. Rosenow 1:15. Arrive a t[sic] Briggow, our billet for the night at 3 p.m. and get decent in the barn along with the sick party. Hot water and spuds in the evening and my hunger is appeased somewhat! Auspicious occasion, as I clean my teeth and have a wash in the pig-trough.12 Miles
24th Feb. Programme seems uncertain, so we stay here to-day. Have two cups of soup, two sandwiches and a hot brew. I ever shave and wash and then lay on the straw for the rest of the day, feeling that life is indeed good, compared with the last week or two. Two men taken out during the night with internal trouble and hear later that they passed on. The total number of deaths in now nine, that we know of.
NIL
25th Feb. Rest. Pea soup twice to-day and by evening time, I regret having it. I hate peas, but when there’s nothing else I have to eat them. No chance of a deal of any kind as the guards are watching the slave workers pretty closely. Monotonous day, just laze on the straw. Feeling weak inside but Jack much better than he was.
NIL
26th Feb. T he[sic] Doc works the miracle and up comes a cup of barley at noon, and again at 5 p.m. German Doctor visits the barn during the day and a rranges[sic] for the removal of the worst cases to the hospital. Believe me, you’ve got to be half dead to be among them. I’m not sure which is best – going into dock of carrying on with the hike. With super diplomacy, we carry off a big deal – 1/2 loaf of bread and some cold roast CHICKEN for half a can of coffee and three squares of chocolate. Pierce the German guard and a banquet is ordered. Jack and myself grin at each other with delight. You’d imagine we were at the Lord Mayor’s Banquet eating off his gold plate. Our table manners disappear completely as we greedily woof the legs of the chicken, held in our hands. No time to waste on forks!
NIL
[page break]
-9-
27th Feb. Still no sign of moving so for breakfast, we finished off the scraps of chicken along with a hunk of Polish bread and margarine that I pinched. Barley again for lunch and at 5p.m. also. Very sleepless night, and we’re very overcrowded, more blokes falling sick every day.
NIL
28th Feb. Hands too damn cold to write. Shivering all day in a very draughty barn into which we moved this morning. One man died to-day from an infection on the knee. Lack of medical supplies now serious. But a ray of sunshine appear s[sic] on this wet, dismal day. A truck of Red Cross parcels a rrive[sic], brought from Lubeck on a wagon supplied by the American Red Cross and driven with Swiss patrol. The Huns can’t give us anything it seems. Issue of one parcel each, they have to last till the end of the march, and heaven knows when tha t[sic] will be. Goody, goody, I have a stand-up bath in the farmer’s kitchen to-day. I had to, due to an accident! The water was lukewarm, about three inches deep, but I’ve a vivid imagination. Feel tons better after it.
NIL
1st Ma r[sic]. Rain and a very high wind to-day, and very cold too. B ut[sic] maybe it’s the fact that our resistance is almost nil. My feet are just frozen the whole time. Barley twice again and I pinch some spuds out of the farmer’s clamp and Des Grealy cooks them for us. We’re so damned hungry, we woof 1-1/2 cans of spuds each. Dirty great holes in the roof and the rain comes in and the wind blows like fury. I wonder what Jon Hall of The Hurricane would do if he were here.
NIL
2nd Mar. Another man dies in hospital. Hands and feet frozen, too cold to peel our few spuds, so we jus t[sic] woof them with the jackets on. Deadly business answering the call of Nature in the open-air. Half a ruddy gale blows around your rear! Not at all funny. Stay under the blanket and overcoat most of the day, warmest place by far.
NIL
3rd Mar. Up at 8 a.m. for a cup of German coffee and some cold cooked spuds. Frozen as usual. I’ve almost forgotten what it is to be warm. At 12:30 p.m. we leave the farm after our long rest. Five miles to Luplow along cart tracks and ploughed fields. At least we are a little warmer on the march. Good billet, eight of us in small barn, and Jack and I cook some s tolen[sic] spuds over a wood fire outside and along with a stolen onion those spuds taste delicious! Comfortable night, but feet cold as usual.
5 Miles
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4th Mar. Up at 7 a.m. and off at 8:30 a.m. in a perishing snowstorm with the slow party, mostly semi-sick wallahs. We go so slowly, I even think a snail would pass us. Our blankets are soon wet, as usual. Decide to rejoin the mob as soon as we can, this pace is killing us! Pass Don having the usual by the roadside in a snowstorm! Bit draughty. See three dead horses by the roadside, dropped dead, brassed off, I presume. Many evacuees from Stettin areas. Get 1/4 loaf from guard for tem battered and broken cigarettes. Slice of bread donated by the only good-hearted Hun in Germany. Vossfeld 1 p.m., Marhin 1?:45 p.m., Musselhagen 2 p.m., Rockow, then Muckelhei for the night. Hot brew as soon as we bed down, feeling tired out, miserable and as weak as a drowned rat. Early night.
14 Miles
5th Mar. Off at 8:30 a.m., with 1/6 loaf of bread and 1/5 parcel of Red Cross food issued on the roadside. I carry the whole parcel for five miles then Ferdie kindly divides it up! Brassed off. Air raid in progress, plenty of fighters and vapour trails at 20,000 feet! Wo ist der Luftwaffe? The USAAF are very much in evidence. Hear the bombs dropping. Lovely sound, but too near for my liking. Waren at 11:30 a.m. long trek through the town and we all feel very hungry at the sight of food in the shops, and civilians woofing in the local restaurant. An old codger gives me a kick in the pants as I go past, apparently he hates us. I can’t do a thing, just swear like fury under by [sic] breath. Pass a S talag[sic] on the other side of town – wish to hell we could go in there. Roads improving now, off the cobblestones that are so prevalent in German towns, but at the same time we’re very much on our knees. Guess we stiffened up when we rested too long. Klink at 3 o’clock then off into the woods and reach Warnhof at 4:30 p.m. Right on our benders. Good barn, we sleep under a wagon but still get trodden on during the night. Norman Stokes crawls 100 yards on hands and knees then has an accident in his pants. Too funny for words! Five spuds and hot water, along with two slices of bread and a biscuit. Some feed to-night.
17-1/2 Miles.
6th Mar. Up at 6:30 a.m. with the usual spuds before we set off at 8:30 a.m. very tired and s tiff[sic] after yesterday’s long trek. Cover 8 miles to Mecklow with only a short rest half way. Then half hour’s rest sitting on the dirt by the roadside. Klim can full of spuds goes down well. Then a long, long hike of nearly ten miles without a rest through Jungershof, Alt Schwerin and Karow, a railway junction. Look longingly at a line of goods trucks drawn up in the station. Sigh-post[sic] by roadside reads Berlin 177K., Neuebrandenburg 80K., Rostock 74K. 7 more dead horses by the road, with the flesh hacked off by hungry dogs, and probably hungry Germans as well. I hope they starve! Reach Walnshof at 4:15 p.m., and Jack and I sleep with the pigs in their sty.
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6th Mar. What a line! – but very warm. Scrounge a can of potato salad from a farm worker (Pole), also a can of milk, all for two cigarettes. I answer the call of Nature on a pig during the night and unconsciously apologize to him. Jack thinks it very amusing. Another air raid during the night.
18 Miles.
7th Mar. The old Day of Rest and are we grateful! A can of real milk for breakfast along with four spuds. A lay down on some straw all morning to rest our aching limbs. Three brews during the day and a can of barley soup that I scrounged from a Polish slave worker. We have a wash and a shave and a general clean up in the sty along with the pigs. The last war wallahs have nothing on us I’m afraid. They can no longer crow about the mud they used to plough through. As is usual when we rest, it’s perishing cold outside. Some of the boys help the old farmer to pull down a tree, presumably hoping for some extra grub. Tree goes down but no grub comes up. The dear, kind Germans issue 1/2 loaf per man and 1/2 oz. margarine per man to last six long days. Jack and I suck two squares of chocolate each in bed, and it lasts twenty minutes. The highlight of my life these days!
NIL
8th Mar. Staying here again to-day, the German High Command must be in a fla t[sic] spin. However, we’re grateful for the respite. Room is out bright and early and in the cowshed pinching a can of milk. I think I’ll join the Land Army for the next war. We lunch early to-day, at 11 a.m., and it’s a two-course effort, one spud and a spoonful of cooked swede! Sew s few buttons on my pants but if any more part company with me, I’ve had it – no wool or cotton left. A few more spuds appear in the evening, moderate ration, plus a can of soup that I buy from a German kiddie for one cigarette. He’ll smoke himself to death before nightfall. I pinch some more milk, but a German farmhand catches me and knocks the whole lot into my face and swears furiously. Didn’t even have the chance to swallow any. Jack finds it amusing but I certainly don’t. Last half bar of chocolate in bed. Never will I be without chocolate when I get home.
NIL
9th Mar. Up at 6 a.m., and a really hot brew this time Ferdy has done well in the old cookhouse, such as it is. Some cats (cooked) come up just before we leave, they help to fill the gap in the stomach. Off on the trot once more at 8:15 a.m., across frozen cart tracks for three miles to Penzlin which we hit at 9:45 a.m. it’s a miracle, there are no broken ankles flying around after that stroll. Gallin railway station at 10:30 a.m., and we look very jealously at a German officer who has jus t[sic] come home on leave to be greeted by his frau. We see a German clad in a warm RAF
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9th Ma r[sic]. Flying coat, exercising horses. For two miles we hit the best road surface yet, all concrete and we step on it. Then through mud, cart tracks and ploughed fields to Diestelow which we reach at 12 noon. Destined to stay here for the rest of the day. Only 11 miles to-day but the rough surface has taken all our energy away. A “woof” of biscuits and corned dickey on arrival, and a brew (good ‘un) comes up in half an hour. Bad dose of diarrhoea (how the hell do you spell it?) For the rest of the day and night it seems as though it’s my turn for dysentery, the complaint most prevalent these days. It’s the “G.I.’s” with a vengeance. Spuds and a can of thick soup during the evening but I can’t touch any. Rather sleepless night, up quite a few times.
11 Miles
10th Mar. Rest to-day, thank heaven! I don’t think I could stagger out of the farmyard to-day, I feel so darn weak and tired. Two spuds at 11 a.m., and a drop of barley. Jack working in the cookhouse to-day, a good thing because he does a deal with the German civvies and brings back 1/2 loaf of bread for 20 cigarettes and a square of chocolate. G.I.’s pretty grim at the moment, visiting the slit trench every hour of more and just make it several times. Air rai at night, very early too and I see the stuff going up when I’m visiting my “second home” outside. Darned insomnia again and I’m up half a dozen times during the night.
NIL
11th Mar. Rest of the column move off but I feel too weak to march so I go on the sick wagon. Divide what bit of grub we have in case I don’t see Jack at the other end. S/C at Pollock and half the column are now quartered, plus the chow wagon. Cup of hot wa ter[sic] there, then on to Lanken, a further three miles, where I rejoin the barrack who catch us up later. The sick wagon is an old wooden affair, a real boneshaker and my stomach suffers – not in silence either. Jump off wagon six times during the journey, making a total of 32 during the last 48 hours. Not fog! Crowded barn but Jack gets past a German guard by jumping the ditch at the back. Drops his cup and faithful walking stick in the sheissen[sic]! Farmer appears later, wa ving[sic] a naked scythe on discovering five litres of milk missing. The boys have been a t[sic] it again. Even worse later, when he reports that a number of chickens have disappea red[sic] miraculously. He threatens to shoot a few of the boys in the morning but Diplomat Clarke talks him round with the aid of the Hauptmann. Deadly night, insomnia and dysentery. I have a hell of a job to get to the trench, with bloke’s bodies and feet in the way. I want to go home! Another heavy air raid at night.
9 Miles
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12th Ma r[sic]. Up very early, not much use stopping bed, have to jump out as soon as I hit the straw! Hot drink at 9 a.m. and we are then moved back to Beckendorf, in the large barn at noon. Presumably this farmer will be glad to see the back of us – quite a few of his chickens have met a hasty death since we arrived. After all, a bloke must eat. No wagon available so I have to stagger along somehow. This dysentery is deadly – sometimes I think I’ll never see my native country again! Only two miles but I have to fall out half a dozen times. We pass the padre, Rev. Morgan, on the road. He’s one of the boys, looks as much like a tramp as any of us. He could have ridden the whole way, but not him. One of the very best, one of these lovable types. Reach the village faged out, and bless Jack for carrying half my kit. Good lad! Decent pit, near the door for military reasons! Spend the rest of the day on the straw, under my blankets, both of ‘em, with the wind howling through the decrepit barn. 1/2 loaf of bread and 1 oz. of margarine issued. Another accident, I am now minus a pair of trousers. Mighty wet outside during the night, pop out 7 times altogether, and am abused and sworn at, and whacked with a rifle butt by a guard. He refers to me as an English pig. I’d dearly love to see him in the same predicament.
2 Miles
13th Mar. Have to divide our pitiful stock of food once more as I’m going into “hospital”. This consists of twenty or so beds of straw in the farmer’s covered- in pigsties. Wish Jack could come with me, I feel so darned helpless. Doc brings me a can of mint tea, helps to brighten me up a little, but I don’t stay there very long, as I’ve got to go another four miles on the wagon as there’s no room here. The place is overcrowded now and with so many chaps suffering from frostbite, horrible blisters on their feet and so on. Still haven’t got my trousers, so I wrap myself in a blanket. Cold and miserable journey on the wagon, in a heavy rainstorm, blankets soaked as usual. Four miles, through Lanken again, to Stalzendorf. Horrible barn, freezing inside and the rain coming in. I’m past caring though. Hardly any sleep, two packs and two bales of straw fall on me from the loft above. The G.I.’s are less frequent now – they need to be after more than 70 in the last 3 days.
4 Miles
14th Mar. Move again at 7 a.m. on the wagon. Haven’t eaten a thing except a spoonful of tinned salmon during the last 48 hours. Terrible journey over ploughed fields, stomach badly shaken. Barn accommodation at Moderitz. Not bad at all, but food stakes pretty grim by now. Doesn’t affect me today, my poor old stomach is quite beyond any form of food.
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14th Mar. Get into a make-shift bed of straw at 12 noon, on arrival. Raining like hell outside and I feel so miserable and depressed that it’s the bes t[sic] place to be in. barracks 8, 9 and 10 arrive two hours later – they’re getting a grim deal all round. I break my fast (56 hours) with a slice of cold toast and pate. Hunger bloody acute by now, but daren’t eat anything more. Square of chocolate in bed, lasts 20 minutes. Out 4 times in the night but manage to sleep as well. Quite a pleasant change after the insomnia spell. Still no food issued by those dear friends of ours, the Germans.
9 Miles
15th Mar. Stay in bed all day, rest does wonders. Have a few small spuds at 1 o/c and a handful of old carrots. Very hungry but scared to eat any more in case the old complaint returns. Glorious sunshine all afternoon and air activity above us. Have a bath in a bucket and clean my teeth once more, even washing a few clothes also. I feel rather happy – a wash and brush up makes a load of difference. Another square of nutty in bed, make this one last for a long, long time as I’ve hardly eaten at all to-day. Much better night’s rest, although I’m up several times again. Main trouble is weakness now. The boys here are in a grim state. No Red Cross food, hardly any bread, and our only food for a day consists of a few spuds and a cup of watery soup. They can not continue to march much longer without a high rate of sickness. Can count the old ribs quite easily now and I don’t suppose I’m more tha n[sic] 6-1/2 stones. We are told we are to proceed to Ludwigslust, 20 miles away and then transport will be provided. Camp Leaders have been in touch with Red Cross Distribution Centres at Lubeck. Need for parcels is vital, the Germans can’t or won’t feed us. Up-to-date, we have been on the road 37 days, covered 288 miles and our food supplies have been 2 loaves, 4/5 lb. margarine, 2/11 lb. meat, (from the Germans) and 2-1/2 food parcels from the Red Cross. Speaks for itself, I think.
NIL
16th Mar. Sick party moves again at 7 a.m. on the old bone-shaker. Three miles to Parchim, through the town, and on for eight miles in the direction of Ludwigslust, which is now nine miles away. Old lady and gent of some 80 summers come up to the cart and start knocking the boys about with their walking sticks. Bit sticky, for a time, until the guards call them off. Cold ride but we’re there at 1 p.m. and wait for Barracks 1-4 to arrive with their chow-wagon. The joint is called Durehow, pretty miserable spot and no food at all for us. The farmer is a Heil Hitler man, not ‘arf’! The G.I.’s are clearing up now, but I’m starving
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16th Mar. like everyone else. Picked up a dirty old piece of bread this morning, weeks old, but I scraped it and chewed it. Better than nothing anyway. I’m not fussy. If my poor mother could see me now. Probably tell me I shouldn’t have joined! Barracks 1-4 arrive at 3 p.m. with chow-wagon and at 6 p.m. we have a cup of thin watery soup with one carrot in it. And I’ve been waiting since 9 a.m. with my tongue hanging out. Wo ist der fleisch and Kartoffeln? Have my one remaining square of nutty and go to bed, at least I can’t yearn for grub when I’m asleep. Bloke sleeping next to me who has been without food, apart from 5 spuds and a cup of soup, for three days. He eats two slices of bread and is violently sick. Poor devil, I’d like to help him, but have nowt myself. Some blokes have been like that for four days and marching 15 miles a day in all weathers.
12 miles
17th Mar. Brew of sweet mint tea form the wagon at 7 a.m. and the Yanks, Barracks 1-4 move off at 8 a.m. on the last lap (so we are told) to Ludwigslust. Sick party remaining here for a day, as no wagon is available and I’m bloody sure I wouldn’t last more than one mile with kit on my back. Several blokes attempt the struggle, counting on a parcel issue the other end. I hope their efforts are rewarded. No food available for the 30 of us, till the next big party arrives about 3 p.m. They eventually turn up at 4 p.m. and the dear, kind Germans issue a 1/4 loaf bread and 1/8 lb. of margarine to last for four days. 1-1/2 spuds come up at 5 o’clock plus the dirtiest, thinnest soup I’ve ever seen, 90% water and 10% Kohlrabi. Can read the name of the maker on the bottom of my tin! Go to bed feeling very, very hungry but manage to sleep OK. I dream a wonderful dream of never-ending plates of fish and chips. I’d pay 20 quid for some right now, if I only had 20 quid.
NIL
18th Mar. Cold brew at 8 a.m. with one slice of bread and a piece of spam. Barracks 8, 9 and 10 move out and advance guard of 5, 6 and 7 a rrive[sic] at 11 o’clock. Never was I more glad to see Jack than when he staggered in. We celebrate with a woof off some civvy bread he’s purloined from somewhere. Their Jerry rations must have been better than ours or he must have rationed himself severely, as he has more grub left than me. Gosh, it’s good to see him again, and we natter away as though we’ve been parted for five years instead of five days. Comradeship means more in a prison camp than anywhere on earth. Put the flag out, we’ve just bought a hunk of bread from Lofty Maddocks for some old Jerry margarine. We can’t eat that alone so we’re off on
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18th Mar. dry bread now. Spuds issued in evening (1-1/2 and dirty at that). Buy two extra ones for two cigarettes and a piece of liver paste. To smoke or starve, that is the question. Times are bloody hard, aren’t they Mum?
NIL
Here beginneth Jack’s diary for the last five days;
13th March. Rest at Beckendorf. Cec pretty groggy and taken with the sick joint. Split up for the first time since last August and we divide the grub, rather awkward. Heard from American medical bloke that Cec has left for some other joint. (Minus his trousers! C.A.R.) 15th March. Up at 6 a.m. for a cup of thin stew and a slice of bread and soon on the road for Lanken, Stalzendorf and Neuehoff, all along cart tracks then to Zielslurbe. Mint tea and a raw spud from the Huns after dark. 12 miles. 16th March. Good night’s rest, 1 slice of bread and half an EGG for breakfast, having bought two for 5 cigarettes. Hear we move on Sunday and two days should finish the march. Good show! Feel very tired and rest most of the day. Wondering how Cec is going on. (Ruddy grim boy C.A.R.) 17th March. Brew and egg sandwich for breakfast. Fair spud ration comes up and I buy a slice of bread for a tiny spot of Klim. 18th March. Up at 6 a.m. and after a measly breakfast off along the old cart-tracks once the old cart-tracks once mor[sic] to Damn, through Spornitz to Durehow. Meet Cec again here and are we both glad! Have a woof to cerebrate.
19th Mar. Rejoin Barrack 7 to-day, along with Jack. I don’t feel at all well but I’m leaving with Jack even if I collapse on the road. Leave Durehow at 8 a.m. to Brenz, where we pass groups of the Army boys who called in a t[sic] Luft 4 on their way down from Danzig. That must be about 500 miles back up the road! We yell at one another and I think of the good old Army cry “Are we downhearted”? It’s a most emphatic “NO”. Takes more than a bunch of Huns to get us down. You’d think we were meeting each other in Piccadilly on a night out! I think that’s what the Brass Hats mean when they talk about “esprit de corps”? Off down the road to Blievenstorf, then Muchow at 11 a.m. Stop for a roadside picnic off one solitary slice of bread and a tiny piece of spam. If a horse ran by I’d think I was at Newmarket in the good old piping days of peace. Roadside news bulletin! Another five miles to go and they’re giving us some bread to-night. Up goes the old morale. Zierzow at 1 p.m. where we pack in for the day. Find Barracks 8, 9 and 10 already here, and they’ve pinched all the best spots in the barn. Further outlook – bloody! On my old benders, but
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19th Mar. a slice of bread and a cup of ersatz coffee sets me up once more. Germans issue 3/8 loaf to each man. There’s a dirty great crust on our piece. The bread is hard enough, but that’s the last straw. Never mind Jack, pitch in! 5 spuds at 7 o’clock and we woof them with a piece of bread and old faithful, a piece of spam. Delicious! Couldn’t sleep at all, dreaming wild dreams of freedom. My God, what I won’t do when that day dawns.
13 Miles
20th Mar. Start at 9 o’clock, feeling very tired with pains in my leg. I guess it’s rheumatism or gout, never will I grin at unfortunate old men again when they mention their aches and pains. Going very hard. Werle at 10a.m. and we have a long rest of 50 minutes as the Jerries issue a further 3/8 loaf and blob of margarine. It’s not Adolf’s birthday yet, surely? Why the generosity? On to Kremmin, and reach Bechentin a t[sic] 1:30 p.m. Mathematician Reeves announces that we are tearing across the Third Reich at a rate of 14 miles a day on two slices of bread and four spuds per day. Grea t[sic] cheers go up. Seven spuds come round at 7 o’clock, the boys have been pinching again, bless ‘em. Very tired after today’s slog over some hard and rough roads and my legs are letting me know all the gen. Jack’s favourite blister has burst forth again. We but 15 ozs. Of sausage meat from a civvy fa rm[sic] worker for 15 cigarettes and sell 3 ozs. Of liver meat for 20 cigarettes. Tired business men.
12 Miles
21st Mar. Off at 9:40 a.m. – wait for remainder of the column and then the whole compound moves off, first time we’ve been together since Swinemunde. Head winds, dust, perspiration, and a slow pace, all brass us off completely. Through Wanslitz, then strike through the forest over bags of sand to Eldena, a small market town on the canal. Arrive Bresegard at 4:45 p.m. and split up into small barns, 100 men in each. Woof at 6 o’clock of bread and sausage meat. Get the serviettes out Jack, we’re dining in style! Only two spuds come up, but we have a hot wash in the yard. Hope we stay here tomorrow.
11 Miles
22nd Mar. Do we hell! Up at 5:30 a.m. but one consolation – we have two cups of wizard, thick soup before we leave at 7:30 a.m. The old stomach feels quite full, rather strange sensation these stormy days. Glorious sunshine, but with an Army overcoat, I hate it. Boy, do I sweat, and my feet are dea dly[sic]. Remind myself to take my boots off to-night. I’ll suffer for it next day, though. Through Karens, Conew, and Melliss to Heidorf. Here I fall out for the usual, and I’m rapped across the rear with a rifle butt by the brute of
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22nd Mar. a sergeant. I’ll do him one fine day. Have to tear down the road to catch the boys up, but the guard tears with me, I don’t mind so much. Half Red Cross parcel issued on the roadside and poor old Barracks 8, 9 and 10 have to carry the 50 lb. cartons for 1-1/2 miles. Brave and stalwart fellows. If I carried one, I’d collapse after a few yards. I just missed that ordeal through belting up the road to catch up. We cross the River Elbe just north of Domitz. River Rhine next stop boys, then dear old Father Thames. Air raid begins and we turn off the main highway and have a rest. Bags of flak, give ‘em socks boys. Think of it, most of you up there will be back necking in the back row of the flicks to-night. Ah! Woe is me. Three miles down the winding road by the river to Dammatz, where we stay the night. Woof and a hot brew then a shave and wash once more. Good egg! This is a cheap existence, one razor blade has lasted me eight weeks. A good night’s rest for a change and I dream of home, sweet home.
16 Miles
23rd Mar. Two cans of soup with a bit of meat in them from a Hun for breakfast. Resting here today, ideal spot too, on the banks of the Elbe. If we had a boat out, I’d imagine myself on the Thames back home. A goon tells us we’re getting a full parcel today. Right, we’ll see how [underlined] that [/underlined] one turns out. He’s given us a load of duff gen up till now. Glorious sunshine all day, sitting outside on the straw. Spring is here, snowdrops and swallows knocking around. Wizard, 1/5 loaf and 1/25 lb. of margarine issued. They’ll kill themselves with generosity any moment now. Decent spud ration for tea and we also have a piece of toast off the old farmer’s kitchen fire. Clean my boots for the first time, having sneaked a Jerry’s boot polish and brushes when he wasn’t around. Must have a touch of sunstroke, I feel very tired and have a splitting headache. We must have come through many degrees of longitude because seven weeks ago we were marching in deep snow and ice and now we’re being bitten by mosquitoes.
NIL
24th Mar. Off we go at 8:30 but hang around on the road for a hell of a time. Ha lf[sic] a parcel issued on the road and we set course for Dannenburg. Fairly large town and the boys pass their ha ndiwork[sic]! Usual air raid in progress but on we go to Tripkau and Melzingen. Sun really hot by now and I’m perspiring like mad, tired out incidentally. Finish day’s march at Brebenbook, 100 men to a barn. Pinch a small enamel bowl and I buy a small knife and a can of salt and a bottle for 10 cigarettes. Eight spuds for supper, but no breakfast. Deadly.
16 Miles
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25th Mar. Set out at 8 a.m. with nothing inside us. That’s nothing fresh however. Three chickens made a quick exit from this world overnight. Wally had a blanty! Pass through Gut Collase and Kienitz and then an air raid begins. Formations of U.S. bombers fly over us and bomb further on. What a super sound that is! Then a monotonous plod for eight miles, no sign of a village for ages, until we hit Nimbergen, where most of the column stay for the night. We strike unlucky and do an extra three miles to Almsdorf. Good barn, 80 of us with electric light as well. Generous ration of spuds and Jack and I dig into the parcel with a slice of bread and jam and prunes and powdered milk. That was very nice, Jack, come again. One Yank finds an upholstered seat from a car, and a table also. He fondly imagines himself in the Waldorf-Astoria, no doubt. The straw spoils the effect somewhat. Could I do with a wash. These perishing lice are becoming mechaniced [sic].
15 Miles
26th Mar. Off at 8:30 a.m. after waiting for the rest of the column. A good pace for a change and most of the blokes in step. Six miles go past in no time, through Romstedt, Bevensen, Nasson-Nettorf, and Emmendorf. Sun very hot and pace slows down. Roads becoming grim. These cobblestones play hell with my blisters and aching feet. Barracks 1 – 4 and 8, 9 and 10 go ahead but we stay behind. Never found out the name of the village. The German R.A.C. has fallen down on the job. One thing about this country, you always know where you are – signposts all over the shop. Small barn but uncomfortable and I shiver as soon as I lay down. Bilious during the night and sick three times. Out another four times for the usual. Off the old food and Jack has my spuds. Sleepless night. I sit in a buggy with a guard to get some fresh air after being sick in the night. Oh Lord, spare me from dysentery again!
13 Miles
27th Mar. Day of rest and I’m very grateful. In the old pile of straw most of the day, but have half a bath in a bucket of water. Don’t eat my spuds, so Jack tucks in once more. News flash! We’re [underlined] supposed [/underlined] to go three miles to Uelzen, get split up and go by cattle truck to some camp. Yah! 1 p.m. we pack up and move to Ebstorf – 5 miles away. Crikey, it may be true, so the boys tear along the road with trains before the eyes, and we’re there in just over 1-1/2 hours. That’s the fastest we’ve walked yet. Several budding Olympic walkers in this mob. Yes, the trainload of cattle trucks are there and we all pile into them at Ebstorf Bahnhof. But what a blow! These trucks usually hold 8 horses or 40 men and even then we’re crowded. On this occasion, the hard pressed Germans cram no less than
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27th Mar. 80 repeat 80 men into a truck. It is a physical impossibility to sit down – some are hunched up wog-fashion but the rest have to stand. Dear lord, how long will this last? Now we decide to get cracking on the grub we have left in our parcels. Remembering the sad occasion when we moved to Luft 4 and had our food stolen by the Jerries we are determined not to take any with us into this new camp. Off we go with a hunk of bread, spam, cheese and jam and the parcel slowly deflates. Then I begin to feel ill and can’t eat another thing. This is the most tragic moment of my life. Here am I, been longing for a super-woof for weeks, and now I’ve had it. My God, am I ill! Sick twice, and a G.I. in a Klim tin, a masterpiece of precision work. The doors have been closed a long time and the air is pretty foul. We’re on our way, however, and about 2 a.m. we stop for 20 minutes. Jack helps me out, and I see Doc Pollock who doses me with opium. Relieves me a hell of a lot. Locked in again and pass a horrible night. Everyone swears he prefers marching to this hell on earth.
5 Miles
[inserted] *.Split up & joined Other party to Stalag 357 [/inserted]
28th Mar. Finally arrive at Fallingbostel, near Hanover. 1-1/2 miles to walk from the station but we’re mighty thankful to stretch our legs. Arrive at [underlined] Stalag XIB [/underlined], a mixed Army camp of French, British, Serbs, Yugoslavs and Indians. Hang around and then searched in a huge marquee. None of the Germans pinch any food, for a couple of cigarettes skilfully planted in their hands gets us through the search without any bother. Camp is horribly overcrowded most of the British are Airborne fellows in their weird “jumping suits”. Nearly all captured at Arnhem and like all new prisoners they’re “airborne” all the time. What “Stories of the Air”! Grub stakes very poor, only 1/2 parcel has been issued here during the last 3-1/2 weeks, and the German rations consist of three spuds, “whispering grass”, and two cups of weak ersatz coffee. Soon after we arrive a mass funeral takes place. 15 of the boys are buried, in their plain wooden coffins, the majority have just wasted away. I’m not feeling any too happy at this dismal sight. Up half the night with the old G.I.’s and lose my trousers temporarily. We are all herded together in a huge marquee, and I have approximately a space one foot wide to sleep in. The Long Trek has now ended and so has the Diary, I’m afraid. No more paper available. Delete Toilet Paper, substitute grass and straw!
1-1/2 Miles
29th Mar. to 8th April I’ve scrounged some paper but must be very brief. Our stay at Stalag XIB is destined to be cut short, curse it. The offensive on the Western Front has opened up in full blast and now we are being evacuated from Montgomery’s Army. Presumably we shall meet the Russians half way back. The
[page break]
-21-
29th Mar. to 8th April Army boys are staying behind but the poor old RAF have got to march away. We have spent 11 days idle and hungry and we’re all in. Blokes have been dying every day, including poor old Harry Bliss. He was taken ill with appendicitis in the cattle trucks and was kept locked up in agony. He died soon after we got here. In many ways I am glad to get out of here. We stand a little more chance of picking up odd bits of food on the road. Another month of this and I’m pretty sure many of us would hit the long, long trail. I can’t forget that Russian who was taken into the Mortuary, covered with a sheet. The sheet was practically flat on the stretcher.
We move out at 12 noon on the 8th and I say goodbye to the pals we’ve made here, including Ginger and Sammy and some boys from the local Regiment. It was good to meet them. See you all at home very shortly! Fairly good rations given us before we leave, including flour and dehydrated cabbage. Accompanied by Army guards, we march 12 miles through Nordbostel to Blecknar. The route is over country similar to Salisbury Plain, and it has been used for the same purpose by German artillery. Decent barn and a liberal issue of spuds. Sleep pretty well, wondering how far away the British Army is right now.
12 Miles
9th April Rest today. Three decent meals today of spuds, pinched from a store below the barn, and the cabbage issue yesterday. Loaf of bread from a Russian Army Captain for a pound of German margarine that was issued. Pretty good deal that, no sentiment in business.
NIL
10th April Off at 9 a.m. through Bergen. Miss the main road and cover extra five miles detour. Jack and I fall out for the usual and hide in a ditch. The column moves on and we come out later. There’s a German soldier down the road nattering away to a bevy of German maidens outside a farm, so back we go again for a meeting to discuss tactics. Go a mile down the road, not a soul about and we make for an XXB Kommando, which is billeted outside a farm. Sit in the ditch to rest and wait a while, when luck deserts us and a truck with all the stragglers aboard comes along. A German sees us and we’ve had it. I spin ‘em a yarn we’ve come from another column, going another way but does he believe me, does he hell! Get in Jack. Ah, well it was nice being free. We catch the column up but they won’t allow us to get off and we ride all the way to Trauen, 6 miles on. Not enough barn accommodation and many sleep in the open air. Hardly any water available. Jack and I are in a barn but we have a deadly night. The lice and other small animals
[page break]
-22-
10th April swarming over me give me hell. They’ve been multiplying for some time now but we can’t get rid of them. They are in our clothing, hair etc., and it’s pretty grim not being able to wash.
16 Miles
11th April Rest today, no-one, Germans included, seems to know the score. Some of the boys from the column in front come back in the opposite direction and there’s mass confusion. Don’t tell me the Russians are that close! Go into the river nearby and have a bath. Very cold but I prefer to shiver than have these deadly lice. Shed some of my clothes and throw it away, it’s full of animals! If we go on much longer, I shall be the first bloke to cross the Third Reich in the nude. The afternoon is well spent in slinking into a garden and pinching some rhubarb. We make a tart with the flour and water, and eat in style. This is better than the old Stalag! Exciting tonight. Spitfires and Typhoons shoot up an aerodrome just across the road, and are in combat with FW190’s just above our heads. The boys all scamper into the barn, under bushes, blocks of wood and any cover available. We see a 190 go down in flames. What a bloody cheer went up. Another night of “hunting”. The bath didn’t do me any good.
NIL
12th April Plod on across the fields and cart tracks to Wellingbostel. During a rest in the woods, I find a propaganda newspaper dropped by the RAF. Gives us all the up-to-date gen and we devour it greedily. The Huns are reading it as well. Also find ration cards and lea flets[sic] dropped by the boys. Excellent barn, 17 of us in it and we’re locked in – the Huns don’t know were[sic] there. There’s even a lorry in here with us. Any petrol about? Just a slice of bread for supper, then go to sleep. The majority of the boys are in the open, in the wood.
15 Miles
13th April Make a fire as usual out in the open, all budding Boy Scouts now. Stealing wood from the civvies woodshed while Jack gets a few spuds cooked. No bread issued so we make a few biscuits from the last of the flour. Off we go at 1 o’clock along dusty roads for 5 miles to Betzendorf. Not a bad place and we go on the scrounge till bedtime. No Joy!
5 Miles
14th April Cook some spuds over a fire all morning but move at 1:30 and plod for three miles to Barnstedt. We are now only 10 miles from Ebstorf where we boarded the cattle trucks for XIB. The farmer had just killed a horse when we arrived. We didn’t care whether it died from T.B. or anything else. We just get stuck in with a knife or razor blade and run off triumphantly with a hunk of lung and his ruddy windpipe. Get the fire going Jack, we feast tonight. Gosh, it tasted wizard. Bit tough but it’s something to get the old teeth into.
3 Miles
[page break]
-23-
15th April Boil some spuds over a fire during the morning and also have some rhubarb left. Add some German saccharin and some cooked barley and it’s a sizeable meal for a change. Move at 1 p.m. and do 4 miles to Eitzen. Here Jack and I make a dash for it. It’s now or never. We go past a farmyard, and I keep an eagle eye on the guards. They turn the other way for a moment or two, and I prod Jack and whisper “Left turn”. Into the farmyard we dart, sweating like mad. Into a cattle shed and under some straw, and there we stay for a long while. No one appears and later some civvy kids come in and then race back to tell the old man. Two old ladies come in and we natter to them, stalling all the time. They are scared stiff of the pair of us and they keep telling us that the Allies will kill them when they arrive. We smooth them over with some propaganda and one old dear brings a postcard from her son who is a P.O.W. in Canada. I’ll bet he’s more comfortable than I am, anyway. Some Polish slave workers bring us food: cake, soft-boiled eggs, bread and margarine and coffee. Ma dam[sic], that tastes like a five course dinner in Piccadilly. The farmer eventually arrives and he’s scared too. If he’s found harbouring P.O.W.’s he’s for the wall and a firing squad. Fetches the Burgomaster who later brings in a soldier. This is it, Jack we’re off to join the column. This soldier has fallen out with bad feet, and we later lea ve[sic] the farm to hit the road once more. But luck is with us. A Polish slave worker comes tearing down the road and gives us some coffee and food to see us on our way. At this moment the Hun decides he’s had enough and back we go to the farm and spend the night there.
4 Miles
16th April Breakfast in the kitchen of the farm. Milk, soup, bacon sandwiches and coffee! Wash clothes in a copper during the morning and for dinner we have vegetable soup with onions and spuds. This is really wonderful. We’ve been talking to the guard all morning. He’s a disillusioned German, let down badly by the Feuhrer. He has lost his family in an air raid, and his brothers on the Eastern Front and is horribly brassed off with the war, most of all with the march. So are we. With some diplomacy we persuade to hide us up till the Allies come. He will be a prisoner in a week or so anyway so what has he to lose. Will he fall for it? We await events eagerly. At 5 p.m. we move on to Bienenbuttel, 4 miles away. He certainly is tired of marching. Things look very much in our favour. We will never catch the boys up by marching, only by truck can we make it. Air raid on the way and we stop by a cemetery! Then another halt in the middle of a wood and he leaves us with his rifle and kit while he nips smartly into the undergrowth. What the hell is he playing at? We arrive at the village a t[sic] 8 o’clock three hours later and stop by a house where
[page break]
-24-
16th April a German brings us some apples. What a life. Two weeks ago we were being kicked and snarled at. Now they give us apples. The mentality of a defeated which crawl to the conquerors! Call at the Burgomaster’s house but he can’t do a thing with us. We go to the town hotel where German troops are quartered and our hearts sink. But we’re kicked out. Whoopee! On we go to the outskirts of another farm and as soon as the hausfrau sees us she starts screaming “Terrorbombers”, “Luftgangsters” etc. etc. Let’s go Jack! But the old guard talks to her and she takes us to a barn in the yard. Our straw beds are only half a dozen yards from the main road and we hear the Army lorries and troops going by, retreating as usual. We go into the kitchen and later have a meal: fried eggs (first for two years), onions and lashings of milk. There’s more food on the table, but we’re scared to eat it. We can’t believe it’s there, the result of the last few month’s privations. This is beyond our wildest dreams. I daren’t hope for too much, we’ve been disappointed so many times before. But I don’t sleep very well, my brain is in a whirl.
4 Miles
17th April Up at 8:30 a.m. and we help the little Russian girl in the kitchen. She’s about 18 and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. In decent clothes and with make up I’d take her anywhere and love being seen with her. Does she work hard! Jack and I feel very sorry for her. Still you’ll soon be free, Olga, and the boot on the other foot. Huge breakfast at 9 a.m. we’re called into the kitchen. Sheer luxury being called in to meals and everything laid ready. Three platefuls of milk soup, bread, whey, cheese, jam, syrup, bacon and apples. Back to the straw to sleep, I can hardly stand. My poor old stomach can hardly cope with a meal of that size. For dinner we had potato soup, pork, stewed apples in syrup, and coffee. Sit out in the sun and later the old guard brings us a bucketful of soup from the German Red Cross. I’ll guarantee they don’t know it’s for P.O.W.’s in hiding! Later, supper: (we couldn’t eat any tea) of soft-boiled eggs and sausages with hot milk. We’ve eaten more food today than we’ve had during the last month. The guard has worked it all out that our troops should be in the town by 4:30 a.m. tomorrow. Still a little pessimistic but the Germans are retreating like mad down the main road, just over the wall. They blew up the railway bridge this evening, and broke several windows in the house. I went flat on the ground, thinking the RAF were about. Another restless night.
NIL
18th April [underlined] LIBERATION DAY [/underlined]
Up quite early and out for a wash and shave. Looking quite smart these days and we must be presentable to the Britis h[sic] Army when they arrive, bless ‘em. Keep the Russian girl to carry buckets of water, and then breakfast is up. Milk soup again with bread and whey, cheese and jam. Sit out in the yard in the sunshine and then a lay-down on the old straw. And now the great moment arrives! The farmer’s uncle comes tearing into the yard from the town, yelling like mad, and “Heil Hitlering” every few yards. I
[page break]
18th April know enough German to know what he’s saying –“The English are Here”! Absolutely wizard. Jack and I tear out to the gate with tears in our eyes. A council of war is held and one of us must stay and look after the guard who is now OUR PRISONER, and the other must go down to the town and see what’s cooking. Out comes a pack of cards. Jack cuts the Jack of Hearts and poor me has the two of spades. So I retire to the kitchen and mount guard over Ex-Gefreiter Mars. He whips off his badges of rank and insignia and they’re my souvenirs. I also have the rifle and bayonet and ammunition. Do I feel good! I’m on tenderhooks [sic] waiting for him to come back. Never did an hour pass so slowly. Back he comes at 11:30 with a huge grin all over his face, carrying sweets, chocolate, a box of cigars and biscuits. We give the biscuits, sweets and chocolate to the young Russian girl and the Poles, and puff contentedly at the cigars. Quickly the farmer and his wife realize the position we are in, we’re the bosses now and we’re invited into the dining room for a feast. Soup, rabbit, spuds and sauce, ham, stewed rhubarb and cherries make up the menu and we lean back in the armchair feeling that life is indeed good. I can’t believe it’s true. Have a wash and smarten up to meet our liberators and off we go with our prisoner between us. Jus t[sic] outside the gate we hear a Cockney voice, and a smiling face appears. It’s a soldier, “mopping-up” with his pal and they’re carrying loads of eggs pinched in the process. We jus t[sic] about hug them with delight we’re the first liberated P.O.W.’s they’ve met. On down the road and we meet a Captain in a scout car who exclaims “What the ‘ell is this?” Our strange clothing caused the query. We soon tell him and out comes more grub. Into the hotel we go, the same one from which we were thrown out the other evening. The Tommies are there in force drinking the place dry. Cups of Army tea, real strong stuff are brought in and we’re the guests of honour. Then a mug of beer and down to the cellar where we find clothes in abundance. I shed my old, lice infested clothing and fix myself up with a new white shirt that has a collar miles too big for me. A smart grey suit and a red tie, plus a pair of soft black leather boots. “Flash Harry” with a vengeance. Also pinch two bottles of preser ved[sic] strawberries and some soap and a suitcase. The German civvies are crying and protest but remembering the events of the past I have no pity what-ever. We move up to the Transport Section and have our photographs taken by a Tommy. Some German prisoners are brought in and we have a go at them. I relieve a Flt. Sgt. of his jackboots and 1000 marks from his wallet. I’ve got a newspaper, the “News of the World” too! A soldier apologises because it’s three weeks old, I wouldn’t care if it was 12 months old. I devour every word, greedily. We’re going home at long last and at a stop on the roadside the Tommies cook us fried eggs and onions, and some bully beef. Then on we go and find we’re advancing with the 11th Armoured Division to Luneberg. The tanks open up at Messerschmitts and F.W.’s and we’re scared stiff God, wouldn’t it be awful to be captured again! Stay in a farm at night and have a wizard supper and actually listen to the 9 o’clock news from Englans[sic]. Bruce, old boy, your voice never sounded sweeter!
[page break]
-26-
18th April 120 German prisoners are brought in including our own guard. Can’t sleep a wink, far too excited. Get up and smoke cigarettes and woof biscuits. Out I go at 5 a.m. and help a soldier light the fires in the field kitchens, and have a hot wash and a brew. So ends a glorious day, the happiest of my life, and the one we waited so long for. Soon be home, Mum. I send her a postcard this afternoon, won’t she be delighted to receive it? Our minds are too confused to think properly, we want to rush home in a couple of hours, but we’ll try and be patient.
19th April Lovely breakfast of real porridge and sugar and milk, fried eggs, sausages, [underlined] white [/underlined] bread and butter. Then delouse myself and my precious blanket sent from home. I’ve carried it all this way and it’s going back home on my bed. Off we go at 10a.m. back to Bienenbuttel, lose the way two or three times. From Merdack we then go to Celle. Pass German aerodromes with dozens of burnt-out aircraft on the ground. Good show, boys. Also see hordes of Russians, French and Poles making their own way back on foot mostly. But six are in a huge car, driven by four horses! Arrive Celle at 6 o’clock and meet Norman Rees in the market place and a joyful re-union takes place. Billeted in Army barracks and given a light meal. They won’t allow us to overeat. Several of the boys are in pain – their stomachs just can’t take it. Sleep on the floor of the hut, no insomnia tonight however.
20th April Up at 8 o’clock and after breakfast we queue up to be registered. The boys are coming in by the dozen now, wonder where the old column is by now. I expect they have crossed the Elbe. Draw clean clothing, army battledress, from a store and after a bath, I become a soldier. After tea we go to the cinema. The film is very old and I fall asleep, but I’m very happy. Canteen issues cigarettes, chewing gum, matches and a cigar, all buskshee. Still no money! Geoff Reeves and Don Godard roll in tonight. They’ve been hiding in a wood box. The Tommies thought Don was with a girl-friend. Geoff’s hair is so long these days! Complete diary by candlelight. Almost finished it now, thank God!
21st April Up rather early and we are soon off on another stage of the journey home. After breakfast we pile into lorries and the convey moves off in a rainstorm. Arrive at Nienburg at about 2 o’clock, this place being N.W. of Hanover and only 20 miles from Fallingbostel. Billeted, and given a meal of stew and rice pudding. Meet a fellow from Oxford and have a drop of rum with him and a long talk about home. Promise to visit his people and take a message back for him. He gives me two souvenirs of Holland, a couple of silk scarves. Hang around the rest of the day – very impatient. Write to Mum and Doris and then bed.
22nd April The rich food that we’ve been having these last few days has upset me with a vengeance, and I’ll have to lie low. To-day for instance Jack and I woofed a 2 lb. fruit pudding each with cream on top and then went down to dinner and knocked back Irish stew and peaches and cream! It’s difficult to turn away from the good food, but I’d rather not have that deadly dysentery again.
[page break]
-27-
22nd April Many of the chaps have been very ill through over-eating. May leave for England tomorrow. Prowl around the German stores again looking for anything worth having, then into bad. Tomorrow night should see us in England once more.
23rd April Nothing happens all day, so Jack and I go to the cinema at 6:30 and see some news reels, and Mickey Mous e[sic]. Half-way through the picture some bloke comes in and yells, “P’s. O.W. outside.” You never saw such a rus h[sic]. Everybody dead scared the trucks will leave without them. We don’t move off for two hours so into the Q.M.’s office and we sample some red wine looted from France. Feel half tight but very, very happy. Leave at 10 p.m. in the trucks. Very uncomfortable, almost as bad as the cattle truck but we’re all very cheerful.
24th April We ride all night and one truck crashes into a tree, killing the driver and seriously injuring several of the P’s.O.W. Wake up with a s tiff[sic] neck, sore all over. We’re at Borghorst, and we raid a milk lorry outside the dairy. Billeted in the town for five hours and I have a good long sleep. Charge into a German house, and have a feed, wash and a shave. The Huns didn’t murmur. Leave at 2 o’clock for Rheine airport and drive right up to the aircraft. Separated from Jack for the second time. See you in Blighty, Jack. We’re soon airborne and on the last stage for home. Soon we leave Germany behind, over Belgium and France, the Channel and then the white cliffs of Dover. There are a few lumps in the boys’ throats a s[sic] they gaze at them. Pass along the coast to Dungeness and across to Guildford and we land at Dunsfeld [sic], at 6:30 p.m. I’m first out the kite and a W.A.A.F. rushes up to kiss me. That was worth all the two years. Even S.P.’s come up and greet us. One bloke, a P.O.W. for over five years, sits on the grass and weeps unashamedly. The welcome bowls us over. The good old Red Cross is there in force, the hangar is hung with flags and a huge “WELCOME HOME” sign fluttering from the roof. A wizard tea, 2 pounds advance pa y[sic], a rest and off we go to London. The money jingles merrily in our pockets. All the W.A.A.F.’s follow the truck on their bicycles, what a glamorous guard of honour! Leave Guildford and arrive London at 9:30 where we mob the first policeman we see. He doesn’t quite know what’s happening. Off to a hotel at Eufton, beds all made for us, new pyjamas, a bag of good things from the Red Cross and a final message from them. The message reads “We salute you and wish you the best of luck.” I rather think we should salute [underlined] them [/underlined], without their wonderful help we wouldn’t be here to enjoy the welcome. A bath, a real bath, and I laze in the luxury of it for nearly two hours. Jump out as weak as a rat but really clean this time. This is sheer heaven.
25th April Off at 10 a.m. for Paddington and we’re in Cosford by 12:30 p.m. the reception centre. Another terrific welcome, re-kitted with new uniforms, interrogated by Intelligence wallahs and more gifts from the R.A.F. and the Red Cross. Organization superb and we remain here till 9 a.m. next day.
[page break]
-28-
26th April Now we’re really on the way. Arrive Oxford at 1 p.m. and on the local bus at 2:15 p.m. I queued up for one hour, no need to do so, but I’m not missing this one. Sent a wire to Mum. Arrive home at 3 p.m. and there is Mum waiting for me. The great moment has arrived, even more wonderful then I expected. No words can describe my feelings. I think I’ll leave the Diary just there.
I’m happy, what more can I ask?
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
How we took the good news from Grosse Tychow to Fallingbostel
The army that didn't march on its stomach
The Russians are coming, Hurrah, Hurrah!
Description
An account of the resource
A diary of the forced march undertaken by prisoners of war 6 February 1945 to 26 April 1945
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
C A Room
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
28 typewritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Diary
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BRoomCARoomCAv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Poland
Poland--Tychowo
Germany--Bad Fallingbostel
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-03
1945-04
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
animal
fear
prisoner of war
Stalag Luft 4
the long march
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2179/38418/SCuthillCR574146v10009.2.jpg
8d501a14332245c9ef44c6281d471ade
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2179/38418/SCuthillCR574146v10008-0001.2.jpg
17198a70f0b42420d4babcf3802f920f
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2179/38418/SCuthillCR574146v10008-0002.2.jpg
0c45481360aa8560e9e099ec84807e45
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Cuthill, Charles
Cuthill, CR
Description
An account of the resource
27 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Charles 'Charlie' R Cuthill (574146, 56121 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, photographs, documents and dog mascot.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Matt Nichol and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
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2018-08-18
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Cuthill, CR
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Extracts of unpublished writing by Charles Cuthill
Description
An account of the resource
First page annotated 'Unpublished writing by Charles Cuthill, publication rights please, Matt Nicol'. Continues with account of icing, flashes round the aircraft and static on the intercom. Difficult flying conditions and weather. Reference to aircraft 'Old Dog' and drawing of dog mascot at bottom. Next page annotated 'DFC awarded for this raid, publication rights please'. Referring to "Charlie Mascot". Description of returning with damaged aircraft and landing. Account of events after landing and picking up little black cloth dog (Charlie) and leaving the aircraft. Mentions injured crew member, trying to light cigarette while standing in a pool of petrol and he himself being taken in the ambulance at crews insistence.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
C Cuthill
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Three printed document pages
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
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SCuthillCR574146v10008, SCuthillCR574146v10009
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
Distinguished Flying Cross
flight engineer
forced landing
Lancaster
navigator
pilot
superstition
-
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Lapham, Rosemary
R Lapham
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Lapham, R
Description
An account of the resource
100 items. An oral history interview with Rosemary Lapham, the daughter of Roy Chadwick, family correspondence, congratulations on being honoured, personal documentation as well as photographs of family, acquaintances and aircraft. The collection also contains a thank you letter from Barnes Wallis to Roy Chadwick and a note from Arthur Harris to Robert Saundby about the in-feasibility of the Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation, some conceptual aircraft drawings and other mementos.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Rosemary Lapham and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
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2015-06-22
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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A short personal observation of life as an engineer at Rolls Royce during the war; as they watched the designer of the Lancaster, Roy Chadwick and later Barnes Wallis, who designed the bouncing bomb, work towards what was to become known as the “Dam Raids.”
[Heading] Roy Chadwick at Scampton RAF Station on the Night of the Dam Buster Raid. [short shaky line]
This is an account which I am [underlined] most [/underlined] delighted to receive; from a Gentleman who knew Roy Chadwick and who was with the “Lancaster’s” designer at Scampton, on the night of the Dam Buster raid. [underlined]Mr C.E. Brennan of Littleover, Derby.[/underlined]
I was seconded to A V Roe [sic] at Woodford, late in 1940, where I was to spend the next, most enjoyable 2 years of my working life.
How well, and with what affection I think of those wonderful people – of the long but rewarding hours we spent together. I think of my first flight with the late Captain Thorne; of the Rugger Club we formed and how we would play, at Poynton playing fields under the tutelary eye of the manager, Mr Ainsworth; that is, when we were given that brief tot [sic] of time off.
I think of how your Father would come, now and again, to see if his boys were beating the Rolls Royce boys; and of our sessions in the (Thieves[sic] Neck) or to give it its [sic]correct name, I believe, “The Devonshire Arms”; across from the factory.
At this time I saw Mr Chadwick almost every day, as he came to see how the line of aircraft was progressing and, of course, how promptly they were rolling to the FLIGHT SHEDS for the attention of Captain Thorne.
Later I was to spend more time travelling between Woodford, and what was then, RINGWAY – this was quite a business because the Paratroop [sic] was there, and there was quite a palaver to get in past the sentries.
Our Rugger sessions came to an end when the first Americans to arrive in England were stationed on our beloved pitch at Poynton. However we did have one session at Sale, which your Father came, especially, to watch.
[page break]
I remember too, with great affection, a lady who worked in the canteen at (AVRO) Woodford who had a wonderful singing voice. Her name was Hilda Green. She was known as the Gracie Fields of Stockport, and she really did have a remarkable voice. I had a signed copy of Gounod’s AVE MARIA which she gave, and which I have now lost; along with my youth. I believe this lady died, no more than five to six years ago; & she was in her eighties.
Of course there was at times, the odd bit of conflict between the R.R. men, and the A V Roe men; but no more than pride on both sides, in our respective ...? [sic] but no more than bitter sweet; and never anything serious, - although it was known to both sides that Mr Chadwick was to be avoided if he came to the factory in the early morning.
It was rumoured that he suffered with his stomach*[sic] and was to be avoided until 10AM at least!! But with all the worry that goes with running such a large empire and under wartime conditions, it is no wonder his stomach troubled him at times. Also, of course, in those days, it was nothing to be working until 10pm - 11pm, and many times all through the night, and on the next day. This applied to A V Roe [e may not have been in original] men, to management and of course to we Rolls Royce men too.
Despite this the camaraderie between us all in our task, was fantastic.
All this was to come to an end in early 1942. Because of my experience on the beautiful old “Lancaster”, I was seconded to 5 Bomber Group in Lincolnshire, and spent my time travelling around 16 Aerodromes sometimes being on 2-3 aerodromes in one day.
[Short shaky line]
at [sic] one point in the late 1930s, I think, my father went on a Breakfast diet of Egg, beaten in milk, because he had this pain in his stomach. But I do not think that he suffered from any serious trouble. It would be the nervous tension of his working life. Hidden otherwise [initialled MD]
[page break]
I stayed at whichever aerodrome we finished work. So, from then on, there was very little time for the social life we had enjoyed at Woodford.
It was at this time, that we had one session of about 3 weeks at Scampton; modifying, and bringing all the 'Lancasters' up to scratch. It was a really hectic time. We would often see, what we would call “Boffin” around; who would occasionally call “good morning”, but never get into conversation. We were later to discover that this was the great “Barnes Wallis”.
On the night of the “Dam Raid”, and having watched “Take Off”, after supper, we repaired to the Mess; still not knowing for certain the destination of the departed “Lancs” only rumours at this stage. -
We wondered why there were so many “Brass Hats” in attendance? – But then, thats [sic] how it was in those days.
Later in the night: I believe around 11pm, I spotted Mr Chadwick among the “Brass Hats”. I caught his eye, and he came across and asked how I was, and did I miss dear old Stockport. We had quite a conversation.
I left the mess about 2.30AM; Mr Chadwick was still there, and I was to see him no more.
Later that year, having tried and been stopped by Rolls Royce, to Join the FLeet AIR ARM, and the MERCHANT NAVY, as an engineer – I Joined [sic] the Royal Engineers as an Engineer on Landing Craft – and have never been able to return to dear old Woodford again. So I think I had a pretty full war.
But despite all, they < The AVRO years > [initalled MD] were and always will be the happiest years of my life.
C.E.Brennan
[page break]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Roy Chadwick at Scampton RAF Station on the Night of the Dam Buster Raid
Description
An account of the resource
A personal account of life of an engineer, C E Brennan, who was seconded to A V Roe at Woodford and Ringway who saw Roy Chadwick frequently. He talks of comradeship, playing rugby and listening to singer Hilda Green. Mentions the sporting rivalry between A V Roe and Rolls Royce and Roy Chadwick's character. Continues with his secondment to 5 Group and travelling around all their airfields as well as preparing aircraft for the Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation. Talks about the night of the Dams attack and talking to Roy Chadwick. Eventually he joined the Royal Engineers on landing craft and never returned to Woodford.
Creator
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C E Brennan
Format
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Three page handwritten document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BBrennanCEBrennanCEv1
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Greater Manchester
England--Stockport
England--Manchester
England--Lancashire
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-05-16
1943-05-17
617 Squadron
bombing
Chadwick, Roy (1893-1947)
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
Lancaster
RAF Ringway
rivalry
sport
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/891/17971/BLillieCFLillieCFv1.1.pdf
dbc96002e44925d39e3017c027a466a7
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Huntley, Ronald
R Huntley
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Ronald Huntley (b. 1922, 1436327 Royal Air Force), an account of the shooting down and rescue by one of the Liberator crew, and photographs of RAF high speed launches and personnel. After service as a flight mechanic on fighter aircraft, he applied to join the Air Sea Rescue service as a engine engineer on high speed launches. He was involved in the rescue of the crew of a United States Navy PB4Y-1 Liberator shot down in the Bay of Biscay in February 1944.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Ronald Huntley and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-10-05
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Huntley, R
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
A SPECK OF HISTORY
FROM LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
[photograph of Liberator]
FOR MY BRITISH SAILOR FRIEND RON HUNTLEY
WHO SAVE MY LIFE ON FEB 15, 1944
Thanks Ron – Carleton F Lillie
[page break]
BAY OF BISCAY INCIDENT
On Valentine's Day, February 14, 1944, crew 8 of U:S. Navy bombing Squadron VB-103, Fleet Air Wing 7, became engaged in aerial combat with two German fighter planes. Members of crew 8 were:
Kenneth L Wright, Lt. - pilot
Lawrence M Petersen; Lt. (jg) - pilot
Robert W. Lacey, Ens. - navigator
Carleton F. Lillie, AOM2c (AB) - bombardier - bow turret gunner
William E. Middleton; AMM1c- plane captain -top turret gunner
Robert A. Zabic, ACOM (AA) - gunner (all positions)
Richard C. McDaniel, AMM2c – waist gunner
Robert (Bob) Erdman, ARM2c – first radioman – radar operator
Thomas Ryan, ARM2c – radar operator – second radioman
Bennie Faubian, AOM2c – tail gunner
Robert M. Green, AOM3c – waist gunner
The crew members of the lead German fighter Ober Leutenant Kurt Necesany, pilot and squadron commander, Lother Clements radio operator, and Werner Rueger navigator. The Germans were flying Junkers 88s, which were long range twin engine fighters which have been converted from their original purpose as attack bombers. The JU88 carries a crew of three. We are flying a Navy PB4Y-1 “Liberator” (B24) bomber with a crew of eleven.
If this were being reported as a 10-second news bite, only these historical facts would be mentioned: “Today a U.S. Navy bomber was attacked by two German fighters. The Navy plane and one of the attackers were shot down with the loss of three crewman in each plane.” The main point would have been lost. This is not about planes; it is about human lives that are placed on the line in defense [sic] of their respective countries.
This saga, written in 1998, and revised in 2001, is based on a 57-year-old memory. Most of the events will be told in the present tense as if they were happening here and now, but you will notice that my memory and this chronicle flit back and forth between the “then” and the “now” without warning.
Before the aerial encounter, we have been searching for a German submarine down the French coast as far south as Spain. When contact with the fighters is made, we are over the Bay of Biscay, about 50 miles off the coast between Brest, France and the English Channel. We are heading north towards our base at Dunkeswell, England.
For my part, I am bombardier and bow front gunner. Never had to prove it, but I have been exposed to training that will enable me to navigate in the event our navigator becomes
1
[watermark of Liberator]
[page break]
disabled. Regardless, there are times when I can best describe myself as a-scared little boy. Knowing only this much background, you will see this conflict through my eyes as I recall it.
The narrative begins the night before the mission when I have a dream that I consider symbolically relevant. Most flyers I have known tend to be superstitious. As such, a bad dream is considered to be a bad omen. On the night before our mission, I have such a nightmare. I dream that I am walking down an abandoned street of an abandoned neighborhood [sic] in an unknown city. There is total absence of color [sic] except that everything appears pallid gray [sic] . As I walk, I am attracted to an abandoned apartment building. I enter the building and proceed from the entry up two fights of stairs to the second floor. Before me is an open door. Beyond the door is a very large room that is devoid of all furniture except one chest-of drawers. The top drawer has been pulled open and has been filled to overflowing with muddy water. A woman is in the process of drowning a naked newborn baby in the water.
Instead of interfering with her endeavor [sic] , I run to report the incident to authorities. When I reach the entrance lobby, I become confused, and instead of going out the front door, I turn at the landing and continue down the stairs to the basement. Before I can stop, I am in the center [sic] of the basement area. I am dismayed to find I am armpit deep in water and am engulfed by snakes of all sizes.
Thankfully this nightmare is interrupted by the alarm clock that is signaling [sic] us to prepare for today's mission. So, we get out of our "sacks", get dressed, and head for the chow hall. It will soon be daylight. During breakfast, someone takes a picture of our crew, then we head for the briefing room.
The pre-flight briefing covers all topics relative to our mission such as weather and an update of all current activities in the Bay including the probable path of an inbound submarine which was recently detected. While here, each of the crew is issued a small survival kit to be used in case we should somehow end up on French soil without having been captured. The kit contains a map, a couple of chocolate bars, a compass, much French paper money, and a few items for first aid. Now, off to the plane.
I can't shake the nightmare. My intuition is saying, "don't go" but the plane is too nearly ready for take-off to be grounded easily (an act I have never before even considered). Am reluctant to mention the dream to Bennie Faubian, our tail gunner, because, in my opinion, his nervous system crashed several weeks ago, and he is now flying on pure grit alone. I perceive the majority of the crew is too military minded to pay much heed to my concerns. The radiomen, Bob Erdman and Tommy Ryan, are the only two with whom I feel comfortable in sharing my dilemma. While the three of us discuss the situation. I become aware that Faubian has drifted in close enough to overhear us; so he has to be included in the conversation. Faubian immediately reminds us that we are flying 'Worry Bird `today.
2
[page break]
Because of its affinity for adversities, 'Worry Bird' is a nickname he uses to identify this particular plane.
The engines are ready to start before the four of us have developed a grounding plan. We have not been able to determine what equipment on the plane we could easily render sufficiently inoperable to force the flight to be cancelled. So, reluctantly, we climb aboard, and the plane is taxied to the runway.
To the best of my memory, this will be my 23rd mission.
Today's flight starts very much like all the missions before. As soon as we clear the English coast, all guns are test fired. Everything is go except the anxiety in my stomach. This feeling is new to me, for I have never been apprehensive about previous missions. I don't feel paranoid about this flight. but I'm not comfortable with it either.
We fly the route the briefing officer prescribed, and check out all the radar signals. Except for the turbulence in the weather front we recently encountered, our flight has been rather casual, and by this time it's late in the afternoon. We're heading north, back to the base at Dunkeswell. Now, radar is reporting a strong surface signal reflecting off an object in the distance along with two closer blips in the direction of one o'clock level. All hands look to the starboard and conclude that the two specks in the sky are German fighters.
As I watch, I am having several thoughts, three of which I will remember. The first is that the wing spans of these fighters seem too wide to be Ju88s, which I have seen before; so maybe they are Ju188s. My second thought concerns the possibility that my eyes might be blinded or (equally abhorrent) that I might lose my manhood. The third thought is temporarily interrupted.
Within a heartbeat the fighters have maneuvered into position for a gunnery run and are now within twelve hundred yards. The run is underway. There is no hesitation on their part. The planes move with precision and accuracy. These pilots are professional. Now at six hundred yards and within range of my 50-calibers, we exchange fire. I see flashes from their guns and am impressed by how slowly their tracers seem to float toward us. (Previous to this flight, I instructed the ground crew not to include any tracers in the ammunition belts scheduled for the bow turret, for they distract my attention from my gun sight.) For a few seconds, guns from our bow turret, top turret and starboard waist are all bearing on the Germans. Their lead plane displays a momentary erratic wing movement, and I'm reasonably sure he just received damaging hits.
The air is full of tracers, and it occurs to me that for every tracer I can see there are five bullets that can't be seen. I hear loud impacts as their gunfire perforates our plane. One comes much too close as it goes through the sleeve of my electric flying suit, cuts through a wool jacket, a shirt. and my long sleeved underwear. Thank God it only burns a reddish-blue
3
[page break]
crease on the inside of my wrist without cutting the skin. Sparks are flying because the electric solenoid that fires my starboard gun has just been shot loose. The solenoid was located within a foot of my ear. "Thank God" again. (I do not yet realize that my heating cord has been severed next to my leg).
Within these few seconds I have been able to fire several bursts. (A burst is usually composed of from five to twenty rounds). The Germans are now at 3:30 o'clock. Relative to me, they have slid toward the tail of our plane and beyond the turning capability of my bow turret. At this point I become a spectator. I can feel our plane vibrate as our gunners fire away and see the flashes from the German guns: I am watching tracers heading toward us and toward them from our starboard waist gun and top turret. Bill Middleton is in the top turret, but I'm not sure who is firing the starboard waist. For the next few seconds those two positions will have a clear shot with a good angle. If the Germans complete their gunnery run without breaking off, Faubian, in the tail turret, will have a chance to fire a burst or two.
Now all of our guns are quiet. The fighters' one and only run is over. My mouth is dry; I look at my hands and they are steady. I put one hand on top of my head and am surprised that I am able to feel my pulse there. I decide to align my turret with the plane because I have just had a disturbing thought. I will be able to exit this Erco ball turret [underlined] only [/underlined] if I can closely align it with both the horizontal and vertical axes of the plane. As I start the maneuver [sic] , I discover that the vertical control has apparently been shot out, but the turret has horizontal movement. So, I complete the horizontal alignment, and am excited to realize that fate arranged for the turret to be in vertical alignment before it was disabled. I will be able to get out of this trap.
During this brief encounter, my eyes have been on the fighters, but for a fleeting second, my mind drifts from reality back into my third thought that had been previously interrupted. I imagine those fellows are about my age -20 years. I’II bet we all would have been friends if we had been raised in the same neighborhood [sic] . Except for a radioman at each of our airfields no one in the world knows this DUEL is taking place. I wonder what in the ever-loving, blue-eyed hell this crazy war is REALLY about.
Some of the mechanical equipment on our plane has been devastated. At least one of their planes has met the same fate (a fact I will know for sure 54 years later). Our number one engine isn't running, and the propeller is windmilling. Something that looks like a slender stream of white smoke is trailing the number four outboard engine. Pilot Kenneth Wright instructs me to jettison our depth bombs. I comply and then abandon the bow of the plane and join those who are already in the waist section. They are Robert Lacey, Richard McDaniel, Robert Zabic, Bennie Faubian, Robert Green, and Tommy Ryan. Number four outboard engine has just stopped. All hands are ordered to get into our predetermined ditching locations. Someone instructs Ryan to go forward to his assigned position. This is the last time I will ever see my best friend and shipmate.
4
My position is to sit on the deck, facing aft, with my back tight against a thin aluminum [sic] bulkhead that separates the waist from the bomb bay. My hands clasp my knees which are drawn up tight in front of my face. I have never been one to make a public display of my religious beliefs, but I do believe in an all-powerful Creator who has the ability to control my fate and the outcome of all events. At this critical moment in my life, I am earnestly engaged in prayer. I truly expect to cross the `Great Divide' within the next few seconds. For the first time I can ever remember, I feel completely helpless.
To say that I am concerned for my safety is the understatement of a lifetime.
Has my subconscious found a sly and subtle way to console my mind, or is this a genuine manifestation? I tend to believe the latter, for I feel the presence of a being standing beside me with its hand on my shoulder. Immediately, I know I will survive this crash. – [underlined] what a relief [/underlined] !
I feel the plane bump as it ticks the top of a couple of ground swells, then the big finale as the plane and ocean collide.
What happened? I can't remember experiencing the impact, yet l am surrounded by water, I am blind, and I hear fire crackling all about me. Has some flying object hit my eyes so hard that I am in a state of shock and am unable to feel pain? If I have been hit, there must be blood in my eyes. I know what blood tastes like; so I'll touch my eyes and taste my fingers. Then I'll know for sure. As my hand reaches for my eyes. I feel a wool-lined leather helmet that is tight on my head and pushed down snugly over my eyes. I remove it, and immediately can see again - OH, HAPPY DAY - the most joyous moment of my life.
I survey my plight and quickly discern that the crackling sound of the imaginary fire is being made by metal snapping in two as the writhing sea wrenches a helpless fuselage. I am on my knees in a rear bomb bay and will soon be totally engulfed in water. The command deck is bucked up, and the bulkhead I was leaning against is missing. As I face aft, I see daylight and head that way. I comply with the training film and do not pull the toggle on my lifejacket while I am still in the plane.
Everyone who was in the waist has abandoned ship without my having seen them go. Water is halfway up the opening on the side of the waist hatch. The big life raft that we carry aboard all flights is still neatly snapped shut. It looks like a giant wiener as it randomly floats about me. I try to get it through the side hatch, but it is too slicky slick to grasp. I'll get out the starboard hatch while I still can, and then I'll try to coax the raft through from my position outside the plane.
So, I maneuver [sic] myself from the plane. Now that I'm out, it's time to inflate my lifejacket. I pull the toggle. Down I go toward the bottom of the ocean; up come air bubbles headed for the surface. My lifejacket must have gotten shredded as I climbed through that metal rubble on my way out of the bomb bay.
5
[page break]
Retrieving the raft is promptly forgotten as I see Faubian facing a gaping break in the fuselage and wildly flaying his arms about. His boot is trapped in the break, and he can't prevent going down with the plane. I approach him from his back, put my arms around his chest, and prop both my feet against the plane. With all my strength, I try to free his foot. Just then, the turbulent water causes the break to open a little., and his foot is freed.
He spins in the water and grabs me in a bear hug. I didn't realize he was so strong, and I didn't know he couldn't swim. He is frantic and Is In the process of drowning both of us. As I try to free myself from his grip, I become strangled. I can hardly breathe, much less think logically. Finally I get free of his grasp except for his iron grip on my little finger. It gets broken, but now we are separated.
The gyrations of the water move me about 50 or 60 feet to where Richard McDaniel is drifting. His lifejacket is inflated, and he is holding a small oxygen tank. When he sees that my life jacket is useless, he gives me the oxygen tank. Because I'm nearly drowned, I try to climb on top of the tank. It spins me over head down. When I surface, McDaniel slaps me with more than enough force to get my attention. He instructs me to hold the tank under my chin and stay still - I obey.
A miracle wave carries the two of us back to the plane just forward of the wing. The remainder of the survivors are with two small rubber rafts that Middleton has released from the top of the plane. Old dependable Lawrence Petersen and Bill Middleton are busy righting one of the upside-down rafts. With their help and that of Robert Lacey we all manage to get into the rafts before dark.
The sea is extremely rough with ground swells that appear to be 20 feet high; so we decide not to inflate the seats. The rafts are attached to each other with a 10-foot line. Some order is beginning to emerge from this chaos. We count heads. Erdman and Ryan are missing (never got out of the plane). To my surprise, Faubian is in a raft. How? He appears to be unconscious.
We are resigned to facing the night. The temperature is really cold. We are sitting in the bottom of rafts that are half filled with cold water. There is a canvas anchor trailing one of the rafts. When the leading raft clears the crest of a ground swell, the connecting line stretches taut as the rafts separate, and when the trailing raft clears the crest, the rafts bump together. This maneuver [sic] continues throughout the night.
Our big fur collars are turned up around our ears to protect against the wind. The trouble with this is, the collars also make good water funnels. Occasionally a curl will form on top of a ground swell, and if we are under It when it breaks, a ton of water comes down on our heads. Then the relatively warm water in our leather flying suits is flushed out and replaced with cold seawater.
6
[page break]
It is a long night. We can hear the drone of a plane above the noise of the sea. It is heading toward us, and the pilot turns his landing lights on. He continues to come our way. (I vaguely remember someone in the other raft shooting up an identification flare.) My mind is weary, and I'm not sure if the flare is fact or fancy. Anyway, he turns his lights off and veers out to sea. This incident causes me to engage in random thinking. Wonder if the sub we were trying to locate is still in this area? Wouldn't it be great if he would surface and take us prisoners! I seem to hear Grandpa saying, “If wishes were horses, beggars could ride".
Before morning, someone in our raft casually remarks that the pocket containing fishing tackle is not snapped to the raft as designed. It is upside down, the flap is open, and the fish hooks are loose among us. My imagination is off and running again. After all, we are in air inflated rafts.
Think I’ll check for hooks. Now I discover that I can't move my legs. They don't feel frozen; in fact, they have no feeling at all. I want to move my legs, but they refuse to react to instructions. So I take the hands of my companions seated on each side and place them on my chest. I still have feeling in my chest. Together, we three slide our hands down my body and place them under a knee. On signal, we all try and are able to slightly move one of my legs. We repeat the process with my other leg and then we move their legs. Now my thoughts drift to other areas.
Just remembered that I enlisted in the Navy exactly two years ago today (February 14, 1942). I left a carefree life at El Paso, Texas, High School, and within two short years I have become eligible to be a member of the'GOLDFI5H CLUB' which is first cousin to the `CATERPILLAR CLUB'. Now this is an accomplishment to strive for! (Members of the `Goldfish Club' ride their crippled plane down and ditch it in the sea; whereas members of the 'Caterpillar Club' bail out in silk parachutes and abandon their disabled plane in the air.) I'm sure all will agree that I celebrated my enlistment anniversary with a BIG SPLA5H.
It occurs to me that I have $300 worth of English ten-pound notes in my pocket. If I freeze to death the money will be worthless to me. I promise it all to the Good Lord if He will get me to dry land. (I will regret this promise a few days later, but I will be afraid to renege.)
Now the first signs of dawn appear. Someone discovers that Faubian died during the night. We meditate on this fact in silence. My mind flashes back to that dream I had just before our mission began; did it really portend things to come? I contemplate the deaths of my three good and loyal friends. (This train of thought will be renewed a few days later when the film of our last breakfast is developed. Erdman, Ryan, and Faubian are out of focus, but my image on the picture is sharp and clear. What, if any, importance should I give to this fact?) Did my subconscious mind have reason to make me apprehensive about going on this flight? It has been a long, cold night and the volume and diversity of my thoughts defy description. Before long we hear a plane, and I recover from my daze.
7
As it comes nearer, we recognize the plane to be a Sunderland - a British flying boat. The time Is probably 7 or 8 a.m. We signal to him, but he never sees us. Within an hour another Sunderland flies near us on his patrol south, We signal with stainless steel mirrors; but he just keeps going: Soon we see a third one heading directly toward us. This Sunderland circles and comes over us within 30 feet of the water. His crew waves and throws us a big round life raft with canned water in its survival kit. Our spirits skyrocket.
The Sunderland continues to circle within a mile radius until it is relieved by a U.S. Navy PBY 'Catalina' and three fighter planes. The Sunderland that first found us makes one more pass, dips alternate wing tips, and continues on his mission south. After one low run, the fighters move up in altitude to about 3 or 4 thousand feet and fly a big circle around us. We conclude that they have been sent here to prevent our being picked up by the Germans or the French. The PBY comes in over us low and slow with its engines making a popping and cracking sound as if each revolution will be its last: My friends Murrel Tittle and Mono Edwards are waving from the port blister.
"Pete" - Lt. Lawrence Peterson (the leader of our cheering squad) exclaims, "God bless him, that it ‘Whiskey' (Lt, Charles Willis). He has an old familiar flying boat; let’s pray he doesn't commit suicide by trying to land out here in these mountain sized waves". We are all aware that Lt. Willis has a reputation to uphold; so none of us would be foolish enough to bet against his trying to do anything, anywhere, at any time.
More planes are arriving on the scene - two of our Liberators and another fighter or two. With us now are two Liberators, one PBY and three or four fighters. I note that the insignias on the fighters indicate that they represent different countries. One of the Liberators is coming in only a few feet above the crest of the ground swells and heading almost directly toward us.
As it passes over us; l recognize George Moore leaning out from the port waist hatch and waving with both hands. We can hear him yell, "McDaniel", above the roar of the plane's engines and the noise of the sea; We know that George is `Slim's" (Richard McDaniel’s) best friend. "HoId onto something George." The fact that he hasn’t already fallen out of the plane is a big surprise. Someone in the other raft volunteers a personal observation, "That outfit belongs to Lt. Chet Rief and Lt. Bruce Higginbotham: The entire crew from Chet and Bruce on down is just like George - long on nerve and short on caution " I know that observation fits George Moore and Dave Offrell, and there is no reason for me to doubt that it applies to the rest of the crew.
Here comes the other Navy Liberator (PB4Y-1): It is just a little too high for me to recognize the three fellows in the waist hatch, but Lt Ken Wright is positive that Lt. Gus Binnebose is waving from the cockpit window. Regardless, we are gratified to know that our comrades are concerned about us and are doing all they can to ensure our rescue.
8
The planes seem to circle for hours. Who knows how long; our watches have not worked since they were filled with salt water. Finally the planes all streak away over the horizon. Within a few moments, they come back. They are flying low and come directly over us. They circle back and repeat their performance. They have spotted the rescue boat and are directing it to our location.
When we are on top of a wave, we can see what appears to be an overgrown PT boat heading our way. It is soon alongside us. A big British sailor reaches down, lifts me out of the raft, and carries me to the deck below. He supplies all the effort it takes to change from my cold, wet flying gear to warm, dry pajamas [sic] . I can't stand alone, and am not much help to him.
Bunks attached to a bulkhead are stacked several high. I try to get into the lower one alone. Even though it is only 4 inches above the deck, I can't get in without assistance. When we are all secure in our bunks, the ship's crew gives us some hot rum. I was told that the rum was spiked with a sleeping potion, so we wouldn't feel the pain of thawing out. That rum is the last I remember before I awake to find we are about to be unloaded at a British port.
We are taken from the boat to (what appears to be) a British military hospital. I report that a vertebra in my neck feels as if it is fractured. The doctors Ignore my concerns without ever taking an x-ray. (I will find out 50 years later, when arthritis occurs, that a vertebra really was fractured.) We are all treated for severe frostbite, exposure and abrasions, and within a couple of days we are released from the hospital.
Those British sailors risked their lives by going deep into no-man's-territory to rescue us. I will always appreciate them and admire their valor [sic] . I am especially appreciative of the big fellow who carried me from the raft. (I weighed 120 pounds soaking wet.) My thoughts at the time were only of getting dry and warm, but he was sensitive enough to perceive that in the future I might want a token remembrance of the event. So, after I was in dry pajamas [sic] , he picked up my wet leather flying suit and cut the section out of the sleeve that surrounded the bullet hole. He told me that some day I might want to show my children how close they came to not being here.
A tiny segment of my life has just been related. The time span was less than 36 hours, and only three minutes were assigned to actual battle. But, as a result of events that happened during that short encounter, three Americans and three Germans died: Robert Erdman, Tommy Ryan, and Bennie Faubian, -- Werner Rueger, Kurt Necessany, and Lother Clements.
~ ~
Members of crew 8 never flew as a unit again. Some of us flew two or three more missions with other established VB-103 crews before we were sent back to the States.
9
After a few weeks of stateside duty at Elizabeth City, North Carolina word began to circulate that Commander Brewer and Lt. Commander Rand had been selected to organize (or reorganize) VB-107. I, along with Murrel Tittle and Russell Millard (all three from VB-103), arranged an appointment with Lt. Cdr. Rand. He immediately accepted us as the first three members of his crew. After a few weeks at the Naval Air Station, Boca Chico, Florida. the squadron was sent to Upottery, England. We continued to fly in the Bay of Biscay and to blockade France until the last day of the war in Europe. According to my account, I flew a total of 53 missions from England with VB-103 and VB-107. And, the only souvenirs I have from these four years I flew with the Naval Air Force are the Distinguished Flying Cross, Purple Heart, an Air Medal with a Gold Star, and the Navy Unit Citation.
As a point of reference, I flew in the same Wing with Joseph `Joe" Kennedy, Jr. At that time in history, his brother Jack had not yet become the President of the United States. So, to us, Joe was just another fellow flier who took his chances in defense [sic] of our country, and was unlucky enough to get killed. But then, exactly half of the original members of VB103 were also killed in action.
Until recently. the account of this story was just a fragmented array of memory flashes. Mr. Edward B. “Buck” Cummings encouraged me to record the event just as I personally saw and felt the trauma as it was happening. Mr. Cummings also provided me pictures of the Germans that had been given to him by Mr. Chris Goss, the author of the book “BLOODY BISCAY”. This brief portion of history is in exact accord with the memory of one who has been fortunate enough to reach the carefree age of seventy-seven.
It would be remiss for me not to remember the stoic British people at St. Eval, Dunkeswell, and Upottery. I mention only these three locations, but in my mind, they are representative of all the neighboring [sic] towns and villages that befriended a bunch of young and spirited American flying sailors.
~ ~
I am appreciative of the constructive criticism provided by my son Scott and the research done by my daughter Ann Lillie Chess.
[signature]
Carleton F. Lillie June 8, 2001
1303 Caldwell Mountain Rd.
Hot Springs. NC 28743 s
TEL. (828) 622-7616
e-mail cliilie@madison.maln.nc.us
[photograph]
10
[page break]
A British air-sea rescue craft has ventured deep into no-man's-territory to rescue the survivors of crew 8 who are in the three rubber rafts. We will always appreciate those sailors and admire their valor [sic] [photograph]
[photograph]
Crew 8 of U.S. Navy Bombing Squadron VB-103
Fleet Air Wing Seven ~ Dunkeswell, England
Crew 8 - Upper L. to R
Carleton Lillie
Robert Zabic
Kenneth Wright
Lawrence Petersen
Robert Lacey
Lower - L. to R.
Richard McDaniel
William(Bill) Middleton
Bennie Faubian
Thomas Ryan
Robert Erdman
[arrow]
Ryan Erdman
[photograph]
As a result of events that happened during a three minute aerial duel, three Americans and three Germans died in defense [sic] of their respective countries.
[photograph]
Faubian
[photograph]
Clements Necesany Rueger
Above - L, to R
Thomas Ryan
Robert Erdman
Bennie Faubian
Left -- L. to R.
Lothar Clements
Kurt Necesany
Warner Rueger
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
A speck of history from long ago and far away
Description
An account of the resource
Account of the operation to locate a German submarine and shooting down of a United States Navy PB4Y-1 Liberator by a Ju 88 in February 1944. Author is the nose gunner/bomb aimer and describes the operation, attack by fighters, ditching, escape to dinghies, loss of crew members, survival and rescue by RAF Air Sea Rescue launch. Air-to-air view of a Liberator over the sea on the cover. On page 10 a three quarter length portrait of a man in United States Navy uniform. On the last page top right a air to ground view of a high speed launch. Left top 10 aircrew in two rows captioned 'crew 8 of U.S, Navy Bombing Squadron VB-103 Fleet Air Wing Seven, Dunkeswell, England'. Middle left - two aircrew squatting down captioned 'Ryan and Erdman'. Right middle - an aircrew standing behind a gun turret, captioned 'Faubian'. Bottom left - three aircrew in front of an aircraft, captioned 'Clemente, Necesany, Rueger' Caption at bottom of page 'Above - L to R Thomas Ryan, Robert Erdman, Bennie Faubian, Left - L to R Lother Clements, Kurt Necesany, Werner Rueger'.
Creator
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C F Lillie
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2001-06-08
Format
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Twelve page photocopied document with photographs
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BLillieCFLillieCFv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Devon
England--Honiton
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
United States
North Carolina--Hot Springs
North Carolina
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-02-14
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
air sea rescue
B-24
ditching
Ju 88
RAF Dunkeswell
shot down
-
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Title
A name given to the resource
Field, Peter L and Cynthia G
Peter L Field
P L Field
Cynthia G Field
C G Field
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-19
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Field, PL-CG
Description
An account of the resource
144 items and five photograph albums in sub-collections. The collection concerns Peter L and Cynthia G Field and contains memoirs, correspondence, photographs. Peter Field (b. 1920) served as a wireless operator and Cynthia (b. 1921) served as a WAAF in 2 Group. <br /><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2137">Album One</a> Photographs of various people.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2138">Album Two</a> Photographs of people and places, postcards.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2141">Album Three</a> Photographs of parents house over the years.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2144">Album Four</a> Photographs of family events, places and people.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2146">Album Five</a> <span>Photographs of wartime colleagues, Cook's tour aerial photographs of bomb damaged German cities, and family and friends as well as two letters home.</span><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Susan Elizabeth Field and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] Additional information about Jean’s life [/underlined] For Sally Spear.
It is not known when Jean joined the WAAF but she was already stationed at Huntingdon RAF when I arrived there in late 1941. We began to converse in the NAAFI and discovered many mutual interests, icluding [sic] artistic ones. It was such a joy having a cultural discussion for a change and to savour each other’s sense of humour.
Jean belonged to Intelligence and worked in the Drawing Office. She was fortunate to be amongst educated colleagues, who formed a group, including ourselves, to attend regular musical evenings at nearby Hemingford Grey. Borrowing camp bicycles in January 1942, we would make our way to the 12th. century Manor House, sometimes in moonlight, later on during light summer evenings. Mrs. Lucy Boston welcomed any local RAF personnel who cared to turn up to listen to classical records played on a wind-up gramophone with a huge horn. Interval refreshments were very civilised, in a candle-lit dining room with log fire blazing in a Tudor-arched fireplace, using “best china”. Mrs. Boston took an interest in Jean and wanted to draw Jean’s elegant hands, but the idea lapsed I believe.
A sequel to the evenings came about after Mrs. Boston died at the age of 98 in 1990. On behalf of Jean and myself, I wrote to Peter Boston, the son, expressing our gratitude for all his mother did for us at an impressionable age and at an extraordinary time.
He kindly invited us to the memorial service in October. Jean was to get a lift to Luton to take the coach to Cambridge, where we could pick her up. On the day it was worrying late when she arrived, but we managed to get to the church just in time. It was a hot day for Jean, in her already weak state, but she was determined, also, not to miss going to the house for refreshments afterwards. Sheer willpower enabled Jean to get through the afternoon and somehow to climb the stone staircase to the old Music Room, looking, amazingly, just the same as remebered. [sic] Finally we took Jean back with us to Birmingham and put her straight to bed.
Back to 1942, when our friendship underwent a test after my promotion to corporal and subsequently to sergeant, to qualify me for other work, albeit on the same camp, so that we saw less of each other for a time. Jean was anyway to be posted soon to RAF Benson, a photo-reconnaissence [sic] airfield feeding its results to the secret Interpretation Unit at Medmenham.
After the war we each attended London Art Schools, Jean at the Central School and myself at Goldsmiths College School of Art. We met from time to time – I remember her elder brother John, looking very impressive in his naval officer’s uniform, treating us to lunch at Vereeshwarmy’s rather grand Indian restaurant near the Mayfair Hotel (not sure of the spelling!). Jean would also visit me at my aunts’ Hampstead flat, where I lodged as a student.
[page break]
2.
In 1948 I received a devastating reply from Jean after sending her an invitation to my wedding in July. She was in South Mimms Hospital awaiting an operation and would be unable to come. I visited her there on my own, finding her extremely apprehensive about her coming ordeal. Some family members were also there, with Jean obviously feeling everything was becoming somewhat overwhelming, despite trying her hardest to keep a grip on herself, poor lass. The family kindly took me off to tea and I was glad Jean would have quiet, but I couldn’t forget Jean’s agony of mind. Peter and I soon went together – she was calmer than when I last saw her – but still had not been operated on, and it was to be a long time for her to endure afterwards also. She was to become increasingly physically more and more vulnerable and less able to work.
There was to be a period of some 12 years when Jean and I were “incommunicado” to each other, I busy with children, but Jean later confessed she also withdrew for undefined reasons. We eventually took up with each other again quite as before. Jean had been living with an aunt in Bushey for some years, but she died, leaving her cottage to a cousin of Jean’s, although he did not need it as much as Jean needed a secure home.
Ultimately Jean came to live at her flat at 62 Claybury, Sparrow’s Herne, Bushey in 1968 and here, as Sally mentions, was converted to the Baha’i faith and found her spiritual anchor. She seemed happy there, but work was becoming impossible for her to manage and she had to give it up. Her last job was at a company called Elliots, no details remembered. Jean got to know Atherton, as Sally mentions, but was left bereft when her friend moved away to Bovingdon. Jean herself then felt she would move to Bovingdon, which became her last home, save for an unfortunate short-lived venture to try a care home in Devon. Her high expectations were the unfortunate reverse of being fulfilled and Jean was extremely lonely. She was, after all an urban person born and bred and did not realise how isolated it can be in the country. Jean had put her flat up for sale and she had let us have some of her furniture but thank goodness she decided, in desperation, to return, just in time to re-secure her flat and of course we saw to it that her furniture came back
Jean’s idealistic, uncompromising attitude on standards in every aspect of life, spiritual, moral, temporal, gave me encouragement still to keep personal integrity against the general trends in society. She loved the best, whether it be of courtesy, honesty, love, or the good things of our world – books, pictures, music, clothes. Had she been rich she would have delighted in using her wealth wisely and generously, even – and she [underlined] was [/underlined] lavish when she had any small windfall! Jean was a sort of Mrs. Boston, who was ev[deleted]e[/deleted]en more uncompromising, if possible, and far more daunting than our dear Jean. It was a blessing on me and my family to have known her.
Cynthia Grayburn Field.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Memoir on the life of Jean Spears by her friend Cynthia Field
Description
An account of the resource
Describes meeting and becoming friends at RAF Huntingdon in late 1941. Writes of their work, common interests and activities including listening to classical music. Mentions promotions and change of job restricting meetings and subsequent postings. Continues with post war activities and on and off relationships.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
C G Field
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1990
1948
1968
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Oxfordshire
England--London
England--Hertfordshire
England--Bushey
England--Huntingdon
England--Herefordshire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Two page printed document
Identifier
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BSpearSFSpiersJMv1
Contributor
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Steve Baldwin
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
ground personnel
Photographic Reconnaissance Unit
RAF Benson
RAF Medmenham
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
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Title
A name given to the resource
Godfrey, Charles Randall
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Description
An account of the resource
64 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Charles Randall Godfrey DFC (b. 1921, 146099, Royal Air Force) and consists of his logbook and operational notes, items of memorabilia, association memberships, personnel documentation, medals and photographs. He completed 37 operations with 37 Squadron in North Africa and the Mediterranean and 59 operations with 635 Squadron. He flew as a wireless operator in the crew of Squadron Leader Ian Willoughby Bazalgette VC.
The collection has has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by David Charles Godfrey and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Godfrey, CR
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-18
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
RAF Lossiemouth S/L Ian Willoughby Bazalgette
33 [indecipherable text] DFC
Flight Commander
Deputy RAM Palmer
Left [indecipherable text] April 1944
F/O Scot Goddard Nav F/O [indecipherable text] Hibberd Bomb Aimer
37 on [indecipherable text] Church F/O Godfrey
F/O Cameron DFM ex F/Sgt Middleton’s VC rear Gunner
Joined at PFF Navigation Training met by
Sgt George Turner then on Sqdn by F/Lt Colonel Hewnell mid upper
6/5/4 first op as nav
During May 5 and June 7 night ops
In July Daylight and night ops 12
ND950’ ‘M’ Mother
Last week in July
23 Kiel
24 Shaltgent
25 Shaltgent
Pinch [indecipherable text] and Molinbihe
28 Hamburg
4 August 1944 Should have gone on leave
F/L Henson missing – Oxford to York
One crew required Sg volunteered – got one
more in before leave
Daylight to [indecipherable text]
Took T for Tommy mislead of M mother
Crew conference at dispersal - decided
to go in at 6000 feet main force up
at 12000 feet.
[page break]
F/Lt Beocridge (DMB) shot down by
flack going into target
Nearing target hears Ack-Ack
Shell penetrated starboard wing both
engines spluttered to standstill
Bomb aimer wounded
[page break]
Godfrey last to leave aircraft
G Goddard put a foot on him and out
he went. Landed in tree.
I landed in cornfield – stripped
[indecipherable text] hid parachute under corn
[indecipherable text] Lay under hedge – rather shocked
Lancaster hit deck two fields ahead
exploded on landing down.
Village of Senartes Maire of village
helped us – in [indecipherable text] with us a few
minutes of landing. Lay in potato
bed all afternoon while Germans
searched for survivors – waited till
darkness into house for meal. Slept at
gendarmes house - [indecipherable text] … … moved by horse and
cart to Foron near Chappelle aux Pots
No English – laying sunbathing alongside
Railway line – Thunderbolts beat up train
SS troops moved back. Moved to
forest for 10 days – [indecipherable text] to lay on
food from 3 farms. Heavy rain
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Charles Godfrey's operations notes
Description
An account of the resource
Lists of crew and positions with some extra notes. First operation as crew 6 May 1944. Night operations May and June. July targets included Kiel, Stuttgart, Hamburg. Mentions crews missing. Daylight operationd to Trossy St Maximin and provides some description of operation. Mentions aircraft shot down and own aircraft hit by anti aircraft fire. Describes jumping last and landing in tree and escaping. Also evasion activities including sunbathing alongside railway when it was attacked by a P-47 Thunderbolt.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Three page handwritten document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LGodfreyCR1281391v10053, LGodfreyCR1281391v10054, LGodfreyCR1281391v10055
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
France--Criel-sur-Mer
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Hamburg
France--Creil
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-06
1944-06
1944-07-23
1944-07-24
1944-07-25
1944-07-28
1944-08-04
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Claire Monk
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IBCC Digital Archive
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C R Godfrey
bale out
bombing
Bombing of Trossy St Maximin (3 August 1944)
evading
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
P-47
shot down
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1178/34345/EvanRielCvanRielCv1.1.pdf
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Van Riel, Coby
J F Van Riel
Description
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Three items. An oral history interview with Coby Van Riel (b. 1932), a memoir and her brothers war diary. She was a recipient of the Operation Manna food drops.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2015-08-25
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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VanRiel, JF
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Coby van Riel
Personal Experiences in the War of 1940 -1945.
10th May 1940
It had been a restless night with planes flying over and the distant sound of shooting. The shooting did not worry me too much. I was only 8 years old and I had never heard any shooting before.
I did not understand why I heard my parents talking in the other room, silently but in an anxious and agitated way. At last, it must have been about 6 or 7 o'clock in the morning that they came to me and my brother to tell us that Holland was at war with Germany. My parents looked sad and worried.
I started to wash and dress myself, when suddenly the shooting had come nearer and louder. There was a commotion outside of people getting out of their houses calling, talking and shouting.
I ran outside forgetting that I had not put my skirt on and instead picked up a children's apron and hastily tied the ends round my waist.
People had come into my mother's chemist shop and everybody talked at once, pointing at the airplanes, which now filled the sky with an almighty heavy droning sound. They came in their thousands and I thought it was all very exciting and perhaps something to celebrate.
Suddenly I saw things slowly falling from the planes. I heard the adults say that they were parachutists and I had learned a new word.
Somebody said you could see them better on the open road leading to the beach. We lived in the west of The Hague, just one street away from Scheveningen, a fishing place and harbour at the North Sea, where the women wore traditional clothes and headdresses.
So everybody started running through the few small streets towards the old locks of the harbour. And there, with now hundreds of people, we stood there, some in silence, some shouting and arguing, some crying, watching this spectacular sight of masses of parachutists falling slowly away from the German planes, the parachutes like huge umbrellas opening and floating down.
With the other children, I started dancing and shouting. For us it was, we thought, a sudden pleasant surprise the adults had dreamed up and staged for us.
Then within minutes the whole scenery changed. There were no parachutists to be seen anymore. Other planes were still coming over and this awful shooting started; awful because the noise was increasing to a terrifying loud almost rhythmic crackle, causing people to panic, scream and cry.
Even the children had stopped dancing around and now I realized that something dreadfully serious had started and the word war started to have a frightening meaning for me. At this moment I noticed that I did not have a skirt on.
I looked up at the planes and again the dropping started, but to my and everybody's horror, there were no people floating down, but bombs and bombs and bombs, whooshing and whistling, their awful sounds, falling in rapid succession, hitting the harbour and houses around us.
Everybody started running back to their houses and I reached my mother's shop “Drogistery” (Separate from but like a chemist, but without prescriptions.) in time, before the bombs hit the very streets we all had been running through. I was very afraid now.
The first casualties were brought into the shop. My mother gave some first aid. My father tried to keep my brother Han and me away from the sight of the crying and injured people. Helas, my mother was not trained to help the more serious injured people and when somebody came to her with blood all over his face, one eye hanging down on his cheek, she started shaking so much, shocked into a state where she could do no more, so that she had to close the shop. This sounds awful, but who are we to judge people’s reactions?
Fortunately, there was a first aid post not too far away, so that people went there and I guess that by now things were getting organized, as ambulances and fire engines were driving on and off to help where they could.
The bombing went on for four days and we soon got used to react to the sirens. A continuously high and low howling sound announced that an air raid was, imminent, giving people time to get into their houses and protect themselves as best as they could. We used to huddle in a recess under the staircase of the neighbour or stand under the architraves of the doorway which was advised on the radio in emergency bulletins, issued the whole day through.
I got bored with this 'hide and seek' drill and wanted to play with the toys and wooden blocks I had in a large carton box. I turned this box over in one go and the wooden contents clattered on the linoleum floor, making my mother jump and scream. She thought that a bomb had hit our house. Her nerves must have been very shaky to mistake falling blocks for bombs, but I did not get a chance to, play anymore during unsafe periods: The siren gave one long plain sound when the air raid was over, so that people could relax until the next came along.
Rotterdam was bombed heavily and Germany threatened the Dutch government to bomb and flatten all the other big towns. An ultimatum of 12 hours was given. The Dutch had fought courageously but all in vain. Holland surrendered after the 4th day of the war. The bombing stopped and there was an eerie silence. People emerged from their houses to see the bomb damage. My mother had opened her shop again and soon after we saw the first Germans in their uniforms. We all stared at them like they were some aliens out of space. For some reason, I was scared stiff of their helmets and for a long time even after the war, when in a film I saw these helmets nicknamed, “dakpannen” (“roof tiles") they gave me the, shivers as well as having nightmares of German soldiers running after me which often used to wake me up screaming. But the latter was maybe a result of experiences later in the war.
We noticed their loud bragging voices and soon we learned to understand their language. One of the soldiers entered our shop to buy something and although he was not unfriendly, my mother was trembling while she served him.
Until 1942 I cannot remember that anything dreadful happened to disturb our daily life too much. The only incident was when one Sunday, returning from church, we passed some German bunkers (underground shelters). German soldiers were standing guard at the entrance. We stared at them too long to their liking and to our horror one threatened us with a hand-grenade if we did not move on quickly enough. My mother pushed my brother, who was still looking over his shoulder, and he promptly walked into a lamppost with such a force that he broke some of his teeth. Although in much pain and bleeding he started running, followed by us, afraid the soldier would throw his murder weapon at us.
At some time all Dutch citizens were forbidden to listen to radios and this was constantly checked by the Germans. Most people ignored this and we listened in secret to the English broadcasts.
We were ordered to tape or blacken all the windows in case of air raids from the English and after sunset no light was supposed to shine from the houses onto the-streets.
After the Dutch initially lost hope, they soon pulled themselves together and resistance groups were formed all over the country. Whenever a serious thing happened, like a German soldier being murdered etc. a curfew was immediately imposed and everybody had to be in by, if I remember well, at 8 o'clock in the evening.
One day we were ordered to hand in radios, bicycles, cars, any copper, lead, etc. Immediately people had jewelry made of these coins, of which I still have one: A small brooch showing Queen Wilhelmina on a “kwartje” (About 25p) and other things. The only cars that were not requisitioned were those that were needed for business and emergencies. They had to run on wood gas (Gas from burning wood) as there was no petrol available. Of course many Dutch people tried to hide as much as they could.
Jews were ordered to wear a yellow star, the David Star, sewn on to their clothes and they were forbidden to go to cinemas, theatres, concert halls, hotels, cafes and other public places. My own friend, Jetje Stelleman, who lived a couple of houses further on, had to wear her star as well as her whole Jewish family.
It became dangerous to have contact with Jewish people and my mother out of sheer fear told me it was better not to be friends with Jetje anymore as everybody who talked to Jews were considered Jews themselves.
Since then even after the war and up till now (2015) being 83 years old I felt and still feel sad and painful not knowing what happened to Jetje and if she survived the war.
This whole situation lasted until 1942 when suddenly the war became more serious. The Germans started to build a 'tank wall' next to the existing canal. They planned to build it in such a way that it would run parallel, although with a few miles distance from the beach. The beach was partly mined, many 'bunkers' were built and large parts of the beach were made into inaccessible terrain, 'planted' with concrete posts and barbed wire. It was forbidden to the Dutch to enter the beaches. This whole operation was meant to keep away the British in the event of an invasion.
The next move was to announce that everybody living in this area had to leave their houses in a certain short time. My parents were forced to sell off the contents of the shop as quickly as possible and that meant that they did not get the true value; everything was sold very cheaply. They kept boxes of soap which proved to be very handy as later in the war there was no soap to buy anymore. For my brother and me they kept boxes of liquorice and probably some other useful articles which I don't remember.
My uncle and aunt offered us a temporary place to live in, a cellar under their cafe. My parents accepted as they thought the war would last only a few months. As it happened we lived there for over three years. Children were still allowed to go to school in the now 'German' area, called “Spergebiet”, with an “Ausweis” (Permit). I used to go on my scooter which took me an hour to 'peddle' down and an hour to 'peddle' back. I wore my shoes out in a short time.
One day there was a terrific commotion in the area and I did not manage to reach the school. Germans were all over the place, an air raid was going on and there was a lot of shouting and screaming. I got very frightened and turned back home. This was the end of my long journey to school and I went to another school nearer home.
My mother tried to make a home of this unfriendly concrete cellar by partitioning the space with curtains and small carpets on the floor. We slept in one long narrow space, where also one of my cousins slept as my aunt had only 2 bedrooms upstairs.
Later we were joined by the domestic help who was slightly odd. Every evening she started talking in her sleep and shouting, “geef mij maar beschuit met muisjes!” which meant she only wanted to have a Tea-break (breakfast biscuits) with some particular Dutch sweet on it. Now in England called “Dutch Crisp bakes”. She used to give me the creeps but soon we all got accustomed to her monotonous cries.
A brother of my mother and aunt and my Uncle Luuk came to live with us as well, so another bed was added to the row.
When the raids on people started, whereby boys from 16 years of age to men of 42 years old were picked up to be sent to labour camps in Germany, the son of our neighbour a student in economics joined us as well in our dormitory.
Depressing were the big drainpipes along the walls and the unavoidable noise that came from them at certain times plus the fact that there were only 2 small windows looking out into a small brick walled-area meant to catch the surplus rain water from the garden. We could only look and see some sky.
At a later time in the last winter of the war the Germans started, apart from their plan to starve the entire population in the West of the country, (as a punishment after the railways went on strike) to inundate the west as well with the result that our brick 'holes' overflowed and every morning our cellar was flooded with an inch or two of water. The-scooping out and mopping up was a tedious job. We had to take care not to leave shoes, carpets, etc on the floor. The resulting dampness was not very healthy and my parents had a lasting struggle to fight off mildew and mould of the furniture.
Another disgusting thing was that we had to cope with a flea epidemic. When I was doing my homework at my mother's dressing table (my brother used the dining room table), I could see them jump on the towels and I became quite an expert in catching these vermin at the cost of time spent on my homework.
We had our evening meals together upstairs with the rest of the family, which by now had extended to 13 people, including the neighbours, to save fuel as there was not much left to burn.
My aunt used a large wood-stove in the café called "Goliath" and in the living room a very small one called "Mayo" but nicknamed "David”. The latter was made purposely for people to buy, a very economic stove to warm up just one room.
One day when my aunt heated too large a kettle of water on this "Mayo," she accidentally knocked it over and the near boiling water severely scolded her legs, too bad in that time as very few medicines were available. She was in agonizing pain and it took weeks for the wounds to heal.
One day towards sunset my Father and Brother Han were spotted by neighbours while they demolished (“sloopten”) a wooden door for firewood in our "Mayo " from one of the bicycle sheds in the ally-way at the back of our and neighbours houses, which was highly punishable.
Luckily one of our close and trustworthy neighbours called Henk Overzee came up with a brilliant idea to prevent a probably less trustworthy person to call the police, for all of our family and friends quickly to go outside to give my father and Han the opportunity to mix with us and go inside straight away, while leaving the desired door behind of course which next day had disappeared, very likely stolen by somebody else in need
People got their fuel for these stoves by cutting down any wood in sight. Many trees in the woods were felled and sawn into logs and pieces, despite the German's ban to do so.
The last severely cold winter made people steal every bit of timber from empty houses. Doors, window-frames, even the wooden blocks between the rails of the 'trams' (electric street-cars) were broken up and taken away.
So we spent most of the time of the late afternoons and evenings with 13 people together in one room. As there was no electricity anymore the boys took it in turns to peddle bikes, put up in bike pedestals, to provide some light. We had still some candles, but soon we all had to get used to go to bed at a very early time. This was a blessing in disguise because of the increasing food shortage. People became so weak, that lying in bed and sleep as long as possible, meant saving the body's energy.
We queued every day on the street waiting for the organised "Central Kitchen" to bring food (for which we got coupons) in big metal containers, which were not cleaned properly, on open Lorries.
The food in the containers was not too bad, mainly either soup or stew but too little and not much meat or fat in it.
We waited patiently sometimes for an hour or more because the deliveries were often held up by air- raids or other disturbances, it was nothing unusual to see people faint.
Sometimes the Lorries did not turn up until the next day. In the summer on a hot day it meant that the food had gone off, but nevertheless we took it and ate it.
How I hated to see the bakery shop 'Steenbeek," where people worked voluntary or forcibly for the guarding Germans. Once I peeped through the open doors to see these delicious custard slices. Hoping with many other children that one of the cakes would come to us in a miraculous way, we hung on until a soldier chased us away, slamming the doors in our face.
For some reason I forgot the food was not delivered as usual in the"Regentesselaan” but instead in the "Kootwijkstraat", a street parallel to the street where I lived. Large mess-tins like the small tins as used in the Army and the Navy, called "gamellen" delivered the food. They were on a sort of flat trailer and as soon as all the people in the queue got their portions in their small saucepans and other containers, the hungry children climbed on the trailer.
I joined as well and we tried to get the last morsels out of the "gamellen", scraping and licking with our bare hands. It soon developed into a huge fight between some gangs of children, joined by myself as well, until pelting of stones to each other started to prevent one getting more than somebody else.
Suddenly I felt very sad and down by all this going on. I stopped, decided to give up and went home. My parents knew nothing about this fighting for these bits of food and I never told them.
People started to go to the farms and nurseries on bikes most of them without tyres, or on foot, often long distances to exchange their linen, silver or any other valuables for food. Many farmers got very rich and also a bad name for taking advantage of these terrible situations. On top of that, very often people fell in a trap when returning home, German soldiers were waiting to order these poor people to hand over all they had, including bicycles.
It was very disheartening indeed. I had my own very personal disappointment when after a whole day trying at the nurseries in “Westland”; I came home exhausted and empty handed.
Another time my classmates and I stole potatoes with plants and all what used to be flowerbeds in one of the great parks, "Zuiderpark”, when suddenly one of us cried out, “run, run, they have seen us, they are coming after us!" I did not wait and ran as fast as I could, looking back once just to see that what looked like running uniforms behind us.
I managed to get home, proudly presenting my prey to my parents. To my utter shock and surprise they were furious with me. They said they could not possibly keep stolen goods and my father took me back to the park where I had pulled out the potatoes. He told me to wait near the entrance of the park. What he did or where he left the potatoes I cannot remember, but that was my last effort to solve a food crisis.
Identification cards and ration cards were distributed (but many false ones were printed by people, with the latter we were able to occasionally buy a loaf of bread, called “Regeringsbrood”, Government bread made from rye or wheat, which was very hard, probably because of shortages of yeast and fuel to bake. Also butter or vegetables, etc. but soon there was nothing left in the shop and in the last winter, which was called “Hongerwinter” (Hunger Winter) even with the ration cards there was nothing to buy. I still have the old ration cards.
The black market was thriving, I remember my uncle offering one guilder for one potato to one of his customers, a potato merchant but the man could not help him.
We started to eat tulip bulbs nettles, grass and sugar beet, Together with the “Linsen” (Lentil) Soup of the Central Kitchen my stomach refused to keep this peculiar bitter tasting mixture inside. Every evening I woke up being sick and with my imitating the sirens in my sleep and wetting my bed. The doctor told my mother the last was a sign of physical weakness. I must have given my parents a lot of anxiety and worry. I felt very ashamed of the bed wetting and tried to clean and dry secretly.
New clothes were hard to get. My mother paid 23 guilders for 1 shapeless cotton vest and pants of an awful green colour for me. People became very handy and economic. They made do with old clothes repairing them endlessly, turning the material of old coats inside out, so that they looked nearly new, making skirts from men's old trousers, etc.
They kept up the spirit and the resistance groups fought bravely underground.
Sir Winston Churchill kept our hopes up with his calm speeches on the radio and to us he became our hero. We loved to hear the sound of the Big Ben at the start of the broadcasts.
The resistance groups printed their own news-bulletins and there was a widespread network of workers, who secretly and often at great risk distributed this welcome news.
Once I had to take an important message, hidden under the sole in my shoe a few streets further on. Children were not suspected and quite reliable as they considered this trust from the adults as to be very proud of. Moreover, they had become to dislike the Germans as much as the adults.
When I was 12 years old or so, in 1944, I went to a grammar school in the City. It was a long walk; it must have been 35 or 40 minutes. The thing I liked about it was that with the other children we passed a shop which used to sell ice -cream before the war. Now they sold what we called "shaving-cream," a very light, fluffy substance, 25 cent per portion put in a cup or mug you had to bring yourself. It gave a feeling if you had eaten a huge meal. The only difference was it did not last long. Only now have I learnt that this “Shaving cream” was made from the juice of Sugar beet.
In the City for the first time homes and a bookshop of a Jewish family burned. Raids on Jewish people had been going on for a while already and now the Germans unexpectedly started picking up boys and men from the street and after announcing that every boy and man between the age of 16-42 had to go to certain centres to be send to labour camps in Germany, they would suddenly scoop through streets, knocking and ramming doors, dragging boys and men from their hiding places.
My cousin and neighbour's son tried to hide on a shelf at the top over a cupboard, "Sammy" the dog had seen them go in there and would not stop barking, so they had to find another hiding place.
I remember the Jewish owner of the corner second-hand furniture shop next to our cafe, suddenly taken away and us children staring unbelievingly through the window.
Only one more time we managed to get our relatives together to have a birthday party. We forgot the war and we were dancing, singing and we did some sketches. We were enjoying ourselves tremendously and decided to do the conga round the billiards in the cafe. Then suddenly, shock-horror, a loud knocking on the door and shouting in German to open the door.
We all stood there silent and nailed to the floor. On order of my uncle we tiptoed quickly down into the cellar and while we were all sitting or half lying on the staircase peeping through the space under the door, we heard my uncle open the door and invite the German soldiers straight to the bar and assuring them that the noise must have come from the cinema next door. He kept on talking to them and pouring them any drinks he was still lucky to have.
When we heard the Germans change from angrily shouting into cheerful laughter, we relaxed a little but stayed silent, till after what seemed like hours, at last the soldiers, a little drunk, left the cafe.
We just continued our party, whispering our songs and tiptoeing through the cafe without putting on any lights. This was exciting as well, but my uncle did not want to take the risk of the soldiers coming back and soon we retired, most of us in the cellar. It looked like a hospital, everybody sleeping in beds or on the floor in one long row and to my aunt this was a good excuse to dress herself up as a Red Cross nurse very early next morning to wake everybody up with a sponge of cold water from her bowl. Everybody was drenched. We followed this up with a great pillow fight and I still remember the whole party as one of the best we ever had.
We drifted into 1944 and the war situation became grave and grim.
The raids on people were intensified. A few times the cinema was raided and many men were taken away. At school the boys of the higher forms were picked up. One day on a Tuesday in September there was a commotion and there were rumours through the whole town that the liberators were practically on our doorsteps and people got so excited that they actually believed that the end of the war was there.
They started dancing and singing in the streets, ignoring the warnings of the cautiously minded. As it happened it was a false alarm and the Germans reacted by shooting and arresting people all over the place. Many lost their lives that day. This tragic day was to be called and still referred to as "Dolle Dinsdag" (Mad Tuesday). My mother started looking for my brother and me, but we managed to get home safely. After all this our school closed down.
The winter turned out to be very cold and hard indeed and the food shortage became even worse, as the Germans had decided to starve the population as mentioned before. As proper coffins were difficult to get by and no cars or petrol were available not even wood-gas anymore, people who died had to be buried, carried in rough wooden coffin-like boxes on hand-carts.
However, apart from starvation, very few illnesses occurred and people did not give up. They did not moan, but courageously plodded on with their daily lives which were often broken up by bombings and V1s.
On New Years Eve 1944 we saw one of them go wrong. It stopped high in the sky, its huge flames spouting. We stood stunned, except me screaming non-stop.
Nobody told me off. Then suddenly the V1 turned and came down a couple of streets further on, destroying most of the houses, killing and maiming many people. Windows were broken over a wide area.
Very frightening were the V1's often exploding at launching, causing great damage at the houses.
When that happened the Germans had only 15 minutes to escape. The launching pads were at the "Frederik Hendrik plein" (square) where nearby I used to live. My brother Han who one day passed this square, witnessed one such an explosion and ran away with the flying away Germans along the "Spergebiet" (border of no entrance or exit without permission "Ausweis") down the for us well-known "Johan de Witlaan".
A few other places were for instance "Clingendaal" a military area and barracks in the district Benoordenhout where "Seyss-Inquart", by Hitler given the title of "Rijkscommissaris', had his head-quarters.
I think the cause was that people were undernourished by the increasing shortage of food which started to effect people’s behaviour.
I'll never forget the quarrel between my parents and uncle and aunt, something about the talk of our family better to stay some time in the cellar where we lived to give them some privacy in there own living-space. At some point the quarrel and shouting between my uncle and father got out of control which frightened me. Luckily my mother came in between and stopped them as they all noticed that I was there watching and listening in fear.
My mother then took our own family down into the cellar where we all calmed down. Luckily this episode never occurred again, but for a while it left a strain between the families. We still had to live together for about another 4 or 5 months until the liberation, a time we did not know then how long that would be.
We all started loosing weight rapidly. My uncle Luuk, the brother of my mother who had come to live with us became very ill. One morning he was taken to hospital; he died soon after of starvation and cancer of the stomach. My parents became ill as well and their voices changed. I was told later that this often happens to severely underfed people.
The doctor came in and from my hidden place behind my bed I heard her (woman doctor) say that they (my parents) better die, as she could not do anything for them. It would help if they could only have some broth every day to stay alive. I went straight away to a chicken-farm and asked the farmer if he could give me a chicken and I explained the situation. He was not very friendly and as he wanted to shut the door, I put my foot inside and promised him a small loaf of bread in exchange. How I did not know, because I knew even though my father's job was to deliver bread, there was no bread anymore. So whatever I said, it was in vain and the man forced me to pull my foot back and slammed the door close.
Next I chose the biggest pan from my aunt's kitchen and went to the well known dairy "van Grieken" that was taken over by the Germans and used as kitchen and canteen. I remembered the lovely smell of cooked food, when I passed the building every day on the way to school. Two soldiers stood guard and I asked them politely and friendly whether they could give me some food for my sick parents. At first they laughed and teased me, but when I kept on nagging them, they got very angry and told me that if the Queen, that "swinehund" had not left the country we would have had plenty of food.
When they pointed their guns at me, threatening to shoot, I ran off, the empty pan under my arm. Coming home my parents were not at all pleased and told me however much they appreciated my thoughts and efforts, I was not to do this again. Somehow my parents managed to stay alive.
Only a few times we were lucky to obtain a bag of grain from unknown source to me, probably the black market. We had to sort out the grain as mouse droppings were included. This was a time consuming job, but we didn't mind as time was one of the few things we had plenty of. We made fun of it by making a game to see who was first to finish his or her portion and who had the most droppings.
My aunt would grind the grain and bake the most delicious bread with it or "roggepap", a kind of porridge made with water which tasted so lovely, that we thought we would like to eat it for ever even after the war would be finished.
There was nothing to buy in the food shops anymore and the only things available at the greengrocers were bunches of parsley for which my mother had to pay 6 guilders each which was about £6.00, a lot of money at that time and customers were allowed to buy only 3 to 6 bunches.
However times became worse and the only highlight was one evening when it was already dark and we were sitting together around the light of one precious candle when we heard a sudden knocking and banging on the window. It gave us a start, because we never knew whether it would be a raid or somebody trying to find a hiding place while escaping from the cinema next door: Sometimes this cinema was raided by the German soldiers to pick up young men.
Well, after my brother, a cousin and the neighbour's son hastily had left the room to go to their hiding places, my uncle dared to slightly open the curtains and shout "Who is there?" To our great surprise and joy my uncle and cousin from Arnhem in the east of Holland had managed to get to us by dodging the Germans, travelling by night and hiding in the daytime. We all laughed, cried and hugged each other, knowing how dangerous such .a journey was. They took the risk though because they had heard that the situation in the west was very bad and that many people were dying of starvation. As there was no means of contact either by telephone or mail, which was blocked or stopped by the German occupiers, they decided to see for themselves. ,
They had brought 2 suitcases with food, emergency rations like "zeekaak", and a very hard biscuit, normally eaten by people who used to be at sea for a long time.
There was much to talk about, exchange all the latest news and to hear that all our other relatives in Arnhem were safe and sound.
As it had taken my uncle and cousin a few days to reach us, they were now very tired and dirty. They had something to eat and drink, went to bed and slept for many hours.
The next day after they'd had a long soak in the bath (my cousin had to be scrubbed clean!) they left after again hugging each other and us thanking them gratefully. The food they'd brought sustained us, for several days feeding 13 people: my uncle, aunt and their 2 children, my parents, my brother and I, another uncle and the neighbours mother, father and son, Annie the servant (plus 1 small dog).
Help for the undernourished children came from IKOR (Or IKB according to my Brothers diary of the war), an international church organization. All children had to come to certain centres to be examined buy doctors. We were divided into A, B or C groups; the C groups being the worst off children. My brother and I were placed in C and three times a week we were asked to come to the Centre and bring a small saucepan to be filled with porridge or stew.
The problem was that as soon as we came home the whole family ate from this little portion. As soon as the committee of IKB (International Kerk Bureau) got to know this, they let the children stay in the Centre to eat everything there and then. That was much better.
A kind butcher called Mr Beusekom, who’s shop was in the Nunspeetlaan asked my mother if she would allow my brother and me to have a lunch of some soup every Wednesday in his shop. Of course she gratefully accepted and we were surprised and pleased to see real pieces of meat in the soup. Some children's stomachs were not used to proper food anymore and they were sick straight away but ate it again! Soon my brother and I became a little stronger.
The English started bombing Germany, joined by the Canadians and Americans.
Every night we could hear the droning of hundreds of planes going over and we knew the war could not last much longer now.
The centre of Rotterdam was bombed; the Northern parts of The Hague also; we could see this from a distance. Tragic was that the English bombers confused two districts. They should have bombed "Benoordenhout," where there was a large concentration of the notorious Gestapo Headquarters. Instead they bombed "Bezuidenhout," a quiet residential district.
My mother happened to be there visiting a cousin of mine who had her first baby in a maternity hospital 2 days before. There were many casualties and my mother and other visitors were told to lie under the beds, as the bombing was severe.
However, my mother could not stand it any longer and at her own risk, she ran out of the hospital back home. How she ever got safely through, I don't know. The next day my cousin and her husband with their new born baby came to us as the hospital was bombed flat and my cousin had to flee with the baby, only to find her own home gone, and then walked with her husband and baby to where we lived, a distance of about an hour. (I don’t know if somebody helped them). She had absolutely nothing left and a friend of mine and I went round to other mothers who we knew had babies to ask for some clothes and nappies.
As it became clear to the Germans that they were losing the war, they allowed English planes to drop parcels with food at certain times and certain places, known as Operation “Manna! The Americans did the same known as operation “Chowhound”. This was a tremendous sight. Everybody was out in the streets and many of them on rooftops to see these low flying planes dropping the food parcels on parachutes, a very moving sight indeed. I felt like crying and laughing at the same time like everybody else. It was as if there was no difference in class or age.
We were, and still are very grateful for having been saved just in time from starvation.
The food was distributed. We were given corned beef, biscuits and chocolate. We were warned to eat small portions and slowly in order to let our stomachs get used to this proper food again.
Soon an assignment of Swedish bread arrived, baked after the flour had been dropped, and never in my life has bread tasted so delicious anymore. At last the typical hunger stomach pains disappeared.
People were getting excited once more with the end of war in sight but after the experience of "Dolle Dinsdag" everybody kept quiet in fear of German reprisals.
At last on the 5th of May 1945 our allied liberators came rolling in with their tanks and again people were out on the street but this time it was real and they could let go and sing and dance with thousands of people going down the streets. It was like one big family party. My mother had called me out of my bed as the news came through in the evening at perhaps 7 or 8 o'clock.
I saw the soldiers on the tanks, showered with masses of flowers, girls climbing onto the tanks and kissing our liberators. I saw the German soldiers taken prisoner and their Dutch girls all their hair shaved off run the gauntlet between rows of booing and shouting people.
It was amazing to see all the red, white and blue and orange flags, which people had managed to hide all those years and now waving them or draping the houses.
Very slowly after many parties and celebrations people went back to normal. It took many months to have a house of our own in Scheveningen again. (A Dutch Harbour by the sea in The Hague).
As it took a little while for the English to take over from the Germans in that area, only the schools were opened and my brother and I got our “Ausweis” to enter and later a permit from the English and once again we had a long way to walk to school and back home.
It also took a while to get food in the shops and unfortunately people still died from the starvation period before the end of the war.
It was very strange and eerie to see all the empty, plundered and damaged houses. After school time my brother and I went into some of the empty houses and we got the shock of our lives to find beds and German uniforms under the broken up floorboards.
One day a very sad thing happened when my brother Han, myself and 2 sons of the neighbours, a close family of our family, went to school and despite the warning not to take the shortcut via the open field with the hidden mines, the elder son Bobbie Ruis did just that. He stepped on a mine and was instantly killed. His little brother ran home and told his mother that he had seen Bobbie suddenly fly into the sky. The little boy had no idea that something very serious had happened.
It was a big shock to the parents of the boys, relatives, us and many more people who had known them.
I took it on me to try to get my parents a house to live in. They had decided not to go back to the old house and not to have a shop anymore.
So when people started to come back I asked them to tell me the name and address of their landlords which they were very reluctant to do so, as they were all still very afraid and suspicious of questions, even asked by children. One lady who was so scared, that I had to put my foot in the door (I got very used to this tactic) was at last convinced that my family's only aim was to live in peace as ordinary neighbours. She gave me the information I wanted and lo and behold I met this very kind landlord who gave me a whole bunch of keys of several houses.
My mother managed to get a day permit and we chose a house we liked best and was the least damaged. Also here, there were remains of a German's 'den' under the floorboards.
After the English had done their last duties and the Germans were taken prisoner, the area was free again and soon all the houses were occupied.
One nastier thing happened. The water in the canal near the tank-wall was contaminated. We did not know this and we never knew if this was done deliberately or not. As children used to play there every day and many swam in the water there was soon an epidemic of scabies which was very itchy and painful. My brother and I caught it as well. We had to be covered with a certain sulphur cream which we got from the Health Authorities. We had to sleep with this cream on us and the next day we had to be scrubbed with a hard brush and lots of soapy water. Our pyjamas and underwear we had worn that night had to be burned and we were asked to bring mattresses and bed linen to Health Centres to be burned.
However my mother cleaned everything herself and surprisingly we did not get this scabies back for a second time.
Our lives went slowly back to normal. The war was past and we all hoped for a better world and an everlasting peace.
Now I feel very sad that since 1945 wars happen in different countries all over the world.
Why can’t people live peacefully together?
Now the situations in the world are very risky, dangerous and threatening.
I hope and pray that we will never have a third world war but it is very worrying.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Coby van Riel - personal experiences in the war 1940-45
Description
An account of the resource
Begins in May 1940 in the Netherlands and relates experiences of start of war, invasion, air raids, casualties, air attack on Rotterdam, surrender of the Netherlands. Continues with account of events and life during occupation including regulations, treatment of Jewish people, German anti-invasion measures, forced relocation, starvation policy, lack of food and fuel for stoves, rationing, black market, speeches from Winston Churchill, raids by Germans on civilian population, cold winter 1944/45. Mentions launching of V-1s, increasing food shortages and measures used to get food. RAF dropping food at end of war. Concludes with account of times after war ended. Includes b/w and colour photographs.
Creator
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C van Riel
Temporal Coverage
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1940-05-10
1942
1944
1945
Spatial Coverage
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Netherlands
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Coverage
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Civilian
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Photograph
Format
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Fourteen page printed document with text and photographs
Conforms To
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Pending review
Identifier
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EvanRielCvanRielCv1
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
anti-Semitism
bombing
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
V-1
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1085/22871/MPritchard2206805-171108-030001.1.jpg
b252dc5b9bffa797863889d7604666e8
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1085/22871/MPritchard2206805-171108-030002.1.jpg
33d1814b2dc48009b7a622e54a3d367f
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Title
A name given to the resource
Pritchard, Arthur
A Pritchard
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Carolyn Pritchard about her father, Arthur Pritchard (2206806 Royal air Force) documents and photographs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with with 463, 467 and 97 Squadron until he was shot down. He was hidden by the French Resistance until the liberation of Paris.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Carolyn Pritchard and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-23
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Pritchard, A
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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THE EXPOITS OF
WARRANT OFFICER
ARTHUR PRITCHARD
By his daughter, CAROLYN PRITCHARD
My father, Warrant Officer Arthur Pritchard, passed away on May 28, 2010, aged 86 years.
His life story is of humour, luck, and courage. It is also a story of the heroism of the French people who took him under their protection at great risk to themselves.
He was born in Beach Road, Y Felinheli (Port Dinorwig), on April 13, 1924, one of seven children of Arthur and Hannah May Pritchard.
[Photograph of an airman] Arthur Pritchard in his Flight Sergeant uniform
He joined the Royal Air Force before his 18th birthday, and did his training at R.A.F. St. Athan in South Wales, where he passed out as a Flight Sergeant and was posted to R.A.F. Winthorpe in Lincolnshire, where he was introduced to his Australian crew as a Flight Engineer. On February 29, 1944 the crew joined 463 Squadron based at RAF Waddington. During their time there they completed 17 sorties over Germany and France.
On May 7, 1944, Pilot Officer Bryan Giddins and crew were posted to 97 Pathfinder Force at RAF Coningsby. They completed a further three missions, seeing action on D-Day.
On their twenty-first sortie on June 9/10, 1944, on a night raid over a railway junction at Etampes, south of Paris, pilot Officer Giddings and his crew failed to return. After releasing flares over the target their Lancaster, ND764, was hit by flak and then attacked from below by a night fighter.
Many years later when he was able to relate his story, my father recollected the moment at the time when the aircraft was hit:- “The inner or outer port side engine was on fire, - it could have been either as there wasn’t much space between the engines. The suicidal height at which we were flying, the noise, the cabin full of smoke and partially lit, communications cut, cramped conditions in the cockpit, no place to wear your parachute (it had to be stored on the floor), frantically searching for it, the rush of cold air from the open back door, trying to prise open the escape hatch at the front, every second wasted making survival more improbable, the whole episode could not have lasted for more than a few minutes, and before we realised it was a doomed machine, we would have had even less time to make our getaway. The Lancaster was not air-crew friendly!”
Out of a crew of seven there were only two survivors. Pilot officer Bryan Giddings and Navigator Bryce Webb bailed out of the blazing plane but their parachutes did not deploy in time. The Lancaster finally crashed in a field near the village of Souzy la Briche. Carrying with it the remaining three crew members – Mid-Upper Gunner John McGill, Rear-Gunner Johnny Seale and H2S Operator Charles Clement. Wireless Operator Bob Bethell had baled out through the rear door, but was captured by a German patrol and ended up in Stalag Luft 7 Bankau, near Kreulberg.
When my father and the crew failed to return from the mission my grandparents Arthur and Hannah Mary received a telegram followed by a letter advising them that their son was missing presumed killed. During the time he was missing they and the family never gave up hope that he was still alive. On one occasion the local vicar called on them to ask permission for a memorial service for him to be arranged in the village. They declined saying “Our son is coming home”.
[Underlined] Their faith was rewarded because Flight-Engineer Arthur Pritchard evaded capture. [/underlined]
The aircraft was on fire and perilously low when he bailed out and he made a heavy landing, spraining his ankle. After wondering around the French countryside with his damaged ankle and famously asking villagers for a way to the coast, he eventually arrived at the village of Egly and entered the local church. Seeing a man by the alter he told him that he was an injured RAF airman. The Frenchman was unable to speak English, but gave him some water and pointed towards a café opposite the church. On entering the café, Dad waving a 100 Franc note from his RAF kit, ordered champagne, as this was the only French word he knew. Panic broke out as
[Boxed] [Photograph of a Lancaster]
The first Lancaster bomber came off the production line at the beginning of 1942. It was designed by AVRO’s chief designer, Roy Chadwick. The plane started out as Avro Manchester, a twin engine model, but in anticipation of the greater range that Bomber Command would require as the RAF took the war to the German heartland, Chadwick modified the Manchester to house four engines. Apart from the engine changes, the Manchester design was so good it did not take much work to come up with the new model, renamed the Lancaster.
The plane came famous later of course following the well-documented Dambuster Raid, when 617 Squadron attacked the Eder and Ruhr dams. [/boxed]
[Page break]
[Boxed] 97 (Straits Settlements) Squadron,
Royal Air Force,
CONINGSBY,
Lincolnshire.
10th June, 1944.
Dear Mr. Pritchard,
It is with deep regret that I must confirm that your son, Sergeant A. Pritchard, failed to return from operations this morning, the 10th June, 1944, and I wish to express the great sympathy which this Squadron feel with you during the [indecipherable] any news comes through.
Your son was taking part in an operation against a military target and [indecipherable] France, Flight Engineer of the aircraft. No news has been received since the aircraft left base last night – we can only hope that they had the chance to bale out and are safe, even as prisoners of war.
Sergeant Pritchard had only been serving with this Squadron for a short while, but during that period he was able to operate with us on the opening of the Second Front. He had operated with another Squadron prior to coming here, and had taken part in fifteen sorties, many of which were against major objectives in Germany. On this occasion he was working with his usual crew. Your son was keen and capable as a flight engineer, and he and his crew will be a great loss to the Squadron; we shall all miss them very much.
It [indecipherable] to explain that the request in the telegram notifying you of this casualty was [indecipherable] your son’s chance of escape being prejudged by [indecipherable] he is still at large. This is not to say that any information about him is available, but us a precaution adopted in the case of all personnel reported missing.
His kit and personal effects are being carefully collected and will be sent to the R.A.F. Central Depository, Colebrook, Slough, from whom you will hear in due course.
If any news is received you will be communicated with immediately, and in the meantime I join with you in hoping that we shall soon hear favourable news of your son and the remainder of the crew.
Yours sincerely,
[Signature]
Squadron Leader, Commanding,
No. 97 (Straits Settlements)
[Underlined] Squadron, R.A.F. CONINGSBY. [/underlined]
Mr. A. Pritchard,
10, [indecipherable];
PORT [indecipherable]
N. Wales.
[/boxed]
[Boxed] On the left is the letter dated June 10, 1944, that Arthur and Hannah Mary Pritchard received from the RAF confirming that their son had not returned from his latest mission and stating that his loss and those of the crew would be very much missed. It goes on to say that he may be still at large but that no information about him was available.
It concludes by stating that if any favourable news about him was received that the RAF would communicate immediately with the family in Felinheli. [/boxed]
there were Germans in the village, and he was hastily ushered into a back room. A young teenage boy, who could speak a little English, was brought to the café, and Dad explained his plight and was then taken to a nearby wood where he was hidden overnight in a small air-raid-type shelter in the ground whilst his identity was being checked out.
Once the o.k. was received from London, the local leader of the French Resistance was summoned. Arthur Pritchard was put into the care of Monsieur George Dantan and his family who risked being shot if caught hiding a British airman. He was given civilian clothing; ID as a deaf and dumb Frenchman, and a bicycle. He was told that he was to be moved to a safe house in Antony, near Paris. His instructions were to follow the parcel tied to the back of Monsieur Dantan’s bicycle – but not necessarily follow Monsieur Dantan. On arriving at the safe house several hours later, Monsieur Dantan entered the building, and several minutes later came out and removed the parcel from the bicycle and re-entered the house. This was the signal for Das that it was safe for him to enter. When he did so, the two men embraced, – relieved to have reached their destination safely.
He evaded capture for over two months, being moved several times to safe houses, until the Liberation of Paris on August 24.
On the liberation of Paris his parents received another telegram, this time stating that my father had been found safe and well. On seeing him for the first time, as he came down the steps to his home in an emaciated state, my grandmother fainted with the shock and relief of his safe return.
Whilst in hiding he had many adventures and kept a diary, and his story is told in the book Achieve Your Aim by Kevin Bending, and in a book written in French by Georges Dantan Junior, the English version of which is available on the 97 Squadron Association’s website.
My father was unaware of the fate of his fellow-crew members and he was constantly worried over their safety. He would not be told that they had perished in the crash until his return home. The only Welshman in an Australian crew, he was inevitably called Taffy, and they did everything together – ate, slept, fought, drank and danced. It was a tremendous blow to him when he learned of their fate.
After he was repatriated to the UK, he was posted to RAF West Freugh in Scotland as an Air Traffic Controller. He left the RAF with the rank of Warrant Officer.
Arthur Pritchard met his future wife, Edna May Cardwell, from Liverpool, whilst both were stationed at RAF Waddington, and were married in December 1947 at Llanfairisgaer Church, just outside Y Felinheli. Both are interred in the churchyard there, Edna having predeceased him on October 10, 2001.
Loyal to his wartime crew he made several visits to their war graves, near to where they perished. He was always warmly welcomed by the Mayor and villagers near the crash site, and he always laid wreaths at the well-attended graves of his wartime “family”. On one occasion he was presented with parts from the Lancaster wreckage, including the cam-shaft. The French and Australian families kept in touch over the years and visited him at his home in Wales.
[Photograph of a man wearing medals] Arthur Pritchard (the civilian) in his latter days
In his latter years he took delight in visiting his former air bases in Lincolnshire and was always warmly welcomed by the RAF personnel. On one memorable visit he was privileged to go on board the Lancaster Bomber based at RAF Coningsby – for him an unforgettable experience.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Exploits of Warrant Officer Arthur Pritchard
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Arthur Pritchard written by his daughter. It covers his training, operations and the night he was shot down. Despite speaking no French he was assisted to a hideout in Paris where he remained until Paris was liberated in August 1944.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Carolyn Pritchard
Format
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Two printed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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MPritchard2206805-171108-030001, MPritchard2206805-171108-030002
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France--Paris
Great Britain
England--Liverpool
Wales--Y Felinheli
France--Étampes (Essonne)
France
England--Lancashire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-09
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Anne-Marie Watson
463 Squadron
617 Squadron
97 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
Chadwick, Roy (1893-1947)
crash
evading
final resting place
flight engineer
H2S
killed in action
Lancaster
Manchester
missing in action
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Coningsby
RAF St Athan
RAF Waddington
RAF West Freugh
RAF Winthorpe
Resistance
shot down
Stalag Luft 7
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1429/44268/BSaundersCFSaundersCFv1.2.pdf
abcd0d454698064eb5b2f9951f6d5635
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Saunders, Charles Francis
C F Saunders
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-15
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Saunders, CF
Description
An account of the resource
One item. The collection concerns Charles Francis Saunders (Royal Air Force) and contains a memoir. He flew operations as an air gunner with 102 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Karen Rudderham and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Memories of an Airman
Description
An account of the resource
An account by Charles Saunders of his service in the RAF during the war. He served as a mid upper gunner flying in the Halifax with No 102 Squadron at RAF Pocklington and carried out 18 operations. VE day ended his flying career and he was retrained as a radiographer and worked in that trade until he was demobilised. His account gives many details of his training including dinghy drill and parachute training.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Charles Francis Saunders
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-01
2005-07
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
England--Shropshire
England--Herefordshire
Wales--Carmarthenshire
Scotland--Moray
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Wiltshire
England--Staffordshire
England--Cheshire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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98 page document
Identifier
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BSaundersCFSaundersCFv1
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
102 Squadron
1652 HCU
19 OTU
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
air sea rescue
aircrew
Anson
Cook’s tour
crewing up
demobilisation
ditching
Dominie
ground personnel
Halifax
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hurricane
Ju 88
Magister
military living conditions
military service conditions
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Proctor
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Burtonwood
RAF Halton
RAF Hednesford
RAF Kinloss
RAF Madley
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Pembrey
RAF Pocklington
recruitment
Spitfire
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/188/2481/BWardCWWardCWv1.2.pdf
18f5d8d6f561999052eca73c0631f2ed
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Ward, Charles and Margaret
C W Ward
M Ward
Margaret Pratt
M Pratt
Description
An account of the resource
Eight items. The collection consists of an oral history interview with cipher operator, Sergeant Charles William Ward (7015946, British Army) and wireless operator, Margaret Ward née Pratt (17546, First Aid Nursing Yeomanry). Both served in the Special Operation Executive in North Africa, Italy and Greece. The collection also contains a diary, British Army paperwork, and four photographs.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Charles and Margaret Ward and was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-05-18
Identifier
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Ward, C-M
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
ARMY HISTORY OF CADET ENSIGN MARGARET PRATT & SERGEANT CHARLES WARD
As the war clouds gathered over Europe in 1939 the government decided that as a precaution young men aged 20 would be called up for six months to train as a reserve for the armed forces. My call up papers arrived telling me I was to report on Salisbury Plain to train in the Royal Artillery.
However, before the due date arrived war was declared and I was switched from the Artillery to the London Irish Rifles and on October 18th I was to report to one of the main London railway stations from where we were taken on the underground railway, our destination being Southfields station, SW18.
On disembarking we were marched down Wimbledon Park Road to Barkers Sports Ground which was next to Wimbledon Tennis Courts. There we were kitted out with our Army uniforms, part of which were puttees which, I suspect, were left over from the First World War.
Training began, often in the tennis court grounds and on Wimbledon Common, which included marching, rifle and Bren Gun training. Once proficient we were moved around the country doing guard duty in various places including the [underlined] Air Force Records Office in London and Tangmere Airport. [/underlined]
This was followed by a stint in the south which included Chichester and Goodwood race course during which time we were engaged in erecting Danet Wire defences on the beaches against an expected invasion. We were somewhat alarmed one day when we encountered a small party of army personnel with mine detectors sweeping the sand who said that the previous day they had lifted three mines.
We then had quite a few more moves which included spells at Gorleston, Thetford where we were employed in harvesting sugar beet, Altrincham, London Colney, Knutsford, Malvern, Haverfordwest, and Tenby. During most of this time I was engaged in the training of new recruits, mainly from London, who, once up to the required standard, were posted on to other units.
The repetitive nature of this training routine began to [underlined]pall so when volunteers were called for as pilots in the RAF I decided to volunteer. [/underlined] This entailed a day in London where med1cal and educational tests were earned out and I emerged with a document which I was [underlined]told to present to the CO on arrival at my first RAF station. [/underlined]
However, this was not to be as our unit was immediately posted to Cumnock, Scotland, to be part of a new special Brigade of tanks and infantry which [underlined]meant all transfers to the RAF were stopped. [/underlined]
This was my first time in Scotland, we were under canvas in a field that had quite a slope to it and the rain went on and on and on. The rainwater was constantly running under the duckboards of the tents and the field was a quagmire. Going out in the evenings meant carrying a clean pair of boots under one's arm to be changed into once we reached the road, the mud coated pair to be left under a hedge and changed back into on our return to camp. Eventually the Brigadier came to inspect and immediately ordered billet accommodation to be found.
[underlined]We were then shipped to North Africa as part of the 151 Army invasion landing at Algiers. [/underlined] From there we were moved by train up the coast towards Tunisia. The train, of course, was all cattle trucks and there was a dearth of fuel for the engine so quite a few stops were required to gather wood, though that wasn't our worry.
Our worry was liquid refreshment and during one of the fuel stops we managed to find a sheet of metal which we placed on the floor of the cattle truck so that we could light a fire and make tea. This only happened once as the heat from the fire set light to the floor of the truck.
Arriving at our destination we disembarked and dispersed into an orchard which gave us good cover, especially from the air. After this I began to keep a brief diary of events which follows.
Dec. 7th, 1942
Travelled in TCVs [troop carrying vehicles] over high mountain range from hide out area. Crossed into Tunisia. Slept in open.
Dec. 8th.
Woke up wet through. Raining like hell. All trucks bogged down and had to be pushed onto road. Eventually moved off still miserable and wet. Stopped the night on side of road. Slept, or attempted to in TCVs. No wash or shave.
Dec. 9th.
Still raining but managed morning cup of gunpowder. Continuing our nomadic existence we dished up breakfast on the move. Stopped for a couple of hours and made dinner. TCVs left us and we started to march. Still no wash or shave. Took up defence position on knoll in range of mountains. No food. Rained all night. Slept with greatcoat and gas cape among rocks. Worse than last night. Fell half-way down cliff face in dark.
Dec. 10th.
Still raining. Clouds all around hill top. Made shelter to sleep in. Had to carry food etc up to knoll. Everything still wet through but stopped raining in evening. Still no wash or shave.
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Friday Dec. 11th.
Fine morning except for mist. Stand to. Breakfast. Had quite a good night's sleep. Everybody washed and shaved. Carried all ammunition up. Laid tele[telephone] line from 15 pi to us. Sent out patrol up mountain track for about 5 miles. Did guard. Fine night except for short shower of rain.
Saturday Dec. 12th.
Very good morning with few clouds and sun out. Most things were dried out. Made shelter for all section. Sent out another patrol about 10 miles through mountains to El Agula. Good night's sleep.
Sunday Dec 13th.
Another fine morning but a little cold. Very fine day. Nothing unusual so far. Called out to stand to at 20.10 hrs. Stood down at 21.30 hrs.
Monday Dec 14th.
Another quiet day with everything normal.
Tuesday Dec 15th.
Same as yesterday. NAAFI supplies came up so we had a few extra cigarettes, soap etc.
Wednesday Dec 16th.
Reached the ripe old age of 24. I am getting old. First air mail letter card issued to us. Guaranteed to reach home for Christmas.
Thursday Dec 17th.
Plenty of air activity this morning. Constant rumble heard in distance all round.
Friday Dec 18th.
Best day yet. Saw three dive bombers but long way off.
Saturday Dec 19th.
Cloudy today with occasional showers. Warned to move off at dusk. Moved about 9 miles back to rest of btn. [battalion]
Sunday Dec. 20th.
Settling down in new position. Cold and showery. Orders to pack up ready to move again at 11.30. Took up fresh positions and dug in.
Monday Dec 21st
Moved again after breakfast nearer road. Stayed there rest of day and moved up towards Medjez-el-Bab in evening. Stayed night in farm. Slept in haystack.
Tuesday Dec 22nd
More air activity. Moved into building. Good sleeping quarters. Rained like hell during night.
Wednesday Dec 23'd.
Still bad weather holding up attack.
Thursday Dec 24th.
Still raining. Warned to move up and stop Germans taking Skins (Enniskillen Fusiliers) prisoners. Averaging eight a night. Moved up into position after dark. No sign of enemy at all. Dug in. Rained hard all night.
Friday Dec 25th.
Still occupying positions in hills. Still no sign of enemy. Suspected to be occupying farm. Attacking tonight.
Saturday Dec 26th.
Moved forward in early hours and attacked farm but enemy had evacuated. Rest of day spent resting. More rain. Moved back to coy. [company] position. Very cold.
Sunday Dec 27th.
Quiet all night. Rested all day. Attacked another farm at dusk still without success.
Monday Dec. 28th.
Called out in early hours but false alarm. Weather turning very nice again. Evacuated position at dusk.
Tuesday Dec 29th.
Took up position guarding AT [anti-tank] guns on hill. Weather fine but very windy. Letters arrived, five for me. Village in valley shelled and taken by enemy.
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Wednesday Dec 30th
Orders to be ready to move within one hour. Travelling south to Sfax and Souse. Outlying farms shelled from village. Quite a good day, warm sun.
Thursday Dec 31st.
Not moved yet. Artillery duel going on in valley. Convoy shelled. Move cancelled.
Friday Jan 1st 1943.
More shelling today. NAAFI supplies arrived. Went out on standing patrol all night. Extremely cold.
Saturday Jan 2nd.
Came back from patrol and slept morning. Increased air activity. One plane shot down. More shelling in Goubellat.
Sunday Jan 3rd.
Went out on day patrol visiting farms on Goubellat plain. Nothing doing. More mail.
Monday Jan 4th.
Hell of a wind and rain during night. Still windy in morning but no rain. More air activity.
Tuesday Jan 5th
Nothing much today. More shelling and air activity. Capt. Grant, Sgt Silverman, Rflm [rifleman] Scanlon and Sherrif failed to return from patrol.
Wednesday Jan 6th.
Smashing day so far. Wind dropped and sun very warm. Nothing doing.
Thursday Jan 7th.
Took over 13 platoon position for day while they did patrol.
Friday Jan 8th.
Dug dugouts for section, now sleeping below ground level. Quite dry.
Saturday Jan 9th
Strong wind got up during night and slight rain. Improved trenches in morning. Compulsory rest in afternoon as whole coy [company] on patrol at night. Went out on patrol but nothing doing. Took over rest of platoon as pi com [picket commander] and sgt [sic] patrol out.
Sunday Jan 10th.
Rested all day after night patrol. Rained like hell all day and night.
Monday Jan 11th.
Rain stopped during night but still a bit cloudy. Tank battle in progress on Goubellat Plain. Enemy tanks ran but ground very bad and tanks getting bogged. H Coy sent out to capture anti-tank gun in farm. Took position but suffered casualties. Two sgts [sic] and two riflemen dead and some wounded. We in reserve were to go and cover bogged tanks until LAD [light aid detachment] got them out but they managed to get out themselves before dusk. Two tanks were knocked out, one burned all night. Plan altered, 14 pi [picket] to go out and help H Coy in. Got there but H Coy had started back on different route. We came back and met them on road. Got back to camp at approx. 01.30 hrs. hot soup, cup of tea and a small nip of rum very welcome. Good show by H Coy and supporting groups which included mortars, machine guns and artillery plus the tanks. Enemy abandoned guns and ran. Stuff captured included bottles of champagne, boxes of cigars, rations, guns, rifles, pistols etc.
Tuesday Jan 12th
Slept during day getting over long trek last night. Artillery again active firing onto plain. Bombs dropped by plane just behind our position.
Wednesday Jan 13th.
Went out on standing patrol on road junction. Too confident of position and wound up in Goubellat. Got 3 tins of beef and one carrot which we ate when we got back to the road junction. Stan went out on patrol at night and laid mines. Bumped enemy and got machine gunned but no casualties. 15 platoon came back from all-day patrol had been mortared. Two very slight casualties.
Thursday Jan 14th.
Nothing doing today. Terry went out on all-night patrol. NAAFI supplies up again. Rumours of mail again.
Friday Jan 15th
Orders to be ready to move at dusk. Busy packing during day. Moved at 01.30 hrs Sat. morning.
Saturday Jan 16th.
Northants regiment took over position in early hrs. One of first Battns [battalions] to land. Got within nine miles of Tunis before they knew big push was off. Had with them one prisoner who had run of Bttn [sic] [battalion]. Ate, slept and went into action with them bringing back wounded and dead. Helped generally all round. Moved by TCV to harbour near El Arrouser where we slept all day. Moved off in early morning into farm.
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Sunday Jan 17th.
Stayed in farm all day. Everything quiet.
Monday Jan 18th.
Big battle raging this morning. Took up position and dug in. Rumoured seven enemy tanks knocked out and they're on the run but still plenty of firing going on. Dive bombed on road. One JU 88 shot down and burst into flames. Good show. Bags of low level bombing on roads and Bou Arada. Got one shot off at one plane. Ten spits escorting bombers came over. Saw one plane go down in distance and nine spits came back, looks as if one lost. RAP bombed and evacuated to our farm. Skins reported to be doing well. Plenty of artillery going. Truck going forward all day with ammo. Misinformed - all Spits returned, must have been enemy plane shot down making two on this plain. Moved up left of Bou Arada, took up position from RB. Res [Royal Engineers] blew up enemy tank during night near our position.
Tuesday Jan 19th.
Orders to move at 11.30 to take up position near Skins. Moved onto plain through Bou Arada and got mortared to hell. Managed to dive into wadi but one landed right in and Stan got hit bad. Don't think he'll pull through. Connery and Ted also hit but will survive. Mr Hardwick hit but made his own way out. Continued and took up position on hill. Dug in.
Wednesday Jan 20th.
Went in to take hill in early hours. Moved forward with 13 and 15 forward, 14 in reserve. First hill clear. Second hill clear. Third hill all hell let loose. 14 platoon and a few odds and ends drew back into hollow. Moved out to help other coy take hill. Reached top but driven back by tanks into hollow. Mortared in hollow for hours. One dropped in own mortar pit. Cpl Howe and three others caught it. Another dropped near and Blair got a piece in his back. Major went back for MO [medical officer]. FOO took over (Capt [sic] Atkins). Hell of a man. Cool as a cucumber. Got injured out. Got artillery to lay smoke screen then all dashed out back to wadi. Checked up on strength of approx. 30 men left in coy. Got food up, blankets etc. and other coys went forward to hold position on first hill. Our coy slept in wadi.
Thursday Jan 21st
00.300 hrs. Hell let loose again. Attacked by tanks supported by infantry. Caught entirely by surprise and scattered. I made off with Terry in direction of Bou Arada. Machine gun fire all along top of wadi. Got out and crossed road into ploughed field and ran like hell. Tracer flying everywhere especially to our right and left into farms where 25 pounders were. Got right away to farm where we first came to and met Les. Walked along road (met Boe?) to El Arousa and picked up by water truck and arrived at A echelon. Had good breakfast and got down to sleep about 10.30. woke up at 11.45 and told we had to go back by truck with rations. Got nearly up there and mortars started in front of leading truck. About turned and went back to El Arousa. Stayed there until dark then went half way up by truck and walked the other half. Got to carriers position and had food and slept there all night. Reported back to battalion and coy was less than a platoon strong.
ELABORATION OF BRIEF DIARY ENTRY
lt was described to us as the final squeeze on Rommel's army with our objective the capture of Medjez el Bab, the gateway to Tunis. My company of the London Irish Rifles were in the hills on the right of a gap to the Goubelat Plain but were to launch our offensive from the hills on the left of the gap. This was on Wednesday, Jan 20th (see diary).
lt was decided to move us across the gap in broad daylight, which meant we were a sitting target in full view of the enemy through the gap until reaching the cover of the hills on that left hand side. Sure enough they allowed us to get into the middle and then opened up with everything they had.
We moved as quickly as possible between the stops we had to make going to ground when the sound of incoming shells were heard. We eventually reached a wadi which we thankfully dropped into and began moving in comparative safety towards our final position.
As a down to earth Yorkshireman I don't think I imagine things but from where I do not know I suddenly heard one word which brooked no argument, Run. Calling to my section to run I set off at high speed along the wadi and had just rounded a bend when I heard a shell explode behind me. I quickly returned and found that the shell had fallen right in the wadi on the spot from where I had started to run. Whether they had not heard me or whether they were slow off the mark I have no idea but the end of my section had been hit and two of my men (Lance Corporal Ted Gant and Rifleman Connery) and Corporal Stan (I think his surname was Meager) the leader of the following section were lying badly wounded. I patched them up as best I could and stayed with them until the medical corps personnel came and evacuated them.
I have checked on the Commonwealth Graves Commission web and found all three died of their wounds, Stan Seager and Connery are buried at Medjez el Bab and Ted Gant at the Thibar cemetery. I have written complaining to the War Graves Commission that their records list all the London Irish casualties as being members of the Royal Ulster Rifles yet all the gravestones give the London Irish Rifles, which could be most confusing.
The next morning we launched our attack which turned out quite a disaster and the remains of our company were holed up in a large depression in the ground being constantly shelled. With us was the Ras [royal artillery’s] forward observation officer and his wireless operator. He ordered me to go to the top of the depression to locate the source of the constant shelling. At the top I found a small hollow in the ground, and I thought at the time it was about the size of a grave. From there I saw the shells were coming from a farm house on the plain. Returning to the depression I discovered that a shell had fallen in the place where I had been lying and others who had been with me were injured.
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The officer decided that our position was much too dangerous and sent a message to the guns to lay down a smoke screen and under that cover we all rapidly retreated to a wadi which gave us much better protection.
DIARY CONTINUED
Friday Jan 22nd.
Btn [battalion] in terrible state, only about 300 strong but people rolling up all day. Took up defensive position on hill at night. Everything quiet tonight except for a bit of artillery duel.
Saturday Jan 23rd.
Came down from hill for day and got a little organised. Three letters from Elsie but lot missing. Weather beautiful lately.
Sunday Jan 24th.
Nothing much today. A little shelling but no air activity. Reinforcements arrived.
Monday Jan 25th.
Same as yesterday but spits put in an appearance. They got Paddy Ward and a L/Cpl [lance corporal] from F. One of the boys suggest we stay awake tonight and watch the Eighth army go by. Took over one of H Coy's [companies] position as two of their platoons have gone on jobs. Mail up again. Five letters.
Tuesday Jan 26th.
Little shelling by us today but no reply so far. Capt Atkins the FOO [forward observation officer] with us in the hole reported killed today by enemy patrol in OP[operation] at Mosque Hill. NAAFI supplies up today. 100 cigs, 2 bars choc and bottle of beer. Poles reported to be giving themselves up.
Wednesday Jan 27th.
Rain today. Ground in terrible state. Pay. Preparations for moving out destination unknown. Heavy shelling by our guns. One or two shots fired in reply. Two spits just gone over. Aircraft from both sides very scarce these days. Moved out at dusk. Took us practically all night to move four miles.
Thursday Jan 28th
Looks like rain but it's kept off so far. Artillery still banging away. Rumours we're taking over that memorable hill 268 from the Guards. Spits over again this morning.
Friday Jan 29th.
Moved out at 05.00 hrs. Relieved by RBs. Went back about four miles into olive grove for rest and reorganisation.
Saturday Jan 30th.
Good night's sleep. Not much work during day. Everything quiet.
Sunday Jan 31st.
Other coys sending small numbers back to A echelon for 48 hrs complete rest. Managed to get a much needed hair cut. Still quiet.
Monday Feb 1st
Marvellous bath today, first since we arrived. Went about fifteen miles for it but was worth it. Some of the lads saw Stan and Connery's graves.
Tuesday Feb 2nd.
Bags of rumours but nothing definite yet. Moving out at dusk to take over from RBs on road junction. Five from platoon went back for 48 hrs. NAAFI up again. Bottles of beer, bags of fags, no wonder they're scarce in England, soap, blades, envelopes, paper etc. Everything now packed ready for move. Sent home £15 today. Moved up and took over from RBs.
Wednesday Feb 3rd.
Fairly quiet day. Some shelling by us and a little by them. Two planes came down and machine gunned on plain. Dive bombers on other side of plain.
Thursday Feb 4th.
A few planes over this morning. New Coy [company] Com [commander] took over this morning. Stukas over at tea time again. About 15 dropped bombs behind hills other side of Bou Arada. One shot down in flames.
Friday Feb 5th.
Nothing much today. A little shelling by us but only three shots in reply. Mail up, 6 this time.
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Saturday Feb 6th.
Very cold today. Rain in afternoon. We're sending one or two shells over just to let them know we're still here. Rumour we're going out of front line for refit. Hope it's true. Wrote five letters. Terry accidentally shot himself in leg.
Sunday Feb. 7th.
Rain during night but not too bad now. More mail 5 this time. Patrol went out but found nothing.
Monday Feb 8th.
Cold this morning. Stukas over plain just after breakfast. Too close to be comfortable. Hurricane Bombers with Spit escort over Goubellat plain. Rumoured they were after tanks.
Tuesday Feb 9th.
Shelled this morning, couldn't expect much else gulley looks like a car park. We replied but don't think they've got him. Quietened him a bit though. Stukas over plain again.
Wednesday Feb 10th.
Nothing much again today. F Coy patrol had clash last night. Two casualties. He dropped another two shells pretty close today. No damage though. Rained like hell in evening and all night.
Thursday Feb 11th.
Rain off but still dull. Knee-deep in mud. Good news. Communications cut between Tunis and Bizerta. Bebe and five warned for patrol tonight.
Friday Feb. 12th.
Nothing much today. Few shells very close. Still too bad for aircraft. Guns 48 hrs silence.
Saturday Feb 13th.
Fine day. Fighter bombers over at tea time dropped shower just over the hill. Thought he was after us for a minute. Guns broke silence plastered Jerry digging in on hill.
Sunday Feb 14th.
Another good day. Few NAAFI supplies up. Lot of activity at night near Skins position, guns blazing away practically all night.
Monday Feb 15th.
Haze over both plains today. Guns still bashing away at intervals. Planes over plain, 1 down.
Tuesday Feb16th.
Moved section over to new day-time position. Name submitted as compositor for First Army newspaper. Shells dropped three hundred yards away. Advised pi. com. position was no good and moved back to old place.
Wednesday Feb 17th.
Fairly quiet today. Spits over. Put up tents. Got new suit and boots. Look good enough to go to a dance.
Thursday Feb 18th.
Quiet day today. Very misty.
Friday Feb 19th.
Went to Gafour for a bath. Spent day there, quite a change. Rained in evening.
Saturday Feb 20th.
Nothing today. Haze over plain again.
Sunday Feb 21 51.
72 guns moved up and some Churchill tanks. Think the 11th Armoured are relieving us soon. Went for information on the PIAT. Earmarked as instructor for NCO's cadre when Batt. comes out of front line.
Monday Feb. 22nd.
Nothing in morning. Stukas over twice in afternoon, bombs dropped 400 yards away. Few shells over too.
Tuesday Feb 23rd.
Quiet today, four shells about four. Few shells again after Skins put on a small show. Killed about thirty, took eight prisoners.
Wednesday Feb 24th.
More shells and Stukas over again on Skins position. Left in evening for 48 hrs rest at A Echelon.
Thursday Feb 25th.
Went to Gafour for a bath. Baths moved. Returned to camp for dinner to find tanks and lorry borne infantry had broken through at Tally Ho corner. Rumoured F Coy surrounded. Two tanks knocked out and one surrounded. Action still going on.
Friday Feb 26th.
Full night's sleep. Everything seems to be under control this morning.
END OF DIARY
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At the end of hostilities in Tunisia we had a time of relaxation and on the touchline at a football match our CO found me and said he had received a communication which meant he had to ask me, as I had earlier been accepted to be trained as a pilot, if I was prepared now to volunteer as a glider pilot. I had no hesitation in saying I would much rather have an engine to rely on as a pilot. It was also suggested I be given a Field Commission but I felt it prudent not to accept as the German snipers were taking a heavy toll of officers in the area.
We subsequently did a training exercise which entailed quite a long march, followed by a mock attack practising house clearing, then a march back to base. I got a knock on the knee during this which aggravated an old injury I had earlier sustained playing football which left me with a swollen knee and a pronounced limp. On the march back the CO, going by in his vehicle spotted this and stopped to ask what the trouble was. He ordered me onto a truck and said I must report sick on arrival at base.
This eventually resulted in concentrated treatment of hot and cold compresses, which didn't do very much for the situation so I attended a medical assessment panel and was regraded A2 on 23rd July 1943. I was sent back to a transit camp at Philippville, which was a very boring time - no reading matter, and walking anywhere was impossible, just eating and sleeping. After some time I was transferred to the transit camp near Algiers- back to where I had first set foot in North Africa. But still the same routine until one day I espied on the [underlined] notice board an announcement that an educational unit would be coming to the camp and requesting volunteers to undergo tests with the object [/underlined] of finding suitable work for them. Mine - was the first name on the list.
We spent a morning doing maths and English papers. During the assessment of these in the afternoon there was a mechanical aptitude test. Then an interview to discuss which kind of employment would be suitable. I had previously applied for employment as a compositor on the Stars and Stripes newspaper which we had heard was to be started in Algiers so suggested this as a possibility. The [underlined] officer didn't hold out much hope of that materialising and suggested I would good cipher operator. I welcomed this and waited patiently for the outcome. [/underlined]
A week or so later I was called into the office where I was given a moving order for six people. Quickly scanning through to see where we were going I couldn't find a destination so returned to the office only to be told we were to be picked up by truck. When the truck arrived I asked the driver where we were going. Much to my surprise the answer was "I'm not allowed to tell you.
I wondered what I had let myself in for and was even more puzzled when we arrived at a camp gate with armed guards and everything enclosed in barbed wire. On entering the camp I was even more surprised to find it occupied by Army, Navy, Air Force, civilians and girls (members of the FANY, First Aid Nursing Yeomanry). There were also a number of other nationalities.
[underlined] This was Massingham, a wireless station sending and receiving messages to [/underlined] and from agents dropped into southern France and Italy. It consisted of a number of holiday villas right on the beach of the Mediterranean. As all the villas were fully occupied we were directed to a tent as our accommodation.
We then embarked on our training as cipher operators. This meant serious concentration working on squared paper doing double transposition. One mistake and the message wound up gibberish. Once up to the required standard we were then assigned to a team, alongside FANY coders and wireless operators working in shifts to cover 24 hours. If we ran out of current wireless traffic we then tackled the indecipherable messages.
[underlined] My only meeting with Colonel Gubbins was a surprise.[/underlined] On duty one evening the telephone went and on answering a voice said come down to villa ? (I don't remember the number) and collect a message for London. I replied that I would send someone down immediately. Back came a rather impatient "You'll come yourself” and the caller rang off. Somewhat aggrieved I hastened down fully intending to have words with this man only to discover it was Colonel Gubbins, I didn't even know he was in the camp.
[underlined] Margaret and I met at Massingham. She was a Cadet Ensign in the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (EANY). [/underlined] We worked shifts covering 24 hours sending and receiving messages from the agents, all of whom had a particular time for contacting base.
Leisure time was non-existent outside the camp so the sergeants' Mess decided to organise a few dinner dances to which the FANYs were invited. Over a number of these Margaret and I became dancing partners. This came to an end when a number of us got a moving order to join a group being sent into Yugoslavia. We were to fly to Bari in Southern Italy to-join them.
Margaret and I exchanged addresses with the suggestion that if ever either of us were in the vicinity of the other we would endeavour to make contact.
On the night we were due to fly out we had the most violent thunderstorm so the flight was postponed until the following night, We took off in a Dakota to fly directly to Bari but half way there one of the plane's engines began to misfire. The pilot decided there was no possibility of getting over the mountains to Bari so we made an emergency landing at Naples.
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After this further delay we eventually arrived at Bari and were taken just down the coast to Torre-a-Mare only to find that the group we were to join had been assembled at Monopoly ready for entry into Yugoslavia and the numbers had been made up from personnel at Torre-a-Mare and we then had to take their place Torre.
Margaret and I corresponded between Massingham and Torre until some weeks later I deciphered a message from Massingham with a list of names of FANYs who were being sent to join our unit. By this time I was beginning to realise how much I had been missing Margaret and quickly scanned the list to see if she was one of those joining us. Imagine how excited I was to discover that her name was there.
I quickly made contact with her and resumed our friendship. Our love for each other blossomed and we spent much time together in our off duty periods. We also managed to get a wonderful week's leave in Rome together with two friends, Joyce and John. The two girls stayed in a hotel which had been taken over by the YWCA [Young Women’s Christian Association], and john and I stayed at a nearby house owned by a very pro British Polish Countess who stipulated "no vino and no signoritas”. [sic] She was very happy to learn of Margaret and Joyce at the YWCA.
We got engaged on 28th February 1945 sitting on the rocks by the sea at Torre-a-Mare but we kept it under wraps as two of our friends had been married in Bari, I was best man, and they had been posted apart shortly after the wedding.
In May 1945 I was granted one month's home leave under the LIAP scheme and we began writing to each other every day we were apart.
Eventually Margaret was sent up to Sienna from where she got leave and hitch-hiked almost the length of Italy to spend time with me at Torre.
When she was posted back home I got some leave and hitch-hiked up to Sienna to see her before she sailed. I managed to get a lift on the baggage truck carrying the kit of the party gong home and we had a last evening together in Naples.
I returned to Torre-a-Mare and was then transferred to The Royal Corps of Signals. There I was trained to operate Type X cipher machines.
Along with a wireless operator I was then posted to an Italian -division which was supposed to be based at Rimini. Disembarking from the train we went into the RTO's [rail transport officer] office to find where the division was only to be told it was at Lake Como.
After a night in Rimini we caught a train up to Lake Como which, on arrival, looked an ideal place to spend the rest of our time until demob.
However, we soon found out that was not to be as it was just a training unit. The division was at Verazze on the coast west of Genoa. To get there we had to first get a train to Milan then another from Milan to Genoa. We managed to eke out our stay in Milan for a few days before getting the train for Genoa.
This was a single carriage train and I found myself placed technically in charge even though I had no knowledge of the workings of a railway, let alone an Italian one. The journey through the mountains was very enjoyable and the scenery through the mountains breathtaking.
At Verazze we were billeted in a hotel right on the beach so most of our time was spent swimming and sunbathing as the only work we had consisted of enciphering and sending to HQ a weekly message to report that we had passed no groups of traffic during the previous week.
This holiday lifestyle eventually came to an end and I was transferred to Athens from where I was demobbed. We sailed from Pireas to Taranto but on arrival the sea was too rough for us to dock so we anchored in the bay until such time as the rough sea abated. Washing and shaving on deck in the morning was quite a feat as one had to continually grab the bowl of water before it slid out of reach.
From Southern Italy we then journeyed by train in stages across Europe to the channel port before crossing to England and being demobbed at Aldershot.
I then journeyed to Wimbledon Park station and walked down Wimbledon Park Road to No. 50 where Margaret's parents lived so I began and finished my war service in the same road, a place I had not heard of before. We married soon after in march [sic] 1946 and are still very happy after 65 wonderful years together.
Recently we were clearing out our loft and discovered the letters we wrote to each other and have spent some interesting evenings re-reading them.
8
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Army history of cadet Ensign Margaret Pratt and Sergeant Charles Ward
Description
An account of the resource
Memoir and diary covering Charles Ward's call up to the Army and early training. Mentions that he applied to transfer to the Royal Air Force and although accepted, all transfers were cancelled due to imminent operations. Describes in detail fighting in Tunisia. Explains that after North African campaign was over, he was transferred to secret work as a cipher operator in the Special Operations Executive. Describes how he met his future wife Margaret a wireless operator and some details of Special Operation Executive activities.
Creator
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Charles Ward
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Eight typewritten pages
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Diary
Identifier
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BWardCWWardCWv1
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British Army
Spatial Coverage
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Algeria
Algeria--Algiers
Italy
Italy--Bari
Tunisia
North Africa
Temporal Coverage
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1942
1943
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
final resting place
love and romance
Special Operations Executive
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1186/18578/SWatsonC188489v1-1.2.pdf
41dce93a36a706458878ffce711dc143
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1186/18578/SWatsonC188489v1-2.1.pdf
78bceef44f30c4e1a4f2d533cd690cd9
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Watson, Clifford
C Watson
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. Two oral history interviews with Flying Officer Clifford Watson DFC (1922 - 2018, 1384956, 188489 Royal Air Force), a memoir, his service and release book, and a scrapbook containing photographs and documents. He flew operations as an air gunner with 150 and 227 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Clifford Watson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-06-28
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
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Watson, C
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Photograph
JUST ANOTHER TAILEND CHARLIE
CLIFF WATSON DFC
HUNTINGDON
JUNE 1989
[page break]
[underlined] SEQUENCE [/underlined]
[underlined] File [/underlined] [underlined] Page [/underlined] [underlined] Location [/underlined]
[underlined] GROUP O [/underlined]
D 3 Joining up [underlined] AC2 [/underlined]
4 Babbacombe - 11 ITW Newquay [underlined] LAC [/underlined]
8 Troopship HMT Mooltan - Freetown - Capetown
G 7 Southern Rhodesia - Bulawayo [underlined] LAC [/underlined]
8 EFTS Belvedere Scrubbed TIGER MOTHS [underlined] AC2 [/underlined]
10 A/G Course, Moffat ANSONS [underlined] LAC-Sgt [/underlined]
11 Polsmoor Transit Camp [underlined] Sgt [/underlined]
J25 14 HMT Monarch of Bermuda
15 West Kirby - Bournmouth
17 25 OTU Finningley - Bircotes - WELLINGTONS
18 30 OTU Hixon - Sieghford
19 Leaflets to Paris
Wedding
J26 21 West Kirby - HMT Johan Van Vanderbilt
K1 23 Algiers - Blida - 150 Sqdn WELLINGTONS
K2 27 Fontaine Chaude (Batna) [underlined] FIt/Sgt [/underlined]
LT 32 Kairoaun
LU 35 On leave in Tunis, Chad in Jail
MT 46 End of First Tour - 47 raids
47 2 BPD Tunis - 500 mls. by lorry to Algiers
HXM Capetown Castle - Greenoch - West Kirby
NS 49 Screened 84 OTU Desborough
50 Norton, Sheffield Discip. course
53 W.O - 6th June D Day [underlined] W/O [/underlined]
OS 55 Aircrew Pool, Scampton - HCU Winthorpe STIRLING
56 Syerston Lanc. conversion LANCASTERS
P 57 227 Sqdn. Bardney – Balderton [underlined] P/O [/underlined]
60 DFC [underlined] F/O [/underlined]
63 End of Tour - VE Day
Q 67 Redundant - Photographic Officer, Farnborough
68 u/t Equipment Officer 61MU Handforth
[underlined] GROUP 4 [/underlined]
69 Lager Commandant, Poynton prison camp
2W 75 Civvy Street, Whitehaven Relay Service [underlined] MR [/underlined] .
79 Development Manager, Metropolitan Relays London
44 83 To Kenya, Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini Kitale
48 85 HM Prison Service Asst. Supt. gr2
555 95 Civil Aviation Radio Officer
556 Mbeya Radio Supt.
557 103 UK leave PMG1 – Flt/RO lic. C. & G.
670 104 Eastleigh - Mwanza
107 Royal visit
680 113 UK leave
114 Entebbe Telecomm. Supt
115 Kisumu
700 123 Nairobi Comm. Centre Ast. Signals Officer
720 129 UK leave
750 134 Nairobi HQ & retirement
800 135 Laikipia Security Network
96 151 Pye Telecommunications, Cambridge Project Engineer
[page break]
[underlined] ILLUSTRATIONS [/underlined]
12A Air Gubber Coiurse 24 CAOS Moffat
15A Finningley Reg. Whellams
20A Bride & Groom 1/3/43
CW in flying kit
CW & HF at Richmond
26A Stan Rutherford with Hilda & Cliff at Richmond
Bill Willoughby (NAV) at Whimpey port gun position
Bill Willoughby & Stan Chatterton in their pits at Blinda
44A Pantelleria target photographs
48A CW with Mum, Barnoldswick
Skipper & B.A. with Hilda at Richmond
Skipper & Hilda at Richmond
48B Skipper& [sic] B.A. with Cliff at Richmond
Stan Rutherford in the snow, at Bircoates
Outside Chalet at Blida
Wimpey at Kaircan
48C At Richmond CW & Hilda
52A Warrant Officer parchment
54A three of Aircrew peeling spuds at Scampton incl. Frank Eaglestone
56A F/O Forster DFM 2nd tour Nav.
C.W.
W/O Foolkes at rear of NJ-P
64A Crashed Remains of 9J – O
64B F/O Cheale, F/O. Bates
S/Ldr Chester DFA with F/O Cheale, W/O Foolkes & F/O Forster DFM
64C More of 9J – O
64D F/O Ted (Ace) Forster DFM, CW & W/O Pete Foolkes
64E CW with rear turret of 9J – O
CW with motor-byke
Sgt. Geoff (Doogan) Hampson, Flight Engineer
64F Newspaper cutting
Start of Second Tour – Frank Eaglestone, Ted Forster & Pete Foolkes
More of 9J – O
64G Ted Forster Ready for Gerry?
Lunchtime over Homberg [sic]
64H P/O Bates (My last tour Skipper)
Part of F/O Bates’ usual crew
64J F/LT. Maxted (Gunnery Ldr) Pete Foolkes and F/O Sandford (spare gunner or Sqdn Adj?)
More of 9J – O
64K Doogan again
More of 9J – O
64L DFC Citation
64M Apology from H.M.
64N F/O Croker’s Lanc. on Torpedo dump at Wyke
Christmas Dinner at Wyke
Reverse of Pete’s Xmas Card 1989
Part of F/L Croker’s letter with Xmas Card
66A-H Examples of Battle Orders
[page break]
[underlined] DEDICATION [/underlined]
The section dealing with my R.A.F. career is dedicated to Lady Luck who shows no compassion, is completely immoral and yet cannot be bought.
After a remarkable interview on television recently, Raymond Baxter asked of Tom Sopwith "To what do you attribute your tremendous and unparalelled [sic] success over such a long period?” In his 94th. year he replied “Luck, pure luck”. His reply was the same when asked again at his 100th. birthday party.
This must apply to every aspiring aviator, and I was no exception.
[page break]
[underlined] THE EARLIEST YEARS [/underlined]
My first ten year or so were spent in Yorkshire, having been born on the [deleted] 22nd [/deleted] [inserted] 11th [/inserted] of February 1922, at 45 Federation Street [inserted] the home of my paternal Gt Grandparents [/inserted], Barnoldswick almost opposite nr. 26 where my Grandparents lived, and about two years after my father was demobbed from the Kings Own Yorkshire Light lnfantry after the Great War. My sister Winifred Sofia was born almost two years later on the 2nd. of January 1924. About that time the family moved to a shop at 33 Rainhall Road where my father established a wireless business. I attended the infants school only 50 yards away, often joined by Winifred.
At the shop, my father built radio receivers of the "Tuned Radio Frequency" type, (TRF), a good 10 years ahead of the superhet. At the same time he held one of the first radio amateur licences in Yorkshire, with the callsign 2ZA. His aerial was a wire to the top of a 50 ft. pole in the back yard and starting with a spark transmitter his first radio contact was with another amateur in Colne, whose transmitter output was connected between the gas and water pipes, He had no means of measuring his frequency but thought it was somewhere around 300 KHz. (1000 metres) He soon progressed to using valves and gradually higher frequencies, though almost everything was really trial and error. When communication progressed to "working" other countries the prefix G was added to UK call-signs. He once told me that his first telephony transmission was achieved using a GPO carbon microphone in the aerial circuit. The only receivable broadcast wireless station at that time was the BBC's 2LO and when people heard it for the first tine there was indeed great wonderment and excitement
In 1926 came the general strike. Money was very scarce and people were hungry. There was no money coming in and the shop closed down. The family moved to a house in Rook Street, close to the railway bridge and opposite the cobler's [sic] wooden workshop. Most of us wore clogs in those days, with leather tops and laces, and iron-shod wooden soles.
Before going to war my father had served an engineering apprentiship [sic] , and worked with steam engines. With outstanding debts at the shop and a wife and two small children to support, he volunteered to work with L.M.S. railway company, and drove a train between Barnoldswick and I think Skipton. The engine was pelted with stones at some of the bridges and he was very unpopular with the strikers, althought [sic] many of them were quite happy to use the train. Thus the family was sustained and he received a letter of thanks and a medalion [sic] from the chairman of L.M.S.
When things returned to normal the family moved again, to nr. 14 School Terrace in Dam Head Road and Winifred and I attended the infants and Junior Schools across the back street. My mother was able to resume working at the mill as a cotton weaver with her sisters Molly and Annie. Their brother Jim -my uncle- was a 'twister', that is he connected the cotton threads on the warp to tails ready for applying to the loom for weaving. The noise. in the weaving sheds was deafening and weavers were quite adept at lip reading. This had a great influence on their broad northern accent. Most weavers operated six looms, loading manually the weft into the shuttles before changing them. My uncle Charlie -the brother of my paternal grandfather=- was a manufacturer employing about a hundred people running 500 or so looms. I remember the big warehouse doors and the lift which was operated by water pressure. To go up, just turn on this tap!. Going down transfered [sic] the water back into a holding
[page break]
tank. There were two offices, large wooden boxes, one on each side of the big doors and just under the ceiling. Accessed by ladders. One office was for uncle Charlie and his clerk, and the other for the more junior staff. When I called to see them in 1941 I noted the intercom. system between the offices. It comprised, at each terminal, two empty Lyle Golden Syrup tins one for speaking into and the other for receiving. they were connected by two lengths of taught string which vibrated the diaphragms being the bottoms of the tins. I was surprised at their effectiveness. There was also a loop of string pulled manually between the two places with a small box attched [sic] for transferring documents. I was impressed. Uncle Charlie said he would consider changing the strings after the war.
At School Terrace my father carried on building wireless sets in the attic and also helped his friend Tom Shorrock who owned the local radio relay service. This comprised a wireless receiver and amplifiers connecting some hundreds of houses with a pair of bare wires to loudspeakers at a cost of ninepence per week for each loudspeaker. The idea appealed to my father and he was able to instigate some technical improvements. By then the wireless manufacturing industry had become well established and radios became readily available. My father had paid off his debts and was discharged from bancrupsy [sic].
At this stage we moved into a new house at 25 Melville Avenue. which was nearer to Fernbank Mill for my mother but also had an inside toilet and bathroom. It also had electricity mains in place of the more customery [sic] gas lighting. An electric soldering iron must have seemed luxurious after heating a copper bit on a gas ring.
Our school was only a few minutes walk from home. Gisburn Road Council School. I remember it and the teachers very well, Mr Alfred Green Petty.the Headmaster, Miss Housen who tought [sic] music english and poetry, and above all Mr Heaton who tought [sic] arithmetic, citizanship [sic] and physics. Miss Housen did not think much of my efforts, I couldn’t sing and disliked poetry, but I got on fine with Mr. Heaton, who also tought [sic] my father over 20 years earlier. Over a fairly long period he gave me extra homework in arithmetic most nights, generally a problem or two and he checked the results next day. It was almost private tuition and thanks largely to him, I excelled in the subject. I think children’s attitudes' in the main were very different to those of the present day. Discipline was strict by consent, not fear. Reward was achieved by effort alone and there was friendly competition between us. Most of us got the cane for some minor offence like climbing over the school wall, in my case refusing to stand in the front of the class and recite ‘the wreck of the Hesperus’. We did respect our teachers.
About this time we moved to a house in Headingley for just a few weeks and then on to. Fence, which we knew as wheatley Lane. During that period my father was working in London at Stag Lane fitting the electrics in Rolls Royces. My mother worked at the cotton mill nearby and Winifred & I were looked after partly by Mrs. Ingham who had a sweet shop. Our stay in Fence was also [deleted] m [/deleted] of short duration.
Tom Shorrock was a friend of Mr. Ramsbottom who was struggling with a one programme radio relay system in Keighley. He already had thriving electrical business and Tom introduced my father to him. So we moved yet again, to Keighley, and my father became Engineer and Manager of Ramsbottoms Radio Relay Service in the centre of Keighley. From 33 Lister Street, the Receiving and Amplifying Station the wires branched
[page break]
out on the roof tops in all directions. By then there were two BBC programmes, Home Service on 342 mtrs, and the Light Programme on 1500 mtrs, so they converted to two pairs for two programmes. We were living at 25 Lawnswood Road but soon moved to a new house at 21 Whittley Road. I recall helping Leslie Wright – Dad’s foreman to erect a garage which cost £7.10.0 to house the new Austin 7 which cost £75 taxed and insured. The other personality I remember well was Walter Spurgeon, chief wireman.
Winifred and I attended Holycroft Council School. Some of the lessons were by listening to the radio, an innovation in those days, and it was my job to check the radio was working, each morning.
It was in Keighley that Mrs. Alice Kilham, my father’s secretary came on the scene. She lived in Oakworth with her daughter Mary, her husband being in a sanitorium being treated for TB. During very cold winter around 1933 the snow was six feet deep and they came to live with us at Wittley Road.
Winifred and I were in the Girl Guides and Boy Scouts respectively and we decided to take the Signaller badge which meant sending and receiving the morse code. We were told the speed required was 12. Having established a battery and buzzer, and a morse key and headphones by the beds in each bedroom, we soon memorised the code and communicated with each other, quickly reaching 12 words per minute. Eventually we progressed to 18 words per minute and then went to take the test. Only then did we find that the speed required was 12 LETTERS per minute, not words. 12 letters is only 2 words per minute. However this faux pas proved very useful about eight years hence.
After just a few years in Keighley, the system was working well and no longer presented a challenge. My father was approached by a group of businessmen from Norwich who were interested in the “wired wireless” system. They were owners of radio busineses [sic] who felt they shouId have a stake in the competition and bank managers hoping to earn a quick buck. All the bank managers were Yorkshiremen. So Norwich Relays Ltd. came into being with premises in St. John Maddermarket, and my father became Engineer and manager, taking with him his secretary and foreman Lesley Wright from Keighley. Allan Moulton joined the firm and was responsible for obtaining wayleaves, that is obtaining permission from owners to put wires on their property. He was a popular figure in Norwich, his main qualification for the job was that he played cricket for Norfolk and knew most people who mattered. Leslie died whilst in his thirties in Norwich.
Once again we moved house, to 119 Unthank Road, and Mrs. Kilham and Mary moved into a cottage in Blickling Court near Norwich Cathedral. Winifred I went to the Avenues Council School initially but not for long. I remember getting a prize for my ‘lecture' on how a TRF wireless worked, showing them the working radio I had made. Probably not very accurate but there was no-one present who could contradict me, fortunately.
At 13 I changed to the Norwich Junior Technical School in St. Andrews. Soon after we moved house yet again to a new house, “Wayside", in Plumstead Road, on the boundary of Norwich Aerodrome. Winifred then joined Mary at St. Monicas private school. On Saturday mornings I attended Art School on the top floor. I achieved very little there, the art master quite rightly concentrating on pupils who showed some potential. For an enjoyable two years we concentrated on technical
[page break]
subjects, woodwork, maths, physics, Chemistry, mechanics, technical drawing, metal and woodwork etc. The masters I remember well, ‘Chemi’ Reed the principle, Mr. Abigail, Mr. McCracken and Mr. Lishman. At the end of two-year course I transfered [sic] to Unthank College in Newmarket Road, joining the 5th. form. This was big change for me, the emphasis was on classical subjects, in English literature we spent a whole year studying Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night's Dream and Spencer's Fairy Queen. I couldn't: get interested in either but I later achieved a credit in the School Certificate by answering questions on A.G. Street’s Farmers Glory which I read in bed the night before the exam. Mr. Bertwhistle the English Lit. master was furious. For Physics and Mechanics I had tuition from Mr. Horace, the Principal's son and on Wednesday afternoons I visited “Chemi” Reed's house at 33 Britannia Rd. for tuition.
In early 1939 my father, Mr. Moulton and Mrs. Kilham acquired six run-down relay firms and the Nuvolion loudspeaker factory in South London from a Mr. Olivisi, a Frenchman. My father moved to Stretham to a flat in Pullman Court and Mrs. Kilham and Mary and to duCane Court in Balham where the Moultons also had a flat. My mother and Winifred moved to a house in West Norwood and I became a boarder at Unthank College. Soon after taking the School Certificate I joined my mother in London and we moved to a flat in New Southgate. I became articled to George Eric Titley, a Chartered Accountant in St Paul’s Churchyard, commuting to the city 6 days a week by underground. Rail fare was tenpence return per day and I was paid ten shillings per week. Fifty pence in 2004 currency The firm was Gladstone Titley and Co. at 61-63 St. Pauls Churchyard and I was the junior with qualified accountants Joe Oliver, Clarke and Jenkins, and Miss Miller the Secretary. It was amusing 6 years hence when I barged into a Board Meeting at 69 Lavender Hill, Sqdn/Ldr Jenkins still in uniform was sitting there when F/O Cliff Watson appearedstill [sic] in Battledress. Jenkins was called up in 1940 as an Account Squadron Leader.
On the 3rd. of September 1939 War was declared and any plans we all had for the future were kiboshed. During the blitz in 1940 to be nearer my father and to help out at Relays we moved home to Ascot Court in Acre Lane, Clapham.
[page break]
[underlined] JOINING UP [/underlined] .
The outbreak of war found me as a clerk articled to a Chartered Accountant in St. Paul's Yard. London. At the age of 17 1/2 it went without saying that within a year or two my occupation would be changed way or another. In the family Radio Relay business men were already leaving to join to Forces. My father was on an army reserve and expected to be called up at any time. I felt my best course was to abandon accountancy for the time being and try and help out; so I joined the firm as a General Factotum. During the Blitz on London my job was fault-finding and replacing the overhead lines, knocked down by Jerry bombers where buildings and whole streets were destroyed. The Radio Relay Service, a two programme four wire system in those days, linked the BBC with some tens of thousands of homes in South London, homes where the radio was never switched off. The system carried air raid warnings also. All too frequently the radio was interrupted by an announcer at Scotland Yard with “Attention please, here is an important announcement, an air raid warning has just been officially circulated". There were occasions when bombs were dropped before the sirens sounded, but never before the announcement was made on our Radio Relay System.
September, aged 18 1/2, I found my employers were trying hard to register me as being in a reserved occupation. The Manager, Allan Moulton, had already been successful in his own case, which was reasonable. Someone had to run the firm and my father had sailed off to Abbysinia [sic] in March. At the time I was working literally 18 hours per day and my fifty bob per week hardly paid for digs.
On a very rare afternoon-off I was walking down Kingsway and tried my luck at the R.A.F. Recruiting office. One look at an applicant for aircrew wearing glasses brought an instant decision from the man at the door. I walked along the Strand and down Whitehall, and having removed my spectacles tried the Royal Navy. I completed the application form and was told that I would be called for interview eventually, but there was a very long waiting list.
I tried the R.A.F. again about a week later having left-off my spectacles for several days, and an application form for training as a pilot was completed. Had I previous flying experience? Yes. Fortunately I was not asked for details, as a passenger with Alan Cobham's Flying Circus might not have carried much weight. - In 1936 we had lived at a house called "Wayside” in Plumsted Road, Norwich, on the Mousehold aerodrome boundary, with a panoramic view of the aerodrome, and I was fascinated by it all like most boys of my age. It was to be three months before I heard from the R.A.F. - the Navy had missed the boat – I was to report to the Aircrew Selection Board near Euston station, on the appointed day about a week hence, for 'medical and academic examinations'. The letter added that in the maths exam `log tables but not slide rules are permissable [sic] ’.
The great day arrived, and at 8.30 am. with about 80 other applicants we were told there would be three one hour written exams, Maths, English and General Knowledge, followed by a medical and a brief interview. Maths was a typical 5th. form end of term test, and English an essay with a wide choice of subjects. General knowledge was mainly common-sense. One of the questions I recall; "Is the distance from London to Warsaw nearer 100, 600 or 2000 miles?”. The Medical Exam was carried out by about 6 examiners, probably Doctors, on a production Iine basis.
3
[page break]
Then the interview after a delay of some hours. Three uniformed R.A.F. officers who had obviously been places in previous wars. "Why do you want to fly"? I have forgotten the particular piece of flannel I used, but it brought no comment and another member of the Board fired his shot, "Which is colder, minus 40 Centigrade or minus forty farenheit [sic] ? Instant answer to that, I'd hear. it before somewhere. The third member asked "that does your Father do" I replied "He is an officer in the R.A.S.C. fighting the Italians in Abbysinia [sic] ". This brought a chuckle from two of them for some reason and the interview was over. I would be advised by post of their decision after the exam. results had been studied.
A week later I was told to report to Euston for attestation, actual reporting for duty would follow after some weeks. There was a brief ceremony and I was given a document which stated that " AC2 Clifford Watson 1384956 has been accepted for training as a pilot in the R. A. F. and is to be prepared to report for duty of a few days notice". It went on to state further that his teeth should receive the earliest attention, one extraction and two fillings.
About three months later my call-up papers arrived, and meanwhile I had met two other local lads whose paths had converged with my own and were to stay parallel for the next six months or so. Raymond Colin Chislett, the son of a Battersea butcher, .and Tom King., of Wandsworth. The three of us reported to the R.T.O. at Paddington and joined a party bound for Babbacombe near Torquay.
During the week at Babbacombe we were issued with uniforms, introduced to drill and Service discipline, lectured on the history of the R.A.F. and told something of what the future held for us. We were made to feel that we really belonged and were indeed priveleged [sic] to be chosen to follow in the footsteps of 'The Few'. We were perhaps more than a little naive to think that we were all destined to become fighter pilots, but we were made to feel that the fate of England and the empire rested entirely with us. The Bombers were taken for granted and were not in the forefront of than news at that time. In any case we Londoners had seen our Fighters in action and - we admit it - imagined ourselves in their shoes. There was a tremendous urge to get on with it and to make a success of it. A great sense of urgency prevailed. I remember well that first day in the Royal Air Force. We were advised to write down our Service numbers so we wouldn't forget them, and above all, we had strawberries and cream for tea. The last I saw of strawberries and cream for about eight years, and as for forgetting one's Service number...! Perhaps it was intended as a joke, but we were taking everything very seriously. At the end of the week there was another Pep talk, very well delivered by a Squadron Leader - and equally well received. He remarked that about Babbacombe, people will say "Never in the History of human conflict, have so many been burgered [sic] about by so few". A misquotation of those immortal words. He went on to say that the two most important weeks in your R.A.F. careers are the first and last, and "you have already survived 50% of them, Good Luck chaps, and have a good trip". There was probably a lot more feeling and sincerity behind those words than we realised at the time. He had seen it all and been there 'in the last lot'. "Have a good trip” was to have real meaning in due course.
A short journey by train took us to no. 10 Initial Training Wing at Newquay for 8 weeks of ground training. We were accommodated in
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Trenance Hotel, one of many taken over by the R.A.F. Another hotel was used for lectures in Navigation, Airmanship, Aerodynamics, Engines, Aircraft Recognition, Signalling, R.A.F. Law and Administration, etc. etc. some drill and P.T., and swimming in the local baths. The sea and beach were out of bounds due to mines and other surprises awaiting the enemy. I had to concentrate hard in the classroom on everything, except signalling. The required speed for sending and receiving morse was 12 words per minute and I had been happy at 18 w.p.m. in the Boy Scouts.
The 18 w.p.m. came about through a misunderstanding. My sister Winifred (a Girl Guide) and I were learning morse for our Signaller badges and were told that a speed of 15 was required, so we practiced until we were competent at 18. It was only when we took the test that we learned the required speed was 15 letters and not words per minute. However this mistake was now serving me well.
The only part I did not enjoy was the cross-country runs, but someone had to be in the last three. After two weeks we were told now that we had smartened-up a bit we would wear white flashes in our caps so we would not be mistaken for real airmen.
There was great speculation as to where we would go for flying training. Maybe stay in Britain, or was it to be Canada, U.S.A., South Africa or Rhodesia, and was there not a possibility of it being Australia?. Meanwhile we must concentrate on passing the current hurdle, it could not by any means be taken for granted that we would all pass the course. In fact after only four weeks, four out of the original 50 were "scrubbed" - a new word to add to our rapidly 'increasing vocabulary.
After about 5 weeks we were issued with some flying kit, boots and Sidcot suits, goggles, helmet and a full issue of gloves - silk, wool, chamois and gauntlets. 4 pairs worn together, and a fifth, electricalIy heated, yet to came. We were not to know that it would be 15 months before we wore any of this. I doubt whether our destination was known to anyone at I.T.W. except that it was overseas somewhere. Seven days embarkation leave and the entire course was posted to West Kirby, no. 1 P.D.C., near Birkenhead on the Wirral. We were joined by about 300 other u/t Pilots from other I.T.W.s and it was just a matter of waiting for the draft. There were parades each morning and we were allowed out of camp at mid-day. It was here that Tom, Ray and I teamed up with John Heggarty, a u/t Pilot who had been at 11 I.T.W. in Scarborough. He was from Birkenhead, of Anglo/French parentage. The four of us visited Liverpool every evening, a place crowded with Navy, Army and Air Force types mostly in transit to somewhere or other. Scores of ships were loading in the Mersey, but after a couple of weeks it was a special train for us to Greenock on the Clyde for immediate embarkation on the "Mooltan", a merchant ship of same 30,000 tons. Our 350 were accomodated [sic] on "D" Deck, just above the water-line, where we spent most of our time, not by choice but by order. Some slept on the mess tables, others under them, with the top layer of bodies in hammocks, a crippling device. To realise that hammocks were the traditional sleeping arrangements for British sailors left me unimpressed and I felt that something far more superior could have been devised. However, navies of many countries seem to favour them. Once aboard, there was no going back. On the second day aboard we were tugged down the Clyde and next morning counted over 40 big ships steaming very slowly in a north-
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westerly direction out at sea. Obviously we were bound for Canada, hence the heavy flying kit .and four pairs of gloves. A week ought to see us in the St. Lawrence. How wrong we were. the convoy was shepherded by some very impressive naval ships, Cruisers, destroyers etc. and Sunderland flying boats were in constant attendance for the first few days. After three weeks of steaming in all directions, first into the freezing cold, then warmer and finally very hot indeed, at 0500 one day the engines slowed and finally stopped; a rattling of chains and then silence. All very dramatic but a buzz on the P. A. system told us we had arrived in Freetown. Portholes were to remain closed. We may go up on deck but on no account were we to remove our shirts nor buy anything from the natives. By mid-day the temperature below decks was almost unbearable and there was no respite from that for a further two weeks. Salt water showers were available at all times, it was just a matter of stripping and walking through the shower. No need for a towel, but in any case that was reserved for absorbing perspiration and we became accustomed to the salt water. Food on board was very good under the circumstances. Two orderlies from each "table" would collect it from the galley (vocabulary still improving) and dish up, and after the meal two more orderlies would clean the tables and wash up. The chores were shared on a roster basis at each table, and each had some duty to perform every few days. We were very fortunate in that we were cadets and not yet real airmen we spent some of our time attending lectures in the second class lounge. We estimated there were about 3000 troops aboard. There was lots of talent for the almost daily concerts. A daily newssheet called "DER TAG”, together with the P.A. system kept us up-to-date with the news. The 9 o-clock news was a must.
Five weeks out of Liverpool it who getting cold again, even below decks, and greatcoats were essential deckwear for the endless lifeboat drills. There were lifeboats but for most of us it was a matter of parading on deck near a stack of Carley floats. The subject was better not discussed, there was no satisfactory answer to abandoning ship.
The Mooltan carried one gun mound at the stern above the propellers, manned by a RoyaI Artillery crew in transit. It seemed to be of about 4" calibre but was not fired during our voyage. It was said the deck would cave in, but this might have been an exaggeration. There were also two ramps off the stern for depth charges of which there was a supply near the ramps. The sixth week was really cold and wet and we estimated our position as somewhere in Antarctica. We then turned more or less north and after a total of seven weeks dropped anchor late one afternoon a few miles out at sea, with much speculation about our location. At about 7 pm. the shore was like Blackpool illuminations. Wherever we are, don`t they know there's a war on? A buzz on the P.A. system told us we would be disembarking next day and our British currency would be of no use to us in this foreign country. We should hand-in all currency, and get a receipt which would be exchanged for local currency when we got ashore. Next morning we entered the docks and disembarked. It was only then we found we were in Durban and were taken straight to the Transit Camp at Clairwood. The army contingent remained on-board and were understood to be bound for action in the Middle
East. So we had arrived in South Africa, and a very congenial and pleasant place it turned out to be.
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[underlined] SOUTHERN RHODESIA [/underlined] .
Clairwood Camp was just a few miles from Durban and there we spent 7 days, very enjoyable, but for the first two days, stoney broke. We had handed in all our money aboard ship but it was to be 10 days before it was exchanged for local currency. However, we seemed to get into Durban every day and we were made very welcome in the Service canteens and clubs.
Before I left England, I was given a card which stated that LAC Cliff. Watson was the son of a respected member of the Battersea Rotary Club and any co-operation afforded to him would be greatly appreciated. I noticed the Rotary insignia at the doorway of a Barclays bank in Durban and asked to see the manager. Could I please borrow £5 and I would refund it as soon as I was paid. 45 years later I would certainly not undertake such a venture. It happened to be the first Friday in the month which was the day of the monthly Rotary luncheon. The three lads from Battersea were invited to lunch and each given £10 on condition that we did not refund it. This was hospitality indeed. Several times in Durban we were entertained by the local people, and of course the environment was completely strange to us, so were the bunches of bananas, pawpaws and other fruits.
After about a week to regain our land legs, we embarked on a train and steamed north. The train was a coal burner and we were aboard for 3 days bound for Bulawayo. Food on the train was really first-class. At one stage we were told to disembark for a spot of exercise [sic] and whilst this was in progress the train moved off. We were marched in a direction at right-angles to that of the train and met up with it about an hour later. This was my first experience of African trains, and the 4-berth cabins, rather superior to even today's "sleepers" in Britain. Looking back on it 35 years later when I was concerned with radio communications between trains and stations in the U.K., - my firm was trying to Introduce a communications system-, I recalled chatting with the Radio Officer in his Radio Cabin on the train whist he was on the morse key in contact with the station at Mafeking. It was many years later that communication with trains in Britain was established.
After a very pleasant three-day journey, we arrived in Bulawayo and buses took us to Hillside Camp, formerly the Agricultural Show Ground. We were accommodated literally in what had been the Pig Sties. These were merely wattle poles supporting corrugated iron roofs with hessian round the poles to represent walls. The whole structure was whitewashed and with plenty of fresh air the accommodation was ideal. There must have been about 600 trainee pilots at Hillside Camp, and we embarked on a second I.T.W. course of ground training. There was however a single Tiger Moth on which we learned to swing the prop. and start the engine. So at last we had sat in an aeroplane although it wasn't going anywhere. At least it was supposed to be anchored down, but an Australian did taxi it a hundred yards or so after an evening of celebration.
Our stay in Bulawayo was certainly very pleasant, we visited Cecil Rhodes grave at Matopas, the ancient ruins of Zimbabwe, spent weekends on farms, enjoyed the swimming and so on, but our minds were on the war of which we were not feeling a part. Pearl Harbour had brought the
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Americans into the fray, several Capital Ships had been lost and things were going badly 'up north'.
In January came a very welcome posting, to 25 E.F.T.S. (Elementary Flying Training School) at Belvedere, on the outskirts of Salisbury. Here the day started at 0400 and we enjoyed tea and toast of our own making before assembling at 0425 for two-mile march to the airfield. By 0500 half the course would be standing-by for flying and the other half lectures and more ground training. Breakfast was between 0900 and 1030 hrs. which included the 2 mile march each way, and after breakfast the two halves of the course changed over. Flying started on the sixth of Jan. with what was to be a typical day, with 30 minutes of flying instruction at 0515, and lectures after breakfast. Addresses by two ex-fighter pilots F/O Newton and a Flight Sergeant whose left leg was in plaster. The following day I managed to get in an hour’s flying with P/O Bentley, concentrating on turns, glides and climbing. From the outset the instructor frequently cut the throttle without warning sometimes deliberately putting the aircraft into a spin. then telling the pupil to get on with it. My next flying session was with Ft/Sgt Oates as P/O Bentley was on leave and in six weeks of flying instruction managed 12 hours with 7 different instructors. A final three hours was spent with F/O Newton in one hour sessions and I was full of confidence and looking forward to the C.F.I.'s test the following day.
Maybe in retrospect I was over confident, even though most of my friends had been "scrubbed", including Hancocks, Robinson, Morgan, King, Barlow, Vivian, Bolton, Friend, Britton, Jones and Fry. Having made what I thought were two acceptable circuits and landings, the C.F.I.'s final remarks were "Sorry old lad, but as a Service Pilot you make a bloody good rear gunner". I did not regard these as being the words of the Prophet, but so ended my career as a u/t Pilot after 9 months in the R.A.F.
All was not lost however, like all the others whose Personal file was stamped "wastage", I found myself at Disposals Depot, which also happened to be at Belvedere, and in good company. All of us were sadly disillusioned and disappointed at failing the Pilot's Course, and the reasons given for the apparent failure were seldom accepted. Where do we go from here in the long term was the main question, and the opportunity to influence this came at an interview at Group H.Q. in Salisbury. The only guidance came from others who had already had their interviews and were awaiting a posting. The alternatives appeared to be many, we could opt out completely and remuster to ACH GD, reduced to the lowest rank of Airman 2nd. Class and thence take pot luck with no trade and no personal ambition. But we had joined the R.A.F. with too much purpose for this to be acceptable. We could apply for training as Observer which at that time embraced both Navigator and Bomb Aimer duties, but we were meeting chaps just starting that course who had waited six months for it after failing the pilot's course, and this indicated that it could be a year more before we qualified. The most logical answer appeared to be the Air Gunner Course which lasted only six weeks, and apparently with hardly any waiting list, so in less than two months it seemed we could become a sergeant with half a wing, not quite what we set out to achieve, but a far cry from where we stood at the time.
At the interview at Group H.Q. I asked why I had failed and was shown the comments made by my instructors. With the exception of the
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C.F.I.’s comment they were all favourable and I became a little argumentative. For the first time I learned that on the C.F.I. test I had climbed at less than full throttle but at the correct air speed with the normal rate of climb. What I should have done apparently was give it full throttle, keeping the correct air speed and letting the rate of climb take care of itself. On the training aircraft the emphasis had been on speed and rate of climb whereas it should have been on speed only and full throttle.
I remarked that the C.F.I.'s aircraft was more like a Gladiator than a Tiger Moth. The alternative careers were as we had deduced amongst ourselves and I applied to remuster to u/t Wireless Operator/Air Gunner and to do the A/G course as soon as possible. This was approved on the spot, and my file was endorsed “Watson requests an A/G course merely for the quickness in getting onto ops." I was supposed to start the course the following week.
It was to be three months before I was actively posted to Moffat to do the Air Gunner Course, and the greater part of this was spent on leave, returning to camp periodically to check progress. We had only to walk along the road away from town to be offered a lift which generally meant spending the rest of the day with new friends, and quite often arranging to spend a week or so with them. It was on the 15th. of Feb. Tom King and I were spending 10 days leave with our hosts Mr. & Mrs. Bedford at Poltimore Farm, Marandellas that we listened to Churchill's speech, with the dreadful news of the fall of Singapore. This led to a general discussion on the likely future plans of the war and it was generally felt there would be an allied landing at Dakar with the assistance of the French, and the forces would move north and then east to catch Rommel in a pincer movement. Not too far out in our argument, only 2000 miles, but we had the general scheme and timing right. Later we were shown around the tobacco "barns" where 12,000 leaves were drying in each of 10 barns. My diary records that "one of the most interesting things we were shown was the castrating of 300 pigs" A rather messy business", perhaps I was less squeamish in those days. Later about 2000 head of cattle were dipped including 3 wicked looking bulls. The two children tried to keep us amused, and with great success. We repaired their bicycles, small car, swing and dolls' house furniture, the dolls house being about 20 feet square. We carved out the names Wendy (8) and Cliff (20) on a tree and really began to enjoy the Rhodesian way of life. We cycled over to Chakadenga Farm and had tea with Mrs. Nash and also met the local jailer. We tried to repay all this kindness by making ourselves generally useful, and I recall changing the oil in Mrs. Nash's Chevrolet and repairing the lights. We also refitted the long-wire aerial on the house radio and refurbished the engine house which accommodated the lighting plant and batteries.
We tried to spend.as much time away from camp as possible, our idea being 'out of sight, out of mind'. Occasionally the S.W.O caught up with us and we were detailed for guard duty on the aerodrome, a 12 hour guard working 2 hours on and four off. The complete guard comprised 6 airmen, 4 on standby in the guard room, one cycling around the aerodrome and one standing in a sentry box at the side of the double gates which were normally closed. There were neither fences-nor ditches linking the gate posts and it was easier to drive a car onto the airfield on the wrong side of the gate posts than to bother with the gate. Generally the Orderly Officer carried out his inspection about 7.pm. but on one
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occasion suddenly appeared about 3 am. from the direction of the airfield and drove up to the main gate on his way out, parking so near the gate it could not be opened. I turned out the guard, which took about 5minutes and we were treated to a tirade and lecture covering several subjects including how utterly futile the guard was. One of the chaps said “you are absolutely right Sir" which made matters worse and he stormed back into his car. The headlights had been left on and the car wouldn't start, so we leaned our rifles against the sentry box and pushed the car backwards so we could open the gates. Finally the entire guard pushed the car forward and it started without trouble, but headed back towards camp. We decided to remain at the open gate, and a few minutes later the car returned at great speed, and disappeared through the gate in a tremendous cloud of dust without further formality. We had good laugh but it did little for the morale of chaps whose ambitions had been thwarted and who felt they were wasting their time in the R.A.F. and, even more so in guarding a gate which had no real purpose with blank ammunition and rifles which it would be too dangerous to fire. By the end of March the aerodrome guard was taken more seriously and comprised 24 Europeans and about 60 Africans, which meant the remustering aircrew trainees were on guard every few nights. I was given the job running the Post Office and Stores which exempted me from guard duties but also curtailed my leave periods.
On the 3rd. April Tom King and 20 others were posted to 24 C.A.O.S. at Moffat, near Gwelo, about half-way between Salisbury and Bulawayo, for their Air Gunner Course. The intake was 50 per month and we wondered where the other 40 had come from. Meanwhile Ray Chislett the other member of the Battersea trio- was doing extremely well at Cranbourne flying Oxfords. Root and Robertson were killed the previous day in a Harvard whilst officially on practice instrument flying but actually beating up a tree and misjudging matters
On the 1st. of May, I was posted to Moffat and started the A-G course. Things seemed to be happening in our favour at long last; and had been delayed because of a large influx of remustered ground crews who had got out of Singapore just in time, and also another large influx of Aussies for Air Gunner training. It was good to see Tommy King pass out as a Sgt. A-G and for Cpl. Luck to receive his commission.
On Sun. the 10th. of May there was a church parade in best blues and khaki topee, held in Gwelo. Two days later L.A.C. Chick Henbest, u/t A-G ex u/t Pilot shot a large hole in his own aircraft's tail. When he as charged with the offence he brought an expert witness, the Station Armament Officer ! - to state that such a thing was technically impossible. The Air-Gunner training was partly intergrated [sic] with that of the Navigator's, and on the 13th. May on such an occasion 'Ace' Buchanan and another A-G, piloted by Sgt. Reed, force-landed near QueQue and were missing for 5 hours
In the four weeks at Moffat we carried out 9 hours of Air firing in Anson aircraft using a Vickers Gas Operated gun of .303 calibre. This was mounted on a Scarfe ring with the gunner standing and firing at a drogue towed by a Miles Master aircraft. 200 rounds were fired during each exercise [sic] , the 3 "pans" of ammo. having been filled by the gunner and then 'doctored' by an armourer with faulty rounds, and other simulated faults. The only turrets available were on the ground, and comprised an ancient Frazer Nash, Daimler and electrical Boulton & Paul. A total of 4 hours was spent in them. We were supposed to swing the
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turret aiming at moving light images on the wall but in practice the bulbs in the ring-sights were all faulty.
On the 29th. May we graduated and were presented with brevets and tapes. The course was posted to Capetown but I had to report to Salisbury to give evidence at Gooding's Court Martial. Gooding had stolen my Agfa Carat camera and scores of other items in Bulawayo. Meanwhile on the news, 1000 Bombers over the Rhur [sic] again and 37 missing. A few days previously the very first raid on this scale was made on Cologne with 44 aircraft missing. The Middle-East war was becoming more intensive and in Russia Jerry was in real trouble, but we seemed a very long way from it all.
One of my friends on the Pilots course was Ian Smith who lived in Salisbury and with whom I used to go looking for buck in the early mornings. Ian had failed the course like most of us but being a Rhodesian had obtained his discharge locally and joined the Southern Rhodesia Light Battery currently at the K.G. VI barracks. I went to the barracks in the afternoon and saw Norman, and was introduced to Solomon, Slim and other Rhodesians in the S.R. Army Medical Corps. After tea in the mess we went to the local bioscope to see 'East of the River'. On the 13th. of June I managed to get another 19 days leave which was spent with Mr. & Mrs. James at their farm at Gilston, about 16 miles south of Salisbury. With three Aussies we had a wonderful holiday, riding, cycling, tennis, swimming, all at the farm. We rode up to the bushman's caves in a copje 4 miles into the bundu and photographed them. To the Aussies it was like being home and I concluded there was no alternative to this sort of life.
On my return to Disposals Depot my stolen camera was returned to me and I found that Gooding was on yet another charge,- stealing a W/T Set - . A few more days leave to say cheerio to all my friends in Salisbury, and I returned to Gwelo to find that I was posted to Bulawayo to give evidence at the Court Martial. I stayed with Mr. & Mrs. Rose for a week or so and spent some time at the Cement works where Mr. Rose was Manager. I was offered a job there if I would return after the war and for a long time this formed the basis of my post-war plan, but a great deal was to happen before that time came. The Court Martial was a very formal affair, and Gooding was charged with theft on about 45 counts. He had not disposed of anything he had stolen for personal gain, and pleaded Kleptomania. He was sentenced to dismissal from the R.A.F. after immediate return to U.K., and recommended for psychiatric observation. He survived the war, certified unfit for Military service and resumed his career with a firm of solicitors in Surrey. The case was finished just in time for me to join the rest of the course on the 1st. of July at Bulawayo station. In Gwelo I had bought a tin trunk which was now nearly full of presents, pyjamas for Hilda, stockings for Mum, embroidering material, tobacco, cigarettes, jam and so on.
After a 55 hour train journey we arrived in Kapstaad and enjoyed Iunch with John Heggarty before joining another train to Retreat and the drive to Polsmoor Transit Camp by bus. It rained heavily for a couple of days and the activity was just one big reunion. I met friends I had not seen since Newquay. Dicky Aires and Jack Frost were there as Sgt. pilots, Howard Iliffe (1090111) and Bob Hildred also, having trained as pilots at George, in the Union. Arthur Brittain a Sgt. Observer and Stewart Evans who was in the Officers Mess at Kumalo. In the next four
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weeks we spent most of our time in Capetown, making a beeline for the Soldiers Club. The welcome we received from the South Africans was positively overwhelming, and people were literally queueing up to entertain us. On the 4th. of July a group of four of us including Ray Chislett and two Maltese soldiers met Mrs. Williams and had tea at her flat. After tea we motored out to a vineyard and got quite merry on four glasses of their own wine. On the way out one of the tyres was punctured and it took us less than three minutes to change the wheel. In the evening we went to the Odeon Bioscope at Seapoint with complimentary tickets which appeared from out of the blue. Howard. Iliffe, John Heggarty and I spent a great deal of time together in Capetown where Howard & I met two young ladies. One of them, introduced as Cheri de la Chene said she was French and had spent five years in Paris, but she could not understand my efforts at speaking French. John Heggarty had quite a brainwave and I introduced him as a member of the Free French Forces,-L'Aviation Francais Libre-. John was absolutely fluent in native French and soon discovered that Cheri was neither French nor a University student, but a schoolgirl of 14 at the Convent. Whilst in Capetown I met Binedall with whom I used to correspond before the war, and he gave me a large matchbox which I left with Mrs. Williams' mother to be collected after the war. I have left it rather too late. The climb up Table Mountain with Ray was very interesting and from the top we had a wonderful view of Muizeuburg. This reminds me of one night during a trial blackout at Muizenburg, Heggarty and I met Mrs. Macbeth who invited us to dinner on the following day. We gladly accepted and on arrival at the house next day referred to her as Mrs. Shakespeare. This was laughed off and we spent a very enjoyable evening. After dinner we went to a show in Muizenburg and met a lady who had lived near Battersea Park. In 1952 in Mbeya in Tanganyika I was talking to another 'Radio Ham' in Muizenburg arid mentioned my faux pas with Mrs. Macbeth's name. He said he was living in Mrs. Macbeth's guest house and she had related the story at dinner only a few days previously. Stuttafords of Adderley Street provided a very interesting experience for Heggarty and me. We wandered into a tea-room the likes of which we had never seen before, it seemed the ultimate in luxury. We asked mildly for just two cups of tea but up came the whole works of silver teaset with lots of pastries and cakes. We said no thankyou, really, just two cups of tea, but the lady was adamant. We said it was jolly nice but funds were limited and the cakes were beyond our means. She said she would be very cross if we didn't have at least half a dozen cakes and then gave us a bill -for 1/3d. Fixed charge for two, she said. Wonderful people, it was embarrassing at times. We called in a Milk Bar for a milkshake and they insisted it was on the house. We would buy a bunch of grapes for a 'ticky', -3d- and they refused payment. One Saturday Ray and I spent the day with the Brandt family who lived at Rosebank . We went for a run with them in the car in the afternoon, round Table Mountain and took some very good photographs. They also drove us to the Lion Match Company's factory in Capetown, where we were given a tour - and quite a lot of labels- a wonderful finale to my first trip to Africa.
After meeting up with our old friends whose paths had taken many different ways and finally converged, but not without the loss of several due to accidents, the resentment at failing the pilot's course had just about worn off. The original crowd of rookies at Newquay were still basically together and covering all aircrew 'trades'. Someone had
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[photograph]
[underlined] AIR GUNNER COURSE [/underlined]
[underlined] APRIL 1942 [/underlined] [underlined] 24 C.A.O.S. MOFFAT, GWELO. [/underlined] [underlined] S. RHODESIA [/underlined]
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[underlined] POSTSCRIPT [/underlined]
The A/G course was rather an anti-climax after the concentration and determined outlook on the pilots course. Most of us felt we had wasted our time and had been let down.
During a "lecture" on the Browning gun by Cpl. Paddy Gilligan he noticed correctly that my eyes were closed and pointing to me, yelled "You, what was I saying?", I replied "You were saying 'as the breach block moves to the rear the cam on the rear sear rides along that on the barrel extention [sic] . . . ' There followed a discussion on my detailed phraselogy [sic] and he wound up by shouting "Your problem Watson is you don't speak effing english". I replied that I try to speak the King's english Cpl! and that did it, he swore to fix me. Study of the Browning gun comprised learning parrot-fashion the sequence of events and other odd statistics such as effective range and rate of fire. There was a drawing on the wall which gave us some idea of what it looked like, but the Browning was something for the future, the R.A.F. currently uses the V.G.O. or so we were told. The following day Gilligan told me to go to the billet and make sure the African had cleaned all the lampshades, including the one in his little room. This I did and two hours later reported they were all clean. The next day with no preamble I was told to report to the Orderly Room immediately. I was marched in to the C.O. and charged with failing to carry out an order, and also making a false report. Gilligan gave evidence and said the lampshade in his billet was filthy, I could not have checked it. The C. O. accepted this and I was given a severe rep. and 7 days jankers. I went straight away to the billet and I asked the S.W.O. to accompany me. He delegated a Sgt. Clerk and together we checked the offending lampshade. Sure enough it was filthy. I found the african cleaner and he swore that he had cleaned the shade but the Cpl. had then made him change it for one in the next but where they were all dirty. We all trooped next door and saw that all were indeed filthy except one.
The Sgt. could see what Gilligan was up to and endorsed my written report addressed to the C.O. which also applied for redress of grievance. The result was that my Severe Rep. was cancelled and so was the balance of the jankers.
At the end of the course the exam. papers were marked by Gilligan and he gave me 61% in all subjects which was the absolute minimum for a pass. Again I wrote to the C.O. and he agreed that Gilligan was up to his tricks again. He changed the exam. results to an average of 93% If I had not been so argumentative I could very well have "failed the course"
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to fly the thing, but there was a lot of other work to be done also. A cutting from the Rhodesia Herald whilst at Moffat spelt it out:-
I wished to be a pilot,
And you, along with me;
But if we all were pilots,
Where would the Air Force be?
It takes guts to be a gunner,
To sit out in the tail,
When the Messerschmitts are coming,
And the slugs begin to wail.
The plot's just a chauffeur;
It's his job to fly the plane;
But it's we who do the fighting,
Though we may not get the fame.
If we must all be gunners,
Then let us make this bet;
We'll be the best damn gunners
That have left this station yet
Nearly half a century later it does seem somewhat corny.
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[underlined] OPERATIONAL TRAINING. [/underlined]
And so to the 2nd. August 1942; we boarded HMT J/6, The Monarch of Bermuda and were shown to our cabins, stowed our kit and were issued with passes to go ashore until 1500 hrs. A last look at Table Mountain and Kapstaad and at 1630 on the 3rd. we left South Africa, hoping and firmly intending one day to return. The 10 day voyage to Freetown was a very pleasant cruise, escorted by two Battle Cruisers and three Corvettes and accompanied by The Empress of Russia, we ploughed along at a steady 12 knots. Our favourite pastime was reading the inter-ship messages on the Aldis lamps. Among other things we learned that one of the Empress's boilers was u/s and shut down. Which limited the speed of the whole convoy. There were several U Boat warnings during daylight and these coincided with lifeboat drills, which were taken very seriously.
The accommodation was very good, all the R.A.F. NCOs being accommodated six in each cabin. The cabins were equipped as they had been for luxury cruising pre-war, each with a toilet room with saltwater shower. The portholes remained open the whole time, but this time we were on 'A' and not 'D' Deck. In the Sgts Mess Italian P.O.W.'s waited upon us, and make a very good job of it. All fatigues are carried out by them and they caused no trouble at all. The vigilance of the Polish guards probably influenced that, their bayonets being fixed ALL the time, and there were few words passing between the guards and prisoners, just a few gestures with the bayonet. The Poles had been in action since August 1939 and were a long way from home, first defending their country, evacuating to Yugoslavia, and then making their way to Abadan to join the British. There were 1800 Italian prisoners aboard, mostly captured in Bardia and Tobruk about two years previously. They were a meek and miserable-looking lot. One of our 'stewards' who we called 'Grandpa' was a Cpl Major, and had medals for the Bolshevist and Abbysinian [sic] wars. He spoke very little English, but excellent French, and in return for a few cigarettes made me a bracelet in which he put photos of my fiancee [sic] , Hilda, and me. The material was similar to duralumin and he claimed it was a piece from a shot-down British Bomber in Abbysinia [sic] , a most unlikely story. His only tools were a pen-knife, a razor blade and a 4” nail for engraving. The Italians were confident the Axis would win the war and were expecting Stukas, Fokker Wolfe Condors and 'U' Boats to appear at any time.
There were several hundred European civilians aboard, mostly evacuees from Alexandria and Cairo, who seemed to think they owned the ship. Many of them were ducked during the Crossing the Line ceremony, we claimed exemption, being old timers at that sort of thing!!
There was some form of entertainment almost every evening; mainly variety concerts organised by the troops. During one of these I recall a wounded ex 8th-Army Soldier impersonating Stanley Holloway in his Northern accent with a poem,
"The Reason Why"
The unity of Empire .is seen in ships galore,
As they plough in convoy fashion, to Britain's island shore,
Across the world's big oceans, around continents as well,
The Bulldog breed keeps up the creed that history will tell.
We've roughed it on this convoy, we've lived like herded sheep,
Yet all can see, it's got to be, if freedom's cause we'll keep
We're mixed like breeded cattle, the R. A. F. as well,
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That R.A:F. who two .years ago Just drove the 'uns to 'ell.
They say the good ship Monarch, J6 her tag, goes back to Afric [sic] shortly,
but always behind that Flag.
The Flag we're fighting Jerry for,
the Flag of which we're proud,
the Flag which may be a tattered rag,
but with honoured blood endowed.
In that environment and atmosphere this was pretty stirring stuff.
On the 14th. of August we dropped anchor in Freetown. Just as a year ago, it was very hot and humid, with an overcast sky. This time we were not restricted to below decks, but enjoyed the freedom of the ship and were able to trade with the natives. Sunderland seaplanes were seen patrolling out to sea, with Walrus amphibeans [sic] doing about 60. m.p.h., around the harbour. There was lots of signalling between ships and we could cope with the morse, but the semaphore was too advanced and clever for us.
Sunday the 16th at 0600 the Monarch and the Empress slipped out of Freetown and rejoined the Royal Navy out at sea. We were a little concerned for an hour or two, as the sun was rising on the port beam, but we eventually turned right and the sun returned to it's proper place, astern. We expected to reach England by thursday, but rumours of the invasion of France were rife and my diary actually records that this might delay us a little!. The general topic of conversation was what would it be like going through Customs. We were advised on the P.A. system to hand in any unauthorised arms and ammunition, including loot taken from the enemy. I had 3 kitbags, a tin trunk, suitcase and issue R.A.F. webbing and packs, and somewhere in that lot was 25 lbs. of sugar, 10 lbs of tea, 8 pairs of silk stockings, 2 dress lengths, 15lbs. of jam, lady's pyjamas, 2000 cigarettes and other dutiable material. I also had a very small .22 revolver in my pocket and decided to risk it. It was really a toy, hardly a weapon of war. In the very early hours of the 26th. of August we docked at Greenoch. An hour later our party of 240 or so assembled on deck with a mountain of kit, all newly trained sprog aircrew sergeants. The train pulled in to within 100 yards of the ship and in less than 30 minutes we were on our way by train to Glasgow, then on to London. Whilst changing stations in London, I telephoned the office, BATtersea 8485, at 0730 and was disappointed that Hilda was not yet at work!
We arrived at no. 3 P.D.C. Bournemouth and moved into luxury hotels, expecting to be sent on leave immediately, hardly worth unpacking, but this was not to be. We were interviewed several times, medically examined, kit reorganised and generally messed about for a week. According to my pay book, I was a Sgt. Air Gunner, u/t Wireless Operator, and at one interview I was told that this could not be so. Either I could stay as a Sgt. A-G or lose my tapes and become an AC2 u/t Wireless op., eventually doing a wireless op. course. It was emphasised that the whole business of training was highly organised into streams, and once in the main stream it was better to drift with it rather than to try and change course. Streams could not cross, but only merge. All very academic and enlightening so it was agreed that u/t wireless op. would be deleted from my paybook, and of course, having done a couple of tours as a rear gunner I could always apply for a wireless course.
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That's what the man said and I was in no position to argue, 'Just a couple of tours'.
A week later we were on leave, and Hilda met me at Waterloo after just over a year apart. We had a few hours in London before going up to Barnoldswick to take my mother by surprise. After five rather hectic days of visiting relatives and friends we returned to London and met Hilda's parents and relatives, for just one day before returning to Bournemouth.
We were billeted in an attic at Ocean Lodge and took our meals at the Vale Royal. The food was the most unappetising and uninteresting we had seen in the R.A.F. so far. Life in Bournemouth consisted entirely of parades, square bashing, P.T. drill, lectures and swimming, each activity taking place some miles away from the previous one.
Bournemouth was full of sprog air crews, 90% Sergeants, few realised what the future might hold, and; in retrospect, I don't recall even thinking about it.
We were clear of Bournemouth on the 2nd. of October, and posted to 25 O.T.U., Finningley. near Doncaster.
The first 14 days were spent in lectures, practical work on guns in the armoury, and in firing on various ranges. We were introduced to the FN20 rear turret and relieved to have the opportunity of stripping the .303 Browning guns. We who had trained in Rhodesia did not advertise the fact that we had never actually seen a real Browning gun, only a wooden model, all our air-firing having been carried out on V.G.O.'s [Vickers Gas Operated) guns. We had spent several hours in a turret on the ground in Rhodesia. A Boulton & Paul electrically operated mid-upper type as fitted to a Defiant but bearing no resemblance to the rear turrets of Wellingtons and Whitleys.
11th. November was relatively peaceful at Finningley. In the world outside the Allies had landed in North Africa and occupied the coastal strip from Casablanca, through Oran to 50 miles east of Algiers where the big build-up was taking place. Jerry was being pushed towards Tunisia and Rommel's Afrika Corps was in full retreat in Libya, having been pushed out of Egypt, The Huns marched into hitherto unoccupied France and hard fighting was still going on in Stalingrad. Madagascar was in British hands. My diary records that Jerry lost over 600 aircraft in two days, according to the B.B.C. Nearer home I also recorded that "I flew today for the first time with my pilot, Sgt. Rutherford, and with Sgt. Bishop, W/optr., on circuits and bumps. Our Navigator Allan Willoughby is at Bircotes doing cross-countries". For some of us the pace was slow, and some of the time was spent in 'Brains Trust' sessions. Here a team of experts would sit on the platform and questions on any subject would be asked by the rest of us. In reply to the question "How do you think we should deal with the Huns after the war?", the M.O. replied "Castrate the bloody lot, the R.A.M.C. could do that in only a couple of weeks". Most of the discussions however were in a more serious vain. Over this period the weather was not very good. No 14 Course crews have been helping the Landgirls digging up potatoes and 12 Course chaps were heaving coal, We then had coal and coke allocated and delivered to our billets, which eliminated the need to pinch it from the Officers' Mess. we were accomodated [sic] in the peace-time married quarters close to their Mess.
One of our Wimpies from Bircotes crashed into a Beaufighter near Caernarvon where my sister was stationed in the W.A.A.F. There were no
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[photograph]
[photograph] [underlined] REG WHELLAMS [/underlined]] 1333520
[underlined] AT 25 OTU FINNINGLEY [/underlined]
(10 FORSTER RD. WALTHEMSTOW E.17 )
16A
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survivors. A Defiant crashed near my home in Barnoldswick and we pressed on with the routine of local flying, stripping nothing more interesting than guns, and lectures and so on.
My diary records that on the 9th. December, after a little over two months we were taken by lorry to Bircotes to fly as a crew. Losses were high, on a Bullseye on London we lost three aircraft. One of them apparently ditched without trace near the French Coast, the only clue to this being their dinghy which would have been released automatically striking the water. A second crew headed by Ft/Lt. Anneckstein crashed into the watch office, killing the Bomb Aimer who was stretched out in the bombing position. A third crew crashed on landing at Bircotes, without fatality, but with the crew rather shaken-up. We were living Nissen huts about 2 miles from the 'hangars' and 3/4 mile from the in the other direction. The place was a sea of mud in parts and we generally washed AFTER breakfast for some reason which eludes me after 45 years
One point in favour of Bircotes, it was on the Great North Road and just before Christmas I enjoyed a 48 hr. leave with Hilda in London! I met Tommy King in Battersea who was a Rear Gunner on Halifaxes with three ops. to his credit, all to Italy. A brief respite and back to Bircotes. The flying aspect was proving more interesting now, I could see a little beyond my own situation and get involved to some extent in the general carry-on of working as a crew. We had a first-class Skipper, Sgt. Stan. Rutherford, a down-to-earth tough New Zealand sheep farmer. Our Navigator Allan Willoughby from the West country whom we regarded as the Academic member of the crew, but who suffered greatly from air sickness. On those occasions our Bomb Aimer Stan Chadderton from Liverpool took over the navigation without any problems. Stan trained as an Observer - which included both Bomb aiming and Navigating in the U.S.A. and we were thus very fortunate in having a standby navigator. Our Wireless Operator Harry Dyson was from Huddersfield possibly the socialite of the crew, and fancied his chances in the rear turret, giving me a welcome change on occasions.
I started the New Year well by having four runaway guns, over Missen, the bombing range, splattering a main road. The safety catches were 'off' and the guns ready for instant action almost all the time the air, and the reason the guns fired has not been fully explained. I vaguely put it down to a build-up of hydraulic pressure in the triggering system. This did not fool the Armourers who put it down finger trouble on my part - literally.
By the 7th. of Jan. we had completed all our day-flying details of cross-countries, bombing, air firing etc. and were suddenly posted to 30 O.T.U. Hixon, in Staffordshire to complete the night flying excercises [sic] . It took three days visiting various sections to obtain signatures on a Clearance Certificate before we were free of Finningly [sic] , and the after we arrived at Hixon, we were despatched to the satellite airfield at Seighford. A week later we were still without aircraft at Seighford and when the Skipper, Navigator and W/op went to Finningley to collect one, Stan Chadderton & I took French leave and shot off to see respective Hildas. It was on that leave that Hilda and I decided to get married and arranged for bans to be called in Seighford and Battersea.
On the 24th. Jan, our night-flying excercises [sic] almost completed we enjoyed a new experience. We were put on the battle order and briefed for an attack on Lorient. Everything was rushed and finally when
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boarding the aircraft -which was u/s-, the raid -or our part in it- was cancelled. We were to have dropped six 500 lb. bombs in 10/10ths cloud and were warned about the fighters and lots of flak. We found later that the Americans had bombed Lorient in the afternoon followed by 121 aircraft of Bomber Command that night. One Stirling was lost. In early Feb. we were doing a 6 hour cross-country operational excercise [sic] simulating a real trip and towards the end of it were joyfully bombing what was thought to be our target on the bombing range. After dropping two sticks of 11 1/2 lb. practice bombs the "target" lights were extinguished and although we remained over them for a further 20 minutes they did not come on again. Thirty minutes later "W" William landed at base amid great consternation. Apparently the O. C. Night Flying had thought we were lost and had been sending up rockets. These were seen by the Stafford Fire Brigade who came dashing out to Seighford expecting a major disaster. On reporting to the Watch Office the Skipper was congratulated upon a successful bombing attack on Hixon aerodrome.
A few nights previously Jock King and crew had crash-landed on the Yorkshire moors. They were over the North sea, badly iced up and losing height gradually until they ran out of it on the moor. The aircraft was a complete write-off and the Rear Gunner very badly injured by the Brownings crashing into his chest. On the 7th. Feb. the whole crew went to the local church and heard the Banns called. Two aircraft were lost from our unit the previous night, one piled straight in at Hixon, all killed, and Sgt. Browning bounced off the runway and finished upside down in the adjacent field. The 11th. Feb. was my 21st. Birthday and the Crew got absolutely sloshed in Eccleshall. It was a memorable party and the Skipper and Bomb Aimer got themselves lost on the way home and spent part of the night in a ditch. On the 14th. we completed the last of our cross-country details. The pages of my diary covering this trip are indistinct having been submerged in water in 1949, but there were problems. The first 4 hours were spent on accurately flown courses, but there was difficulty in keeping to specific heights. The aircraft seemed to climb and alternately lose height for no explicable reason and this distracted the Skipper from the required accuracy. Eventually with only 60 gallons of fuel indicated, the Skipper called "Darky Darky this is Nemo xx .....". Up came a 'gate' of two searchlights and signalled the direction of a friendly runway. 10 minutes later we all developed an instant inferiority complex, we had landed at Wyton, the home of 109 Squadron Pathfinders. One Wellington Mk.111 bombed up with four small practice bombs, was parked amid Lancasters, Mosquitoes and B17 Fortresses. However we were made very welcome and at 0400 hrs. thoroughly enjoyed the bacon, egg, fried sausages, toast and marmalade etc. Had I known then, that 40 years hence I would be retired and settled within 4 miles of Wyton I would have been a happier man. Aircraft on the first raid of the war had taken off from Wyton. The next two weeks were very active with little actually achieved. We were briefed almost every day for something which was cancelled every time but with one exception. We were told to do an air test on an aircraft which was parked near the perimeter fence. The rear turret was almost touching the fence at the other side of which was a haystack and chicken coop. The ground was muddy and rather more revs than usual were needed to free the wheels and move the aircraft forward. The hurricane strength wind created completely demolished the hen coop and the haystack, and many of the hens became airborne as never before. There
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was no time for recriminations however, on landing we went straight to the briefing room and learned we, were on a Nickel that night. The Oxford Dictionary gives a different meaning, but to Air Crews 'Nickel' is a generic term for a bum fodder or leaflet raid. It did imply that someone had some confidence in us, maybe. The target was Paris.
At last we were over enemy-occupied territory, still on our side of the Rhine, and still a long way from it, but we were getting nearer and there was no lack of confidence, at least initially. Problems developed, first my ring-sight ferrel broke off, so there was no hope of accurate aiming if attacked, then my intercom microphone ceased to function. The fault was later found in the Rotating Service Joint below the turret. We had a standby signalling system of push button and lamp, but that too was out of order for the same reason. I could hear the skipper calling me on a routine check but had no means of replying. Receiving no reply, Barry Dyson crawled back to the rear turret to check up, not knowing what to expect. He had overlooked the fact that we were at 15.000 feet - the highest we had been at that time- and almost passed out due to lack of oxygen. He reconnected his adapter to the system just in time. He was also inadequately clothed for a temperature of -18C but putting 1800 lbs of leaflets down the flare chute restored his circulation. Di banged on the turret door and we exchanged greetings. He returned to his office and reporting my situation to the Skipper. Meanwhile I was incommunicado for the rest of the trip, but I could hear the others conversing. Shortly after that I felt the rotation of the turret was becoming sluggish and I tried to fire a short burst. Three of the guns fired one round each and then stopped, but number one was working. I cocked and recocked the guns several times, tried firing them manually and eventually three were working. I fired a short burst and regained a little confidence. An hour after leaving Paris the turret rotation would not respond to the hydraulics so I ensured that manual operation was still possible. I knew that to bale out I would have to open the turret doors, then the aircraft bulkhead door, grab my parachute pack, drag it through both doors and into the turret, rotate the turret onto the beam, fit the 'chute, open the doors, disconnect the intercom and oxygen and go out backwards. I decided to give it a try except for actually bailing out - and decided it was probably not feasible in the time available, but I did get the parachute into the turret and tucked it down the side. I learned a lot that night, more had gone wrong in my department on that one trip than during all my training. Di learned the odd lesson too, to wear more clothing in case he had to move away from the hot air system under his table.
The following day we were advised that our O.T.U. course was completed and the Skipper was asked to state the crew's preference either to join a squadron bombing Germany or to go overseas. Our preference for Germany was unanimous; after all, I was getting married and most of us had already been overseas!. And so we went our separate ways on 7 days leave
March 1st, 1943 perhaps the most important day of my life, Hilda and I were married. Staying at Hilda's home I took my cousin Frank to Trafalgar Square and showed him the Lancaster bomber, then on to St. Pauls Churchyard where I used to work and showed him a Stirling Bomber. He was thrilled with London and with the aircraft in particular. At 1pm we met Mum and Topsy at duCane Court and lunched in Balham, and whilst Mum and the others went to meet Hilda's folks, I went on to the Church,
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St. Mary's in Battersea. Some years later when I saw the photographs I realised I was wearing a white shirt with my airman's uniform. Hilda joined me at the Alter [sic] and looked absolutely lovely in her white wedding dress. The service was grand and the organist played two hymns. The church bells remained silent, they were reserved for signalling a possible enemy invasion. We enjoyed a wonderful reception at Hilda's home and on Monday we went to Lancing on honeymoon, the guests of Mr. & Mrs. Pittock at 10 Orchard Avenue. After a few days at Lancing I returned to camp and somehow organised more leave. At 0300 on the 10th. however the police delivered a telegram-which stated "Report to Hixon immediately, posted overseas". I tried to convince them that it was a joke on the part of the crew, and I was not stationed at Hixon in any case. However, at 0700 Hilda accompanied me to Euston where we said goodbye on the platform for the last time for several months at least. One night spent at Hixon, and the following day we travelled by train with two other crews to no. 1 P.D.C. West Kirby.
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[photograph] [photograph]
1st. MARCH 1943 (WHITE SHIRT) 25 O.T.U. FINNINGLEY
[photograph]
SECOND HONEYMOON SEPT ‘43
20A
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[underlined] SECOND TIME TO AFRICA [/underlined]
At West Kirby we handed in our blue uniforms and were issued with army Khaki battle dress and tropical flying bowlers and helmets. Within a few days we embarked on a Dutch Vessel, the Johan van Vanderbilt in the Mersey, and were allocated first and second class cabins still equipped to. peace-time standards. Service in the Dining Hall was fabulous, staffed by natives from the Nederlands [sic] East Indies. The cuisine was superb, there was white bread and butter and sugar on the tables. A full breakfast at 0800, a peacetime lunch at 1300, tea at 1630 and dinner at 1900. Coffee was available in the Snr. N.C.O's lounge at any time during the morning. The Army Privates' quarters were similar to those we had experienced on the Moultan, sleeping in the same place as they eat, scrubbing everything by 0830 and with lots of bull. They had to wear greatcoats at all times whilst on deck and carry their life-jackets and water bottles. They not only manned the guns but were also detailed for lots of guard duties. Everything seemed to be guarded, but the reason was generally obscure. The cabins were shared with the Army Snr. N.C.O.s and they felt it quite a change to enjoy such comfort. The main topic of conversation was speculation about our destination, North Africa, Middle East or Far East? At a lecture on the 20th. March a senior Army Officer gave us a talk in the big second-class lounge, a very interesting run-down on the state of the war in all theatres. He dealt at some length with the North African campaign and said that very shortly the 1st. and 8th. Armies would meet and a few days after that Jerry would be slung right out of Africa. He wanted to dispel all rumours that we were part of a force invading the south of France. I cannot recall whether we were actually told in so many words, but we expected our destination was either Algiers or Bone.
The armourment [sic] on the Johann was comparatively small. We had about 10 Lewis guns, .303 calibre, and a naval gun at the stern, all manned by the army. There were about 16 ships in the convoy, with troops and cargo, protected by 5 Cruisers and Destroyers, and 2 Corvettes. Not as impressive perhaps as in August 1941, but a more wartime environment.
It was a feeling not entirely new to us, we knew by calculation that it was the 21st. of March and we were sitting comfortably in the First Class Lounge enjoying a coffee, but whereabouts on the Atlantic ocean was the ship? We know we had been heading east all morning so the chances. were we are heading for Gibralter [sic] , it was not warm enough for Freetown to be our destination. Where we were bound was open to speculation like most other vital factors affecting us. What were we going to do when we get to wherever it was? We were a Wellington crew which did not rule out finding ourselves on a Boston or Mitchell doing close army support work. And what after we had completed a tour of ops.? Chad the Bomb Aimer and Di the Wireless op. were both keen to remuster and train as Pilots. Allan Willoughby said he was 'marlish' and quite happy to carry on navigating. I felt the war would be over before we had finished our first tour. The Skipper said little but probably thought we were a bunch of dreamers, comparing us with his sheep back in N.Z.. We were not in fact approaching Gibralter [sic] , we had passed through the Straits during the night.
At 0300 on the 22nd. we were approaching the minefield off Algiers and were attacked by a Ju88 torpedo bomber. We heard the Johan's guns open up
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and the Windsor Castle received a direct hit from a torpedo on her stern, three members of her crew being killed. She also lost her steering and means of propulsion. Efforts were made to tow her into Oran without success but she sank at 1700 the same day. The Service personnel and remainder of the crew were taken aboard destroyers. Hurricanes arrived within minutes of the attack, but just too late and not ideal aircraft for the job at 0300 hrs. My diary - written up a few days after the event,- refered [sic] originally to The Duchess of Windsor and this was changed a few years later to the Windsor Castle.
There was no longer any secrecy about our destination. Di said the R.A.F. had opened an O.T.U. in Algiers, and we were destined to do another course. There were lots of rumours, but one fact was established, we had been in the R.A.F. over two years and we felt it was high time we did something towards the war effort.
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At 0300hrs. on the 23rd. March we were paraded on deck thankful for our greatcoats, which we were still wearing with great discomfort when we disembarked at 1100. A brief stop at an Aircrew Reception Centre, a large hotel on the sea-front, before going to the Aircrew Pool at Surcouf, about 30 miles from Algiers. There was no great feeling of urgency here, the Allies had landed at Algiers on the 6th. of November and the Germans had already been driven some hundreds of miles, to the East.
It was just a matter of waiting, something that most servicemen became very good at. We could not take the initiative and start our own war, but could only make the best of it. Quoting from my diary, "Life at Surcouf is perfect, we share the officers' mess and enjoy typical French peacetime meals. Lots of Bully Beef but the Chef - a French Civilian - certainly knows how to camouflage it. Our chalet is literally on the beach and the sea never more than 20 yards away. We could swim all day long without the formality of swimming trunks, or walk around the village. Sometimes we hitch-hike Into Algiers". There was very little to do in the village, and I recorded that I found the French very unhelpful and generally impolite. We all carried side-arms of course. There was practically nothing to buy except strange local booze, the Americans had seen to all that when they passed through, and the bars seemed to be open all the time. Algeria was, politically, a part of Metropolitan France in the eyes of the French, it was home to many Frenchmen, and they probably realised it might never be quite the same again. After a three-week rest at Surcouf we reported to 150 Squadron at Blida, about 30 miles south of Algiers. This place was most certainly at war, there were Wellingtons, Hudsons, Hurricanes, Commandoes and Albacores for squadrons of Bomber, Coastal, Fighter and Transport Commands, and the Fleet Air Arm. With the exception of Transports and 142 and 150 Wellington Squadrons, all aircraft were controlled by Coastal Command. We were part of the North Africa Striking Force - so we were told. Life was good at Blida, most of the food was tinned and we enjoyed eggs and bully beef every day in the mess. Generally in the evenings we would have a fry-up of eggs and bread with more bully on the primus stove in the billet. The Mess Hall was used as both dining hall and lounge. The arabs wandered round the camp selling eggs and oranges but prefered [sic] to exchange them for food -- more bully beef.
The currency in use was the French Franc with an exchange rate of 200 to the £1 sterling in which we were paid. BMA (British Military Authority) notes were also in use but the most popular currency outside the town was the tin of bully. We were billeted in chalets formerly the peacetime living quarters of the French Air Force. Each chalet had four large rooms-and accommodated two Wellington crews. It was very pleasant to sit out on the verandah [sic] . My rather battered diary records that on the 28th. March 1943 we were discussing what we proposed to do on completion of our first tour. Rather naive, we would have little or no say in the matter. We had been allocated an aircraft, "F" for Freddie, but it was a case of one crew to one aircraft and its present owners had not quite finished their tour and were reluctant to part with it. For two days they had been bombing and straffing [sic] a large German convoy bound for Bizerta which was not left alone even when part of it had docked. We finally took over the aircraft and for five days were airborne for several hours each day. On the afternoon of the 5th. April we took off
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in "F" for Freddie for an hour's fighter affiliation excercise [sic] with two Hurricanes. Employing violent evasive action to make things difficult for the fighters, we crossed the coast about 10 miles east of Algiers at 3000 feet and passed directly over a British destroyer. The Navy was wide awake and saw a heavy bomber being chased by two Hurricanes, immediately opened fire on us with considerable light flak. The pilot of a third Hurricane which was on an operational patrol saw the mini-battle and joined in. When he saw that one of his chums was only 100 yards from my rear turret and happy to stay there, he realised that we were in a different ball game, peeled off and, carried on with his patrol, finally returning to Maison Blanche.
On the night of the 6th. April we bombed the Marshelling [sic] yards at TUNIS, with 3500 lb. and 54 30 lb. incendiaries. We bombed in one stick from 8000 ft. and surprisingly were held in searchlights which we lost at 3000 feet. Not a very good effort on our part, the bombs overshot the target but hit the aerodrome 3 miles north according to the timing point photograph. All 28 aircraft returned safely, two of them damaged There was little light flak but some heavy stuff said to be radar controlled. For an hour on the return journey I changed places with Harry Dyson, our Wireless op. On the 7th. we attacked troop concentrations at night making several bombing passes at low level and finally coming in very low firing 7 Brownings. Chad the bomb aimer used the two guns in the front turret, I had four in the rear and we carried beam guns on these occasions. Only the front gunner could see what he was firing at. One aircraft of 142 Squadron, G George was shot down by light flak. On the 10th. we raided MONSERRATO aerodrome in Sardinia, an aircraft was seen over the target with navigation lights on, visibility was good and we moved away hoping the runway lights would be switched in. The aerodrome remained in darkness and we dropped our bombs singly. There was no light flack from the aerodrome to worry us, and the aircraft with lights on was not seen again. After a further 30 minutes of stooging about we returned to Blida. There was a reasonable amount of heavy flak which we learned on return had downed one aircraft of 142 Squadron. - 2 in 2 nights-. On the way back a searchlight opened up a few miles ahead and the skipper put the nose down so we were at 2000 ft. when we passed directly over the searchlight. Stan Chadderton in the front turret opened fire and the Skipper told me when to open up, aiming straight down. The light stayed on after we had passed, pointing vertically, maybe we did a little damage, probably not. Inside the aircraft however, the dive had caused the Elsan lavatory to come loose and scatter it's contents over the floor.
The following morning, fearing the wrath of the ground crew when they saw the Elsan, we stayed in bed until noon and breakfasted in the billet. Eggs and fried potatoes, fried bread and tinned pears and fresh oranges, served by the wireless op. and rear gunner to the Skipper and the rest of the crew still in bed. In the afternoon we were stood down and Joe Shields (Sgt. Rimmer's Rear Gunner) and I went into Blida to try and find presents to take back to England. The bigger French shops were all closed - no stocks- and we scrounged around the Arab quarters, without success. I mentioned earlier that we always carried side-arms and several times we were crowded by the Arabs. Production of the revolver dispersed them but it could have been very tricky.
On the 14th. April we raided MONSERRATO for the second time, the first run-in at 8000 feet and then 6000 feet. Direct hits were seen on
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the aerodrome this time with 1000 and 250 pounders. No incendiaries were dropped but 10 minutes was spent 8 miles north of the town dropping leaflets. The leaflets were the "laissez-passer" type printed in German instead of the more usual Italian. An aircraft over the target area sporting an orange light seemed to be signalling to a searchlight. We assumed it was acting as a decoy for a night-fighter and the only one of us keeping an eye on it was the navigator standing at the astrodome.
The rest of us searched the allocated parts of the sky according to the book!. All our aircraft returned safely and reported good aiming. Photographs confirmed the success, but we had borrowed "M" Mother which was without a camera. The return journey was uneventful and crossing Mare Nostrum Di tuned in to the 9 o-clock news from London. The announcer Alvar Lidell read "Algiers reports that the R.A.F. Strategical Airforce in North Africa has continued to batter aerodromes in Tunisia and Sardinia, damaging runways and destroying aircraft on the ground, without loss to themselves". Someone remarked "That's one way of looking at it"!. Actually a few nights ago 142 Sqdn. had lost 2 in 2 nights. 150 Squadron had lost one but the crew bailed out. Four of the crew managed to get through the enemy lines but the Rear Gunner was wounded and there was no news of him for several weeks.
The docks at TUNIS received our attention on the night of the 17th. April, with very careful placing of 500 and 250 pounders. Direct hits were observed in the docks area and there was concentrated heavy flack. It didn't worry us, we were well below it at 6000 feet. There was lots of light flack mostly concentrated on an aircraft displaying red and green navigation lights. At one stage this aircraft came to within 600 yards on the starboard beam and we converged to about 300 yards. We clearly identified it as a Wellington and gave it a long inaccurate burst from the rear turret. On this occasion every fourth round was a tracer. The nav. lights were extinguished and the aircraft was not seen again. There was no satisfactory explanation as to the identity of this aircraft. A captured Wellington perhaps acting as a decoy but attracting most of the flak. Possibly one of ours with the lights switched on accidentally, one shall never know. Two aircraft are missing, piloted by Sgt. Chandler of 150 and Sgt. Lee of 142. One sent out an SOS and ditched but there was no signal from the other. On our return to Blida there was a blanket of cloud over the whole area and our 23 aircraft were diverted to Maison Blanche. One aircraft was known to have a damaged undercarriage, which collapsed on touch-down and was a write-off but there were no injuries. Road Transport was waiting to take us the 30 miles or so back to Blida and we finally got to bed at 6 am. We shared the lorry with Sgt. Leckie's crew who had bailed out over Tunisia on the 14th. The Squadron Leader had flown to Sousse and brought them back to Algeria. Leckie had himself crash-landed the aircraft with no hydraulics and only one engine, somewhere in Allied-occupied Tunisia.
On the 23rd. April my diary records a tedious week of activity which achieved very little. Every day we were briefed for a night op. and every day we did our Daily Inspections and air tests, but in the late afternoon the Sirocco came up suddenly and the trips were cancelled. During the week, two Albemarles crashed on the runway, both from Gibralter [sic] carrying supplies which included mail from U.K.
Our uniform since leaving West Kirby has been British Army Khaki but with shoes and no putees. Our R.A.F. blue shirts with collar and tie and also blue forage caps were not exchanged. We have no tropical
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kit and it is getting very warm here. Our aircraft "F" for Freddie, has been grounded all week with "G" George, both with a trimming box problem. The policy is still one crew to an aircraft, and we enjoyed a very easy week. On the 28th. we managed to borrow "D" Donald and bombed DECIMONANU again, this time with a 4000 lb. 'blockbuster’ and a few incendiaries for good measure. After bombing we stooged around for 30 minutes having a close look at fires on the ground. Searchlights waved about apparently aimlessly and the light flack with tracer seemed equally haphazard. At 3000 feet we were caught by one searchlight and within seconds were held in a cone of five. The lights were dazzling and the three of us manning guns all fired point blank, it being impossible to aim. In theory a combined rate of fire of over 8000 rounds per minute should have hit something worth while, but after a very short burst my four guns jammed, a problem seldom experienced. At only 3000 feet we were quickly out of range of the searchlights. We were over Blida at 0700 hours which was covered in fog and diverted again to Mason Blanche. We were not very popular at Maison B, everyone had-their own problems which were not always appreciated by others on different types of aircraft performing widely differing types of work. We were in bed at Maison B. by 1000 hrs. probably without the knowledge of the 'owners' of the beds who had spent the night in then; and there we stayed until 1700. The tinned steak pie for tea made a very welcome change. Our aircraft "F" for Freddie still had a faulty-trimming box.
It was only in the air we were able to listen to the Radio News from London, although we had a reasonable supply of current newspapers brought out by the steady stream of aircraft from U.K. On the 29th. we logged another trip to BIZERTA, this time in "T" Tommy with a 4000 pounder. Take-off was at 0005 hours and the weather the worst for flying we had yet experienced in Africa. The target was the docks and all was unusually quiet. The coast-line was visible through about 4/10ths cloud and on our first run over the docks we dropped incendiaries. Positive identification of the target, so round again to release the 4000 pounder which the press were refering [sic] to as 'cookies'. It seemed that over Germany the lads were dropping 8000 pounders. The flak and searchlights opened up simultaneously and was relatively intense. We found later that we were the first to bomb. Some had difficulty in finding the target due to cloud and the enemy was trying not to attract our attention. Again there was low cloud at Blida and we were diverted to Maison Blanche. Two aircraft were lost on the Bizerta raid, one landed at Bone (now renamed Annaba) with one engine u/s, and a 142 Sqdn. aircraft did a belly-landing on the grass at Maison B. On our return we found that Sgt. Leckie, operational again after being shot down in Tunisia, had crashed into the mountain immediately after take-off. Another 150 Sqdn aircraft crashed on take-off, barely getting airborne, and it was assumed that he had engine failure. Two of the crew actually survived the explosion. It had been a fateful night, we were briefed for take-off from west to east, with a left turn onto course. Just before take-off a strong wind developed from the west causing the duty runway to be changed from 09 to 27 and we took off from east to west. Sgt. Leckie turned left instead of right, straight into. the Atlas mountains, all killed instantly. Our own Bomb Aimer Stan had flown on a raid with Sgt. Leckie only two nights previously. When I revisited Blida on business in 1978 I was astonished to appreciate just how near those mountains were to Blida aerodrome..
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[photograph] WITH HILDA & THE SKIPPER SEPT ’43 RICHMOND ON THAMES
[photograph] BILL WILLOUGHBY NAVIGATOR AT THE PORT BEAM GUN POSITION
[photograph] NAVIGATOR & BOMB AIMER IN THEIR PITS
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The following morning an aircraft of 142 was seen to be making a peculiar approach, and just before touchdown. one engine cut and the other was going flat out, resulting in a spectacular disintegration at the side of the runway, in which no-one was seriously hurt. By the end of April we had four aircraft all Wellington Mk.10s equipped for carrying 4000 pound bombs. Bomb doors had been removed and they were said to have a special main spar.
On the 5th. May it was farewell to Blida, the war was moving east. Each crew was issued with a First World War Bell tent and this together with official stores and personal effects was piled into the aircraft. I remember the Wireless Op. Di and I putting our (stolen) palliases [sic] aboard for our Ground-crew passengers to rest on during the flight. A very thoughtful act on our part said the Skipper. It was just that Di and I intended to sleep in the manner to which we were accustomed. Our destination was Fontaine Chaude, about 250 Kms. ESE of Blida. About half way in deference to our guests we opened a tin of spam and served slices of spam followed by stewed plums from a large tin we had been hoarding. Our destination was a stretch of desert near a tiny village. After landing we pitched our tent and organised our palliases [sic] into beds with the help of a dozen or so empty boxes. Meanwhile vehicles were arriving with our squadron personnel, more stores, aircraft and by late evening we had a small township. A small marquee served as a Sgts. Mess and on the first evening we enjoyed stew and green peas followed by pears and real cream. These had been provided by the Americans on an emergency basis. The following day was spent partly on an aerodrome inspection. The war had passed through Fontaine Chaude and it was possible the Arab scavengers had overlooked bits of war material which could do damage to aircraft, particularly the tyres. There were no runways, only sand with some coarse grass.
Back to war next day and Group Captain (Speedy) Powell briefed us for a raid on TRIPANI, a naval base in Sicily. We were 30 minutes late on take-off due to delays in bombing-up. We carried only six 500 pounders instead of eight, and some incendiaries. We were 20 minutes behind the bomber stream of 26 Wellingtons. 'The bomber stream'!. This was an expression used by a newly joined crew who were very displeased with having to finish their tour in North Africa after starting it over Europe. They treated our desert war with some contempt after their recent experiences over Germany, but were reported missing about three weeks after joining us. We were in cloud shortly after take-off and nearing the target came out of it at 12,000 feet. We moved over towards a concentration of heavy flak bursts and the bomb aimer thought he had found a pinpoint through breaks in the cloud. The bombs were dropped into the area of flashes and fires on the ground but it was not a satisfactory raid. We lost two aircraft. One was seen to go down in flames over the target having been coned by searchlights. Sgt. Pax Smith, a New Zealander and crew ran out of fuel in pitch darkness and had strayed too far to the west, over Algeria. My diary records "They bailed out in an airmanlike manner but the Bomb Aimer was concussed and the Rear Gunner broke both legs on hitting the ground and rolling down the side of a hill. Three of the crew are in the rest camp at Constantine and the two inured in hospital in Algiers".
The reader might be surprised at apparent navigation errors such as this, but the only nav. aid available was a QDM (course to steer) to reach in this case Algiers, which would not have helped. We had no M/F
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Beacons on which to take bearings. The Navigator worked on his dead reckoning plot backed up by a visual pinpoint from the bomb aimer map-reading if visibility was suitable. Quite often the only aid was the Rear Gunner taking a drift reading from his turret. Over the sea the Wireless op. would drop a flame-float down the flare chute, which would burst into flames on striking the sea. The Rear. gunner would rotate his turret and depress the guns, holding the flame in his ringsight for ten seconds, then read off the drift on the indicator by his side. There was sometimes a drift indicator in the 'Nav. Office' also. The same procedure was used over the desert during the day using a smoke bomb in place of a flamefloat.
We learned that Sgt. Leckie who was killed hitting the mountain was Commissioned two weeks before his death and had also been awarded a D.F.C. for his crash-landing in Tunisia. So Sgt. Leckie was really P/O Leckie D.F.C. and didn't know it, but the end result was the same. He and our own Skipper, Sgt. Rutherford 416170 R.N.Z.A.F. had been great buddies for a long time. (or what was regarded as a long time in those days)
May 10 my diary states, a Boomerang lastnight. We took-off with a 4500 pound payload for delivery to PALERMO, the Capital of Sicily. About 30 min. after take-off the petrol cover on the port fuel tank came open and the Skipper had great difficulty in keeping the left wing up. There was no option but to jettison half the bomb load in the sea and return to base. There was an enemy air-raid in progress at Bone and we kept a few miles to the east of it with the I.F.F. on. Our own night-fighters operating from Maison Blanche were known to be very active and we had great faith in our I.F.F. We were first back of course - not really having been anywhere!- and we waited for the others in the debriefing tent. To no avail, they had been diverted and returned the following afternoon. We enjoyed an afternoon and evening off, and went by lorry to Batna, a small town about 30 miles from our base. There was little to be seen and nothing to buy and no sign of any social activity. Conversation with the natives was difficult and they were not interested in the war.
On the night of the 12th. it was the turn of NAPLES again, 21 aircraft with 90,000 lbs. payload bombed within five minutes of each other. It was a lovely night, visibility 30 miles and not a cloud in the sky. As we approached Naples we could clearly see Mt. Vesuvius and convinced ourselves we could see the thin column of smoke drifting from it. Our last pinpoint on the way out was the Isle of Capri and we gave it a short burst of .303 for good measure. A futile act but the guns had to be fired occasionally. At NAPLES we went straight in, the target was clearly visible and the one stick straddled the railway yards and industrial area. My diary records that flak was intense and said to be some of the hottest in Europe, and reading that after a lapse of 45 years causes me to question the authority for such a statement. It was a small target compared to some of those in Central Europe, and the 40 searchlights at Napoli were quite effective, but would have been more so if it had been dark. All our aircraft returned safely after a 7 1/2 hour flight, not a bad effort for Wimpies with no overload tanks. As the W/op describes it, we climbed into our pits just as dawn was breaking. By 0900 we had the option of discarding our mosquito nets and being pestered by the insects, or enjoying a turkish bath due to the heat. Our 1916 vintage bell-tent was reasonable for our crew of five although in earlier times it accomodated [sic] , goodness knows how, 22 soldiers.
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At about 1400 we were happy to get airborne again on an air test where we could cool down, but at 1700 it was briefing again. A "maximum effort" - another phrase. imported from our colleagues bashing away in Central and Northern Europe, on CAGLIARI, a port and industrial town in Sardinia. All 26 aircraft were over the target area within minutes of each other, again visibility was near perfect. Bombing heights were staggered and we bombed from 6000 feet. Our 4000 pounder landed just north of the railway yards among some tall buildings and started a fire. Our W/op Harry Dyson claimed at debriefing that he could feel the heat from our own fire when we turned in again to see the damage. Di was prone to exaggeration by this time, perhaps due to frustration of monitoring broadcasts from Base and seldom touching the morse key. We came back over the target at 2000 feet and the flames were leaping high. We could still see the flames from 70 miles away at 8000 feet on our way home. Listening to the B.B.C. we learned that American bombers had raided Cagliari earlier that day, "wiping the place out". They also claimed they could still see fires burning when they reached the African coast. In daylight too; our W/op was not alone in the exaggeration stakes. However, it was a very satisfactory raid. We were in a shallow dive when the bomb was released and is thought to have scraped the fuselage under the aircraft where there was damage to the geodetics and six feet of fabric had been torn off.
On the 15th. our crew was stood down for 24 hours and I received four letters from Hilda, the first for many weeks. At this rate of completing ops I should be home in less than three months. It was very tiring night after night, particularly as is [sic] was not possible to sleep comfortably in the heat of the day. The target was PALERMO, and three of our 25 aircraft failed to return, including Sgt. Rimmer, and Sgt. Alazrachi, the latter a Free French pilot. It is not known what happened to any of them except that one aircraft was seen to go down in flames over the target. Rimer's Rear Gunner was Joe Shields, one of the best, and the crew had been with us since O.T.U. at Finningley. Polfrey the Navigator, Cave the Bombadier [sic] and Jack Waters the Wireless-op, all very keen types.
On the 16th. it was our turn to make a fragment of history. For the very first time, the R.A.F. bombed ROME. Rome, we were told was an open undefended city, and we were briefed to fly from the mouth of the River Tiber, over the city dropping leaflets, and return at 5000 feet dropping more leaflets, then bomb the LIDO DI ROMA near the mouth of the Tiber. Our first bomb went in the river and the last one in the sea, but the rest of the stick neatly straddled the buildings at the Seaplane Base. Over the city itself, there was considerable light flack with tracer, aiming point- blank without result. Not bad at all far an open undefended city, but we were forbidden to display any hostility except dropping leaflets. Even the lids of the Small Bomb Containers loaded with leaflets were secured with wire so as not to fall on the Romans. Later the B.B.C. claimed there was no flak over Rome.
An easier trip the following night which after the event gave me a slight suggestion of a guilty conscience for the the [sic] very first (and last) time.
"Your target" said the Group Captain, "is the German 'U' Boat refuelling Base at ALGHERO, in Sardinia, put paid to it". Our bomb load was 7 x 500 pounders, 4 S.B.C.'s of 30 lb. incendiaries and 2 x 250 pound bombs. We overflew the target at 4000 feet and first dropped several sacks of
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leaflets. These were in Italian and told the people of Alghera that when we very shortly occupied their country and liberated them from the beastly Germans, they would be treated better than ever before, provided with medical aid and food, and every other possible benefit. All we need is a little co-operation and understanding from them. Having spread the gospel, we made three bombing runs over Alghero, at 3000, 1500 and 700 feet, all perfect O.T.U. practice type runs. On the last bombing run, Allan Willoughby manned the port beam gun, Dyson the front turret and the [deleted] the [/deleted] three of us fired our 7 Brownings at point-blank range into the chaos below. The sole opposition comprised two small-calibre machine guns which were soon out of action. Maybe it was a U Boat refuelling base, but only in the sense that it was a small fishing village and happened to have a jetty where drums of oil could be trundled down to a U Boat at the end of it. Our vision of a Sardinian type Lorient or Brest was soon dispelled. The BBC reported 'our bombers based in North Africa attacked targets is Sardinia lastnight'.
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For a couple of days our conversation had centred around an incident over the Lido di Roma. A seaplane base consists mostly of water; on our first run over it we had difficulty in locating the buildings and were hoping to see a tidy straight line of parked seaplanes. The Skipper decided to drop a flare and asked the Wireless Op. to arm no. 1 of 4 already in position in the flarechute. As he removed the safety pin the flare ignited and the top part of it shot through the roof of the aircraft with flames pouring out of the lower end, streaking past the rear turret.
The blinding light startled Stan Chadderton at the Bombing panel and he instantly jettisoned all the flares, undoubtedly preventing a major disaster. How easy it was to be shot down by one's own flare.
According to Intellegence [sic] reports, there were 1,100 casualties in our raid on Cagliari on the 13th., most of them having been caught by a single bomb. This figure is highly suspect but it originated from an Italian report.
On the 21st. it was a stooge over Sicily with 18 250 lb. bombs.
A convoy was within range of the Ju88 Torpedo bombers based in Sicily and our task was to try and keep them on the ground, or if they did manage to take off, prevent them from making an airmanlike landing on return. Aircraft took off singly starting at 1700 hrs.; we were the 24th. at 2045 hrs., with two others to follow. A direct flight to Castelvetrano, identify the aerodrome and one bomb away, then set course for Ciacco, same procedure, and on to Borezzo. If a flare path is seen anywhere give it priority and stooge around in that area for a while. All the bombs were dropped on the three targets and no flarepaths were seen. We concluded there were no enemy landings or take-offs, but one aircraft was seen to go down in flames into the sea; probably Sgt. Williams of our squadron who was on his first mission from Africa, although he had done several over Germany. At Castelvetrano there was lots of light flak using tracer, and we felt the heavy flak in some areas was predicted. We were not experiencing the 'thick carpets' of flak ever-present over Germany, perhaps ours was more personal, just a few batteries carefully aiming at one or two Wimpies.
It was all go, and on the 23rd. we did an easy 3 1/2 hour trip. 2 hours of which was over Africa. We crossed the Tunisian coast and reached Pantelleria 20 minutes later, an island only 7 miles in length with an aerodrome on the western side. Visibility was poor, but we went straight in and dropped 4,500 lbs. in one stick. These were plotted later as just to the south of the aerodrome. We cruised around out at sea for 20 minutes at 7,000 feet, studying four barrage balloons clearly visible at 5000 feet. On our return however there was no support for this theory from anyone else and we were told it was only heavy flak. This was of course quite possible, in poor conditions and with tired eyes imagination can take over. Within a week however, it was generally accepted that the enemy were deploying barrage ballons [sic] although not in great numbers. Most of our aircraft were not fitted with cable cutters on the leading edge of the wings. Pantelleria was an easy trip and we were advised that it would count only as half a trip towards our 35. We had generally assumed the first tour was 30 trips but it did not seem to worry anyone. The day. after the Pantelleria trip, the Squadron mascot, Wompo, or Wimpy. a pedigree Heinz 69 was killed in action. Whilst he was
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merrily chasing some small creature he was accidentally hit by a jeep driven by F/O Langlois, a pilot of 150. He was so badly damaged that one of the lads put him down with his Smith & Wesson .38.
On the 24th. we staggered off the desert in "F" for Freddie heading for Sardinia carrying eight 500 pound bombs and some incendiaries and it seemed ages before we reached even 100 feet. I was not aware of the drama in the front office, both the Skipper and Bomb Air were struggling even to keep us airborne. At about 500 feet it was not possible to maintain height and the Skipper had no option but to lighten the load quickly. Two 500 pounders were released and seconds later there was a tremendous bang from down below, but the aircraft began to maintain height. We were just within sight of the Sardinian coast with the engines overheating when the Skipper jettisoned the remaining bombs and nursed the aircraft back to Fontain Chaude. That was our second boomerang. Had we been carrying a 4000 lb. cookie the episode would have had a very different ending. By the 2nd. of June we had completed 6 more trips and moved camp further east, to Kairouan. Our patch of desert was about 6 miles west of the walled City, said to be the fifth most holy in the Moslem world. The place was very dry, and the well 100 yards from our tent was out of bounds. The R.A.M.C. and the Afrika Korps had both marked it as poisoned by their repective [sic] enemies. It was said to contain human remains, but tests carried out just before we moved on showed the water had not been polluted and was 100% fit for drinking. Meanwhile our water was delivered by two water bowsers each of which travelled 30 miles east to Sousse several times each day. Many years later the record shows that neither the Germans nor the Allies polluted any water supplies. After all, both hoped to recapture them and put them back to their own use. On the first night from Kairouan we were credited with one more trip, having completed two halves! That is, two trips to PANTELLARIA.
We took off in waves of 3 or 4 throughout the night, arriving over the target 45 minutes later. Our aircraft was "C" Charlie which carried one 4000 pounder. On the first run in we overshot, but came round again and in a typical OTU practice run, Stan Chadderton placed the bomb neatly in the centre of the small town. A 45 minute flight back to base and an hour's respite whilst the aircraft was checked, refuelled and bombed up, then the mixture as before.
On the 27th. we were piling into a lorry to go out to the widely dispersed aircraft; the nightly German raid on Sousse was in full swing when a single Ju88 came over to look at our flare path. He was clearly visible and stooged around at will for about 10 minutes before making a run at about 1000 feet dropping 3 bombs in a salvo 300 yards from the Sgts. mess. Nothing was hurt except our feelings and there was no material damage. We had no A-A guns, so the Luftwaffe did not receive the same energetic welcome handed out to us. We relied on Beaufighter squadrons for defence. The R.A.F. policy was reasonable, as the aircraft were dispersed over a wide area and a single stick of bombs would be ineffective against a single aircraft as a target on the ground. We took-off half an hour later for a tour of Sardinia, again with a payload of eighteen 250 lb. bombs. Our only brief was to stooge around between aerodromes and generally make a nuisance of ourselves. There were no allied troops in Sardinia yet so no special care was called for. Our bombs were expected to be released on aerodromes, searchlights and guns. The
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main object was to keep the Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica on the ground. These trips were not very popular and provided good practice for Ju88 night fighters. We were stood down on the 3rd. June after doing two ops the previous night. We slept all morning and in the afternoon crowded into a lorry and went to the seaside. Monastir, near Sousse and we had our first baths since leaving Blida. We were in good company and had Mare Nostrum to ourselves with tens of thousands of other Allied troops. I have been there several times since and always think of the mass of naked troops in the sea. A good target for the the [sic] German aircraft? Not really, the scores of light A-A guns made it a very dicey target. The Allies must have had well over a thousand aircraft of different types in the area. The Arab town of Monastir was out of bounds to the Army but not, for some probably invalid reason to the R.A.F. We had a 'shufti' and two of us invested in a sort of haircut. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be French, Monastir having been the fashionable part of the Sousse area,
The night of the 4th. June was an unlucky one for 150 Squadron. We lost three of our 16 aircraft on the ground without intervention from the enemy. The aircraft were bunched fairly close together, having been bombed-up and ready for take-off. During a final check, a Bombadier accidentally released a flare which lay on the ground. He dashed off to find an Armourer to make it safe but within minutes the flare ignited. Within 15 minutes the whole area was ablaze and three aircraft, M Mike, A Able and P Peter, each complete with over two tons of bombs and full petrol tanks blew up. Our aircraft which was to have taken us twice to Pantelleria that night 'N' Nuts, together with seven others, was severely damaged. About half the squadron went to Panteleria [sic] , 2 half-trips and in full moonlight reported a couple of Ju88's circling the island. One aircraft returned with about 40
square feet of fabric torn off.
The following night a new target was added to our growing list, SYRACUSE in eastern Sicily, only a little light flak was encountered, and it was just a matter of bombing the water front. Our main task was in fact to drop leaflets on several of the coastal towns, working our way anticlockwise round Sicily. We passed slightly to the west of Pantelleria on the return leg and saw the Wimpies from the Western Desert squadrons bombing the island.
The exact words written in my diary are "bashing hell out of the island".
Our own Group Captain - "Speedy" Powell also went to Pantelleria but complained that his bomb did not explode. We riled him that it went into the sea. We were now seeing a great deal more of the British army and the Americans and we were realising just what small cogs we were in all the activity. We had an American guest with us when he ran us over to the Ops. Room in his personal jeep to collect lastnight's aiming point photograph. He noticed in the caption at the bottom of the photograph "280 deg.T" and remarked "Geez, mighty hot up there aint [sic] it?". It refered [sic] to our course, not the temperature, but we did not add any further complication to trying to explain.
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in the next 12 days we carried out only two raids, the first an easy one to PANTALARIA [sic], which surrendered the following day, and the second to a new target, MESINA [sic], the straits between the toe of Italia and Sicile [sic] . on the way out we passed very close to our favourite island and across Sicily to the target. The target was already marked with 14 flares by the Western Desert squadrons, and for the first time in North Africa that part of the job was done for us. I noted at the time that "the A-A defences were baffled by the number of aircraft over the target at the same time. There were 34 aircraft and only F/Lt. Langlois ran into trouble. He was caught in the searchlights from both sides of the straits and dropped from 11,000 to 2,000 feet to escape them. In doing so he flew through the balloon barrage, but without further incident.
My diary has recently been opened for the first time in over 42 years, so I have not pondered over its accuracy. 34 aircraft simultaneously over the target probably did seem like a thousand bomber raid to us!. Our Bomb Aimer that night was Ft/Lt. Casky, our own being in jail in Tunis. After our last trip to 'the' island we went to Tunis on a 48 hr. verbal pass. The Skipper had the trots, which we all suffered from time to time, and he tried to rest in the tent nearest the toilet trench. Willoughby the Navigator, Stan Chadderton Bombadier [sic] , Harry Dyson the Wireless Op and myself, Rear Gunner. We were each issued with two boxes of American "K" rations, and hitch-hiked first to Sousse and then to Tunis. The first leg was in the back of an Army lorry and the main leg up the coast road by R.A.F. "Queen Mary" which carried about a hundred of us. The whole trip took only 6 hours. The town of Tunis had been in Allied hands for 4 days and there were still a few Germans in hiding. We had given no thought to accommodation which did not seem to be important. Leaving Stan and Di in a canteen abandoned by the Germans, Wally and I eventually found an hotel near the docks area where we were able to book two rooms. I cannot recall the name of the hotel, but the address was 49 Rue de Serbie. The hotel was in very poor condition, no water, all the windows had been blown out, doors smashed, walls cracked and so on. No catering but we had our 'K' rations. Opposite the hotel was a bombed church and all around the buildings were either destroyed or severely damaged. The docks had been our main target in Tunis, and they were destroyed, with all the warehouses practically levelled out. One cargo vessel was beached and two others rested on the bottom. The Arabs were mostly friendly and told us the bomb damage in town was done mainly by 4 engined bombers is daylight, which let us off the hook. The European French were not so friendly, possibly many of them having lost comfortable homes. Some were quite abusive verbally but to others we managed to explain that we flew Chasseurs, pas des bombardiers. In our minds we had liberated the people of Tunis - and the rest of North Africa - from the Germans. We did not fully appreciate that the Arabs saw it differently. The Inglisi and Americans were no different to the Germans and Italians, and they in turn did no less for them than the French. They lived for the day when they would be left to manage their own affairs. In our wanderings around town we met a Tommy who was a Prisoner of War on a ship which had. been bombed at night a few miles out of Tunis. The ship was Italian, homeward bound and had been straffed [sic] by Spitfires during the day. The ship was spotted by two Wellington crews during a night raid on the docks, and the ship was
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bombed, then straffed [sic] from a few hundred feet. The vessel came to a halt and the 20 or so Germans and Italians abandoned ship. Three of the several hundred British prisoners had been regrettably killed in the action and all the others managed to get ashore in lifeboats and floats in the final days of the Axis evacuation of North Africa. The ship was without lights which should have been carried. Another 8th. Army private told us he was a P.O.W. being transferred from a lorry onto a boat about a week ago when about 30 Spitfires and Kittyhawks arrived and caused chaos with their 20 and 40 mm. cannon. The guards were overpowered and most of the 500 or so P.O.W.’s managed to get away. He spoke highly of the fighter pilots, convinced the attack was a very well-planned sortie to release the P.O.W.'s., not just to blaze away at anything German that dared to move. He could very well have been correct,
On our last evening in Tunis the four of us shared a battle of wine with a meal at a roadside cafe. When we were paying the bill we found there was money left over and asked for another bottle of their excellent wine. As the wine was brought over, a Sgt. M.P. standing behind us shouted "no more wine for them", after which Stan told him to mind his own business. The M.P. then grabbed Stan's arm and held it to his back, but seeing threatening movements from the rest of us, released it. Stan then turned quickly and thumped the M.P. who promptly disappeared. Shortly afterwards two R.A.F. Sgt. S.P.'s came is and asked if we had had some trouble and if so would Stan like to put in a complaint to the Provost Marshal? This seemed like a good countermeasure to a possible charge made by the Sgt. M.P. and Stan accompanied the two R.A.F. S.P.’s to the Provost Marshal's office. In reality this was the jail and as they entered the door the Sgt. M.P. set about Stan who gave as good as he got. But this was inside the jail, Stan was at a big disadvantage and about to spend the first of three nights in it. The jail was is fact next door to our hotel is Rue de Serbie. Willy and I did not suspect that Stan was in trouble, we assumed our S.P.’s were just being helpful, so we sat down again with the bottle. Perhaps Di's conscience was not quite so clear, and when he saw the S.P.'s coming he made himself scarce. We caught up with him later asking an M.P. where he could pinch a Jeep. The M.P. humoured him and directed him to an American car park with lots of Jeeps, but Di had seen a tramcar and decided to pinch that instead. Fortunately the tramcar was off the rails, and he changed his attention to the French tricolour on top of a derelict building. He climbed the building and removed the flag, then Willy and I managed to get him back to the hotel. Di's condition was not due to a session of heavy drinking, we had seen very little of anything alcoholic for a long time and two glasses of local wine would have been more than enough to really get him going.
The three of us hitch-hiked back to Kairoaun and reported the loss of one Bomb Aimer to the Skipper. The following day Squadron Leader Miller D.F.C. flew to Tunis and demanded Stan's release from jail. He had a major row with the same Sgt. M.P. who started it all and who was asking what authority the Squadron Leader had. The Squadron Leader pointed to his 2 1/2 rings of rank and the D.F.C. and asked the M.P. whether he thought they were scotch mist. Stan was released and back at Kairoaun was charged with causing an affray, resulting in a Reprimand. The Sgt. M.P. was charged and given a Severe Reprimand and reduced to Corporal.
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By the 16th. of June we were operational again as a crew. the target was again NAPLES, a 6 hour 15 min. stooge and rather tiring. There was a full moon and visibility was 25 miles. We could clearly see Pantelaria [sic] to port, and later, north of Sicily, the small island of Maritimo, just the tip of a mountain sticking out of the sea. The Isle of Capri provided a good pin-point. Over the target area there was 9/10ths. cloud so we bombed from above the flares. Flak was moderate and widely spread. There was slight consternation when one of my turret doors fell off for no apparent reason. I wondered what else would fall off but everything else seemed to be intact so it was just a matter of strapping myself in - which according to the book should be so in any case. Just after "bombs gone" I reported a twin-engined aircraft starboard quarter up at 1000 yards. The Skipper started to weave gently. and Di went to the astrodome position to search above the horizontal whilst I -theoritically [sic] at least-- concentrated on below the horizontal. This is not an easy task when the rear gunner is expected to ignore one fighter leaving it to his colleague whilst searching for others. Di became somewhat emotional to say the least, said it was not a fighter but merely flak, and then went on to give a commentry [sic] on searchlight activity and flak at least - by then- five miles away, and of only historical interest. Whilst in a turn to port the other aircraft was directly astern and I identified it as twin engined and without the high tail fin of the Wellington. The Skipper did a diving turn to starboard and we lost the other aircraft. Di claimed it was another aircraft not to be confused with the one he identified as flak! Normally Di stayed at his radio position, it was better that way. On the return journey, either there was a raid on Trapani or someone had strayed off-course. On the 18th. it was again to SYRACUSE, an exceptionally clear night, almost no cloud and a full moon. We could have dispensed with the flarepath on take-off and we felt as if we were doing a day trip. Over the target there was tracered flak up to 7,000 feet and we were geared up to bomb from 5,000 feet. We expected night fighters, and even day fighters, so went straight in at 5000 feet, bombed and straight out again, down to 3,000 feet for a quick tour of several nearby small towns and villages where we dropped leaflets. We were glad to get home that night, such met. and lunar conditions were hazardous. SALERNO again on the 21st, a routine trip, but on the 24th. of June I got a message to call at the 'Orderly Room', which in reality was the bell tent next to the C.O.'s tent. There was great discussion on which particular crime had caught up with me, but it was all very innocent. I came out of the bell tent as a Flight Sargeant [sic] much to the annoyance of the Sgt. Skipper and the three other Sgts. in the crew. It didn't help very much when I told them they need not call me Flight Sgt. ALL the time, just once in the morning and again in the evening.
In the early hours of the 26th. June we bombed the naval base of BARI in S. E. Italy, and it was an almost complete fiasco. It was not possible to see the ground due to haze, and the Western Desert aircraft had dropped the marker flares in the wrong place. Fires were started over an area of about 60 square miles, maybe one or two on the target by sheer chance. The target was a small oil refinery built especially to deal with the crude oil from Albania. Important to the Axis because that particular oil needed special treatment which, we were advised, only Bari could provide. We were now spending more and more time over the Italian mainland, for the first time we were seeing concentrations of
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lights in the form of a triangle which were assumed to be Prison and Internment Camps. On the way out we saw Trapani being bombed by our colleagues from the Western desert. The following afternoon it was too hot to sleep and I flew with Sgt. Whitehouse, a new pilot from Britain, in a brand new aircraft, 'D' Donald. We traced the path of the 8th. Army to beyond the Mareth line, at about 2500 feet. There were few battle scars; It was hard to appreciate that this was a place of such dreadful carnage so recently.
Kairouan was placed out of bounds due to Typhus, and there was nothing in the walled city to tempt us to ignore the order. The Arabs were less friendly and our revolvers were not looked upon merely as a taken of authoriity [sic] . According to a report in a Daily Mirror which took a few weeks to arrive, the lads were reported to have been given a hearty welcome by the French people in the Holy City of Kairouan. Actually there were only a handful of French remaining. Another Daily Mirror headline we found amusing was "BLOCKBUSTERS ON BIZERTA". It went an to say that "Lastnight our Bombers based in North Africa again pounded Bizerta; During the entire raid, blockbusters were dropped at the rate of one every two minutes. Absolutely correct, it was a raid from Blida, but it did not say that the raid was of 2 minutes duration and that we had only two aircraft able to carry the blockbusters. However, we looked forward to reading even an old Daily Mirror and to listen to the B.B.C. when airborne. Some of the stock phrases brought a chuckle at times 'Fires were left burning..', "Rear Gunners straffed [sic] the target..." "All opposition was overcome.." "Many two ton blockbusters ...." etc. etc, It appeared far more impressive in print than in reality doing it. Generally all we saw were explosions and dull red glows, tracer coming up and curving away passed us, and being blinded sometimes by searchlights. We did not picture at the time the loss of life down below and the damage caused to factories and buildings of all descriptions, in any cases, mostly houses. Straffing [sic] was invigorating and served to let off steam, but the supporting arithmetic was disappointing. An aircraft travelling at 180 m.p.h. (264 feet per second) over a target 360 yards in length would take 4 seconds to traverse the target. A .303 Browning has a rate of fire of 1200 rounds per min., the four in the rear turret having a combined rate of 4800 per min., or 80 rounds per second. There is time only for a 4 second burst of 320 rounds - not a lot - The Reargunner sees nothing of the target until it is passed and needs to be told when to open fire by someone in the front office. On straffing [sic] details it is likely the front turret with two guns, and one beam gun would be in use, increasing fire power by 75%, Possibly even a four-second burst once experienced at the receiving end might cause the enemy to duck next time we come by. This was an acceptable technique along a straight road. The aircraft was often fitted with two beam guns, one on each side, but only one was manned. Vision was poor from the beam positions and normally we would pass to one side of the target with one wing low. The gun on the other beam would have been aiming upwards. On the 28th 150 Sqdn. was stood down for 24 hours, but the previous night we paid a visit to SANGIOVANI on the southern toe of the Italian mainland: This was a daylight trip with four squadrons of Wellingtons to the train ferry terminal, a dock or lock which the ferry would enter and the water level be adjusted such that the level of the rails on land and ferry coincided. The train would then be shunted an or off the ferry as required. Flack was intense for
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Italian targets and there were trains both on-the ferry in dock and onshore. The whole lot was successfully reduced to a shambles but 6 of our aircraft failed to return. Our heaviest loss yet in a single night.
The 30th. of June was Willie's birthday and we celebrated it over MESINA. According to the B.B.C. we are blitzing both sides of the straits, Mesina to the west in Sicily and Sangiovani on the Italian mainland. The straits are only 3 1/2 miles wide, and carry the greater part of all enemy traffic to Sicily, entirely in German control with concentrated light flack [sic] from both sides and from ships in the middle. A trip lasting 5 1/2 hours.
The whole crew is beginning to feel the strain of long periods of intense activity. Although most of the memories are of the actual bombing ops., that was only a part of it. Aircraft had to be inspected daily on the ground and also air tested ready for the next trip, before bombing up. The Navigator had to prepare his flight plan prior to take off and this was done also on the many occasions when trips were later cancelled. All of us spent at least some time in the Intellegence [sic] Section to keep up-to-date with the position of the front line and the general trend. It was perhaps in some ways easier for us than for our counterparts in Europe. We had fewer distractions. There was no looking forward to a pint in the local pub. nor getting home to the family for a day or two. Not even the local cinema. There was very little booze to be had, I seem to remember a ration of one bottle of beer per fortnight which I used to take up on an air test to cool it down, and then give to the Armourers after landing. The batman was not going to ask "which suit and shoes are you wearing tonight Sir? " as he did later at Spitalgate. Evening wear was the same as for the rest of the day, shorts, perhaps a shirt, certainly no socks, and sandals on the feet. On the few occasions when we went out of camp we generally wore khaki battledress which we wore also of course on ops. I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open at night for long periods, and finding it very tempting to rest my head on the guns and have a doze, but to do so would be absolutely unforgiveable. The Skipper was under an even greater strain and a six hour trip was 6 hours of concentrated effort. On one or two occasions he dozed off for maybe just a few seconds, but fortunately by his side most of the time was Stan Chadderton the Bombardier who very quickly realised the position and watched points up front. The amount of nattering in the air was on the increase, also. It was standard procedure to use oxygen at night regardless of altitude, and the microphones with their electrical heaters were built-in to the mask. Everyone was connected to the intercom system all the time except for the Wireless op. who was able to switch out his own connection when using his radio. Microphones were switched as required by individual wearers. The Skipper's microphone was switched on all the time and so too was the Rear Gunner's in danger areas. Procedures were relaxed somewhat in our particular theatre of war; we could get along quite nicely without oxygen below 10,000 feet and I don't recollect flying much above that height. Whenever I reported anything Di dashed to the astradome [sic] and objected. If the rotation of my rear turret was not rythmical [sic] both the Skipper and Navigator objected. The turret and guns presented an assymetrical [sic] shape to the slipstream with a consequent rudder effect. If I kept the turret facing starboard for too long the aircraft would do a gentle flat turn to starboard. Meanwhile the Skipper was trying to maintain a course determined by the
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Navigator who was keeping a watchful eye on his compass, perhaps not appreciating that it was the rear gunner making things difficult. Although the sides of the turret were clad with perspex, it was difficult to see through it with the degree of clarity required. In fact the perspex in front of the turret had been removed to provide a clear vision panel. Even on the ground the whole crew was getting very irritable with each other. For almost a year we had lived worked, ate and near enough slept together almost without a break, the same endless routine, and anything to which we could look forward seemed an awful long way off. Whose turn to carry the water, became a very important issue at times and would lead to an argument [sic] . After some very harsh wards we would agree that it was stupid to argue about such a trivial issue, which in turn led to a bigger argument on who started the argument in the first place. I remember Chad the Bombardier putting paid to the row one day by getting off his bed - known as a pit - and announcing "Well, I've get to go for a **, anyone care to join me'? The loo comprised a trench, 20 feet long, several feet deep and about one foot wide over which one crouched. There was a choice of direction in which to face, and one or two of the bigger chaps preferred to straddle the trench. There was no need to interrupt a conversation in going to the toilet.
By the end of June the length of tour was clarified. First it was to have been 30 trips as in Britain, then it had been increased to 40 as some trips were not very hazardous, then some of the trips counted only as halves, and the tour was again changed to be 250 hours of operational flying. The Western Desert tour was said to be 40 trips or 250 hours, whichever was the less. However, there were other things to think about. Sgt. Lee and two other pilots were paraded before the whole squadron Air Crews and called "Saboteurs" by the Group Captain, having between them written off five aircraft in taxiing accidents. Group Captain 'Speedy' Powell was a very keen type and conducted all the briefings himself, was generally the first one off the ground and first back in time for debriefing. Whilst we were resting he would sometimes return to the target in an American twin boomed lightning to try and assess the damage - or find what we had actually bombed!
On the night of the 30th. June we were stood dawn and watched 142 Sqdn. take off for southern Italy. The starboard engine of one aircraft cut a few seconds before the aircraft should have get airborne. The aircraft swung and crashed into a jeep which was waiting to cross the 'runway', killing both American occupants and breaking it's back, a complete write-off. My diary makes no mention of the fate of the crew. We had just been issued with a new aircraft, 'B Beer' and I spent most of the day cleaning the guns and turret which were still all greased up as when they left England. Normally this work was carried out by the Armourers, but I was expected to take an active interest in the guns and turrets. The guns were removed, stripped, soaked in petrol, thoroughly cleaned and reassembled, replaced in the newly-cleaned turret and then harmonised. In Britain the harmonising of guns was carried out by placing a board at a predetermined distance in front of the turret and adjusting the ring-sight and guns to line up with specific paints or circles on the board. In North Africa we placed a can or any handy object on the ground 300 yards away and pointed the guns and ring-sight at it.
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Another day-off on the 2nd. July and Jumbo Cox, a Navigator on 150 Sqdn. and I hitch-hiked into Sousse and spent a few hours in the sea. After our dip we queued for 20 minutes at a huge marquee and enjoyed the most wonderful mug of tea of all time. I have thought many times in the last 40 years of that mug of tea.
The 4th. of July turned out to be the-hottest in temperature we had experienced for a long time. We had bombed TRAPANI in the very early morning. Intensive flack and searchlights with tracer up to 5000 feet. At 2000 feet the temperature was 95 Farenheit [sic] and not much lower at 9,000 feet, our bombing height. I was wearing only trousers and a shirt and was soaked in perspiration. Even the slipstream felt hot when I put one hand outside. Apart from the oppressive heat, it was a routine trip, and we managed to sleep most of the following afternoon, in 130 deg. in the shade. The wind was from the south-west, straight off the Sahara, and several airmen passed out with heatstroke. Metal parts of the aircraft were too hot to touch and a Wellington on the ground of 37 Squadron went up in flames. On the night of the 6th, we were briefed to attack aerodromes in Sardinia, and Sgt. Chandler piloted the first aircraft off. Both engines cut immediately after take-off whilst his undercarriage was still lowered. With full fuel and bomb load he somehow managed to avoid the inevitable and landed in a cultivated area at the end of the runway. Some of the crew suffered minor injuries, but it was 40 minutes before the rest of us were given a green to take-off. The wrecked aircraft was directly under the take-off path. Seven aircraft failed to get off the ground, including ours, all due to engines overheating after running for over 40 minutes on the ground. We had also lost air pressure for the brakes. Of the aircraft which did take off none was successful in finding the target, flouted by bad weather over Sardinia. Sgt. Valentine was above 10/10ths cloud with engines overheating and deemed it necessary to jettison his bombs "over the sea". We were not generally briefed with the positions of Allied shipping convoys, but were routed away from them without being given the reason. Sgt. Valentine decided to return by the shortest route and when has bombs whistled down on the convoy the Navies took a very poor view and let fly with everything they had. This was a well-established practice on the Navy's part, so there was no cause for complaint. In all, that night was a waste of 30 tons of bombs, 4000 gallons of petrol and over 150 flying hours.
On the 7th. we visited an aerodrome at COMISO in Southern Italy, delivering 4500 lbs, of bombs. It was a new target to the R.A.F., and apparently undefended, Only three of us managed to locate it and we were lucky in the timing of our 3 flares in obtaining a pinpoint. We obtained good aiming point photograph which showed our stick of bombs had straddled the dispersal area, with the last two landing in the olive groves.
Nearly half a century later I wonder why we did not use the radio for communicating with other aircraft in providing mutual assistance. We had no V.H.F. but the TR9 H.F. R/T would have been adequate. Observing Radio silence I feel was taken to extremes, our signals might indicate our presence to the enemy, but they were aware of that in any case. They might home onto us, but our transmissions would have been brief and on a frequency initially unknown to the enemy. They were not equipped to respond fast enough to information gleaned by monitoring, neither was the area covered with direction-finding
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stations. I feel this was one of the matters where a principle had been established and which was not reviewed often enough under changing circumstances.
On the evening of the tenth of July, just before briefing we heard aircraft engines and it was like being at a cinema show. Wave after wave of Dakota transports thundered overhead on their way to Sicily. It reminded me of the film "An Engishman`s Home" and the massive formations of German bombers, but these aircraft were American and British and were definitely not making a film. At briefing Groupie put us in the picture. "Accurate timing and accurate bombing, more so than ever before" was his opening phrase. We were briefed to bomb a specific part of SYRACUSE whilst paratroops were being dropped close by and other paras were already in position ready to capture our target immediately after the bombing. Flares were dropped accurately and the target successfully bombed, although some bombs went in the sea because of its close proximity. We noted a very large fire at Catania and "a number of queer lights which suggested fifth column activity" according to my diary. 45 years later I wonder how I reached that conclusion. Looking down from about 9,000 feet on the southern coast of Sicily on the return journey, we saw the Navy shelling the coast and several searchlights on shore began to sweep out to sea. One of the searchlights located a ship and held on to it, whilst the others went on sweeping. From another ship there were just three flashes of light, and seconds afterwards, three flashes on shore, one in front of the offending searchlight, one slap on it, and the third behind it. That was one searchlight out of action, and the others switched off in sympathy. The Navy carried on firing without further interruption. My panoramic view of the action from nearly two miles above gave no indication of the destruction and agony caused by those three shots.
The following, night it was the turn of MONTECORVlNO in western Italy, a new German aerodrome. Over the target we narrowly missed colliding with Jack Alazrachi in `Q' Queenie. His starboard wingtip scored our port wing and my diary records "a very shaky do". Our stick straddled the aircraft parking area and we took an excellent aiming point photograph of 15 aircraft an the ground. It was later confirmed officially that our two squadrons destroyed 40 aircraft and damaged many more.
On the 13th. at briefing, Group Captain Powell grinned and glanced down at his flying boots and said "Yes chaps, we are in for an interesting trip, Jerry is landing a massive convoy at MESINA and we are instructed to smash it." We went out at 6000 ft. above sea level which, over Sicily averaged about 2000 feet above ground. I found it difficult to concentrate on a formal rear-gunner type search, there was so much activity. Ground detail could be seen very easily and the Tactical Air Force was observed bombing all over the island. There were flares everywhere, bombs creating havoc, flak barrages and intensive shelling by the Navies. Over our target, the flak was intense but scattered. Sgt. "Pax" Smith's aircraft was holed, something went through his bombing panel and made two big holes in the front turret. This crew, like most did not include a full-time front gunner, the Bombardier occupied the turret as and when expedient and on this occasion had just returned to the second dickie seat when the aircraft was holed. One aircraft was seen to crash and another, in flames, exploded on hitting the ground. At debriefing we learned that one Wellington of 142 Squadron was missing,
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and this was manned by six officers, five of whom had completed one tour over Germany. The sixth, flying as 'second dickie' was on his very first trip.
Another new target to us, on the 15th, CROTONIA, an aerodrome on the east coast of the toe of Italy. A routine trip out, good visibility and straight in to the taget [sic] . There were four flak batteries, but Sgt, Mickie Mortimer was just ahead of us and his first stick silenced all four. Our single stick straddled the aerodrome and enlarged the existing fires among aircraft on the ground. We stooged around for a little while watching aircraft blowing up and more bombs adding to the havoc on the ground. When all was quiet we dropped to 250 feet and went in with guns blazing and between us fired about 4000 rounds into the fires, We must have hit something. There were dummy fires to the north and south-east of the aerodrome, very unreal and no-one was fooled by them. On the way out of the target area we were followed. by an aircraft sporting an orange light, and at one stage took light evasive action, but he did not attack. Several other rear gunners reported the same experience, non [sic] was actually engaged. We were routed back round northern Sicily, as usual Trapani was being attacked and other targets nearby were being bombed. We were hoping to see the 142 Sqdn. aircraft with the blue light which we nearly shot down returning from Salerno. The Bombardier in the second pilot's seat reported two aircraft ahead, one with a white light which we assumed to be a decoy. We expected the aircraft to allow us to overtake, and whilst the one with the light drew our attention his chum would sneak is from another dirction [sic] . We lost both the other aircraft for a minute or two, then the aircraft with the light - this time a blue one - reappeared on the starboard bow at about 500 yards. Meanwhile Chad had taken over the front turret, but held his fire. He identified it as a Wimpey. The Skipper altered course and we passed about 100 feet below the Wimpy. I got a plan view of him and confirmed the identification. As he fell behind I flashed dah dah dit, dit dit dit on my inspection lamp. There was no reply from the other aircraft but it landed 15 minutes after us and taxied towards 142 dispersal, On that same trip two of us saw an aircraft at 800 yards on our port quarter up which closed in to 500 yards. He was at too great a range for our .303s, but we were ready for an instant dive to port. He surprised us by turning away to port at about 400 yards, and again two of us identified it as a Wimpey.
Enemy aerodromes continued to take up most of our effort, and on the night of the 17th. it was three hours each way to POMIGLIANO near Naples, passing round Vesuvius with it's dull red glow. The target was initially very quiet and consequently not easy to locate. On our first run in at 6000 feet, we were a few minutes early, but dead on time at 4000 feet on our second run. We were caught and held in searchlights, and the light flak was point-blank. Allan Willoughby claimed he could smell it when the Skipper asked him for a course for home after the second run-in. When Stan the Bombardier announced that we still had nine 250 pound bombs aboard, someone suggested we should jettisson [sic] them on the town. Allan suggested we strike at a village a few miles ahead but Stan refused to drop them anywhere except the aerodrome at Pomigliano. The third run-in was at 5000 feet and the searchlights got us again as soon as the bomb doors were open. We were in a cone of eight and it seemed we had the aerodrome to ourselves. The bombing was accurate and we lost height to 2000 feet, all quiet again. My part in all this had
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really been that of a passenger listening to and witnessing the drama, and I was not popular when I suggested to the Skipper that we go back at low level and put a few lights out. Chad was in favour and had the front turret in mind, Allan was not keen and didn't like the smell of flak, and Dyson thought the idea was 'plain stupid'. Dyson was probably right for the wrong reason, but the Skipper was thinking we had got away with it for well over 30 trips so far, and there was no point in tempting providence. A three hour stooge back to Blida with nothing but silence on the intercom. Other aircraft were seen in the circuit and our TR9 radio was out of order. This was a very low power transmitter/receiver operating between 4 and 8 MHz. and used by the Skipper to contact Air Traffic Control at Base. If we still had an acceptable reserve of fuel we would have gone away and returned in 30 miniutes [sic] , but fuel was low and the Skipper decided to land without any formalities or delay. This aroused the wrath of the Flight Commander who tore a terrific strip off him next day. Our report at debriefing was very different to that of Sgt. Whitehouse and crew, who said it was a wizard O.T.U. run, bombs slap on the runway, no flak, no searchlights and the whole thing was 'a piece of cake'. He had in fact been to the wrong aerodrome, Crotone, which we had pranged on the 15th. where the defences stayed silent in order not to attract attention. - an old Italian custom -. The reason for the accuracy of the searchlights was a layer of cloud at 10,000 feet, a full moon and clear visibility. We were silhouetted against the cloud even without the searchlights.
Two nights later Sgt. Whitehouse, this time officially and with the rest of us, went again to CROTONE. We were all very tired and I found it difficult to keep awake. Visibility was 15 miles with a nearly full moon and on the way out for long periods we actually enjoyed the visible company of other Wimpies. On arrival at CROTONE we were surprised to see fires already started and spent a good five minutes in ensuring that it was indeed the target, Two bombing runs were made, at 3000 feet and 1500 feet, dropping nine 250 pounders each time. The bombs were seen bursting among aircraft on the ground, some of which were already ablaze. 400 yards from the burning aircraft was a small wood which had obviously been hit and was burning merrily. My diary records "from the ground it would have seemed like Nov. 5th.
Rockets were going up and verries by the score.
Someone had pranged a pyrotechnic store."
We made a third run at 200 feet and spent some 1500 rounds at the aircraft on the ground. Other gunners did the same. We were amazed to find everything so easy, and no opposition as far as we know, our raid on the 15th. should have given them a good idea of what to expect. There were no dummy fires and still they make no effort to disperse aircraft. The absence of fighters was strange; even day-fighters would have been very effective under those conditions. One crew reserved an odd bomb for the village south of the arodrome [sic] . It had a 36 hour delay and landed in the centre of the village. Not a very nice thing to do, and an act certainly not in accordance with our leaflets. Sgt. Pax Smith the intrepid Kiwi was on the last trip of his tour and elected to hit a railway bridge near the coast. It also had a' 36 hour delay fuse and missed the bridge by 50 yards. The British army was not at all happy with Smithy's effort, they planned to use the bridge within a week or two and were going to some considerable trouble to make sure the enemy
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didn't blow it up. They hadn’t counted on Smithy, but fortunately he wasn't quite up to scratch an that last trip.
One night off and then back try the 'Big City" , the capital of Italia, not to be confused with the really big one, the Capital city of Deutchland, with which there was absolutely no comparison. It was over two months since we had been to Rome, and it was still supposed to be an 'Open, undefended City'. Our specific target was PRACTICA DI MERE, an aerodrome just to the southwest of Rome. The Groupy had made it very clear at briefing, that nothing must be dropped on Rome itself. The target would be marked by flares positioned by W/O Coulson of 142 Squadron. We had no target map but the the [sic] aerodrome was plotted on the map of Central Italy - probably half million scale -. As we were passing the island of Maratimo, Chad was in the second dickie seat, map in hand and decided to get a clearer view of Maratimo by opening the sliding window at his side. The map disappeared out of the window, but with Allan's D. R. navigation we reached the target as Coulson's flares went down. Target marking at that stage of the war in Italy was in its infancy and was carried out with flares designed for lighting up the ground. These were very different from the coloured Target Indicators used to such great effect over Germany. Bombing was not particularly accurate, but well clear of Rome itself, where there was plenty of light flak and searchlight activity which exploded the myth about an undefended city. This activity extended down the Tiber to the Lido di Roma, where the Radio Station was still operating. The Vatican was blacked out very effectively
On the 25th. we started 8 days leave, taking an aircraft back to Blida for an engine change and major inspection. We took advantage of the stores at Blida and were issued with new uniforms, shoes and anything we wanted, just a matter of signing for it, it was two years before the system caught up with me and I was debited with the cost.
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[bearer document in English and arabic]
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[photograph]
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TWO OF OUR AIMING POINT PHOTOS
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The first three days were spent in Algiers with Harry Dyson at the Hotel Radio Grand but the inactivity - or something - was too much for Harry so we returned to Blida, only to find the rest of our party had adjourned to the rest camp at Surcouf. I spent most of my time in the next few days in Blida, partly with a French-Arab family Iloupcuse Moka Mourice Bijoutier, at 11 Rue Goly, Blida. 30 years later I was able to find the area but no-one recognised either the name or the address. Like most places, Blida had changed a lot in the intervening years. I remembered it as an almost typical French village, beautifully clean, tables and chairs outside the cafes, and a very pleasant atmosphere. After 20 years or so of independence it was a very different story, and I thought a rather sad one. I made several excursions into Algiers where the Yanks had become very well organised. They had-taken over and re-organised six cinemas, all with continuous shows for about 12 hours per day, and open house to Service personnel. I visited all six. The N.C.O.'s Club in Rue d'Isley was our base camp in Algiers, where we enjoyed endless cups of tea and cakes. The Malcolm Club, exclusive to R.A.F. personnel provided a good hot meat each evening. It was on this leave that I visited the local Match Factory at Caussemille, being an ardent Philumenist - collector of matchbox labels-. The factory was at that time owned and operated by the French and I was given a conducted tour of the factory. Most of the labels presented to me at the factory are in my collection to this day. My next visit to the factory was 37 years later, when I met with a very cool reception. The French had gone long ago, only their name remained. In that area of Algiers, all the street names were written on the street signs in Arabic except one, Caussemille. This was the name of an old French or Belgian family of match manufacturers possibly difficult to translate into Arabic. I met several of the chaps from the Rhodesia training days, one had joined Coastal Command and was detached from 'U.K. to Maison Blanche on White Wimpies. It had taken him six months to complete 100 hours and he was rather gloomy about the next four hundred to complete his tour. He was in fact rather nervous, his job being mine-sweeping; I asked him "what height do you fly at?" He replied that `it was a two-dimensional job, no such thing as height'. Causing magnetic mines to blow up by flying over them at very low level could not have been very pleasant. Maison Blanche is now known as El Beda, the International airport of Algeria, not so well organised as it was in 1943, and not half so busy! Blida aerodrome is the Headquarters of the Algerian Air Force and is a prohibited area to foreigners.
At the end of our 8 days in comparitive [sic] civilisation, we were glad to collect our newly serviced Wimpey and return to Kairouan. I was immediately recruited to fly with Sgt. Stone to MARINA DI PAOLA. We stooged over northern Sicily is daylight and very close to Trapani our old favourite which had been severely bashed about. During the invasion it was subjected also to heavy Naval shelling. Being with a different crew perhaps made things more interesting, seeing how they reacted to various aspects, and I thought they had a rather strange and formal appoach [sic] . We did not see our bombs burst and our photoflash failed to go off. There was none of the usual binding we experienced with our own crew, everyone was pleasant, courteous and cheerful. At debriefing Group Captain Powell said "Good Show chaps, I expect you are glad to get onto ops at last, and that's the first one done". I was speechless but thinking about their next 44, maybe they were also. I can see "Speedy Powell" very clearly making
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that statement, a memory revived recently in the film "Target for Tonight" in which he was the Flight Lieutenant taking the briefing; the same very distinctive and distinguished voice.
On the night of the 4th., the crew not feeling particularly refreshed after its leave, our target was BATTAPAGLIA. It was daylight almost to the Italian Coast and we arrived with 20 minutes to spare, circling the target area. 'Bang on time we dropped the flares, but there were no bright lights'. The twenty minutes of sight-seeing had upset the routine and the flares were dropped on 'safe', and therefore failed to go off. We still had two flares so went down to 3000 feet and dropped the bombs through 9/10ths cloud using individual flares. 90 seconds after bombing, Stan identified the target 4 miles ahead. We had neither bombs nor flares left, and were depressed at putting up such a rotten show on what turned out to be the last trip of our tour. We could have done a spot of straffing below cloud, but instead called it a day.
The following night we waved the boys off to MASINA, and we felt rather sad that we were no longer operational. Sqdn. Ldr Garrad and crew were also no longer operational, having failed to return from MASINA. Someone suggested staying and doing another tour, but Dyson thought the idea was "stupid" - like most other ideas - and with deep regrets we said cheerio to our friends on 150 and 142 Squadrons, and climbed in the back of a lorry bound for Tunis. Pax Smith and Mickey Mortimer and crews were with us and we sat back and enjoyed the scenery, some taking pot-shots at nothing in particular with their revolvers. We had in fact lots of unofficial ammunition of 9mm. calibre, captured from the enemy. This fitted nicely into our .38 Smith & Wessons and differed from the .38 ammo. only in that it had no ejection flange at the end of the cartridge. This had the effect that we could use captured enemy ammo. but they could not use ours because of the flange.
We arrived at no. 2BPD in Tunis just in time for dinner and a cold shower, the first shower for about nine months. During our week or so in the Transit Camp, we had a sort of parade each morning and then were free for the day. It was on one of these parades that our Skipper's name was called to approach the C.O. "Sir, 416170". With no prior warning, the citation was read out and he was presented with the D.F.M. Next it was the turn of Mickey Mortimer to march up and also receive a D.F.M. I seem to recall that he did a somersault before saluting in front of the C.O., or was it a back somersault after receiving the award? either of which today seems quite incredible. Pax Smith had already received a D.F.M for his earlier exploits. My one other recollection of the Transit Camp was an old Italian Water Tanker which was used as a static water tank. It held 10,000 gallons of water and must have weighed over 53 tons when full. All 24 wheels were firmly embedded in the sand up to their axles. It was when we departed from Tunis by lorry for Algiers that one of the Canadian officers decided to hitch-hike back to U.K. and to rejoin the party at the Reception Centre. I learned later that he flew first to Algiers with the R.A.F. and then flew to U.K. with the Yanks. He was an old hand at that sort of thing, having hitch-hiked from Blida to New York and back with a colleague in less than a week.
Meanwhile the rest of us travelled the 500 miles to Algiers by lorry along the coast road, and after a few days in the transit camp boarded a troopship, the Capetown Castle, a passenger liner of the Castle line. We were accommodated in 4-berth cabins with full peace-time fascilities [sic] .
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each cabin was allocated one Italian P.O.W. who slept outside the door, and attended to the cleaning, dhobi etc. We were not impressed by the Italians as fighting men, but had no complaints of their ability and willingness in the job they were then doing. It was a very comfortable voyage and we lived it up in a manner to which we were certainly not accustomed.
After a very pleasant and restful 10 days or so we disembarked at Greenoch and I recollect forming up on the key [sic] prior to joining a train for Liverpool and West Kirby. A rather pompous redcapped Military Policeman called us to attention, right turn, at the double, march! It was more astonishment than lack of discipline which caused everyone to stay put. He was told to get his knees brown and get a few other things too, and we walked to the train, deliberately out of step. Our first steps back in England were certainly not going to be at the double ordered by Red Caps.
This was my fourth visit to West Kirby, where we were rekitted, saying cheerio to our Khaki battledress and tropical kit, documents checked, medical exam. and then disembarkation leave. It was at West Kirby that our Crew was really disbanded, very sad after working as a team for so long, but another phase of our careers was completed.
Of the Crew? Stan Chadderton was commissioned on his second tour and we have met several times in the past 40 years, but I have no news of the Skipper and the rest of the crew. Stan met the Skipper, then a Flight Lieutenant at Brise [sic] Norton at the end of the war on his return from a German P.O.W. camp. We can only hope he returned safely to New Zealand and was able to return in the farm. Allan Willoughby is thought to have ended the war as a Squadron Leader.
My association with the Wimpy was not yet over, however, it was still in use in large numbers in the U.K. for operational training, and was to remain so until the end of the war. More "Wimpys" were built than any other operational. bomber.
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[document from C-in-C]
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[photograph] C.W WITH MUM BARNOLDSWICK
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[photograph] HILDA WITH THE SKIPPER AND BOMB AIMER
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[photograph] [underlined] WITH THE SKIPPER & BOMB AIMER – SECOND HONEYMOON SEPT. 1943 [/underlined]
[photograph] [photograph]
[underlined] AT OUR CHALET AT BLIDA [/underlined]
WATSON – RUTHERFORD- DYSON – CHADDERTON & PADDY (MORTIMER’S FRONT GUNNER)
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[underlined] OUR 150 SQDN. SKIPPER SGT. STAN RUTHERFORD 416170 RNZAF [/underlined] [underlined] A WIMPEY AT BLIDA [/underlined]
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[photograph] AT RICHMOND SECOND HONEYMOON
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[warrant officer parchment]
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[underlined] Screened [/underlined] .
September 1943 saw me at 84 O.T.U. Desborough, a Flight Sgt. with 43 ops under my belt, and that wonderful feeling of being ex-operational. For the next six months or so I was to be a "Course Shepherd", responsible for 12 Air Gunners. Desborough was a typical Operational Training Unit where, in the main, newly-trained aircrew were introduced to operational aircraft and the techniques of dealing with the opposition which was by no means limited to the Germans. There were three courses running simultaneously which gave ample scope to the Captains in making one of their most important decisions, that of selecting their crews.
For the first two weeks or so the training comprised mainly lectures and familiarisation with equipment. Air Gunners were generally able to make an early start with the flying where even on circuits and bumps an extra pair of eyes was to advantage.
The Course Shepherd ensured the smooth-running of the Air-Gunners training. There were specialist instructors for lectures on subjects such as guns, turrets and tactics, but the C.S. supervised their flying aspects and work on the range, in detail.
I particularly enjoyed the Fighter Affiliation sessions, where trainee gunners would take over the rear turret whilst being attacked by one or two Miles Masters or any other "Playmate" who could be cajoled officially to co-operate.
I would stand at the astrodome guiding the gunner with the timing of his advice and instructions to the Pilot. The standard evasive action (referred to later in 5 Group as "Combat Manouvre [sic] ") was the corkscrew, well known to, and anticipated by, the enemy, I might add that until I arrived at 84 OTU I had never even heard of the corkscrew. During the OTU excercises [sic] the fighter pilots were generally sporting enough not to press home their attacks with too much determination, but to allow the bomber sometimes to 'escape', thus giving the rear gunners - or some of them-- the false impression that they actually stood some chance of survival.
I felt quite at home in the "Wimpy" and encouraged the pilot to throw the aircraft around, and make the corkscrews rather more violent to simulate a real attack, where a quick getaway was the only solution to survival. For fighter affiliation excercises [sic] , the turret was equipped with an 8mm. Camera Gun, fitted in place of one of the four .303 Browning machine guns, the remaining three Brownings being de-armed. Each gunner plugged-in his own personal film cassette, and results were assessed the following day in the cinema.
Air firing excercises [sic] were supervised, where the speed of the Wellington was reduced, and a Miles Master would overtake about 3 or 400 yards abeam, towing a drogue. The gunner would be authorised to fire when the towing aircraft was outside his field of fire. He would then fire off about 200 rounds from each gun (five 2-second bursts), at the drogue. It was more than likely that air firing during his initial training had been carried out using a single gun not mounted in a turret. Air to ground firing was limited to a single exercise on a range near the coast, there being little scope for this type of work for heavy bombers over Deutchland.
Not very popular with the coming of Winter weather were the exercises at the firing butts or range. Six trainees would each be given a rear turret, together with four belts each of 200 rounds. He would
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mount the guns and fit the ammunition belts. Take-off procedure with safety catches 'on', then firing a few short bursts, landing procedure, clear the guns, etc. . Generally a few faulty rounds were deliberately built-in to create gun stoppages which the trainee had to clear. Finally he removed the guns from the turret and stripped and cleaned them ready for the next trainee.
All this took about three hours and it was on one of these sessions that unpleasantness developed with one of the trainees. Of the 12 Air Gunners in my little flock, eleven were Sergeants and one was an Acting Pilot Officer on probation. Like the others, his previous flying experience was limited to about 8 hours, and he had not yet been within 10 miles of an operational aircraft. He had been top of his course at Gunnery School and granted a Commission. I found that one of the Sergeants had fitted the guns in the turret and armed them with the belts of ammunition for him whilst I was busy with the others. He had managed to fire-off the rounds, and eventually, with some assistance the guns were removed. He flatly refused to clean the guns, claiming that it was an inappropriate task for an officer. I put it to him that although on a squadron the guns would be lovingly cared for by the armourers, he must still be fully au-fait with every aspect of guns and gunnery. He firmly refused to touch the guns and soil his hands and I told him that unless he gets on with it, we should be late for lunch. Four of the sgts. each took a gun and cleaned them. Some very cryptic comments were made by the Sergeants and I told the Ag. P. O. he was foolish. Later that day, to my absolute astonishment, I was marched in front of the C.O. and charged on a form 252 with insubordination. I was advised that an N.C.O. does not give orders to officers and I replied with something to the effect that I was the instructor and the officer the pupil, giving orders was an essential part of the job. Nevertheless, I was severely reprimanded. I had on several occasions applied for a posting back to operations, and the following day the Station W.O. told me my request had been granted and I was going to a squadron at Norton, near Sheffield in Yorkshire. Which squadron and with what type of aircraft was unimportant. I had never heard of Norton, bit hush-hush they had said. I should have realised that something was amiss, I was not being posted, but only detached. On arrival at Norton I found I was on an Aircrew Refresher Course which I was slow to realise was a correction or discipline course, a form of punishment. There were about 150 aircrew at Norton, from Flt/Lts to Sgts, almost all operational or ex-operational. At least I was among friends.
The day started with a call at 0600, on parade at 0630 , march to breakfast and an inspection at 0730 with greatcoats, followed almost immediately by a further inspection without greatcoats. This was followed until 1800 by sessions of drill, P.T. and lectures, with a break for lunch. Drill was just ordinary uninspiring square -bashing, wearing aircrew-issue shoes, and not boots. The instructor, said to be an L.A.C. Ag-Sgt. shouted commands and abuse, and was indeed very smart and probably efficient at his job, but utterly ignorant and useless off the barrack square. There was no rifle drill, and requests to introduce it were rejected. It was too easy for us to obtain .303 ammunition. P. T. was equally uninspiring and great emphasis was placed on recording improvement in performance as the training progressed. Lectures were farcical and covered most aircrew subjects, including navigation, gunnery, bombing techniques, target marking, etc. etc. There was not a
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flying badge among the instructors and obviously none had any flying experience in any capacity. No-one could possibly take the lectures seriously and there must have been some hair-raising answers in the written tests. The main problem was that at the slightest provocation one could be put on C.O.'s report. This was not a formal charge - which would have been on record - but an interview with the C.O. which would generally wind-up with an award of an extra 3 weeks at Sheffield. My policy was to keep my head down, or in modern parlance, to maintain a low profile. I generally managed to be near the back of the classroom and in the rear ranks on the drill square trying to be invisible. We were allowed out of camp after 1900, with an inspection at the gate, but lights out was at 2200, not allowing much scope. Most evenings were spent in the mess comparing notes and discussing our "crimes"; the instructors were conspicuous by their absence. I recall no-one admitting to flying or taxiing accidents, or misdemeanours whilst flying. Most of the reasons seem to have been absence without leave probably through boredom-, saying the wrong thing in an off-guarded moment or making someone more senior look silly. There was no connection between Norton and aircrew who were alledgedly [sic] L.M.F. or those who were reluctant to fly. Rather than charge a man formally with an offence, the easy way out was to send him on a "refresher course" with no reference to alleged crime or punishment. Operational aircrew discipline is often quoted as having been unique. All jobs were carried out with the same degree of dexterity, and responsibilities in the air within a trade were the same irrespective of rank. The Pilot was the Head Man, whether Squadron Leader or Sergeant. In the air, there were no formalities. The Pilot was 'Skipper' and no-one called anyone 'Sir'. This was generally so on the ground within the confines of the crew, but if it was a non-crew matter or there were V.I.P.'s about, a low-level type of formality might be introduced. Neither was there time for formality in the air where an attack may start and finish - one way or another - in seconds or less. On sighting a fighter at 300 yards a Rear Gunner in a film picked up a microphone and was beard to say "I say Skipper, I think we are being followed". A Guardsman might come up with "Permission to speak Sir", but life's not like that in the air.
Nearing the end of the 3-week course at Sheffield came the farcical final exams. I sailed through everything except P.T. where we were required to run 100 yards in 14 seconds. I was feeling fitter than I had for many years, but that 100 yards took me 17 seconds. Not good enough, try again. The second attempt took 19 seconds and the third attempt 24. I was told that "we would keep doing it all bloody night until I achieved it in 14 seconds". I merely said there was no point in attempting the impossible and I refused to carry out an unlawful order. So for me it was C.O.'s report next day. The C.O. said it was within his power to grant me an indefinite extension to the length of my course. I realised that to argue was probably futile and I recall being contradictory by saying something to the effect that "I have nothing to say except to remind everyone there is a real war going an out there and the sooner some of us get on with it the better". I don't know why I said it or thought what it might achieve, but I was easily provoked. I was awarded an extra 3 weeks at Sheffield, and was very surprised next morning when I was issued with a railway warrant to leave that morning with the others on my "course". I was convinced this was a mistake and succeeded in remaining invisible until I was well clear of Sheffield.
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Most of us felt the invasion of Europe was imminent and we had discussed our plans in the mess within earshot of the 'instructors'. When the balloon goes up, we return to base regardless of the opposition on the grounds that it was our duty to escape from captivity. In retrospect this was not entirely logical thinking but it might have influenced the C.O., I don't know. As far as I know there was no mass exodus and I have no idea how or when R.A.F. Norton was finally closed down. Suffice to say that it was a disgrace and an insult to aircrew, it would have been far more British to charge a man if he had allegedly done something wrong rather than take this easy way out. In general, training and lectures were taken very seriously by air crew and it could be claimed that the type and standard of lectures at Norton were in fact dangerous. Most of us realised it was just a load of absolute rubbish and did not take it seriously, and we had learned long ago to assess the value of the spoken word relative to the background and qualifications of the speaker.
The question of L.M.F. is an even more deplorable but entirely separate subject. Books have been written about it and it became a highly controversial issue. There were indeed some chaps who took such a bashing they felt they had had enough and to continue would increase the risk to the aircraft and crew or even crews. Most other operational aircrew have no less respect for them for admitting it and asking to be excused. L.M.F. and R.A.F. Norton were totally unconnected.
However, feeling very fit physically, and mentally ready to deal with the Ag. P. O. who knew all about the form 252 but couldn't strip even a Browning gun, I returned to 84 O.T.U. Desborough. A written request for an interview with the C.O. was given to the S.W.O. within minutes of arrival. I saw the Gunnery Leader and learned that I was to resume charge of the same course but less the sprog officer who was last seen on his way to Eastchurch as L.M.F and unsuitable for operations. I found later that he had been reduced to the ranks. It seems the other instructors had given him a very hard time all round, and particularly with combat manouvres where he was sick every time he flew. It was just not done to issue 252's but his chances of survival were improved. The C.O. agreed later that a mistake had been made and on paper my case had been reconsidered and the severe rep. withdrawn. Sheffield could not be undone and would have to be written off to experience, but he would see if he could hasten my promotion to W.O. and a posting to a real squadron.
At this time, the O.T.U. instructors were all crewed up and ready to back up the operational squadrons if necessary. Many of us were getting restless seeing a great increase in ground activity to the south and southeast. Lots of real aircraft, Lancasters, Halifaxes, Mosquitoes, Gliders etc. etc. and our status with the Wimpies as ex operational did little for our ego, making us feel like the 'has beens' we really were.
At about 0200 on the 6th. June, now a Warrant Officer, I was Orderly Officer and asleep in the duty room. The Duty Officer, a Ft/Lt. was flat out in the other bunk. A message was delivered marked "Top Secret" and I awakened the Duty Officer. He told me to open it. The message caused his to open a sealed envelope from his pocket and his exact words were "Christ, it’s started". 'It' was "Operation Overlord". Within a minute the Tannoy was blaring "All Duty Flight personnel to their flights immediately" 'All sreened aircrews to the Briefing Room
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at 0500," and so on. There followed a day of intense activity; air tests, bombing up, briefing, changing the bomb load, rebriefing, and the job of Orderly Officer went completely by the board.
In July, the great moment arrived, and our complete second tour crew of five was posted to Aircrew Pool at Scampton en route ultimately to a 5 Group Squadron.
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[photograph]
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[photograph] AT AIRCREW POOL SCAMPTON AUG ‘44
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[underlined] SCAMPTON [/underlined]
For Wellingtons we were indeed a complete crew, but we were not destined for Wellingtons, but Lancasters, and we needed either a Navigator or Bomb-aimer and another Gunner. Our Pilot and Observer had already completed tours on Blenheims and were good material for Mosquitos. They said cheerio on our third day at Scampton and were posted to a Mosquito Conversion Unit. The remaining three of us had ceased to exist as a crew and had become “odd bods”. We began to feel like members of staff but eventually we went our individual ways. Indeed I was put in charge of the Night Vision Centre for two months, until I met a pilot who was a Flight Lieutenant with a tunic that had obviously seen some service, and he had over 3,000 flying hours to his credit. With him was a Flying Officer Observer plus DFM, obviously clued up and who looked the academic type, a cheerful Flying Officer Bomb aimer and a Pilot Officer Rear Gunner. Four clued-up characters forming the nucleus of a gen crew. Somehow or other I became their other gunner and we were joined by a second tour F/Sgt Wireless operator and a Sgt. Flight Engineer ex fitter. A few days later we were posted to Winthorpe to 1661 Heavy Conversion Unit and settled into a course on Stirlings, flying together for the first time as a crew.
Familiarisation with a four-engined aircraft was the main purpose of the course; important to the skipper F/Lt. Chester who had been a Flying Instructor on Tiger Moths in Canada for a long time. He was about 8 years older than the rest of us and we were happy with his rather more mature approach to the job. The Flight Engineer, Sgt. Hampson, whom we called Doogan for no apparent reason, had flown on Liberators over Burma and nothing seemed to worry him unduly. F/O Pete Cheale was successful on two or three practice bombing sessions, and to F/O Ted Foster DFM it was all just routine stuff. F/Sgt. Frank Eaglestone’s radio was the same as on his previous tour, the good old R1155 and T1154 (still in service in 1960). The Rear Gunner was P/O Harvey who nattered endlessly about a chunk of flack [sic] still embedded somewhere about his person, and his first tour in general. He knew it all, or thought he did, but it soon became apparent that his experience was very limited and he had yet to do his first trip against the enemy. Because of this I insisted that he should have the mid-upper turret, and as Senior gunner, pulling a negative seniority in rank, I would take over the rear turret. He didn’t like that at all, and he left the crew. What became of him I don’t know, but Flt/Sgt Foolkes appeared from somewhere and took his place. Pete was one to take everything in his stride and was welcome to either turret. He preferred the mid-upper, possibly finding it more comfortable, being much taller than the average rear gunner. As for me, one rear turret was very much like another, the same Frazer Nash FN120 we had used on the later Marks of Wellington. A few mod cons perhaps, such as Hot air central heating in the turret. I recall that when we touched down on the runway at Winthorpe, the rear turret was still over the graveyard on the other side of the main road.
Whilst at Winthorpe, I found that 150, my old squadron, was about 20 miles away at Hemswell. I paid them a visit, but their only real link with the 150 of North Africa was the squadron number. 150 Squadron had been disbanded in Algiers though it’s final station was Foggia in Italy. I left
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it at Kairouan just before the move to Italy. Later it was re-formed with Lancasters and in theory had been in action since the beginning of the war, having been at the forefront with Fairey Battles in 1939-40 in France.
After about three weeks of routine and not very demanding training we graduated to the “Lanc” Finishing School” at Syerston. There we converted to Lancasters with about 14 hours flying, circuits and bumps, the odd practice bombing exercises, fighter affiliation and a Bullseye over London, co-operating with searchlights. Just what the Londoners down below thought of this aerial activity without an air raid warning was probably misconstrued. We were still in one piece, feeling fit, very confident and ready to join a squadron.
Our next move was to Bardney, near Lincoln, about 160 bods, and judging by their ranks and gongs, a rather experienced bunch, mostly second tour types. Bardney was the home of 617 and 9 Squadrons, rumours were rife of course. Were we obvious replacements for 617, where prestige was high and directly proportionate to the losses, - the highest in the Command? Our luck held, we were to become a new squadron, 227, just an ordinary Lancaster Squadron to enhance the might of 5 Group. It transpired that we were to become “A” Flight, and the Skipper was promoted to Squadron Leader. Meanwhile “B” Flight was forming at Strubby.
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[underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
The first op. by aircraft of the newly-formed 227 Squadron was on the 11th. of October 1944 and most of us at Bardney were not even aware of it. Only three aircraft of "B" Flight, forming up at Strubby, were involved, a short early afternoon trip to FLUSHING. Three nights later "A" Flight provided three aircraft and "B" Flight four aircraft on a more typical raid by 240 aircraft of 5 Group on BRUNSWICK. The Squadron was beginning to take shape and on the 17th., two aircraft of "B" Flight joined 47 others on a short excursion to breach the dyke at WESTKAPELL. Two nights later was a 5 Group effort to NUREMBURG, with "A" and "B" Flights providing seven and five aircraft respectively. This fourth raid by 227 aircraft was only "A' Flight's second involvement, the aircraft and crews really becoming attached for this purpose to 9 Squadron.
On the 21st. October we were transferred to Balderton, at the side of the A1 near Newark and joined the crews of "B" flight.
Our Skipper had been promoted to Sqdn/Ldr. in command of "A" Flight, and was very such absorbed in getting his half of the squadron organised and operational, with little time left for actual flying. Our crew was kept busy in their respective sections, particularly Navigation, Bombing and Wireless, but there was not a great deal to be done in the Gunnery office: The Gunnery Leader was Flt/Lt. Maxted who occupied a small office in a sectioned-off Nissen hut. It was barely furnished with a desk and a few chairs; posters on the wall amplifying the vital issues and a notice board. The state of readiness of each aircraft and gunner was displayed with a record of daily inspections completed. The D.I. 's were an important part of the routine, and the gunners generally took part in the air tests prior to bombing up.
Our first mission as a crew was to Bergen in Norway. It was also a personal first trip for the Skipper, Bomb aimer and Flight Engineer. It was my 46th. op. but also my first in the mighty Lancaster. The Navigator, Wireless op. and Mid-upper gunner were all veterans having carried out their first tours on Lancs.
Our flight out over the North Sea which used to be called the German Ocean by some was uneventful, and Bergen was approached from the east at 10,000 feet. With the target ahead and in sight to those in the front office, all was quiet except for engine noise through someones [sic] microphone which had been left switched on. Peace was shattered by an almighty bang and shudder, confirming we had been hit, and the nose of the aircaft [sic] went down. I was forced against the left side of the turret unable to move, and found later the speed had built-up to over 370 mph. The Skipper was shouting for assistance. Ace the Navigator somehow managed to crawl forward a few feet and found Doogan with his head in the observation blister admiring the view of Bergen above. The Skipper had both feet on the dash trying to pull the aircraft out of the dive. The only control Ace could reach was the trimming wheel on the right of the Skipper's seat and he turned this to make the aircraft tail heavy. The nose came up and so did the target. The Flight Engineer added his contribution by exclaiming "Coo, i'n' [sic] it wizard". That was his opinion, but we were heading straight up the fiord and Ace brought this to the attention of the Skipper very smartly. Our height was down to 1500 feet and Ace and the Skipper somehow managed to turn the aircraft through 180
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degrees without hitting either the sea or the hills. Still tail heavy, we gradually climbed away to the west, and for the first time I saw the target, dead astern, always a welcome sight, and I set about sorting myself out from the intercom. leads, electrical heating cable, oxygen pipe and also checking that the turret doors would still open. Silence was broken about 100 miles from Bergen by our brash young Canadian Bomb Aimer, Pete Chiele, "Skipper, we still have the bombs-aboard". I think It-was Ace, who pulled the jettison toggle. At least my turret seemed intact and I took the opportunity of the lull in the drama of opening the turret door with my elbows, leaning backwards into the fuselage and making sure I could reach my parachute pack. Then a quick reversal and I was again "on the job” after a break of less than ten seconds. On the Wimpey and Lanc. the Rear Gunner had a choice of exits, either through the rear escape hatch inside the fuselage, or direct from the rear turret. I was well rehearsed in the latter method, first to rotate the turret dead astern, using the manually operated handle if there was no hydaulic [sic] pressure, then to open the sliding doors. These never failed to open on practice sessions, but an axe was provided inside the turret just in case. Then to remove the parachute pack from its housing and drag it carefully into the turret, placing it above the control column. Off with the helmet complete with oxygen mask, intercom, 24 volt supply and associated pipes and cables and also the electrical heating cable connector. The parachute pack was then clipped on, the turret rotated onto either beam, lean backwards and push with the feet. The alternative exit gave one more room to manouvre [sic] , but the escape hatch itself was rather narrow for a Rear Gunner wearing his full flying kit, particularly the 1944 version of "Canary suit", so-called because of its colour. There was also the phsychological [sic] aspect of deliberately entering an aircraft which was probably on fire. On the Wellington Mk1C with an FN20 turret and only two guns, there was provision to stow the 'chute pack inside the turret. Also the doors were hinged, opening outwards and they could be jettisoned. Although I mentioned being well rehearsed, drill was carried out with the aircraft stationary and upright, not quite the same as in an anticipated emergency bale-out. My only excuse for claiming the checking of my 'chute as practice was that I felt I should be doing something more useful than just sitting there, whilst there seemed to be so much happening up front. There was even more drama unfolding, the Wireless op. had passed a coded message to the Navigator instructing us to divert to Holme on Spalding Moor in Yorkshire, but only the W/op was issued with the code-sheet of the day. The Skipper did not receive the message in plain language until we were in R/T contact with Balderton, which was closed due to thick fog or very low cloud. However, the Navigator knew our exact location and there was fuel in the tanks. Eventually we re-joined the tail-end of the gaggle and landed at Holme. I recall spending the rest of the night on the floor in the lounge of the Sgts. Mess. The following morning we took a walk around the hangars and Doogan chatted with some ground crews who were changing an engine on a Halifax. He actually told then they were not going about it properly and their reaction was quite startling and informative.
Our second trip as a crew was two days later, to WALCHEREN in daylight. This was more reminiscent of our raids from North Africa except that 110 aircraft, including 8 Mosquitoes, took part. From North Africa our "Maximum Effort" had been two squadrons, a total of 26 aircraft, which
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seemed a lot at the time!. 12 aircraft from 227 took part, each having its own specific target, ours being a gun battery which was already completely submerged in water when we arrived. Just ahead several aircaft [sic] were bombing the sea wall and the Skipper decided to back them up, bombing from 3500 feet. The wall was breached and the sea poured through, but our bombs were all fused for delayed action which would not have amused the natives. In fact too much damage was done which, according to a story in Readers Digest, took over six months to repair. However, the main object was to silence the German artillary [sic] and this was achieved. This particular trip had been our introduction to the "formation" known as the "5 Group Gaggle". Pilots were not very practiced at Straight and level flying, it had been seldom recommended, and it seemed to me as a Rear gunner that everyone weaved along in the same direction, taking great pains to stay as far away as possible from other aircraft, but remaining in the stream.
Two days later Ches. and Co. joined 16 other crews from 227 on an afternoon excusion [sic] to an oil plant at HOMBURG. The ground was mostly obscured by cloud and visibility at 17,000 feet was poor, about three miles. Approaching the target a Lancaster in front of us was hit by flak and one engine was on fire. The aircraft passed below us and the fire was extinguished, but its no. 2 engine was stopped. It remained just behind us until we were over the target. The target was marked by 8 Mosquitoes of 8 Group, but marking was scattered over a wide area and out of the 228 Lancasters only 159 bombed. Results were poor, a recce. next day showed that most of the bombs had hit the industrial and residential areas. One Lancaster was lost, due to flak.
The following night 15 aircraft of 227 joined a total force of 992 aircraft on DUSSELDORF. Our Skipper flew as Second Dickie to F/L Kilgour, and the rest of us kicked our heels. This was the last heavy raid on Dusseldorf by Bomber Command, and 18 aircraft were lost. F/O Croskell and crew failed to return, our first 227 Sqdn casualties, but news was received shortly afterward they were safe in Allied hands. They were operational with the squadron again in Feb.
On the 11th. of November, we surprisingly found ourselves on the Battle Order for an evening raid on the Rhenania-Ossag oil refinery at HARBURG, close to the battered Hamburg. This was a 5 Group effort with 237 Lancasters and 8 Mosquitoes. 7 Lancasters were lost, including 9J"S" with F/O Hooper and crew. F/O Bates' crew reported that "oil tanks were seen to explode at 1924 hrs". but German records make no reference to the oil tanks, only that 119 people were killed and 5205 others were bombed out. Flak was not intense and the bombing appeared to be mainly on target. There were fighters about but the return journey was uneventful for us. Once again we were beaten by the fog at Balderton, and as our new F.I.D.O. was not yet operational, we were diverted to Catfoss. The night was spent in the chairs in the Sgts. Mess, but the officers among us were luckier to find beds.
For most of the following four weeks we were without either a Skipper or a Navigator. The Skipper was detached "on a course" and then spent a couple of weeks on a Summary of Evidence. Ace the Navigator was detached to Newmarket racecourse to clue up on some new equipment or technique. For three days I was detatched [sic] to Waddington as a Witnessing Officer at a Court Martial, which I found depressing. It seemed that at Waddington there had been an old car which was used by anyone who could find some petrol to run it. It was the property of an unlucky aircrew
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member who failed to return one night. The car was very useful, but whilst having neither licence nor insurance it was eventually involved in a serious accident, and the R.A.F. took over where the civilian court left off.
0n the 6th. December I had a letter of complaint from my mother, enclosing a newspaper cutting from the Barnoldswick & Earby Pioneer, showing a photo of me and referring to my award of a D.F.C. Why had I not told her? I don't think she ever believed me when I claimed that her letter was the first I knew of it. On Dec. 11th., with Ace still at Newmarket, we became 'Dambusters' - of a sort - for the day. Bomber Command Diary states " "233 Lancasters of 5 Group and 5 Mosquitoes of 8 Group took part. Hits were scored on the dam but no breach was made. 1 Lancaster lost". The squadron diary reflects a successful sortie, in that direct hits on the dam wall were observed, but the 1000 lb. bombs were too small for the purpose. My own recollection of the raid was quite different. We were stooging along just above cloud in company with scores of other Lancasters when the others were seen to be doing a 180 degree turn. Within seconds the sky within my range of vision was empty and in all directions no-one could see another aircraft. The mid-upper and I advised the Skipper that we were now unaccompanied and for 20 minutes we tried to impress upon him that we were extremely vulneruble [sic] (or words to that effect). We were just a few hundred feet above and silhouetted against a layer of stratus and I asked him to fly just inside the cloud, or at least just to skim the tops, but he replied that it was too dangerous, too much risk of collision. The mid-upper gunner agreed, collision from Gerry fighters. Vocabulary worsened and finally the Skipper realised we were 40 minutes and over 200 miles from the rest of the gaggle, we turned round. It has been suggested that as Flight Commander he must display a press-on attitude, and we were all in favour of this, but there was no-one around to impress and it was pretty obvious to the gunners that either Frank had missed a diversion message or we were in the wrong gaggle. Bomber Command Diary disproves the latter, but there is still uncertainty in my mind about that particular operation. Both Pete in the mid-upper turret and I realised that if we were attacked by fighters the Skipper would not take the slightest notice of our requests or advice. We were not disputing that the Skipper was in charge and the one who makes the decissions [sic] , but in our situation he had no choice other than to take advantage of the cloud. We regarded this as an expression of no confidence in the gunners, and we made it very clear to him both then and later that it was no way to finish a tour.
It was 10 days before we flew again, our 6th. trip with 227 embarking on their 22nd. trip as a squadron. The target was the synthetic oil plant at POLITZ, in the Baltic. 207 Lancasters and 1 Mosquito were detailed, including 13 Lancasters of 227. Two from 227 experienced mechanical failure and aborted soon after take-off. This was a long stooge, and 3 Lancasters were lost, plus a further 5 which crash-landed in England. The raid was successful, the main chimneys having collapsed and other parts of the refinery being severely damaged. On return to eastern England we were again unable to land at Base due to weather, and were diverted to Milltown, in Scotland. Fuel gauges were reading zero or less when a weary Ches. and crew finally landed after a trip lasting 10 hrs. and 15 minutes. F/O Croker in 9J"K" wound up at Wick, in Morayshire, his aircraft being so badly shot-up it was declared
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a write-off. The following morning we flew to Wick to join F/O Croker and crew and give then a lift back to Balderton. Among others, there was a Met. Flight at Wick, equipped with B17s, Flying Fortresses. It was their job to climb to a great height, making Met. observations, and some of their trips exceeded 12 hours duration. I recall the armourers at Wick cleaned and polished our three turrets and 8 Browning guns without being asked, and making a very good job of it too. Everyone was provided with beds, and it seems the officers were so comfortable the Skipper decided to stay at Wick over Christmas. The town of Wick was "dry', no pubs, but among the N.C.O's, this made no difference, we had no money with us. Normally on a diversion we didn't need any money, but for a several day stop-over it was embarassing [sic] to be absolutely without. We would like to have taken our turn in paying for the drinks is the Mess. I seem to recall trying to obtain an advance from Pay accounts without success, accompanied by the other two W/Os in our crew. I was reminded of one incident at Wick by Ace, our Navigator; We were not like most other crews, sticking together as a crew. The Commissioned officers kept to themselves, the three Warrant Officers maintained their own little triangle, and Doogan prefered [sic] his own company despite the W/O's efforts to get him to join us. It seems that one night at Wick we carried him and his bed outside and he awoke next morning in the middle of the parade ground which was covered is snow. I have no personal recollection of this, but there it is in black and white in Ace's book, 'Just Another Flying Arsehole'. We returned to Balderton on the 27th., with 14 of us aboard, and did not see the ground until we actually touched down. For the first time we landed with the assistance of FIDO, which was probably very scary for the pilot. In the rear turret I just got an impression of landing in the middle of a fire.
The following night we missed a trip to OSLO, our squadron providing only 5 of the force of 67 Lancasters. On the afternoon of the 30th. we were briefed for an evening take-off to HOUFFALIZE, a total force of 154 Lancasters and 12 Mosquitoes. German Panzers had broken through the American lines in a desperate attempt to thwart the Allied advance, in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge. The weather gave the Germans the advantage, low cloud and thick fog prevented the 2nd. Tactical Air Force from playing its part to the full. With almost 100% Allied air superiority in the area, Typhoons and other fighters operating on a cab-rank principle responding in seconds to detailed requests from the chaps below, Gerry was learning what it was like to be at the receiving end of the slaughter he started is 1939. But not for that few days at the end of 1944 in the Fallaise gap. The close proximity of Allied troops called for great accuracy in bombing and straffing [sic] , and this was not possible in the prevailing conditions. Because of the bad weather in the target area, take-off was postponed every few hours but we were eventually relieved to get airborne about 0230. Conditions over the target were quite impossible and the flares dropped into the murk below probably caused hearts on both sides to miss a few beats. Some crews did bomb, but Chas. quite rightly felt it was too risky. We had not been briefed for any secondary target so our bombs wound up in the Wash. Finally, we landed at about 0830 after 24 hours of effort of one sort or another. Nothing really achieved, but at least we had tried.
It was about this time that my father visited the Squadron for a few days. He was a Captain in the R.A.S.C. recently returned from East
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Africa and awaiting release on medical grounds. He was very impressed with what he saw but we could not obtain authority for him to actually fly with us. On the Sunday morning he watched our parade and later mentioned that as the W/O called out names, one Ft/Sgt responded to at least five of them. Also that some were in best blues, some in battledress, one or two with greatcoats and one even with a raincape. Two were actually standing on parade with bicycles ready to shoot off somewhere immediately after the parade. His thoughts at the time were how can such an undisciplined lot perform any serious task. Later that morning sitting in the Gunnery Office, gunners came in with more of a wave than a salute, a brief word from them and I would put a tick on the board against their aircraft. I explained to my father that this was their way of reporting that their turrets and guns had received and passed the daily inspection. After lunch in the mess he noticed a great deal of activity and movement, and a clear but quiet sense of urgency. He asked what was happening and I showed him the Battle Order.
The following day he said how wrong was his first impression. Everyone had a job to do, they know what was required of them and they got as with it without any shouting of orders or people stamping around. I was Duty Gunnery Leader that night, as was my lot quite often over that period, and was able to show my father what made a squadron tick. He thoroughly enjoyed his stay, but I don't think he met the Skipper. In fact I don't think we saw anything of our Skipper during the whole month of January, by the end of which 227 had completed 33 ops. "A” Flight Commander's crew had totted up only 7 as a crew and some of us were not at all happy with this performance. On the 2nd. Feb. F/O Bates was short of a Rear Gunner and I could have kissed him when he asked me to deputise for WO Bowman. This was an experienced and popular crew who had already completed 14 trips of their second tour. Bowman was in fact the only one outside our crew I had known a year ago. We had carried out our first tours together on 150 Sqdn. Wellingtons, and he was the only other 227 bod with an Africa Star. I cannot recollect why he was not available that night. Our target was KARLSRUHE, a 5 Group effort of 250 Lancasters and 11 Mosquitoes, of which 19 were from 227. Cloud up to 15000 feet and the consequent difficulty in marking caused the raid to be a failure. 14 Lancasters were lost, including 9J"D" with F/O Geddes and crew. The total effort of Bomber Command that night was 1252 sorties. Targets included Wiesbaden's only large raid of the war, and Wanne-Eickel, neither attack was regarded as a success. Very little was achieved that night for a loss of 21 aircraft.
On the night of the 7th. Feb., F/O Bates was airborne again with 11 others from Balderton in a total force of 188 aircraft, to the Dortmund-Ems Canal. All 227 Sqdn. a/c returned safely, but 3 were lost in all. I was not with him this time although W/O Bowman was not available. After about 5 hours sleep the Battle Order for the coming night showed 18 crews from 227 sqdn., including F/O Bates, with F/O Watson as Rear Gunner. It felt great to be doing something useful. The weather en route was clear and there were still fighters about, largely responsible for the loss of 12 Lancasters, but the bombing was extremely accurate. According to Speer, the German armaments minister, the oil refinery was kaput for the reminder of the war and a big setback to the German war effort. All 227 sqdn aircraft returned safely, one, F/O Edge's 9J"B" having aborted with problems on 2 engines and landed safely at a farm in Norfolk. It was in fact F/O Bates’ 18th. and final trip on
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227 sqdn., a very satisfactory finish. It was a satisfying night too for 'our own' Navigator, Ted Foster who flew as a 'spare Bod' Navigator with F//Lt [sic] Pond. On the 14th. Feb., 6 weeks into what surely must be the final year in the war against Germany, we were no doubt startled to see our Skipper and crew on the Battle Order. A 5 Group effort, the target was ROSITZ oil refinery near Leipsig [sic] , a force of 232 Lancasters and Mosquitoes, including 12 from Balderton. Our aircraft was 9J"H" and a couple of hours or so after take-off the Skipper found he could not come to terms with his magnetic compass, the performance of which was erratic. An hour or so later the Giro compass also started to play up and fortunately the Skipper did accept the advice of the Navigator and turned back, navigating solely on "Gee" back to base. It was not possible to carry-on navigating to the target on "Gee", we would have [inserted] 14/2/45 Rositz [/inserted] been out of range long before the target was reached. 9J"G" skippered by F/O Tate had engine trouble just after take-off and returned on three engines. We were the second aircraft to abort on that trip. There were some ribald comments next day when the Instrument Section reported there was nothing wrong with either compass. The comments were not facetious however, no-one would seriously accuse either the Skipper or an experienced Navigator like Ace of pulling a fast one. Both I am quite sure would have preferred to take part in the destruction of Rositz This was in fact the Skipper's final trip, although we did not realise it at the time and still regarded his as our Skipper for the next two months.
The record shows that in the following four weeks Ace did three spare bod trips whilst the rest of the crew passed the time somehow. The spell was broken for me when F/Lt Hodson asked me to take over his rear turret on the 14th. of March. Ace had already done his last bombing raid although he too might not have realised it at the time. His grand finale, quite fitting was a daylight 1000 plus Bomber raid on DORTMUND on the 12th. of March, as Wing Commander Millington's Navigator. It was also to be the Wingco's final trip before swapping his duralumin pilot's seat with a little steel armour plating at his back, for I think a wooden one in the House of Commons where his back was probably just as vulnerable.
Our target was another oil refinery, at LUTZKENDORF, a typical 5 Group effort of 244 Lancasters and 11 Mosquitoes, 15 of the former being from Balderton. We enjoyed the company of F/O Howard as 2nd. Pilot. In fact five aircraft from 227 Sqdn. carried 'Second Dickies' that night. Out of a total of 18 aircraft lost, two were from 227 Sqdn., both with Second pilots. It was feared by many that carrying a Second Pilot increased the risk, but I did not share this concern. The Second Pilot it is true would take the place of the Flight Engineer who would either stand between the two pilots or sit on the dickie-seat. Some drills had to be slightly modified for the occasion, but I would have thought the presence of an extra bod would tend to put the others more on their toes. The crew I was with were on their 18th. trip and had been with the Squadron from the outset. Nothing untoward happened to us, there was the usual flack and searchlights, maybe fighters but one saw none. Bombing seemed reasonable well concentrated and photo-reconnaissance next day showed that 'moderate damage' was caused.
On the 7th. of April the squadron completed its transfer to Strubby, and was detailed for action the same night. I was favoured to fly once more with F/Lt Hodson and crew, LEIPZIG again, this time to the
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Benzol plant at MOLBIS. 13 Lancasters of 227 joined 162 others and 11 Mosquitoes, all from 5 Group. The weather was good, bombing accurate, and the oil plant put completely out of action. No aircraft were lost and the raid was considered a 100% success.
After a few hours sleep we were briefed for an attack on LUTZKENDORF, the same target as on the 14th. March. It had been attacked the previous night by 272 aircraft from 1 and 8 Groups who caused only moderate damage. I was detailed to fly with W/O Clements and crew who were on the 5th. trip of their first tour, in 9J"Q". On take-off the starboard outer engine failed and Ace who waved us off said he saw the aircraft sink to within a few feet of the ground; but that few feet made all the difference and the Skipper was able to gain height gradually until it was safe to jettisson [sic] the bombs in the sea. The trip was aborted and a safe landing made at Strubby. Subsequent inspection showed a fuel leak from no.2 port tank and oil leaks from the two outer engines. 242 aircraft were on this raid, and 6 were lost, but another oil refinery was put out of action for the rest of the war. The 19 aircraft put up by 227 all returned safely and were diverted to the west because of weather.
Two nights later, on the 10th. I was again with W/O Clements, to the Wahren Railway yards at LEIPSIG. The force of 230 aircraft comprised 134 Lancasters, 90 Halifaxes, and 6 Mosquitoes, of which 1 Lancaster and 1 Halifax failed to return. Immediately prior to take off I had trouble with the turret sliding doors, they wouldn't close, but I rotated the turret onto the port beam as was general practice for take-off with the doors open. This was spotted from the ground and the Skipper was told on R/T soon after we were airborne. I had to get out of the turret and through the bulkhead door to fix them, but finally managed to get then to slide. If I had failed to fix then nothing would have made me admit it, it would just have been a little draughty. The trip went very well, the marking was accurate and the bombing concentrated. Some flak and plenty of fighter flares about but we saw no fighters. It was a quiet return trip and all 227 aircraft returned safely.
That was my last trip and also the last for W/O Clements and crew. It was the 57th. involvement by 227 Squadron which was to carry out 4 more bombing raids, terminating with BERCHTESGADEN itself, on the 25th. of April. The war in Europe was virtually over, but our impression was that 5 Group was to form the nucleus of Tiger Force to help finish the job in the Far East and we would be a part of it. It was with these thoughts that I went on leave on the 26th. April, a spare bod without a pilot, but still expecting to fly again with the squadron..
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64A
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F/O. CHEERFUL CHEALE R.C.A.F.
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F/O BATES F/O PETE CHEALE (BA) W/O PETE FOOLKES
S/LDR CHESTER (PILOT) F/O FOSTER
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64C
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[photograph] F/O. TED FOSTER D.F.M.
C.W. PETE FOOLKES MID-UPPER
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[photograph] CLIFF’S OFFICE
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[photograph] OUTSIDE OUR DES. RES.
C.W. & GEOFF HAMPSON (FLIGHT ENG
64E
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[newspaper cutting of D.F.C. award] [photograph]
227 SQDN W/OP – NAV – MID- UPPER
[photograph]
64F
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[photograph] [underlined] TED (ACE NAV) FOSTER D.F.M. BALDERTON NOV 44 [/underlined]
[photograph] [underlined] RUNNING UP ON HOMBERG 1/11/44 AT LUNCHTIME [indecipherable word] [/underlined]
64G
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[photograph] [underlined] F/O. BATES [/underlined]
[photograph] [underlined] F/O BATES W/O JENNERY (NAV) SGT. WESTON (FLT. ENG) [/underlined]
FEB 45
64H
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[DFC citation]
64L
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[letter from HM George VI]
64M
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[Sgt Mess Wick Christmas Menus 1944]
[photograph]
F/O CROKER’S LANCASTER AT REST IN TORPEDO DUMP XMAS ‘44
64N
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[inside of christmas card]
CHRISTMAS CARD FROM PETE IN CANADA
64P
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[photograph]
STIRLING AT H.C.U. WINTHORPE
[photograph]
AT BLIDA
[photograph]
LANCASTER AT SYERSTON
74A
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[letter of introduction to airfield manager in Iran]
154A
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[photograph]
F/LT. MAXTED (GUNNERY LEADER) PETE FOOLKES & F/O SANDFORD (SPARE GUNNER OR SQDN ADJ)
[photograph]
TED FOSTER WITH BITS OF 9JO
[photograph]
64J
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[photograph]
GEOF. HAMPSON FLT. ENG.
[photograph of 9J-O]
[photograph of 9J-O]
64K
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[christmas card]
CHRISTMAS CARD FROM PETE IN CANADA
64P
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[typewritten letter]
[underlined] PART OF F/L CROKER’S LETTER WITH XMAS 1990 CARD [/underlined]
64Q
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[location map for 1994 reunion]
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[underlined] FINAL LEG [/underlined]
Recollections of events in my final 15 months in the R.A.F. are reasonably clear but somewhat hazy of detail and of the order in which they took place.
I was still with the Squadron on VE Day, the 5th. April, on leave in London with Hilda. I recall going up to Leicester Square by tube train with my father, Alice and Hilda to join the celebrations and actually walking back the five miles to Lavender Hill in the early hours. This would explain why I had no knowledge of the Victory Parade at Strubby until I was shown a photograph of it many years later. I was on leave again in London in early August when the Americans dropped the two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and suddenly the war was over. I was still in uniform and had to await my turn for demob.
I have no recollection of attending a Reselection Board when I was made redundant from flying, nor of actually leaving the Squadron. I think my first posting after the Squadron was to Gravely, as a Squadron adjutant. I had always thought that the Squadron was 106, but according to the Bomber Command War Diaries 106 was never at Gravely [sic] !. There is no mistaking the actual station, however, it is only 4 miles from my present home and parts of it are still recogniseable [sic] . I was astonished to find many years later that 227 Sqdn had transferred to Graveley about the 8th. of June and was disbanded there on the 5th. of September. I was there for about 6 weeks during which time we closed the Sargeants’ [sic] Mess and did a very little paper-work. We had neither aircrews nor aircraft, it was just a matter of holding office and very little else!. I probably spent most of it on leave.
I then became a Photographic Officer u/t and did a very interesting course at Farnborough which lasted 8 weeks. One of the instructors was a Sgt. Peter Clark, a leading Saville Row fashion photographer before the war and Hilda’s first employer. I went on leave yet again and was eventually told to report to 61 M.U. at Handforth in Cheshire as a u/t Equipment Officer. I duly reported to the Station Adjutant at Handforth feeling very much out of place. Of the hundreds of service types around only the ex-Air-Crew were in battle dress, the others were either in best blues or dungarees. I had always thought that battledress was the working uniform of the R.A.F., but it was not so at Handforth. I felt more as if I was in the Luftwaffe. The Station Adj. took me to see the Chief Equipment Officer, who was a Wing Commander and this feeling became even stronger. I reported formally and the C.E.O. said “And what the hell are you supposed to be?”. Those were his exact words and I did really wonder whether we were in the same air force. I replied that “I am here as a u/t equipment officer Sir”. “MM what’s your trade?” “Rear Gunner” – without waiting for the ‘Sir’, he exploded and almost shouted “That’s not a trade, it’s General Duties”. He was technically right but raising his voice unduly went on to add “You are supposed to be able to sit here and do my job, you’d feel a bloody fool doing my job, wouldn’t you!”. Fascinated by the smirk on his face and hypnotised by the Defence medal on his breast I just stood there in disbelief at this outburst and quietly laughed. “Well?” He wanted an answer and I said in a rather light vane “Yes Sir I would, but less of a bloody fool than some would have felt doing my job for the last three years”. That was it, he stood up and said “Right, come”. We went along the corridor and straight in to see the Station Commander, a Group Captain. The WingCo[sic] was very agitated and without preamble
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told the Groupie of my ‘gross insubordination’. He recited the dialogue in accurate detail and the Group Captain asked for my account. I agreed with the C.E.O.’s account but said that I was provoked, there was no reason for his outburst and I grinned only because I didn’t think he was being serious. Invited to comment the WingCo said he had been affronted by my being improperly dressed. I made no further comment and the Groupy told the WingCo that he would deal with the matter. The WingCo saluted and left, and I thought I was for the chop. The Group Captain sported R.F.C. wings and had obviously seen his share of action. He stood up and extended his right hand in friendship. “Sorry old chap, I didn’t get your name, do sit down”. I was back in the R.A.F. He asked “Where were you in Africa?” Not an idle question, followed by “Did you know Group Captain Powell?” Yes Sir, he was our Base Commander of 142 and 150 Squadrons, Speedy Powell of “F” for Freddie”. Speedy had been the Briefing officer in the film ‘Target for Tonight’. I mentioned some of his exploits and finally his loss, and the Group Captain was distressed. He told me that like the other 12 ex-Air Crew on the station, I was a square peg in a round hole, but to make the best of it and to go back to see him if I had a problem. In the mess that evening I met the others and soon found we were all on duty every day and every night. u/t Orderly Officer, then Orderly Officer, and through the whole range of Asst. Duty Officer, Duty Officer, Fire Picket, in-line Fire picket, Cyphers, Security, etc. etc. Only the ex Air-Crew Officers performed these tasks and after two weeks of this we agreed something must be done. One period of 24 hours I was Duty Cyphers Officer. This was just a title, there was neither Cyphers Section nor Intellegence[sic] Section and I found that for almost all the duties we were allocated there were no instructions. Several of us individually addressed the Station Adjutant in writing and one even enquired whether he should draw-up his own set of procedures for inclusion in Station Standing Orders. For reasons that could only have been sour grapes, there was a measure of ill-feeling between the ‘permanent’ equipment and Admin officers, and the air-crew types. Many of the former had spent the entire war at places like Handforth, and there is no doubt they did a vital job, and maybe were still doing it. In our case, the war for us was over, and after our experiences of the last few years there was a limit to the amount of being messed around that we were willing to accept. We discussed having fire drills with real fires and creating a few incidents for practice, but finally we drew lots and two of us applied through the C.E.O. to see the Group Captain. The C.E.O. refused permission so we made our request through the Station Adjutant. This was approved and we told the C.O. what was happening, we were being “imposed” upon from a great height. He called in the Station Adj. and told him that all Air Crew Officers would go on indefinite leave the following day. He told the two of us to ensure that all application forms were with the Station Adj. by 3 pm. And for me, it was straight to Whitehaven, in battledress.
I had applied for release from the Service under “Class B”, having an immediate job to take up which would in itself create work for 5 other ex-Servicemen. Hilda was in fact holding the fort in Whitehaven, and nothing came of the application.
It was about four months before I was recalled to Handforth, and immediately detached to no. 7 Site at Poynton to take over as Equipment Officer i/c and also as Officer i/c. the Prison Camp. There was an Equipment W/O running the Stores with about 200 Airmen and I agreed with him that it could
[page break]
stay that way. The Stores comprised 8 massive hangars full of equipment. I regarded my main job as O.C. the Stalag with its 1000 P.O.W.’s (750 Italian and 250 German) and my staff of 15 Air Crew N.C.O.s who had all been kriegsgefangener themselves. The Senior German prisoner was a Warrant Officer who spoke excellent English having studied it for 5 years in prison camps. Most of the prisoners, including the Italians, had been taken in the Western Desert. The Germans were very smart indeed, in contrast to the Italians, and the two axis partners had as little to do with each other as they could arrange. Gangs of prisoners were guarded by some of the 200 Airmen, supervised by ex-AirCrew NCO.s. The prisoners were not interested in escape, there would have been no point, but I put an immediate stop to their sneaking out of camp at night to try their luck. The German and Italian messes were separate from each other and staffed by R.A.F. cooks. The Germans asked if they could do their own cooking and I agreed but with nominal supervision of two airmen in case we had visitors. I made the same arrangement for the Italians but initially they refused. I appointed one of the Corporal Majors as Senior Iti [sic] and made him responsible. I threatened to fully-integrate them with the Germans if there was any nonsense, and with that some of them nearly burst into tears. They were a lazy shower. I had the Officers’ Mess all to myself, but that’s another story. It was a very cosy three months, with most long week-ends spent in Whitehaven where Hilda had taken-over the Relay system. It was also a tremendous anti-climax to the previous five years.
Eventually when the magic number 26 came up, I reported to R.A.F. Uxbridge for demob. and collected my pin-striped suit and a cardboard box to put it in. I realised then that my career in the R.A.F. was initially over. Straight to Whitehaven by train, still in battledress.
[page break]
[underlined] FIRST TOUR TARGETS [/underlined]
[table of targets and bomb loads]
71
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[table of targets and bomb loads continued]
[page break]
[underlined] 2nd TOUR [/underlined] [underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
[table of targets and bomb loads with additions]
[underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
After flying Beaufighters from Malta the Squadron folded in August 1944. The new Squadron was formed in 5 Group on 7/10/1944. Flying Lancasters from Bardney, Balderton and Strubby. Flew 815 sorties and lost 15 aircraft (1.8%) in 61 raids. 2 were also destroyed in crashes.
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[underlined] Back to Civvy Street [/underlined]
By early 1946 the great transition from War to Peace was taking place and many of us were gradually realising that we could now plan some years ahead with a very good possibility of surviving to carry them out. Of my colleagues at Metropolitan Relays, only Reg. Weller had paid with his life, having been killed in action in Italy, with the army. Allan Cutbush had been taken prisoner at Tobruk and spent some time in a prison camp in Italy. Eventually he escaped and spent a couple of years as an Italian farm worker. Soon after the invasion at Anzio he rejoined the Allies and had the greatest difficulty in convincing them that he really was a Private in the Royal Signals. Alan was first to be demobbed and rejoined the firm as manager of a newly aquired [sic] group of branches in the Mansfield and Retford areas. George Holah had left in 1939 to join the army, and spent the next six years in India, returning as a Major in the Indian army complete with an Anglo-Indian wife and family. George did not return to Relays, but joined the Metropolitan Police, and in 1975 was a Clerk in the Central Registry at New Scotland Yard. How he managed to transfer from being a private in the British army to a Commissioned Officer in the Indian army I don’t know, assuming it actually happened. I have not met George since 1939.
In June 1945, my father, Mrs. Kilham and Mr. Moulton bought privately another run-down radio relay system, West Cumberland Relay Services, Ltd., in Whitehaven, and I was invited to develop it. Although Germany had capitulated, the war was not yet over. Japan might have seemed a long way off but was still our Enemy and the job had to be finished. Meanwhile Hilda moved to Whitehaven and set-up home in the flat above the shop at 49 Lowther Street. Colin was then 9 months old and it was a further year before I was demobbed, but during that period I seemed to have spent most of my time in Whitehaven. Hilda kept the Relay ticking over, with very limited assistance from the staff, until March 1946 when I was given indefinite leave on compassionate grounds.
The relay was well and truly run down, with about 400 subscribers each paying 1/3d per week for two radio programmes. It was losing money fast, the entire network needed rewiring and the amplifiers and other equipment were just about a write-off. I had with me the name-plate from my office door at Poynton. One of the German prisoners had made it for me, a notice which proclaimed in Gothic characters
Obr. Lnt. Cliff. Watson D.F.C.,
LAGER COMMANDANT EINTRITT VERBOTTEN
I put this on my new office door, but drew a line through the bottom line.
Sorting out a fault on a 100 watt amplifier, I asked the engineer, Joe, for a soldering iron, and he said he never used one but preferred the special solder in a tube, which he handed to me. In that single sentence he had proved to me that his technical knowledge was just about zero. I demonstrated the solder’s futility by proving that it was not even an electrical conductor. Consequently all the equipment was full of dry joints and I spent a whole night in soldering connections. The stuff Joe was using out of a tube was for repairing small holes in pans and kettles. I was very disappointed in Joe, his technical
75
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knowledge was effectively less than zero. The next weekend he claimed to have worked all day Sunday clearing a line fault. He had deliberately caused this fault on the previous morning and I traced and corrected it myself within an hour of his doing so. He had shorted out two wires on our own roof and on Monday morning went straight onto the roof to remove the short. I was there waiting for him and sacked him on the spot for sabotage and dishonesty.
I thus took over the technical side but also looked closely at the system of collecting and keeping records of accounts and customers. The only record of payments was in the collector’s field book and there was no record of where the customers or relay installations actually were. I spent a week with the collector who was very reluctant to assist, and Hilda and I drew up a set of records and established a working system. In the next two weeks I found so many fiddles and had proof of so much skulduggery that I sacked the collector without notice. I found installations where the user claimed to have made one outright payment to the collector who had pocketed the money, a hundred or so loudspeakers recorded as being “on loan” which had in fact been paid for and all manner of other private arrangements. The collector was easily replaced, and Mr. Fee joined us. I was fortunate too in meeting Bert Wise, ex Royal Navy P.O. Telegraphist who had been on Submarines, and who took over the technical aspect including the outside lines. Bill Campbell, ex Royal Army Service Corps driver/mechanic was very quickly trained on installations and line work, assisted by John Milburn, a school leaver. John had a very broad Cumbrian accent and initially I found communication difficult, “As gan yam nar marra” meant “I am going home now chum”. I felt I ought to be replying in French or something other than English.
Bill Campbell’s first job was to take the train to London and bring back a vehicle. It was a new Hudson NAAFI wagon completely fitted out by Met. Relays and full of cable, bracket insulators etc. My first act was to buy a set of maps covering the area to a scale of 1:10,000, and display it on the wall. The idea was that if we could establish exactly where we were we stood a better chance of knowing where we were going. A basic plan for the overhead lines was derived and we worked as a team, stripping out old wiring, checking and replacing where necessary, and keeping a record of installations connected. When an installation was serviced and documentation complete we fitted a capacitor in the loudspeaker for technical reasons and a new programme selector switch. The capacitors were to prove very useful later. The service we had to offer at that time was poor, and although it was gradually improving, we were spending far too much time on fault-finding, diverting us from the main program. Within a month it was very clear that our top priority was to rewire and re-equip. I managed to convince the London Office of this and they sent me a team of 3 wiremen from London, led by Dennis Horton who was inherited as a foreman at Mansfield, complete with two Dodge trucks and tons of installation materials. For four months this team concentrated on rewiring for four programmes, gradually reducing and finally almost eliminating the line faults.
The receivers and amplifiers were at Harras Moor in a cottage, but this was at the end of a two mile line, too far from our main load. We ran a 6-pair cable the whole distance and used these as 600 ohm lines, to feed five 1 KW amplifiers at Lowther Street. A bank of 6 AR88 receivers was installed at Harras Moor and two “straight sets” on loop antennas for the BBC Home and Light programmes. In town we had 210v. DC mains and had to fit rotary
[page break]
invertors. We also installed a 9KVA petrol/paraffin engine-driven alternator for use during power cuts, which were all too frequent. I could never understand how the grid system could sustain power through seven winters of wartime industrial production and as soon as the war was over we had to live with power cuts. Harras Moor was providing us with four good radio channels, Home, Light and Third BBC, Radio Eirein, Luxembourg, Paris, New York and others from around the world. We were getting organised and I was able to concentrate on sales, keeping our own gang of three busy on new installations. Within two years we had 2,200 installations, including the two Music Halls, cinemas, and all the factories. In addition we were doing more than 90% of all the Public Address work in Cumberland, some of which were quite memorable. At Grasmere Sports the events included a Fell Race and the first year we gave a running commentary over our P.A. system. The runners were out of sight near the top of the fell, so for the following year we applied to the Post Office for permission to use an H/F radio link to cover the gap. This was refused, “you will have to apply for a telephone”! The following year Bert Wise and John Milburn climbed the fell with an Aldis Lamp and battery, and established themselves where they could see the runners at the top and the ‘ops room’ on the showground. I too had an Aldis lamp and Bert flashed me the numbers of the runners as they reached the top of the fell. This delighted the spectators but completely upset the bookies who alone had the complete information in previous years.
The Post Office were also upset, claiming they had a monopoly on signalling, but declining to put it to test in court. I suggested that to try and licence boy scouts to signal in morse code with torches was ludicrous. I enjoyed the atmosphere of these events and went to quite some lengths to obtain the appropriate marshal music. At a Conservative Party fete one particular rather rousing piece was played several times and I was asked by a retired General why the Hell I kept playing the Red Army March Past.!!
A month after taking over, Hilda and I went for a walk - with the pram - to Hensingham, about three miles inland, and I was surprised to see Relay wires between chimneys and lots of downleads. I had not expected to find another system so close and I checked at some of the houses, asking who provided the system! I was told it was owned by a builder called Leslie but it hadn’t worked for several years. Leslie was the fellow from whom the company had bought West Cumberland Relays, and on checking with him I found it was part of the ‘system’ we had taken over. Further search showed a line of poles stretching for about two miles across the fields which had originally linked the village to the lines in Whitehaven. It also showed that a whole area of Hensingham had no electricity, ideal for relay. There was already a big housing estate and this was being extended, and I decided there was adequate potential in the village, but to replace the trunk route to it would be too expensive. We compromised by obtaining four modified 50 watt Vortexion Amplifiers and four receivers from London. Fred Wright brought them by road in his small van, the logo on the side of which was “Radio Trouble-shooting Service”. I did my very best to put up a case for keeping the van, to no avail. The next day we installed the equipment in an air-raid shelter at Hensingham, as a temporary measure, and immediately started connecting subscribers. Within a few weeks the wiring reached the side of the village where the lines from Whitehaven went across the fields, and we began to replace one pair all the way to link with Whitehaven. With this in operation on the third channel we were able to switch
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off one of the Hensingham amplifiers. Later all four programmes were fed from Whitehaven and the station in the air-raid shelter dismantled. The amplifiers were put to use at Whitehaven Hospital and the Workhouse. Both places were wired for 4 programme relay, but at the flick of a switch microphones could be switched in for announcements, and in the case of the latter, to broadcast concerts from the stage.
It was at Hensingham that I found a row of about 30 terraced houses, all without electricity and all wired with three twin cables of different sizes. This rather intrigued me and I enquired further. Most of the houses had battery driven wireless sets which used a 75 volt dry battery for H.T., a 2 volt accumulator for L.T. and a 9 volt grid bias battery, and in one case I found one of these sets without batteries but connected to the 3 pair cable. The old lady owner said it had not worked for several years. I quickly found the man who recharged the accumulators and he confirmed that the cables I had seen were once used for providing power supplies to radios. I think the system must have been quite unique. Shortly afterwards, the houses were connected to the relay system. My only regret is that I didn’t buy up those radios and store them for 50 years. As more and more installations were connected on the Woodhouse estate, the load on the five mile line gradually became too heavy with a corresponding reduction in line voltage and therefore volume. To overcome this we rented an air-raid shelter from the British Legion on the estate and fitted 4 amplifiers to take the load. These were fed from the incoming line itself, but for emergency use we also fitted receivers. Later the receivers came in useful for about three months during reconstruction of an area over which our main line had been fitted. One of the radio dealers found that we were using local receivers and that they were subject to radio interference from vacuum cleaners, so he had a sales drive in the immediate area of our receiving station with rental vacuum cleaners at 1/- per week. Reception gradually deteriorated but after three months of emergency operation our main line was again complete and the receivers switched off. Reception then was near perfect on our system and dreadful for the rest when the vacuum cleaners were being used. He had put a lot of time and money into trying to wreck our system, and had a double-fronted shop in Lowther Street, but I was sorry to see his shop with a bicycle in one window and a Bible in the other when I left Whitehaven..
On a new housing estate where 5 new houses were commissioned each week, we took a gamble and wired them all. When the first tenants moved in the loudspeaker was playing and the tenant’s radio problems were resolved. After 3 or 4 weeks I would go along and generally sign them up. Some of them of course compared it to their own ‘wireless’ if any, which could not possibly reach our standard of reproduction and reception. There are very few places in and around Whitehaven where we had not fitted microphones and radio, and after reaching near saturation in two years there was little scope for further development.
Whitehaven had been a very satisfying experience, but was marred by the Williams Pit disaster where 160 miners were trapped underground and lost their lives. John Milburn’s father was among them. It was traditional for the eldest son to take over where the Dad left off, and we were very sorry indeed to lose John. Hilda had run the office and “showroom” assisted later by Connie Sim from St. Bees. Bill Campbell was still our mainstay on the lines.
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I handed over to Bert Wise, still wearing his Navy P.O.’s hat, and moved to Wandsworth as Development Manager for Metropolitan Relays. A flat was available for us above the shop at 111 Garratt Lane, but on arrival we found it occupied by squatters. For several weeks we lived with Hilda’s parents until the squatters moved to the second floor and we took over the first floor. They were a decent couple in their forties, and had been desperate for accommodation. Our shop had been empty so they moved in, knowing that when an eviction order was issued by the court, they would be allocated a council house or flat. It was a short-cut to the top of the housing list, and the firm had to go through the motions of demanding court action. The ground floor was established as a showroom, even with T.V. in the window, an impressive amplifier room and an office with the same old sign on the door, Lager Commandant!
The original plan was to develop the area working outwards from Garrett Lane and to use the linesman from H.Q. at Lavender Hill, but there was line work to be done from the very outset and it was this part of the job which would be the limiting factor in our rate of progress. I insisted that we employed our own gang of wiremen. Bill Cutler was my wayleave expert, and having planned the main basic routes of our main lines, it was Bill’s job to find out who the landlords were and to obtain their formal permission to fit our wires on or over their property, generally between chimneys. The easiest way was first to sell the relay service to the tenants and their order was used as the reason for our request to fit the wires. We started to run four main lines, no.1 along Garrett Lane to link up with the Lavender Hill system at West Hill. No 2 made a beeline west along Garrett Lane to a Council-owned housing estate which at the time had no electricity. No 3 went due south to Southfields and along Merton Road, over the Redifon buildings and on to Putney, and No. 4 went north towards Wandsworth Common. Everyone on the staff except me, but including Bill Cutler and the linesmen was given five shillings commission for each new customer they signed up. The average wage at that time was £7 per week (in London) and there were few days when the gang did not hand in the paper-work and deposits for customers they had signed up and probably already installed in addition to the day’s work allocated to them. Quite often we would have thousands of leaflets distributed to houses in a particular area which was proving difficult but which they needed to cross.
At about this time, my father retired and went to East Africa, settling at Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini, 10 miles west of Kitale on the Kakemega Road, and about 260 miles from Nairobi.. He sold his controlling interest in Metropolitan Relays to Seletar Industrial Holdings, Ltd. and their representative, Colonel Slaughter, took over as Chairman. Mr. Moulton became Director & General Manager and I was Development Manager with sufficient shares to qualify for a seat on the board. At the time T.V. was still in its infancy, though beginning to catch on, but the main background entertainment would be the wireless for some time to come. Transistors were still in the experimental stage and Radio Relay provided an alternative to cumbersome and relatively expensive valve radios, with near perfect and trouble-free reception. As Development Manager I made sure I was not bogged down with routine day to day running, and at the outset established a reliable Manager at Garrett Lane, Jack Thompson, whose knowledge of the business was gleaned entirely from Bill Cutler and myself with on-the-job training. Bill had been with Radio Relay since about
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1930, except for during the war when he was a technician in the R.A.F. on Link Trainers.
I was asked to have a look at Yeovil in Somerset and see whether it appeared suitable to establish a relay system, and if I felt it so justified, to spend some time there making a detailed study. I spent a week studying the layout of the town, types of housing, probabilities of future development, the people and their attitudes and in discussion with the Borough Surveyor and Town Clerk’s office staff. I realised that Colonel Slaughter had been a senior army officer and also a senior civil servant for a long time, and that my future relationship with him depended to a large extent on the impression he gained from my first formal report. I recommended that it was a border-line proposition and included a financial budget for 5 years. It would be three years before the system was breaking even and this was too long. The Capital required was too high unless the system was subsidised by another well-established branch. I felt we could find better places to apply our efforts. The Colonel decided to have a look for himself and I went with him to Somerset a week later. Alone, he met the Council officials concerned and one of them agreed to support our application if a relative of his was given a seat on the board of the new company!. I had known of that before the meeting but thought it better not to be involved, nor to include thoughts of that nature in my report. The Yeovil proposal was dropped and I turned my attention to Maryport.
Whilst Bert Wise was on holiday Bill Cutler and I went to Whitehaven for two weeks to relieve him and also to investigate Maryport.
I had known Maryport for some years and I already knew that it would be a goer from the outset. With lots of Council houses (no wayleave problems on them), a working type population, even with an element of communism. It had known major unemployment and soup kitchens and was still a little Bolshie.
We had many friends in the area and a good popular working system in Whitehaven as an example. In that two weeks I produced the same type of report as for Yeovil, but recommended we should go ahead immediately. We saw the Council Officials and agreed a draft agreement with them, found suitable accommodation for a shop in town and a receiving station just out of town to which we could run our own lines. Two weeks later I returned with the Colonel and together we met the Council Committee and completed formalities. From then on it was all systems go. Bill Cutler asked if he could get it organised and he did a very thorough job, using the labour and resources from Whitehaven. He stayed on as Manager and a few years later took-over Whitehaven also when Bert Wise ran-off with his secretary, Connie Sim.
Meanwhile Garratt Lane was running smoothly, and number 1 line had reached East Hill. In a junction box on the wall of a block of flats we had two four-pair cables, one from Lavender Hill, and the other from Garratt Lane, and on an experimental basis we linked the two together, isolating the line at Garratt Lane. We were thus able to monitor the Lavender Hill system in our Control Room, providing their service to our installations on the way. The Garratt Lane amplifiers were fed by Post Office line from Lavender Hill, and each amplifier could provide 1 kilowatt of audio power, sufficient for 3000 loudspeakers. Most of the loudspeakers were switched to no. 2 channel, the Light Programme, still referred to as the Forces programme by the majority. Channels 3 and 4 were very lightly loaded and we were able to switch off the Garratt Lane amplifiers on these channels for most of the time. At that time my family
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home was the flat above the showroom at Garratt Lane, and was guarded by Rex, a huge Great Dane/Alsation [sic] hybrid. Only Hilda and the children could handle it, presumably because they fed it regularly, but everyone else - including me - had to be very cautious.
Eventually it took a bite out of the Manager’s wife and was returned to Battersea Dogs’ Home.
I was spending more time at Garratt Lane where progress was losing momentum, and extending our no. 3 line over West Hill to East Putney was proving difficult. Near Putney Bridge, still a mile from our lines was a highly suitable area of small houses and it was going to take a year to reach them at our current speed. Without much fuss we established a station in the basement of a shop in the middle of this area, using 4 receivers built by Fred Wright’s dept. and 4 small 50 watt Vortexion amplifiers. This station was identical to the one fitted at Hensingham. We then had a sales drive in that part of Putney with the emphasis towards West Hill, and in 4 months were able to link the two systems.
I was interested to recall that for monitoring our four programmes we used a modified aircraft type automatic bomb release mechanism. This was a uniselector type of relay unit which clunked round and changed programme every 30 seconds instead of releasing bombs.
All my staff were ex-Servicemen and there was a dynamic no-nonsence [sic] approach. In contrast to this, our General Manager Allan Moulton based at Lavender Hill, had a stock answer to any serious proposal for action put to him, of “Wait a little while and see what happens”. My attitude was that we know what we want to happen and it wont unless we make it. He didn’t like my Lager Commandant notice on the door either but there it stayed. In 1948 the war was not forgotten by most of us and many satisfactory business deals were made in that spirit of comradeship and trust.
In Feb. 1949 I found that someone called Fry had studied Belfast on our firm’s behalf and had strongly recommended starting a relay service there. The report came to me quite by accident and at the same time I found he was surveying Bath, introducing himself as Development Manager in Relay Association circles. I tackled Colonel Slaughter about it and he said it was news to him, but he took it up with Moulton to whom Fry was reporting. I found that Moulton resented the fact that I was responsible direct to the Chairman, and also that my contract detailed my renumeration including commission which was the £1500 per year, 4 times the average wage. To clear the air we had a formal meeting and I put forward my prediction for future development. I forecast that within 2 or 3 years a general rundown of the system would be inevitable with the increase of television; further that it would be prudent to reduce expenditure on “wired wireless” and to develop the rental side of both radio and T.V., but to reconsider with Fred Wright - who was not at the meeting - the policy of manufacturing T.V. sets. My prediction became factual and was influenced also by transistor radios of which we had no knowledge at that time. There was 33% Purchase Tax on most things including T.V. sets. This was payable at the point of sale and not on rentals. As our sets were never sold but remained the property of Met. Radio & T.V. Rentals Ltd. no Purchase Tax was payable. This loophole was soon to be closed, as forecast, and tax was payable on the rental itself. It became cheaper to buy sets from the big manufactures than to actually make them.
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The Colonel remarked that as Development Manager I was really saying we should stop developing, and I agreed. This set the scene for further discussion well outside the intended scope of the meeting. The Chairman asked Moulton for his views on likely technological advances, but Moulton had none and said we can only try and stay afloat, seeking support from Fry. The Colonel shot down Moulton completely and asked Fry to detail his relevant qualifications. After a silence Moulton was told to study the content of my prediction and not to go off at a tangent on development nor without reference to him. Fry was sent packing and the meeting was closed. I learned quite a lot from Colonel Slaughter, he had spent a long time in the Royal Engineers and one of his attributes was building a flat-bottomed boat on the Nile, one of the biggest in service. His personality was such that when he looked up and down disapprovingly at an obvious ex-Serviceman leaning over a bar, the man immediately took his hand out of his pocket and squared himself up. I actually saw this happen in Maryport, he had that effect on people. (That was in 1948, it might not be the same over 40 years later).
No more was heard of Fry, and I never did join the Board, I was too busy getting on with the job, but it was time for reflection. I realised that when my father was Chairman he had the engineering and technical aspects at his fingertips and he took care of them. He was succeeded by the Colonel who was a business-man but who had no backing on the engineering side. My brief was the Development of the Radio Relay Systems, I regarded technological changes as a matter for the General Manager, Moulton, but I was not responsible to him.
I met the Colonel again privately and I said it seemed that I was Development Manager in a firm which was not going to develop any further. Although there was plenty of routine work to be done I felt the Electrical Trades Union would soon start making things very difficult as it was doing in the Post Office. In view of the probable technological changes, I felt that Colonel Slaughter would rather sell-out than try to steer a ship without a rudder. I was being rather outspoken but straightforward and the Colonel approved of this. I told him I would like to call it a day and try my luck in Africa, Kenya was said to be a land of opportunity. If that failed there was always a job in Bulawayo 2500 miles further south of the Cement Works with Mr. Rose.
The Colonel agreed I could leave when convenient but if I wanted to return within 6 months, to drop him a line. It was four years since the war in Europe had ended. Britain was changing and so was the attitude of many people some of who were very disillusioned. Hilda and I agreed it was time to make a move.
And so in July 1949 I went to Africa for the third time, but with Hilda and the two children, not knowing what sort of a career I was seeking, but nevertheless full of confidence, and still with my Lager Commandant board.
The following year, Colonel Slaughter retired and Seletar’s controlling interest in Metropolitan Relays was sold to British Relay Wireless which later became Vision-Hire. Within a further 12 years the wired-wireless or Relay industry in the U.K. closed, being overtaken by technology.
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[underlined] KENYA [/underlined]
The flight to Nairobi was a very pleasant trip by Argonaut, calling at Rome, Benina, - which we had known as Bengazi [sic] -, Cairo, Khartoum and Entebbe. On the last leg of the flight we flew very low at times, quite unofficially to give us our first views of big game from the air. The flight was very enjoyable, in very easy stages, and in retrospect the Argonaut was about the most comfortable aircraft we were to fly in, in our many subsequent flights to Africa. It was I think the first and only time we travelled in first class.
We were met in Nairobi by Duncan Fletcher, a friend of my fathers, and spent the night at Torr’s Hotel, in Delamere Avenue, the leading hotel at that time. The Stanley Hotel across the road was being refurbished to become the New Stanley, and within a few years Torr’s was closed and became the Ottaman [sic] Bank. I recall the strawberry and cream cake for tea at Torr’s for which it had been famous for many years. The following day we journeyed the 260 miles by bus to Kitale. This was a road we would take many times in the years to come. The first half was tarmac, 100 miles of which from the top of the Nairobi escarpment, through Naivasha to Nakuru, having been built by Italian prisoners of war. From the top of the escarpment there was a wonderful view of the Rift Valley and Mount Longenot [sic], an extinct volcano, and to the west over the plains towards Mau Forest and Kisumu. The bus took us down the escarpment, dropping about 2000 feet to the floor of the Rift Valley, passed the little Italian church built by P.O.W.’s, and northwards past Lake Elementita and Nakuru, then the rough murram road to Kitale. The journey took about 10 hours, but was far from tedius [sic], there was so much to be seen.
Kitale seemed like a typical american western type of small town, the roads were not made up and the sidewalks were made of wood. Many of the buildings were made of timber clad with mabati - corrugated iron - and most europeans wore khaki drill. We were met at the bus station by my father and completed the remaining 9 miles of our journey to our new home, Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini where a guest house had been built for us, about 100 yards from the main house. Colin and Wendy, aged 6 and 4 were introduced to the Ayah, the african nurse, called Nadudu, who spoke only Swahili and her tribal language, Kitoshi, but within a matter of days was communicating without difficulty with the children. Nadudu had her own rondavel, a thatched roundhouse on the lawn at the side of the guest house, and took care of all the children’s needs.
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[underlined] Hoteli King George [/underlined]
Life on the farm had provided a welcome anticlimax to just about everything that had gone before, but it could hardly be a long-term solution for a young couple with a growing family. We did not appreciate at the time the serious effects of the political unrest and changes which were beginning to take place. We thought that common sense would prevail and most of us felt we had a good working relationship with the Africans; only a misguided few claimed to really understand them! Neither Hilda nor I felt we were achieving a great deal on the farm and we agreed it was time to look further afield.
In April 1950, after almost a year in Kitale, I responded to an advert in our national newspaper, the East African Standard, for Prison Officers. Salary £550 per year, uniform and furnished accomodation [sic] provided, generous leave etc. Military experience advantageous, with the rank of Asst. Supt. of Prisons. One pip! At least the job would get us to Nairobi where most of the action was, and we would have an opportunity to look around, but it was also to give me an insight into a very different and often sordid aspect of life. My application was successful. Our family, Hilda and myself, Colin and Wendy, with Paddy and Jeep our two Alsations all crowded into the Austin A70 and once again made the now familiar safari to Nairobi. 150 miles of murram road, through the Transnzoia, and the plains around Eldoret settled almost entirely by South Africans from the Union, winding around ravines to Mau Summit, up and over the 11,500 ft. mountains at Timbarua to Nakuru then 100 miles of luxurious tarmac through Naivasha with its flamingoes [sic] , passed Elementita an extinct volcano, up the escarpment to Nairobi. The tarmac road was built by Italian prisoners of war in W.W.2, the best stretch of road in East Africa. We also took with us Edward Ekeke, an African driver who had been with my father in Abbysinia [sic] during the war. Although a Kikuyu he was a trusted servant, and if left alone by the politicians and other agitators would have stayed loyal, but tribal and other pressures on chaps like Ekeke were great, and in retrospect it was foolish of us to trust them. Ekeke returned to Kitale with the Austin for more personal effects and re-joined us after a few days. I think he must have finally returned to the farm by 'taxi', as the african buses were called.
As it claimed in the advert., accomodation [sic] was provided. It could have been described as a three-bedroomed chalet, the walls and roof being of mabati (corrugated iron), and was built on stilts about a foot off the ground. We learned that is [sic] was originally built at the other side of the prison and had been carried to its current location by 200 prisoners. As far as I remember, we moved straight into the 'house', and roughed it until Hilda made it comfortable. There was a bathroom, but the loo was a 'thunderbox' at the end of the back garden with a bucket which a gang of prisoners dealt with about 5 am. every day. The kitchen was a Colonial type near the back door, with a wood stove, and an adequate supply of kuni (firewood) provided by more prisoners.
The prison was totally enclosed within a high stone wall, designed to hold 700 prisoners, but with a prison population of about 1900 Africans, 180 Asians, 20 Somalis and 12 Europeans. Quite separate was a small compound for the Wamawaki, (women), with about 20 African and 1 Asian inmate (in for murder but only men were eligible for hanging, so she was serving life). The whole 2000 or so were in the care of about 9 European officers and 200 African Askari. The
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Officer i/c was 'Major' Martin M.C., W.W.1 Veteran,as [sic] Snr. Supt., his number 2 was Henry Thacker with 3 pips as a Supt. Henry spoke fluent Kikuyu in addition to Swahili, and in fact had a Kikuyu 'wife'. He had been in the Prisons service for 36 years at that time and sported one medal ribbon, on his right breast. Legend had it that it was awarded by the Royal Humane Society after he saved a cat from drowning, but Henry was on a totally different wavelength to other Europeans. Sid Swan with 2 pips was i/c the stores and accounts, having spent the war in the Kings African Rifles, and having been demobbed as a Major. Other junior officers like myself included Bunty Lewis, rather effiminate [sic] but nevertheless an ex Royal Artillery officer who had a Kenya-born wife; Paddy McKinney, a large hairy ex Irish Guards Sergeant; Jimmie Vant, ex Kings African Rifles, the son of a Keswick lawyer turned Kenya farmer. Jimmie and his wife Dulcie regarded themselves as Kenya settlers and claimed to spend most of their time at the ranch on the Kinankop, hence their landrover vehicle. Another officer, Whitehouse who joined about the same time as me seemed to spend most of his time off sick and did not stay with us very long. There were three other officers whose names elude me but they were all ex-service, and all lived just outside the wall of the main prison.
The Duty Officers i/c worked a shift system, 0600 to 1800, assisted by a "day-duties" officer during more or less office hours. The Duty Officer was responsible for the day to day activity in the main prison. We were each armed with an enormous ancient revolver of 0.45 calibre and six rounds of ammo., issued by Mr. Thacker. I objected to the rounds of ammo., pointing out they were dum-dums, the bullets having been filed down to within 1/8" of the cartridge cases., and they contravened the Geneva convention. I remember Henry saying "there is nothing in the Prisons Ordinance about the Geneva Convention, and that's all that matters"! We were ordered in writing to wear the revolver in its holster at all times when on duty, and I thought of my four Brownings of long ago to deal with one enemy, compared to a ridiculous revolver in a compound with nearly 2000 potential enemies. It was in fact general practice, strictly unofficial, to carry the revolver but to leave the ammunition in the safe, and the prisoners knew this. I did carry a loaded Czech. .25 automatic in my pocket of which the prisoners were not aware. Some months after I joined, the Snr. Supt. inspected Paddy's revolver and put him on a charge for not carrying ammunition, "contrary to station standing order number something or other". Paddy was eventually charged before the Commissioner of Prisons and pleaded not guilty, asking to see the written order. This was produced and the charge dismissed. The order refered [sic] to the revolver only, and not ammunition. All very childish, but Paddy of the Irish Guards was not one to be messed about. He produced his dum-dum bullets to the Commissioner who was astonished, and all the dumdums were withdrawn. Paddy also pointed out how ludicrous it was for a lone officer to carry firearms in a crowd of hundreds of prisoners, but the order remained. He was a likeable fellow and when the C.O. quoted the book of rules, Paddy made a detailed study of it. In addition to the Prisons Ordnance, we also had Station Standing Orders which gave Paddy ample scope for playing the barrack-room lawyer. He was seen one night at a party in the Military Police Snr. N.C.O.'s mess, and was put on [deleted] a [/deleted] two charges by Martin. Before the Commissioner he was charged with sleeping off the station and drinking whilst on duty. Again Paddy asked for the rule-book and pleaded not guilty. The book stated that an officer would not sleep off the station whilst
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on duty. Paddy agreed he had been at the dance all night and did not in fact sleep anywhere! case [sic] dismissed. Station standing orders also stated that an officer would not partake of alcoholic drink whilst on duty, but a further order stated that an "officer was deemed to be on duty at all times". It therefore followed that all Prisons Officers were required to be completely teetotal, and that was an unlawful order. Martin had met his match and was told to edit Station Standing Orders.
The day started at 0630 by unlocking the European cells and counting the inmates, whilst the Askari dealt with all the other prisoners. There was no point in an escape attempt by Europeans, they would not have got very far before being picked up, but for other races it was a different matter. They were guarded very closely. The four main racial groups were quartered separately for sleeping and eating, their customs and diet and indeed their whole culture differing considerably. Only the Europeans slept on beds, the others were not interested and prefered [sic] the floor, some with very thin mattresses. The Europeans wore shoes, the Somalis heavy boots, Asians wore flipflops and the Africans stuck to their bare feet which were generally tougher than any footwear. European food was probably similar to that in U.K. prisons, and with each race having its own traditional food, this was not a case of discrimination, each prefered [sic] its own. Each group also provided its own cooks. Some of the Asians in fact opted out of Prison food and had it sent in, but it was very thoroughly checked. Uniforms differed too, some compromise between standard prison garb and ordinary native dress. Europeans wore K.D. slacks and shirts with arrows printed on them. Africans wore white shirt and white shorts held up by string.
Two or three hours were spent in the early morning preparing prisoners for court, generally about 50 of them. Some were on remand, and others were convicted prisoners who were required to give evidence in cases where they were involved as witnesses. In the late afternoon all were returned to the prison possibly with changed status. The paper-work had to be watched very carefully, confusion could arise where one prisoner might have a conviction warrant on one case, a remand warrant on another and possibly a production order to appear as a witness in an entirely different case. It was not unknown for a prisoner to be involved in two cases under different names. Language sometimes presented a problem. The courts conducted the business in English and Kiswahili, but there were many tribal languages and quite often interpreters had to be employed. One such case was when 60 prisoners of the Suk tribe were charged with murder having massacred the District Commissioner and his staff of 12. The only interpreter who could cope with the Suk language translated into Kitoshi, and a second one translated from Kitoshi into Swahili. All 60 were hanged at the prison in due course. They seemed very young to me and I doubt if they really knew what it was all about. They were the ones rounded up by the Police after spears had been thrown at the D.C.'s party from a crowd of 2000 whilst he was reading the Riot Act -literally-.
Relationships between officers at the prison were generally very good, with the exception of Martin who thought he was playing soldiers and Thacker for whom we felt rather sorry. 36 years as a prisons officer must have warped his mind somewhat. After about two months I decided to be like the other officers and wear my medal ribbons, and that was when I first fell foul of Major Martin. He asked me what the first medal was and I told him. He said he
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had not authorised me to wear it and I laughed and said I didn't need his authority, the King's was good enough. Shortly after this I was on duty when 45 new African prisoners were admitted, but there were 50 warrants. Some were convicted on Capital Charges, (murder, manslaughter, rape etc). My Chief Warder had signed for 50 bodies and 50 warrants, but there were only 45 bodies. It was 5 pm and my obvious priority was to determine which 5 prisoners were missing. It took until 6.30 to sort it out, no-one was missing, the Court was at fault in issuing two warrants each to five prisoners, instead of one warrant and one production order each. Only then did I get around to locking up the European prisoners for the night, 30 minutes late, and I entered this in the log. The next day an Asian prisoner complained to an Asian Official Prison Visitor that the Europeans were not locked up until 6.30 whereas the Asian prisoners were locked up on time. This was racial discrimination and the official visitor reported the matter direct to the Commissioner. I was charged by Martin for failing to carry out a particular standing order in that I failed to lock up the Europeans at 6 pm. 'How do you plead?' saith [sic] the Commiss. 'I don't', I replied, 'I request the case be taken by the Member for Law & Order'. He was the member of Legislative Council equivalent to the U.K. Attorney General, and this was a genuine option available to an officer charged before the Commissioner, same sort of procedure as an Airman on a 252 asking for a Court Martial rather than take his C.O.'s verdict. The Commissioner suspended the charge for the time being and asked Martin why the charge was brought. I was then asked why I had failed and I said that I was the Officer responsible and in unusual circumstances I concentrated my action in what I considered the most important aspect, which was resolving the problem of the 5 apparently missing prisoners. I consider I acted correctly, regardless of Station Standing Orders. Martin said he had not known that and I suggested that he should read the duty log before signing it as seen, next time. I also suggested that an amendment be made to the standing orders to the effect that nothing contained therein would prohibit an officer from using his initiative when he felt it necessary. Anyhow, I went on, it is an unlawful order in any case, and that will be my alternative defence with the Member for Law & Order. The commissioner was intrigued and read out the order "You will lock-up the European prisoners at 6 pm.", looking to me for comment. I said it was an impossible order, locking-up people involves work which takes time, 6pm is a moment of time in which by definition no work can be done. I said the whole set-up is childish and the Commissioner asked Martin to withdraw the charge. It seemed I had joined Paddy in his war of attrition against Martin.
Our two alsations, Paddy and Jeep had settled-in very nicely, with only their hereditary training. Their self-appointed task of guarding Hilda and the children was unending. When the family was inside the house, one guard would remain with them whilst the other maintained watch on the verandah [sic] and patrolled outside in the garden. When the children were in the garden whilst prisoners were working in the area, either Paddy or Jeep would deploy themselves between the two groups. Only by instinct our dogs knew the prisoners were not to be trusted and were watched very carefully, but the African askari were regarded as allies. The prison was very close to the boundary of Nairobi National Park, and grew cabbages two feet in diameter in what must have been some of the most fertile land in Kenya, receiving all the effluent from the 2000 odd inmates. Late one afternoon an african prisoner in a work gang fancied his
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chances and made a run for it, sprinting along the road passed [sic] the house hotly pursued by about six askari. The askari were at a disadvantage wearing heavy boots and jerseys, but they were joined by Paddy and Jeep who caught up with the prisoner and arrested him in the Game Park. When the askari caught up with them they found the prisoner literally with his pants down, leaning exhausted against a post supporting a notice "Stay in Your Car, Beware of Lion".
It was essential but sometimes difficult not to become involved emotionally with the prisoners, almost all of whom had in their eyes suffered a grave injustice by winding-up in jail. One afternoon whilst I was on duty the Chief Immigration Officer, a Mr. Pierce, came to the prison and required me to serve a Deportation Order on a European Prisoner, Major Melbourn. I read the document first and found that Melbourn had been declared an 'undesireable [sic] immigrant' and was therefore to be deported within 5 days. Melbourn had in fact served about 12 months of a three year sentance [sic] for bigamy and would be required to complete the term in the U.K. He was 'undesireable [sic] ' because he had changed his job without permission. I remarked that this was a very lame excuse for such drastic action. After an exchange of views I said I had not sought his permission when I joined the Prisons Service and he advised me to do so without delay! A few days later I was detailed to escort the prisoner to Mombasa, and hand him over to the officer i/c of the prison at Fort Jesus. Meanwhile I had studied all the Melbourn files and they showed a good example of how a fellow could slip up over small technicalities which produced major consequences. Melbourn was a British Army officer serving overseas for almost the entire war. During the Blitz, his wife was in a Convalascent [sic] home in Liverpool which received a direct hit and she disappeared without trace like many others. He had been drawing a marriage allowance in the normal way and eventually reported to his C.O. that it should be discontinued because he believed his wife had been killed in an air-raid. He was advised that until he had proof of this the allowance would continue. He should have applied to the courts for it to be deemed that his wife had been killed but the environment of the Burmese jungle and other wartime pressures were not conducive to that sort of logic and he let the matter rest. After the war he made enquiries in Liverpool without result, and was eventually released from the Army having served for 30 years. Several years later he became engaged to the daughter of the French Consol [sic] in Nairobi, and when they were married he declared that he was a bachelor. They were Catholics and had he referred to himself as a widower, there could have been difficulties and the authorities would have required proof in any case, which he could not provide. Soon after the wedding someone who had been a clerk in the Pay Corps spotted the reference to 'Bachelor' and thought it rather odd that Melbourn had claimed a marriage allowance during the war. He reported this and the subsequent enquiry led to Melbourn being charged with bigamy and convicted. Whilst it was essential that justice must be seen to apply equally to all races, Europeans were the Bwana Mkubwas and were supposed to set an example. White men in jail were an embarassment [sic] to Government and wherever possible they were returned to the U.K. Melbourn had slipped-up on a second trechnicality. [sic] In the U.K. After [sic] demob. he and two ex-Army colleagues, all of whom had served in East Africa in 1945, decided to establish a business in Kenya, and the three applied for Entry permits, Employment passes, Dependants [sic] passes in two cases, and Residence permits. Complete with ambitious plans for the future and proper documentation
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the trio arrived in Nairobi and set about organising their new enterprise, one of the first acts being an application to register the name of their company. Whilst this was 'going through channels' problems came to light which could not have been foreseen and their plans had to be abandoned. Melbourn remained in Nairobi and obtained employment, and his two colleagues returned to U.K., disillusioned by the red tape. Whilst looking for a reason to declare Melbourn an undesireable [sic] immigrant the application for permission to work with a firm which did not exist came to light and provided the necessary ammunition.
On the night train to Mombasa Melbourn was very chatty, we were both in civvies, he was allowed to use his own money and I felt the best policy would be to let him have a few drinks and to sleep it off. He undertook to behave and understood that at the first sign of being unco-operative he would be handcuffed to his bunk. He told me his story which was the same as gleaned from the files, and added that he had made arrangements to escape at Suez and join the sister of one of the Somali inmates. I handed him over at Fort Jesus, wished him luck and had a look around Mombasa before returning to Nairobi on the night train. About two months later we learned that he had indeed jumped ship at Suez and was working as a Newsreader at Oomdemaan on Egyptian International Radio Broadcasts. I bought some brass plates from him in Nairobi which today are displayed at Wendy's home in Cherryhinton [sic] , and which remind me of the injustice metered out to one who served for 30 years in the British Army.
Another European prisoner, on remand, had been arrested for vagrancy. He was a British merchant seaman who felt like a change, had legally entered Kenya with proper documentation and had taken a job driving a native bus. The authorities deemed this was not a suitable job for a white man, declared him undesireable [sic] and deported him, by ship. He would have been quite happy to have joined a ship at Mombasa as crew-member or paid his own passage. He most certainly did not meet the definition of vagrancy, he had more than adequate means of support. I recall his bitterness when he said it was fair enough to drive a bloody army lorry for five years but not an african bus.
For nearly six months I relieved Ron Woods as officer i/c the Tailoring section of Prison workshops, whilst he was on home leave. In the workshop 200 prisoners beavered away sewing and stitching, 100 with sewing machines and the other half working by hand. We produced uniforms for all Government departments and also for prisoners and were allowed to undertake private work for anyone willing to provide their own material. One of the European prisoners had been a tailor in civvy street and he was very helpful. There was also a 'mechanical workshop' employing about 100, mostly producing articles in metal for Gov't departments, but also repairing and generally working on motor-cars. I took the opportunity of turning them loose on my father's Packard and they did a very good job. The Tailoring section even produced some seat covers for it without being asked. Shortly after the car was finished, a Salvation Army Major came to me and said that Johnson, a European prisoner who had worked on the car, had seen the light after several months of Bible study and was now determined to go straight. He was serving five years for armed robbery, having held up a taxi in Mombasa. The Major asked for my support for his application to the Parole Board and was in fact going to great lengths to secure the Prisoner's release. I declined my support, and told the Major he had been spoofed, Johnson would never go straight. However, the appeal
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was successful and Johnson suggested to me the night before his release that for a small fee he could arrange to 'steal' the car and drop it over Nairobi escarpment for me. Such were the people we were dealing it, [sic] [inserted] with [/inserted] but what finally became of him I don't know.
After several months we moved to a much nicer house in the prison officers' compound. Hilda was doing photographic retouching and finishing work in the city for Arthur Firmin, and life was without undue pressures. On saturday [sic] evenings we occasionally went to see our friends George and Iris Dent at the Oasis pub. George was an engineer with the Army Kinema Corporation and a very keen 'ham', VQ4DO, ex ZS6DO. At their parents' Pub George showed films which provided entertainment. This was before the days of television in Kenya. It was on the evening of one of our visits we were sitting in the Dent's home, Wendy was stretched out asleep on the couch and Iris's little boy was playing with his toy cap-gun. This reminded me that the pain in my rear was caused by my .25 automatic in my trouser pocket, so I moved the gun to my jacket pocket. Iris saw this move and said it looked a far nicer gun than her .38 and asked to see it. I handed it over, having checked there was no round up the spout and it was on safe. To our absolute astonishment, Iris cocked it, off with the safety catch and fired. The bullet demolished the leg of the couch less than a foot from Wendy's head. The song "Pistol-packing mamma" didn't seem at all funny any more. Colin was with us and had attended Nairobi Primary School for about two months. Wendy was looked after during the day by Nadudu, the Kitoshi ayah we had taken with us from Kitale. The children called her Bundudu.
With the withdrawal of the British Army from Kenya, George and Iris returned to South Africa, George taking up employment with the S.A. Broadcasting Corporation. Today the Oasis pub is thriving, still on the main Mombassa [sic] Road and close to Nairobi airport at Embakasi.
I was concerned only with Nairobi prison, but there were prisons in 8 or so towns, backed up by several camps. Later when Mau Mau really got under way, there were many more much bigger 'internment' camps. Some of them in my day were known as rather tough places. Hard Labour was still the prerogative of the courts; It meant exactly that, and was invariably stone breaking. A gang would be given a task of smashing up a number of very large boulders and feeding the fragments through a screen before putting them onto a lorry. Only when the task was complete would they be marched back to the living area. One of our camps was at Lokitong, about 450 miles north of Nairobi, and it frequently happened that prisoners had to be returned from there to Nairobi to attend court. There was no telephone, the only communication with the camp was was [sic] by a telegram to Kitale prison and thence a letter by bus and camel to the camp. It was generally a three-week process, so six weeks was needed to produce a prisoner from Lokitong to a court in Nairobi. I put up a written suggestion that in the absence of telephones we should establish a number of radio stations. I could undertake to establish the stations myself using ex-army 21 sets, maintain them and also to train the operators. The suggestion was submitted through Mr. Martin but addressed to the Commissioner, and according to the Chief Clerk went straight into Martin's waste paper basket. A few days later I delivered a copy direct to the Commissioner's office with a covering letter with my estimate of costs, about £100 per station plus my time and travelling.
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I promised instant communication with the camps but it was too revolutionary and there was no provision in the budget for it. About four years later the job was done for them by the Police at a cost of £700,000 with recurring annual expenditure of over £100,000. A lot of money in those days. Jimmie Vant became the Prisons Dept. Telecommunications Officer with no knowledge whatsoever of the subject. He didn't really need any, all the work was carried out by the Police which was staffed entirely by technicians on secondment from the U.K. Home Office. Such is the price of progress and sophisticated over-engineering. No doubt in the 1990s they will be able to spend even more millions and do the job via satelite [sic] .
Returning home one afternoon having collected Hilda and two other ladies from the city, and Colin from school, we found the prison surrounded by armoured cars and light tanks with hundreds of Police and Army personnel. Apparently there was a rumour of a pending mass breakout, but it was only a rumour. I regarded it as a show of strength for the benifit [sic] of the unruly.
The job in the Prisons Service was like no other I have held either before or since. It was work which started and finished according to the duty roster and activity was determined and limited by the various orders laid down. For every minor detail there had to be a written authority. The Prisons Service had become established about the turn of the century and the antiquated system did nothing to inspire enthusiasm. On one occasion Paddy Mc.Kinney and I were taking a five minute breather in the office and enjoying a coca-cola, when Martin came in and without preamble ordered us to put leg-irons on Mchegi, then stormed out again. Mchegi was a "casi kubwa", a 6'3" Kikuyu in a condemned cell. The leg-irons were a reprisal for Mchegi's offensive the previous day. Martin, on his round of inspection had moved aside the 6" square observation panel in the door of Mchegi's cell to look inside, and received the full force of the contents of the choo (night soil!) bucket in his face. Mchegi was awaiting hanging and had nothing to lose. He was a very dangerous individual who had already killed and because of his violance [sic] often remained in his cell during excercise [sic] periods. Putting leg-irons on this tough character was a formidable task and Martin knew that. Paddy startled me by suggesting that I should open the door of Mchegi's cell, and he would wait at the open end of the corridor where it entered the prison yard. I replied that I would rather he opened Mchegi's door and I would wait in the yard. However, Mchegi had no personal animosity towards me and Paddy's complete plan appeared rational. I opened the cell door with the greeting "Mjambo Mchegi", and he stepped out of the cell, seeing a clear passage to the prison yard and beyond to the open gate in the outside perimeter wall of the prison, with neither officer nor askari in sight. Mchegi recognised his chance to escape and made a dash for it. It was at the end of the corridor that Paddy stepped out hit him and simultaneously an askari tripped him up. Before Mchegi recovered four askari had rivetted on the leg-irons and dragged him back to his cell. A few minutes later Paddy and I were finishing our cokes in the office when Martin came in and remonstrated, "why haven't you carried out my order?" Paddy said we had done so and Martin exclaimed "impossible". When Martin was told just how it had been done we were both on a charge once more. The Commissioner reminded us that striking a prisoner was a very serious matter but when Paddy said it was the preferred alternative to shooting him, there was no answer, and the matter was dropped. Mchegi gave no more trouble and apologised to Martin for his indiscretion, and
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Paddy saw to it that Mchegi received his full ration of excercise [sic] time in the prison yard. It was about three weeks after the choo bucket incident that Paddy was in the yard and attacked from the rear by a prisoner with a pair of 12" scissors. Fortunately Mchegi was watching and although still in leg-irons tackled the assailant, overcoming him just in time. Paddy was still cut, but there was no doubt that Mchegi had saved his life. He took a great interest in Mchegi and asked why he had been a condemned prisoner for so long, just waiting for the death sentance [sic] to be carried out. Paddy saw to it that the stabbing incident received a great deal of publicity, and eventually Mchegi was released from jail. Some years later I found he was a Snr. Warder at the prison.
About the same time, a new recruit joined us, with the same rank, Asst. Supt. Gr.2, but we found his salary was in fact 2 increments (£120 per annum) higher than ours and we wanted to know the reason why. We were told that he had been in the armed services and was awarded two increments for war service. We, apparently, had been under the average age of entry for the Prisons service at the time of our war service. Our next move was to try and compare our respective efforts during the war, but the new recruit was very reticent about his service career, and somehow didn't seem to speak the language of the soldier. It was several weeks later we found he had been in the German Army and the rest of us felt this really was too much. Regulations on war service increments however did refer to the "armed services" and made no mention of which side a fellow was on. We were not still fighting the [deleted] a [/deleted] war, but we were a uniformed service after all. The Gerry could see he was not wanted and resigned.
After 12 months as a Prison Officer I was very disgruntled with the way of life and went to see the Commissioner and gave him one month's notice. This he accepted and on my return to the prison I was handed a letter terminating my appointment with immediate effect, signed by Martin.
I then set about thinking of another job, there was lots of scope and on the air next morning my father suggested I should go and see Joe Furness who was Director of Civil Aviation. Later that day, in prison uniform, I called to see the Personnel Officer of D.C.A., one Bert Leaman, and found there might be a possibility of joining the Telecommunications section, and arranged an interview for the following day.
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[underlined] CIVIL AVIATION [/underlined]
In April 1951 I joined the E.A. Directorate of Civil Aviation as a Radio Officer on a salary of £610 per year. I had no relevant qualifications for this job but I could cope with the morse code at 25 words per minute and had aquired[sic] a general background of aviation during the war years! The first two weeks were spent at R.A.F. Eastleigh studying the workings of the Telecommunications and Air Traffic Control systems, after which I was posted to Mbeya near the Tanganyika/Northern Rhodesia border at 6500 feet above sea level. The journey down to Mbeya was by road, 900 miles, and in the middle of the rainy season. Much advice was received, “all the hotels are closed”, “the roads are waterlogged and blocked”, “there is no petrol beyond Arusha” and so on. We decided to do the trip in four short stages of between 200 and 300 miles per day, with night stops at Arusha, Dodoma and Iringa.
Our 1949 Ford Prefect, KCC13, with 60,000 miles on the clock was reshod at a cost of £10. Recapped tyres were the vogue at that time, a practice which has since stopped, being said to be dangerous. However, those recaps. did 22,000 miles on some of the worst roads in the world, without problems, before being replaced, a better performance than the original new tyres. With the car loaded with household equipment, and with Colin and Wendy lying on blankets near the roof of the car we headed south down “the Great North Road”. The first 100 miles was tarmac and no problem in the pouring tropical rain. Always to the south of us -dead on track- were towering thunderheads of cumulo [sic] -nimbus, but nearing the end of the tarmac the rain stopped. Indeed for the next three days the rain stopped falling about twelve hours ahead of us, but also remained on our tail. On the second day, deep ruts in the road caused a broken rear spring near Dodoma, but this was repaired overnight at George’s Garage; very well equipped with spare springs was George. Crossing the hundreds of fords, or drifts was exciting and at times quite hilarious, many being over 100 years wide and comprising merely a strip of concrete 10 feet wide on the bed of the river. Most of them were covered by water, hiding the concrete and the only clue to its location was provided by the poles at each side of the drift. More often than not the river bed at the side of the concrete was worn away creating a drop of a foot or so. A piece of thick wire fixed to the front of the car together with a vertical line on the windscreen, could be lined up with the centre of the two distant poles. By ignoring everything else and having implicit faith in the navigational instrument, we always reached the other side without going over the edge. Without this blind faith there would have been a tendency to keep a little to the up-stream side of the drift. To go over the edge on the other side could have been disastrous. In two places on the second day we were really bogged down in mud but we quickly mastered the technique of driving in reverse over the worst parts, thus becoming front-wheel drive. The most interesting village we passed was Kondor Arangi, between Dodoma and Iringa, on the third day. A beautifully painted and spotlessly clean Arab village, probably unchanged for centuries and almost completely independent of the world outside. After over 35 years I can still recall the aroma of freshly-baked bread, and the welcoming atmosphere of the village. On through Iringa and the final leg of 250 miles of the beautiful scenery of Southern Highlands, completely unspoilt by development. After a night at the Iringa Hotel, we had made our usual early-morning start and reached Mbeya by mid-day. Straight to the Railway station in
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Mbeya, a typical East African Railways and Harbours station complete with platforms, but the nearest railway lines and trains were over 400 miles away. A search for Paddy and Jeep, our two alsations, which had been put on the train five days previously in Nairobi, was to no avail. It was to be a further three days before they reached Mbeya, very hungry and very thirsty. After a night in ‘Links’ Salter’s Mbeya Hotel we inspected our new home at the airport. Known as Wilson Airways Rest House, built in 1932 for use by British Airways – before the change of name to Imperial Airways, and B.O.A.C. – It was ‘U’ shaped with 2 kitchens and 10 bedrooms. No electricity of course but a dozen or so paraffin lamps took care of the lighting problem. An african [sic] was provided to carry water from a tap about four hundred yards away to keep our small tank topped-up. The house was very convenient at the side of the runway, actually the grass landing area. It was very pleasant to sit on the verandah[sic] where there was a wonderful view of Mbeya Peak. We had only two neighbours, the Claytons from Burnley who were ‘refugees’ from the groundnut scheme at Kongwa and now in charge of a tipper unit with the Public Works Dept., and Bwana Grigg, an old-timer who had been a prospector and was then a Weights and Measures Inspector.
Mbeya was our home for 2 1/2 years, the aerodrome had been up-graded from a one-man to two-man station open from 0600 to 1800 hrs. every day. My colleague was George Hanson, who originally hailed from Selby in Yorkshire, an ex-wireless operator in Royal Signals during the war who had joined E.A. Posts and Telegraphs as a Radio Officer in 1947. George had spent 3 years in Burma during the war and returned to Selby in 1946. To find his fiance [sic] in the arms of two Italian prisoners. According to George he gave the Italians a thrashing – which would have been very true to character – and left them with their heads jammed in the railings, to be released later by the fire-brigade. The Law caught up with him and George was given a dressing -down by the magistrate who said “We don’t want ruffians like you in this country”. George claims he told the magistrate to get some service in and his knees brown and the case was adjourned. At that time the Crown Agents were recruiting for East African Posts & Telegraphs Dept. and George felt it was time to emigrate. All aeronautical communications were handled by E.A.P. & T. until the end of 1950 when they were taken over by the Directorate of Civil Aviation. George and I had to cover 84 hours each week between us, thoeoretically[sic] a 42 hour week, but there was no provision for sickness, local leave, and the many chores which required both of us, like being in three places simultaneously. We were assisted by an african [sic] wireless operator, a Kikuyu 1200 miles from his home, a cleaner, a watchman, and a diesel mechanic, Kundan Singh Babra, all of whom lived on the station. George and I agreed our individual responsibilities, we would each carry out our 42 hours per week on watches, which included R/T to aircraft on HF and VHF, an aerodrome control function, W/T to Nairobi as required, originating meteorological reports each hour and coding them into Aero format, and customs duties. In addition, he would deal with all the admin., and I would see to the technical aspect of keeping the station on the air.
The station had been established in 1932 and the original Marconi M/F Beacon, a type TA4A was still in use and in immaculate condition. We had a stock of MT16 valves enough to last for another 30 years. We also had an ex-South African Air Force T1190 of 1933 vintage, fitted in 1940, and four ET4336 transmitters for working aircraft on R/T and Nairobi on W/T. Everything was in very good condition and gave me no problems. Our “office” was at the D/F
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(direction finding) station, and was fitted with one of the original DFG10 Marconi recieivers [sic] .
We could not see the runway from the office, which rather limited our scope in controlling it.
Each week, Mbeya had only 4 East African Airways scheduled Dakotas and Loadstars, on the Nairobi-Dar es Salaam route, plus a Beaver of Central African Airways from Blantyre in Nyasaland and one R.A.F. transport from Johannesburg to Nairobi. There were also up to a dozen or so charters which sometimes arrived with little or no notice. Our M/F Beacon was the only navigation aid for some hundreds of miles in all directions. The D/F Receiver was not in use and had a faulty power unit. This I serviced and used the receiver for monitoring Tabora’s M/F Beacon. We were operating also on 6440 KHz, the Salisbury F.I.C. channel, unofficially, to keep in touch with the Beaver aircraft which were not fitted with Nairobi F.I.C. channels. This proved very useful and also gave us a rapid link with Salisbury Ndola and Blantyre. One day and R.A.F. Anson called on [underlined] 6440 [/underlined] and reported his MF/DF receiver, - in his only [inserted in margin] NOT 6440 BUT 5190[?] [/inserted in margin] navigational aid – out of order. He was over mountains, - he hoped – in cloud, could we give him QDM’s, (courses to steer) on M/F ?. I told him to transmit on 333 KHz, the standard frequency for this purpose, and it took only a few seconds to retune the DFG10 to this frequency. For the next 2 1/2 hrs. I gave him a QDM every three minutes. The weather was bad and the aircraft eventually landed at Mbeya, staying overnight. The Navigator was visibly shaken, he did not know his position, only that if he acted on the QDM,’s he would eventually reach Mbeya. Only after landing could he calculate his ground speed, about 70 knots. On arrival over Mbeya the crew were able to see Mbeya Peak above cloud, This was five miles to the North of us and with a cloud base of 3000 feet above the aerodrome they were able to descent and land. All this would of course have been totally unacceptable to a civilian aircraft which would have possibly returned to it’s starting point. The R.A.F. aircraft without any Nav. Aids had really no option. Some weeks later we received a letter from the R.A.F. thanking us for the assistance we had given the Anson crew in providing M/F bearings thus preventing a possible disaster, etc. etc. Unfortunately this letter was also copied to D.C.A. H.Q. with another asking if the facility could be retained. The next mail brought a letter from our own boss, the Director of Civil Aviation.. “Whilst complimenting and thanking you for taking the initiative on this occasion…”. The letter went on to point out the legal significance of giving information to pilots and of undertaking to provide a direction-finding facility with 20-year old equipment and no spares. I made sure I could provide an alternative power supply of 2 and 130 volts which did not take much imagination and adapted some modern valves – type 6C4 – with bases to replace the original 1930 vintage triodes. There were not used in my 2 1/2 years in Mbeya and we continued to give bearings to the R.A.F. unofficially. About 2 years later a Pye VHF set was fitted together with a D/F antenna and also a modern Redifon M/F Beacon, both with an effective range no better than 25% of the 1932 equipment. This was not the fault of the manufacturers. In the case of the D/F the reason was the difference in propagation characteristics and with the M/F Beacon it would have been better to retain the original 1932 Marconi type antenna.
I have no notes of this period, but memories are many. I recall seeing a Cheetah on the grass landing area we called a runway, whilst carrying
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out a runway inspection. As I approached, the cheetah ran off. My foot was hard down doing 58 m.p.h. just behind it, but the cheetah gradually drew away. Daily inspection of the ‘runway’ was necessary. Ant-Bear holes appeared quite often, and just one of these was sufficient to wreck an aircraft. Africans had free access to the runway except when aircraft were actually using it. One evening a grass fire started and swept first along the windward side of the runway where the grass was long, and then crossed it in a line of flame and black smoke the whole length of the runway. Hilda and I were on foot at the other side of the runway and witnessed literally hundreds of snakes fleeing from the fire. There were lots of snakes and other creatures in that area which after all was open African bush. This was again highlighted at 6 am one morning when I drove to the D/F station and opened up the radio. It was still dark and there was a very pungent smell of pigs. I assumed there was a dead animal outside but within a few minutes it was daylight and having established contact with Nairobi on w/t and confirmed there were no overnight disasters requiring my attention, I went outside to investigate. There were elephants all over the place, standing there, and looking just as surprised as I was. I made a strategic withdrawal smartly into the D/F station and bolted the door. On my way to the office I had met the African nightwatchman who was waving his arms about and saying something about ‘tembo mningi sani”. The word Tembo was generally associated with Elephant Brand Beer, which was more a part of everyday life in our immediate area than the animal after which it was named. I assumed he had been drinking and thought no more of it. The africans too were soon awake and trying to chase the elephants out of the maize, throwing tin cans, stones and even pangas at them. Three africans were killed in the process. Meanwhile I telephoned the police who said it was not their shouri (affair), “tell the Game Warden”. It was then 6.15am. and the Game Warden would not take the matter seriously, claiming I was drinking too much, “see the M.O.”! There was a scheduled Dakota due at 7 am. and I asked the pilot to overfly the runway and make sure there were no elephants on it, and this he agreed to do. I gave him the surface wind and QNH and landing clearance, and he came straight in and landed, without checking. He too thought I was not being serious about the elephants. It was mid-day before the elephants left of their own accord and moved back towards the mountains to the south. The Africans said the elephant movement was a sure sign that Rungwe, our local dormant volcano was about to erupt, and the elephants had already received warning. They took me to the fire trench round the Shell petrol dump which was 10 feet deep, and showed me the alternate layers of volcanic ash and sandy soil, starting at the bottom with four inch layers. At the 5’ level about 8” layers, gradually thickening as compression decreased to a 12” layer of ash and finally, 18” of soil at the top. There was no record of the date of the last erruption,[sic] probably some hundreds of years ago. We did experience several earth tremmors [sic] in Mbeya, but it was a nice life and we decided to stick it out!
Colin and Wendy were attending Mrs. Maugham-Brown’s infants school in the town and were making very good progress. Hilda was doing retouching of photographs for Arthur Firmin which were sent to and from his Nairobi office by air mail. It was in Mbeya that I built my first amateur transmitter with bits and pieces from the junk box, and was soon in daily contact with the outside world on the morse key.
On the sixth of Feb. 1952 I called my chum in Liverpool as usual and he told me that all U.K. stations were closed for the day in deference to King
[inserted] G6YQ George [/inserted]
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George VI who had died during the night. Later that day Hilda and I went to Mbeya School to see Colin, expecting the football match to have been cancelled. I expressed my surprise to the Provincial Commissioner (the King’s direct representative) that the Union Jacks were not at half mast and the game still on. He told me not to spread rumours and he would deal with me after the game. Just after half-time a Police askari despatch rider drove onto the field and gave the P.C., who was referee, a message. The P.C. stopped the game and announced that the King was dead. He was very annoyed indeed that I had received the message direct from U.K., many hours ahead of the official channels. Mbeya had a local telephone service which did not connect with any other. It was also at one end of a single-wire line of about 1000 miles which was used for passing telegraph messages. This linked about 30 places ‘up-country’ with Dar es Salaam, the Capital. There was no other way officially of telecommunicating with Mbeya. It so happened that I had a pair of ex-military amplified telephones, which were battery powered, press-to-talk operation and which gave an amplification each of 20 dB (100 times). I sent one of these to Jimmie Waldron in Dar es Salaam and by arrangement he called me one morning at 0545 on this line. We had a first-class conversation which was truly remarkable. This was possible only because the operators at the 30 or so other stations were still asleep, and not interfering. I have no doubt this particular exploit would compare very favourably with the record longest telephone conversation over a single wire and earth, if indeed a record has been established.
George Hanson and I got on very well with each other, both being from Yorkshire and both being ex-Service, but eventually his tour of 2 1/2 years was completed and he was succeeded by Doug. Clifton, who was ex-PTT and R.A.F. ground wireless operator. We moved into the cottage vacated by George and family, near to the transmitting station, and I ran a mains cable underground between the two. This gave us 230 ac. Power for 12 hours a day and at night whenever the radio beacon was required for overflying aircraft.
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One quiet morning the Provincial Commisioner [sic] asked me to his home to discuss a problem, and on arrival I was told that the Governor, Sir Edward Twining was convalescing in Mbeya, having just arrived, but could stay only if he could speak regularly with the Chief Secretary in Dar es Salaam. The Police and Posts & Telegraphs Departments had already been approached and could not assist. I was authorised to cut clean across any rules and regulations in order to set up a communications channel. Back at the D/F Station I sent an official message on the Aeronautical W/T channel to CHF ZHTD (Officer i/c Airport Dar-es-Salaam) asking him to pass a message to Jimmie Waldron, P.T.T. Chief Engineer’s office. I told Jimmie of the Governors request and the powers bestowed upon us, and that I would call him on 7151 KHz which was just above the upper limit of the amateur 40 meter band. I would install a receiver at the P.C.’s house. Would he advise me of his transmitting frequency. Meanwhile I got the local P.T.T. to connect my second aerodrome telephone line to the second line to the P.C.’s house. This automatically provided a microphone for the P.C. and enabled me to make a simple connection to my amateur transmitter at the airport. Half an hour later I received a message on the aeronautical channel “Loud and clear on 7175, Dar es salaam calling you on 8775. A check on my local receiver and indeed there was Jimmie. I then drove to the P.C.’s house and retuned the receiver to 8775, and we had first class duplex communication. A lady’s voice came on “Is that you George?” “No Love, this is Cliff”. “Oh dear, this is Lady Twining, is my husband George there please?” I handed him the telephone and restrained myself from saying “It’s for you George, I thought your name was Edward”. For the next two weeks the link was in constant use and another letter of thanks was sent from D.C.A. in Nairobi.
Why the fuss one might say, but in 1952 it was the very first time [inserted] H E [/inserted] H.H. the Governor had spoken by private radio telephone to his Chief Secretary from outside Dar es Salaam. This was another ‘first’, also on an amateur basis.
At Mbeya Post Office I was introduced to the Manager of New Saza Gold Mine, which was about 100 miles north of Mbeya. He said his radio link with Mbeya had not worked for four years although experts from all over East Africa had tried to fix it. It was a simple w/t link to Mbeya Post Office where there was an operating position and transmitter set up on 3900 KHz which seemed to be a reasonable frequency for the job. “Fix it and you can name your price”, and I agreed to have a go on a ‘no pass, no fee basis’. I first set up a spare DCA transmitter keyed from the D/F station, rather than rely upon co-operation from the Post office. My own DCA operator would monitor. I called the local Post office from the aerodrome but there was no reply. This was the rainy season and it would be a three hour drive through the bush to New Saza, so I lost no time over the Post Office and set off in my Ford Prefect complete with two amateur transmitters and two receivers, any combination of which could do the job if all else failed. On arrival, their station appeared to be working and with adequate output, but I soon found the output stage was doubling to 7.8 MHz. and not amplifying straight through 3.9. A higher tapping on the coil fixed that and I called Mbeya Post office. No reply. Then I called ZEQ3, my own office at the D/F Station and my operator came up trumps. We were in contact with
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Mbeya. I asked my operator to ring the Postmaster asking him to kick his wireless operator. He found the transmitter had the wrong crystal in it and the receiver was also detuned. Having corrected this, all three stations were in contact. The station receiver at New Saza was a pre-war ‘straight set’, that is, not a superhet, and was not ideal, so I added one of my own receivers. In addition, I fitted a second operating position, with my own equipment and separate aerial, as a standby. The manager was delighted and I was rewarded handsomely. Only once in the next 18 months did I need to visit New Saza for a minor fault. Electrical and mechanical power for the mine was derived from a very old wood-burning steam engine of pre-1914 vintage and German manufacture.
On the road about half way to the mine, was Chunya, a typical American-type western one-horse town, the main street being unpaved and 200 feet wide. The place was almost derelict, a few prospectors still panned for gold in the stream, but in years gone by it had supported a population of over 2000. There was a Police post which sported a telephone connected to Mbeya Post office. The overhead line ran at the side of the ‘road’ and I had this in mind for emergency use. A field telephone was part of my standard safari equipment in the car. Later on I carried a transmitter on the aeronautical H/F channels in addition. Communications was often the key to survival.
One very hot day, about noon, George Blodgett, an American tourist, took off from Mbeya in his Cessna 180 with his wife and another passenger, continuing their round-the-world holiday. The aircraft carried the same load as when it took off from Dar es salaam without problem a week or so previously. But Dar was at sea level, and Mbeya at 6500 feet. Dar had a proper concrete runway with a clear flight path. Mbeya had a grass ‘runway’, much shorter and with a small hill at one end and a mountain within 4 miles at the other end. It was the slight banking to avoid the small hill which caused the aircraft to stall and plough along the ground, writing itself off. It took me several minutes to reach the wreck, to find a bewildered trio shaken-up, but physically unhurt. There was a strong smell of petrol which came from a 5 gallon can INSIDE the aircraft. The can had a hand pump and hose which fitted on the drain cock of a fuel tank inside the port wing. Transferring the petrol was achieved by opening a window and leaning out to fix the pipe. This rather surprised me as George was a very experienced pilot and was in fact the first to cross the Andes in Peru, solo, where some years later he went missing without trace. His life-story was written up in Time & Life and referring to his accident in Mbeya, it said he had crashed in the bush and the Despatcher from Mbeya trecked [sic] all night to reach the aircraft, to find George and his passengers surrounded by lions and tigers. Lions were a possibility but the only tigers in Africa are [deleted] a few imported ones in captivity. [/deleted] [inserted] in West Africa and are not tigers as we know them. [/inserted]
Mbeya was a peaceful place, and to a large extent we were able to plan our lives. Occasionally we became involved with the local tribesmen, particularly after one of their frequent skirmishes. Generally a small group would appear at the house bearing the injured on bicycles with blood all over the place, and asking me to take the casualties to hospital. The first time this happened I took them by car to the African Hospital and not really knowing the system, gave them my name. Some weeks later I received the bill. Subsequent deliveries were made in the name of Ramsey Macdonald!
Soon after joining DCA I noticed on one of many flight plans received the name of Iliffe as Captain of an incoming Dakota. When the First Officer
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called me on VHF I requested him to ask the Captain if the number 1090111 meant anything to him. Back came the reply, affirmative. I gave him my first service number 1384956 and after he had landed, went over to the Terminal Building to see him. There wasn’t much time for reminiscing but he marvelled that I had remembered his first service number. It was on a pay parade in Bulawayo that Howard’s name was not called with the others in alphabetical order. It was called at the very end when he gave his ‘last three’, somewhat disgruntled, as “Sir, One one bloody one”.
We had seen a great deal of each other on the troopship going to Durban and until our ways parted at Belvedere where Howard got his wings and my records were stamped ‘Wastage’. After his training at Belvedere, he completed S.F.T.S. on Oxfords and in U.K. converted to Dakotas. His war was on Transport Command, flying Dakotas. We met several times in the next 15 years, the last time being in 1965 when Howard was the Captain of a Comet of East African Airways returning to the U.K.
After 2 1/2 years in Tanganyika our tour was finished and we were due for 6 months leave in U.K.. We opted to travel by air rather than sea but did not realise when making the decision that this referred to trunk travel to U.K. from the International Airport of the territory in which we finished our tour. It was unlikely that we would return to Mbeya after leave, my successor expecting to stay for the full 2 1/2 years. All our effects were crated up whilst we spent the last week in Mbeya Hotel. The car was left with the Postmaster and Paddy our Alsation [sic] boarded with Mrs. Maugham-Brown. And so with four children, Christopher a baby of 4 months, we said farewell to Mbeya at the railway station, not by train but by diesel-powered bus - referred to as a ‘taxi’ by the Africans. The first leg took us the 250 miles through Southern Highlands to Iringa, where accommodation was reserved at Iringa Hotel. The next day was very similar, by another ‘taxi’ to Dodoma. The drivers were Africans, probably ex-Kings African Rifles, and their driving was of a very high standard considering the state of the road. There was some tarmac in the towns, but otherwise the road surface was graded murram, a well-packed reddish sand. This was apt to become corrugated after rain and scarred with deep wheel ruts. Ruts made by lorries could be quite deep and dangerous to cars with little clearance below. The ‘taxi’ took us direct to the railway station at Dodoma where we had been advised to request compartments as near to the engine as possible, where the sway is minimum. The first job was to wash all the nappies and as we had two compartments it was easy to sling a couple of lines and hang up the nappies to dry. It was very hot in Dodoma, and the carriage windows were all open because of the heat. In the evening the engine got up steam and the train moved off amid clouds of thick black smoke, most of which seemed to come in at the windows. For 18 hours we chugged across the plains with its tens of thousands of many different types of wild animals, gradually descending to the coast and becoming progressively hotter. Arriving in Dar es Salaam at about 4 pm., the temperature in the shade was 120 deg.f. and it was a great relief to flop onto the beds in the air-conditioned hotel. The evening was spent in trying to clean up our clothing and indeed ourselves, with Christopher’s nappies hanging on lines in the hotel room. The nappies dried within an hour but were still filthy. After a browse around the big stores in Dar, we handed in our 480 lbs. of baggage and placed ourselves in the capable hands of B.O.A.C.
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Our flight home was by Arganaut, [sic] 16 hours flying, stopping at Nairobi, Entebbe, Khartoum, Benghazi and Rome. Plenty of seat room, excellent food and a very comfortable flight. One engine developed trouble approaching Italy and we were delayed for 24 hours in Rome. The Romans were hostile to the British at that time, I cannot remember why this was so, but we enjoyed a conducted tour of Rome and first-class hotel accommodation. At breakfast next morning I thought I recognised a fellow at the next table. He was under the same impression and when he spoke to us there was instant recognition. He was the B.O.A.C. Rep. in Rome and we had seen a great deal of each other on the squadron in North Africa. He was then W/O Woolston, a pilot on 150 Sqdn. We arrived in London 24 hours late, but there were no complaints. B.O.A.C. had made the trip very enjoyable.
The greater part of our leave was spent in London with Hilda’s parents, and I took the opportunity of spending 12 weeks at the School of Telegraphy in Brixton, for an Intermediate C. & G. in Telecomms and a P.M.G 1st. Class licence. I was also on a course of Dexedrine to reduce my weight, eating very little and actually losing it at the rate of 1lb. per day, for 44 days. Peter Gunns, another D.C.A., Radio Officer had been at the school for 6 months and was doing the complete 12 month course for a P.M.G. second class licence. I decided to give it three months and take the first class ticket. The Principal at the school advised against it, almost everyone first obtained a second-class ticket before trying for a first. For three months I swatted hard, long into the night and then went to Post Office H.Q. in St. Martin-le-Grand and applied to take the P.M.G.1 licence. The Chief examiner asked to see my second-class licence and when I said I didn’t have one, he said “look son, try for a second class and if you pass, come back in a few years time and try for a first”. I replied that I was not interested in anything second-class and he shrugged his shoulders and booked me to take the exam. three days hence. The exam. took from 9 am to 5 pm., written and practical and was quite intensive. The final part was the morse test at 25 w.p.m. and the examiner was wearing an R.S.G.B. tie. I took a chance at the end of the test and sent, on the key ‘QRA? De VQ4BM’ and after an exchange of greetings he asked me if I was returning to Kenya. I replied “yes, but only if I pass this exam”. He sent QRX3 and left the room, returning with a smile and said “strictly off the record, you could book your ticket”. The next three days were taken up with City & Guilds exams, and I was delighted when my P.M.G. licence arrived by post. The following day, feeling on top line, Hilda and I went to M.C.A. Headquarters at Berkeley Square and I applied to take the Flight Radio Officer’s exam. I found this was held only twice yearly and by sheer coincidence the next one was the following day. I was told to just fill in the form, pay £3 and come back at 0830 the next day. I saw the Chief examiner and told him I wasn’t quite prepared for the exam. at such short notice, it was many years since I had studied the S.B.A. and Navigational aids. He told me not to worry about them and to check through the last 5 exam. papers, copies of which he lent me. They could be bought openly from the “shop” downstairs, but this was already closed. He also said “bear in mind that everything has its own natural frequency”. I spent until 5 am next morning making sure I could answer all the questions on those papers, and doubly sure of the compulsory questions. I noticed that
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year 4 had the same compulsory questions as year 1, and year 5 the same as year 2. Year 6 was to be my lot and if this was to be the same as year 3, on cathode ray tubes, all would be well, and I had a couple of hours sleep. It had taken me a long time to realise what the Chief Examiner had meant by “it’s own natural frequency”.
The exams were spread over a period of two days and I failed two of them. The first was a three-minute test writing down the phonetic alphabet and I wrote “Alpha bravo coca delta foxtrot golf hotel etc.” The examiner looked over my shoulder and remarked “what on earth have we here, have you never heard of able baker Charlie?”. I thought this was a catch and I said “yes but that went out three years ago when I.C.A.O. introduced this one”. It seemed that Britain was three years behind the rest of the world on this simple issue. I had however quite rightly failed on R/T procedure. All went well on a simulated flight from Manchester to Jersey when I received a chitty that both engines had stopped and we were on fire. There was already a M’iadez in force from another aircraft and I broke radio silence and put out my own “M’aidez” without the Captain’s authority and that was the end of the exam. FAILED! on two counts. I had passed two three hour written papers, a two hour practical exam., an hour’s morse at 25 w.p.m. and failed on two ridiculous details. I said I was sufficiently experienced to anticipate the Captain’s instruction to send out an SOS but the book does say that only the Captain has the authority. However, I paid another £3 which I could by then ill-afford and resat the two parts the following morning. The licence came by post a few days later. The R/T Procedure test was the same as before, and when we reached the point where I had put out my M’aidez I just sat tight. I heard the other aircraft transmit his SOS again and it was acknowledged by Jersey Approach. Without authority to transmit an SOS I could not break radio silence according to the regulations and I continued to sit tight. One minute of real time was equivalent to 10 minutes of ‘flying’ and after 30 minutes of theoretical flying time I removed my headphones and placed them on the table. The examiner did likewise and asked me what I thought I was doing.
I just said “swimming to the surface”. He laughed and said O.K. at least you didn’t originate a M’aidez. In the practical M.C.A. exam the equipment in use was the T1154 and R1155 and the main object of the examiner seemed to me to be one of getting me confused, argumentative and thoroughly rattled. Thanks maybe to the dexedrine I realised what his game was and remained very calm indeed. He admitted afterwards that he was trying to get me rattled, remaining calm and composed was all important in the air!. I cast my mind back 10 years but said nothing.
Meanwhile Peter Gunns was still plodding on and becoming very discouraged. I urged him to take the PMG2 the following week, there was little point in further delay. I spent a week with him going through every paper set for 5 years, and he was successful in the exam. A few weeks later we returned to Nairobi together. About 10 years later Peter died of a heart attack whilst on night duty in the Nairobi Communications Centre. He was taking a short break and read in the newspaper that Pinnocks had folded up. He had £15,000 invested with them, and the loss was too much to bear. After a few weeks at Eastleigh I was posted to Mwanza on the southern shores of Lake Victoria, again in Tanganyika.
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Our car, a Ford Prefect KCC13 (new price £400) and Paddy our alsatian, were nearly 1000 miles away in Mbeya and I was able to scrounge a flight as supernumery [sic] crew with East African Airways. The return journey by road with Paddy took 30 hours non-stop except for refuelling and for half an hour at dawn when driving was dangerous. The work in Nairobi was operating air/ground channels on R/T and W/T and also at the D/F station giving H/F bearings to aircraft on the Khartoum and Johannesburg sectors where navigation aids were few and far between. It transpired later that the D/F station was adjacent to the Mau Mau graveyard. I recall one day looking out of the door and seeing the police askari guard fast asleep with his loaded rifle on the ground beside him. More for security reasons than mischief I took the rifle inside the building and it was still there when I closed the station at 1830. But there was no sign of the askari, so I put the rifle in the loft of the small building, intending to do something about it next day. Somehow I forgot all about it for two weeks and then handed in the rifle at the R.A.F. guardroom and questioned why the police had taken no action. The askari had just disappeared without trace.
Once again our household effects were packed into crates, and despatched by ‘rail’ to Mwanza. We had exchanged our Ford Prefect for an Austin A70 and motored via Kitale (my father’s farm) to Kisumu where we boarded the M.V. Rusinga. The Rusinga ploughed clockwise round the lake shore calling at Musoma, Mwanza, Bukoba, Entebbe, Jinja and complete circle to Kisumu. Her sister ship the M.V. Usoga called at the same ports, but went anti-clockwise round the lake. A third ship, the M.V. Sybil was smaller and more or less a reserve vessel. Lake Victoria was the second largest inland sea in the world, and became the largest when its level rose 8 feet with the building of the dam at Jinja a few years later. The voyage of about 200 miles took a very pleasant 30 hours with one halt at Musoma. We were met at Mwanza Port by Johnny King who I was relieving. He said he expected to return to Mwanza in 6 months as it was his station and his wife’s father was Government entomologist permanently stationed there. His wife’s family were German, very domineering and forceful. I didn’t mind the mother’s clay pipe but took an instant dislike to her Bavarian-type husband. I insisted upon a proper formal take-over at the airport which was just as well, and the proper storage of King’s personal effects at P.W.D and not in the transmitter room. For a couple of weeks we stayed at Mwanza Hotel and then moved to a delightful house at Bwiru, facing north with a wonderful view over Lake Victoria. Palm trees in the foreground, paw paw trees in the garden and - we discovered much later - leopard in the hills at the back of the house. The water supply came from a storage tank half a mile up the hill via a metal pipe on the surface of the ground, and was always hot enough for a bath without further heating. The water had to remain in our roof storage tank for some time before we could regard it as being a cold water supply. Water and electricity could not be taken for granted in East Africa, but the house was connected to the town electricity supply.
The airport was a fairly new one about 10 miles east of town, by the lake shore, the single runway 18/36 being of grass. It was a neat little place, the transmitters being in the room below the Control Tower with two diesel engines and fire station being in a custom-built building 50 yards away. The
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transmitters were two RCA ET4336s, a G54 Redifon M/F Beacon and an ex-R.A.F. T1154. In the Control Tower was a Pye PTC704 VHF set with a direction-finding antenna. There were only 6 scheduled aircraft per week and an average of about 10 charters. This was a ‘one man’ station and my working hours were long. Perhaps the highlight of the tour was the four-day visit of H.R.H. Princess Margaret. The ten mile road to town was ‘tarmaced’ [sic] a few days before her arrival. The original murrum (red sand) surface was first graded and then covered by a quarter inch layer of chippings and sprayed with tar. The cost was £11,000 which was charged to my aerodrome maintenance vote. For the few days of the visit the road looked really superb, and then just a few days later it rained and the remains of the “tarmac surface” were cleared away by grader, the surface reverting to murram once more.
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Every effort was being made by the Administration to make the Royal Visit a success and the costs were covered somehow. The M.V. Sybil was in dock for 6 months at Kisumu being completely refitted so the Princess could spend just a few hours on the lake. An R.A.F. Shackleton flew down from Aden to provide an escort for the Sybil. Four radio stations were established on the boat, each with an operator, to contact the Police on H/F W/T, Aircraft on VHF, Mwanza Airport on H/F R/T, and E. A. Railways & Harbours. Just about every vessel afloat on Lake Victoria seemed to be milling around outside the harbour waiting for the Sybil and the Princess. A Widgeon aircraft, the only amphibean [sic] in E. Africa, was detailed to position itself at the end of the runway at instant readiness for take-off. The Shackleton took-off to patrol an hour before the Sybil was due to leave harbour, Captain Chris Treen positioned his Widgeon and stayed put with engines idling. All the Sybil's radios were tested and people were getting excited. We were then advised that it was a case of not tonight Josephine, H.R.H. had a headache, the trip was cancelled. The Shackleton, looking remarkably like a real Lancaster landed on my murrum runway, and the Widgeon had to be towed in backwards, the engines having over-heated.
In company with all the other Colonial officials I had been given six pages of foolscap telling me how to address the Princess and how to conduct myself in the Royal presence. There was also an application form for a Permit to be at the airport for her arrival and another application form regarding my being presented to the Princess. It was the two application forms which bugged me. I refused to apply for a permit to enter the airport where every aspect was my responsibility, if anyone denied me access, be it on their own head. "Before applying to be presented", the write-up stated, "You must qualify under at least one of the following headings:-
1. Be a Government Servant on a salary exceeding '£x'
2. Be a serving officer of H. M. forces,
3. Be a retired officer having held a rank above 'Y'
4. Hold a Civil Decoration equivalent or senior to an M.B.E.
5. Hold a military decoration.
6. Have already been presented to another member of the Royal Family.
There was virtually an order to apply if one qualified and this decided me to ignore the whole issue. I was not in favour of the pomp and circumstance and the relatively vast expenditure involved, and I was never any good at playing charades and other party games.
Just before the Royal Visit a gang of workmen turned up at the airport and were starting to fit a toilet suite in the 'Crew Room'. This was a small room where aircrews could relax and enjoy a little privacy between flights. Toilet facilities were quite adequate without specially converting the crew room for the Princess. I vetoed the plan, and finally the toilet wing, already with four Asian type and four European type loos was enhanced with one new and rather superior loo. The superloo did come in useful however; whilst the Princess was inspecting the guard of honour, the bare-chested Engineer of the Widgeon aircraft appeared inside the Terminal building,
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looking quite incongruous in his filthy shorts and sandals. I told him to keep out of sight until Princes Margaret had left. He did, and hid in the superloo. After the visit, someone fixed a royal coat of arms an the door to which I had the only key. I was tempted to replace the heraldry with a replica of the board made for me by one of the German prisoners at Poynton. written in Gothic characters "Lager Kommandant, Eintritt Verbotten".
The Royal Visit was the highlight of the decade for Mwanza, the road to the aerodrome was closed for three hours and all the Police were concerned only with the visit. It was during that three hours the villains broke into many European houses. We lost all our shoes which were not actually being worn at the time, some clothing, and all our clocks including a time-switch I had just repaired for someone.
There was one charter aircraft based at Mwanza, the Widgeon piloted by Chris Treen. It was a very busy aircraft, being an amphibean [sic] , going relatively short flights mostly around the lake shore. Chris had a full-time engineer who was not very co-operative, and the operation proved to be uneconomical although Chris tried very hard. He was on Transport Command during the war and later flew in the Berlin Air Lift, then flew the Widgeon from U.K., 6000 miles to Mwanza. The airline had its moments, on one occasion the Provincial Commissioner was climbing out of the aircraft at Ukerewe Island into a dingy which collapsed and he was nearly drowned. Submerged rack. and crocodiles added to the excitement
One of the busiest aircraft at Mwanza was a Miles Magister which, was owned privately and which has also been flown out from England by its owner, an official of the Lint & Seed Marketing Board, who also had an Aircraft Maintenance Engineers' licence. It became the main asset of the Mwanza Aeroclub and was very active at weekends.
The tribe an Ukerewe Island had it's own language, and the story goes that the District Officer studied the language and wrote a dictionary and grammar for it. Having done so he applied for the £60 per year "language competency allowance", and to qualify had first to pass the Official Colonial Office exam. in the subject. The Colonial Office department which organised such matters was duly asked to prepare an exam. and find an invigilator for it, but was not given the identity of the candidate. There was no record of anyone being able to speak the language, and they approached the obvious source, the District Officer Ukerewe. As a part of his normal chores he was pleased to prepare the two papers as 2 hours of translation each way between English and the native language of Ukerewe. On arrival in U. K. on leave, he received a letter from another Colonial Office department, addressing him by name and asking him to invigilate at as examination, giving the venue and date. Shortly after, yet another office wrote to him advising him that an examination had been arranged and wishing him luck in the exam. He hardly needed it, reporting as directed in his official capacities as both invigilator and examinee. Not only that, but he had also prepared the examination papers. He was the only European who knew the language and he got his £60. per annum. The common language with the natives was of course an up-country impure Swahili, as in all parts of East Africa.
I had studied Kiswahili in the Prisons Service and from books, but the grammatical version was spoken only at the coast and on the radio. The
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Africans in the Prison Service and those I worked with spoke the up-country version, almost completely ungrammaticaI. The further one went from the coast the more it became a matter of joining words together. Nevertheless, it was an interesting and descriptive Ianguage. Beautiful words like 'maradadi' which in fact is an adjective meaning 'beautiful', and 'tafadahali', said to mean 'please' , but I never actually heard an African use it. ' Asanti' meaning thankyou was frequently used. Calling someone a "shenzi" hardly needs translation.
The Caspair Lake Service operated daily. Based at Entebbe, a DeHavilland Rapide flew to Kisumu, Musoma, Mzanza, Bukoba and back to Entebbe. It called at Mwanza three times weekly and remained on the ground for 4 hours. Paddy O'Reilly was the most colourful of the pilots and on one occasion was missing when the aircraft was due to take-off. He had borrowed a native canoe and paddled out into the lake for some peace and quiet. He was very soon asleep and when he awoke he found he was two miles off-shore without a paddle. He was soon rescued and took off two hours late.
I had a very good African Assistant at Mwanza, Zepherino Shija, and he was a tremendous help in making things run smoothly. In fact my African staff were all good types, far from home, politicians and the trouble-makers to be influenced by them.
It was at Mwanza that I really became involved with radio repairs, and once I had repaired a few, word quickly spread and I was inundated with them. Many of the 'dukes' -shops- in town sold radios but hadn't the vaguest idea how they worked or how to repair them. Most of the radio owned by the Africans were powered by dry batteries, using a 4-pin plug on the power lead which was very often forced the wrong way into the socket on the battery. This instantly blew all four valves for which the shops charged 25 shillings each. I bought valves for 3 shillings each in quantity and sold them in sets of 4 for forty shillings, throwing in a new and better type plug. I must have repaired over a thousand radios in two years, plus many bigger sets for Europeans. Before very long I met Mr. Manning, the American Head of the African Inland Mission in the Province, and he showed me a room full of equipment, domestic radios, car radios, record players, tape recorders, transmitters, P.A. ampIifiers etc. etc. Every item was faulty. I was invited to repair what I could, keep what I wanted and throw out anything that was past it. Three trans-receivers were very attractive and they needed only setting up. Independent transmitter and receiver units powered from 115v a.c. but with rather limited frequency coverage of 5 to 8 MHz. I used them on the air for a couple of weeks and they were then taken by road to African Inland Mission stations in the Belgium Congo where they had a network on 7150 KHz. These sets were to prove very useful within a few years during the Congo rebellion which came with "Independence". It took me 6 months to empty the room, and all except three or four units were returned to use within the Mission organisation. Those three or four units caused a misunderstanding with Mr. Manning. I said "These units are U/S, best place for them is in the lake", and I could see that I had upset him. He associated my expression 'U.S' . with Uncle Sam, or the United States, but when I explained it meant ‘unservicable’ in English Service jargon a crisis was avoided.
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I met a fellow called Nawotsey, supposed to be a Belgian, who was making a fortune killing crocodiles for their skins. He had just about wiped them out on Lake Rukwa. His technique was to use an infra-red lamp and sniperscope at very close range, typically six feet. His equipment gave a lot of trouble and I charged him well over the odds for repairs. In reality he was German, and ex-German army. There were many of them in ex-German Tanganyika but few had the guts to admit it, and there was not a nazi among them, in theory.
Eventually one of the dukas offered me £50 per month cash if would stop doing radio repairs. This was not far short of my salary and quite a compliment, but not accepted.
We became very friendly with one German, Dr. Schupler, who had been a wartime Medical Officer in the Luftwaffe. He was serving in Dresden the night of the 13th. of February 1945 when it was attacked by over 800 R.A.F. bombers, followed by over 300 American Fortresses the next day, causing between them 137,000 casualties including an estimated 50,000 killed. A doctor somehow seemed to be in a different and acceptable category, but our talks had reminded one of a period I had almost forgotten, and about which I had stopped thinking. One good point in East Africa's favour, there was very little to remind us of the war. A row of ribbons perhaps on a police uniform, or a retired senior type using his old rank, but there were few occasions when we compared, notes on our respective war efforts. The Germans were supposed to be super-efficient, a myth already exploded, but in the main they were still mostly distrusted.
Mwanza was a peaceful place, there was only one murder during our 2 years residence, and that was committed by a mad african from Dodoma, 400 miles away. I could not have visualised at the time that within twentyseven years this nice little airport would be bombed by the Uganda Air Force. I can picture now the little bakery where the murder was committed. It was in same road just before we left that a hyena was running down the road to meet us. We were in the Austin A70 which already had a damaged right. wing and I put on full speed. We met the hyena head-on, relative speed about 70 and he was thrown completely over the car. He lay on the road for about two minutes, then picked himself up and loped off into the bush. We had ringside seats watching an interesting battle between hyena and baboon one evening. Our bungalow was on the hillside and the bedroom windows on one side were 15 feet above ground, and level with the tops of the pawpaw trees, heavily laden with fruit. The baboon were taking the fruit and being attacked by about a dozen hyena which were being thrown around by the baboon. The fight finished suddenly for reasons best known to the combatants. They might have sensed the presence of a leopard, which was very likely, but we were not aware of the leopards ourselves until a few weeks later. In the middle of one night we were awakened by a scuffling outside the window and there was the most obnoxious stench. There was the so-called laugh of the hyena and a deep sawing sound which we were told was a leopard. It seemed that a hyena had been dragging an old carcass along when it was disturbed by a leopard. The carcass was dropped outside our bedroom window and later one of them returned to collect it. Apparently baboon are the favourite diet of the leopard and everything including baboon and leopard dislikes the hyena. One of them cornered a neighbour’s dog in our garage and
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chewed off it’s vital parts before help arrived too late. Snakes too were in abundance around Mwanza, and a European girl had been crushed, but not fatally by a python near the lake shore. One of the houseboys hacked a monitor lizard to death, thinking it was a snake. Hilda recalls the occasion when I encountered a leopard on the driveway to the house and I got out of the car to tell her!. There was the occasion too when Paddy, our Alsatian was aware of a leopard outside the front door and Paddy's hair literally bristled. The leopard was probably aware of Paddy's presence also. I was away in Nairobi at the time
Some months before the end of our tour, we received a telegram from Les with the sad news that Hilda's father had died. At about the same time the Kenya Education authorities informed us that as we were no longer resident in Kenya, Colin and Wendy would have to leave Kitale School. The alternative was Kongwa, a school established at the time of the groundnut scheme, a British Government fiasco then almost fully wound up after wasting eighteen million pounds. Kongwa was about 400 miles away and difficult to reach from Mwanza, and as it would be only a temporary measure in any case, we felt it better that Colin and Wendy should return to U.K. We saw them off on the Dakota on an hour's flight to Entebbe where they were met by Flossy and Pi Reed. The following day they flew to London and stayed with Mum at Korella Rd., in Wandsworth.
In early June `57 it was time for home leave again and once more we packed all our household effects into huge crates ready for shipping to our next station which had not yet been decided. I had been promoted to Radio Superintendant [sic] in Mbeya and later to Telecommunications Supt. having passed departmental exams for the two lots of promotion. I was finally relieved by Sailor Seaman who immediately objected to the long working hours. The way of life on the outstations had a great deal to commend it. There was no television but we always had a good radio set. There was not the pressure we were to experience in later life and we made our own entertainment. It would be nice to go round again.
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Before leaving Mwanza I had ordered a VW Beetle on the home leave scheme stipulating the date and time that I would collect it in London. This resulted in a considerable saving. The cost was £330 delivered London whilst the price in East Africa was £1250. Colin and Wendy were already in Britain, only John and Chris were with us on this trip. From Mwanza we should have returned via the capital, Dar es Salaam, as we did from Mbeya, but for some weeks I had been pointing out the futility of the extra 1600 miles via Dar, when the the [sic] aircraft would go via Entebbe in any case. Sanity prevailed and we flew by DC3 to Entebbe, a nice lunch at the Lake Vic. and a 10 hour flight to the U.K. with one stop at Benghazi. I think that was our first trip by Jet aircraft, a Comet. I have flown in many jets since then, but none as comfortable and roomy as the Comet. The following day we went to Lower Regent Street and collected our new VW Beetle, which came into the showroom one minute ahead of schedule. I was very impressed by the German organisation. I was taken into a workshop and given some useful tips about the car which was to serve us well for over 200,00 miles most of which was on murrum, our reddish East African sandy soil.
In the following six months we made good use of the car, visiting my mother in Barnoldswick, the Yorkshire Dales, and whilst up north had a rendezvous avec Ace (Ted) and Mary Foster, Ace having been our second tour Navigator. Ted recalled this many years later and remembered an incident in a Southport restaurant. We were sharing two tables with Ted and Mary and their three children, making a party of 4 adults and 7 children. Ted alleges the waitress exclaimed “By gum are these all yours?” and claims I replied “No, they are from the local orphanage, we are just taking them out for the day”. She said that was right champion and gave us a discount! I went to Liverpool also and en-route noticed that a Police car had been right behind me for several miles. I slowed down to 30 for the next five miles and eventually the blue light came on and I was stopped. “What speed were you doing Sir?” An instant reply, “29.5 m.p.h. “The officer agreed with that and said “Why, it’s a lovely road and there’s no speed limit. When you slowed down from 80 to 30 we thought you had a problem, enjoy your visit Sir”. I had a “Visitor to Britain” sticker on the back which was supposed to help a little. In Liverpool I met Stan Chadderton, our First tour Bomb Aimer. I called at Stan’s house and his wife Hilda directed me to the Gladstone Dock where Stan was working, I seem to remember being introduced to his boss and Stan was given the rest of the day off. We adjourned to the Lord Nelson Pub and reminisced well into the night about our efforts in North Africa.
We had made another acquisition whilst in Mwanza. Clearly a base was needed in Britain even if my work was to be in East Africa. Les told us of a house in Glyn Neath called Glaslyn going for £1850 on the balance of a 999 year lease. I offered to buy it if the freehold was available. It was very quickly ours at a total cost £1910 and £25 solicitor’s fees. Hilda’s Mum moved into Glaslyn and Colin and Wendy had already joined her. Glaslyn was a comfortable and handy sort of place, only a few hundred yards from Aunt Doll’s cottage.
In early December I was told to report direct to Entebbe Airport to relieve Henry Day in charge of Telecommunications. I wrote to P.W.D. in Mwanza and asked them to send on our boxes and car by Lake Steamer to
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Entebbe, and completed other arrangements. Just before Christmas I handed over the new car to the A.A. near Tower Bridge and paid £75 for shipping it to Mombassa [sic]. Then with our four children and a mass of baggage we once again booked-in at Victoria Air Terminal and shortly afterwards we realised we had just been home for six months and were then in Entebbe. The Comet aircraft was flown by Howard Iliffe, 109011! but I discovered this too late to meet him.
At Entebbe we were met by Henry Day who had been in charge for six months in an acting capacity and he made it clear that as he was now demoted – with loss of acting pay – I could not expect any co-operation from him. For 10 days we stayed in the Lake Victoria Hotel, luxurious but not at all homely and with it’s population of some hundreds of cats living on the roof. We then moved into a house with a red mbati (corrugated iron) roof. Between the ceiling and the roof was a foot of sand and if the builders had been designing an oven it would have taken some beating. The red iron absorbed the heat from a tropical sun and it was retained by the sand. Entebbe was a pretentious place, not the capital of Uganda, which was Kampala 20 miles north, but where most of the senior Gov’t officials lived. The airport was a minor one to U.K. standards but trying very had [sic] to appear important. I found the whole place docile and yet offensive, “toffee-nosed” is the phrase which comes to mind. The job itself was not at all demanding, I had a team of about 8 Engineers including Frank Unstead and Gibby. Also three Radio Officers including Henry Day and several Africans to operate the teleprinters and radio links to Nairobi. There was little for me to do personally. Airport Management was taken care of by Uganda Government officers. The East Africa High Commission, of which the Directorate of Civil Aviation was a part, was responsible for Air Traffic Control and telecommunications. About six airlines had their own Station Managers and there was a great deal of empire building which led to over-manning and inefficiency. An individual’s importance was determined by the number of his subordinates and the extent of his warrant to incur expenditure. There was a great deal of ill-feeling too, between the officers of Government and those of the High Commission, later more appropriately renamed the East Africa Common Services Organisation. The latter was responsible for all communications in Kenya, Uganda and Tanganyika, except for the actual maintenance of roads. It included E.A. Posts & Telegraphs, Railways & Harbours, Fisheries, Meteorlogical [sic] Depts., Civil Aviation and several Medical Research establishments. Politically, the scene was complex, Kenya was a “Colony & Protectorate” – some of each – Tanganyika was a Protectorate with a United Nations mandate and Uganda a combination of twelve Kingdoms formed into a ‘State’ with 12 Kings, a Prime Minister and also a President. It had its political problems but they were not mine. Dickie Dixon was Senior Air Traffic Controller and therefore Officer i/c Navigational Services in which capacity I was his deputy. As I was not at that time a qualified Air Traffic Controller, this led to friction, and as I have already implied, Entebbe was not a happy place. The crunch came when I was told by Dickie to compile all the Annual Confidential reports, including those for Air Traffic Controllers. I told him that I did not think it proper that I should report on officers whose qualifications I did not hold myself. He should do them himself and I would write them for all the Telecommom [sic].
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staff. The previous year he had reported on the Telecomms staff and I disagreed strongly with his findings in one case, that of Gibby who, he wrote, “was slow in carrying out a job”. He was indeed slower than most, but was also the most thorough engineer in the Department. When repairing an equipment he not only repaired the current fault but also brought it right up to the manufacturer’s specification. My personal relationship with Dickie deteriorated rapidly, and rather than speak to me he would write me memos. In one of his many memos he “required” a technical explanation of a particular problem, and I replied to the effect that “as the conductivity between the two points was less than half a mho, this was inadequate for proper operation”. He wrote to my Chief in Nairobi complaining that I was taking the Mickey, and this brought him a rude reply. I could have referred to “a resistance greater than 2 ohms” instead of “a conductivity less than half a mho”, which would have been more helpful, but I made my point.
One major problem at Entebbe was the absence of schools for European children, and Colin and Wendy had to go to Nairobi and Kericho respectively, as boarders. This would have cost little had I been stationed in Kenya and paid the statutary [sic] Education Tax, but as I was stationed outside Kenya and had not paid the Kenya tax I had to pay the full boarding fees. I was not alone in this of course, it was a problem for all families of the E.A. High Commission living in Uganda.
However, I learned that in June 1958 Dinger Bell was finishing his four year tour at Kisumu in Kenya, and I managed a transfer for myself, handing-over Entebbe to an officer returning from a U.K. leave. At that time we had two cars, and I remember taking the Austin A70 to Kampala and selling it in a bar to a consortium of five Africans for £25, each chipping in with a hundred shillings. We travelled to Kisumu by road, our effects going by lake steamer. It was an easy day’s drive round the north-east shores of Lake Victoria, through Jinja, with its crocodiles at the source of the Nile. This was in the days before the level of the Owen Falls dam was raised by eight feet. It was refreshing to arrive at Kisumu, and we were pleased with everything we saw. We spent the first week in the hotel, then moved in to Dinger Bell’s house at 55 Mohammed Kassim Road, near the African Broadcasting Service transmitting Station.
Kisumu Airport had been established about 1932, and had, like Mbeya been a scheduled stop on the Empire Air Route of (the original) British Airways. The lake was ideal for the Empire Flying Boats and our staff pilot, Capt. Casperuthus had many stories of flying Hannibal biplanes into Kisumu. During the Second World War it was taken over by the R.A.F. and used extensively by Catalina amphibeans [sic] and Sunderland seaplanes. R.A.F. aircraft of most long and medium range types were regular visitors, together with the 3-motor Junkers 52 transports of the South African Air Force. With two excellent murrum runways and four hangars, it had seen some service one way and another.
The Control Tower was a small two storey building of 1932 vintage, the ground floor being taken up completely by the transmitting room. The first floor comprised the Control “tower”, a small office, and store. Originally there had been a second floor with a glass top for good all-round vision but this had been removed at the end of the war and replaced with a tiled roof. The second floor became the loft and housed the VDF antenna. I
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found the transmitters had been sadly neglected for many years. Two RCA 4336 types were used on R/T., a third on W/T., and a new Redifon GR49 NDB. There was also a dual transmitter which was not on the inventory and which had in fact been ‘liberated’ from a Catalina, before it joined the other two scuttled in the lake at the end of the war. This set was the best of the lot, and certainly my favourite. It was complete with a 110v ac supply of 600 Hz, not 60 and within a month I had modified an old T1190 power unit to drive it. The M/F section was put into use in place of the Redifon beacon, and the H/F section performed wonderfully on the amateur bands.
Being a ‘one-man station’ my working hours were long, 7 days a week and seldom a whole day off, but I had a workshop and bench and put my waiting-for-aircraft hours to very good use, mostly repairing domestic radios. The transmitters were giving a lot of trouble. As an example, whilst tuning a rotary inductance on a 4336, a two inch nail providing an electrical contact dropped out and had to be bodged up again. The GR49, although nearly new, was using modulator valves at the rate of a pair every two weeks due to a missing relay and associated wiring which had actually been left out at the factory during production. Fortunately there was a good old T1154 which acted as a standby for all transmitters except VHF, so I was able to take each transmitter in turn out of use for as long as was necessary whilst I overhauled them. As this progressed I was enjoying the practical work and decided to make use of a three-foot cabinet which was not on charge. (I inherited quite a lot of useful ‘junk’ at Kisumu!). At the Fisheries office on the lake shore, also on the airport, I found that a vehicle had demolished a rondaval (a 12 ft. diameter building constructed of aluminium). I volunteered the services of my crash-tender crew to clear up the mess and to take away the wreckage. A few days was spent by the crash crew in cutting the best of the aluminium into 19” panels of standard sizes, and suitable chassis. One of the ET4336 transmitters was going to be off the air for several weeks waiting for spares, and in order not to delay my overhaul programme I built a two-stage transmitter on one of the 3 1/2” panels. This was a 6V6 crystal oscillator driving an 807 to a dipole antenna. The operator at Nairobi reported our signals as very good and better than they had been for a long time. 20 Watts in place of 400, but it was the dipole antenna in place of a random length of wire which made all the difference. Within three weeks the 3’ cabinet contained 4 transmitters and was providing all services except VHF and M/F Beacon. The overhauling programme was completed, the official transmitters finally tested and then switched off. For the next 18 months we operated almost trouble-free. My monthly engineering reports to H.Q. in Nairobi were mainly negative and referred to “routine preventative maintenance only”. However, Sid Worthy, Chief Telecomms. Engineer was not fooled, and in due course he wrote and asked why my monthly electricity bill was only a quarter of what it had been for many years. Before I had plucked up enough courage to reply, Sid arrived unannounced and went direct to the Transmitter room, finding the four big transmitters switched off. In the Control Tower he saw my all-purpose cabinet, and to put it lightly, he was not amused. I suggested to Sid that we should make our own single-purpose transmitters and dispense with the old uneconomical general-purpose types. He agreed there was no good technical or financial argument against this but what would he do with his army of 50
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or so engineers? He compromised and allowed me to leave my own equipment in use provided I removed it a month before I left Kisumu.
One of our friends at Kisumu, Jimmie Sanson was a very keen constructor of model aircraft and several he had made were lost in the lake. His final model was a rather superior type with six-foot wingspan and single engine using alcohol as fuel. The rudder was radio-controlled on 27MHz. and the aircraft made some very impressive flights at the airport. On one occasion it went up to about 2000 feet before it ran out of fuel and for almost an hour Jimmie kept it turning over the airport. The aircraft was trimmed slightly nose-heavy but apart from turns, he had no other control. Eventually it was so far down-wind that it was lost to sight and last seen heading for the mountains. After a period of calm, the wind changed in the early evening and Jimmie and I were standing outside the Control Tower lamenting his sad loss when one of the crash Crew shouted “Bwana, Ndegi ndogo narudi”. His eyesight was far superior to ours, we saw nothing until the aircraft appeared over the end of the runway and actually landed, after a record flight of over three hours. Up-dating the radio control was the next stage and two months and about £200 later an eight function system was completed, giving control of the engine, elevators, ailerons and rudder. The machine could then be made to taxi out, take off and carry out aerobatics. The engine was used in short bursts and as there appeared to be a permanent thermal over the runways during the warm days, thirty minute flights were quite routine. Eventually the aircraft was lost over Lake Victoria and probably joined the three Catalinas on the bottom. Perhaps one day a Catalina will be recovered from their fresh-water grave, but the Sanson special was lost for ever..
My official work ran quite smoothly, with a little excitement occasionally. At 3 am one night, Nairobi Flight Information Centre phoned and asked me to open up the VHF and call Alitalia 541 which was three hours overdue in Nairobi, from Khartoum, and with no radio contact for four hours. I sped through town doing over 70 m.p.h. to my Control Tower, switched on and called the aircraft. There was a weak signal in reply and I managed to get a class C bearing of 270 degrees. A second transmission confirmed this and I told the operator he was probably over the Congo, but certainly well to the west of Kisumu. I told him QDM Kisumu 090, but the pilot would not agree and said he was east of Kisumu, not west, and approaching Mombassa [sic]! His signals faded right out and I telephoned F.I.C. asking them to log the QDM of 090C that I had passed to the aircraft. After half an hour, whilst F.I.C was sending frantic messages to all points west, I heard the aircraft calling Kisumu and was soon in good contact giving QDM’s, his signals gradually improving. It was just 0530, 20 minutes before first light when I heard the aircraft and sent out the boys to light-up the gooseneck flares. Then he was overhead and decided to carry on to Nairobi. This was rather disappointing, and in fact the wrong decision, his endurance being insufficient for any further diversion. I was told much later that the Captain and Navigator had a row before take-off and were not on speaking terms. The aircraft was a DC8 and the Italian crew and passengers had been very lucky indeed. The police followed me through town and I was charged with speeding, but the fine of 60 shillings was refunded later by the court when the urgency became known.
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Some weeks later Nairobi F.I.C. phoned again, about 4 am., an Air Liban DC6 from Cairo was lost and was not within the scope of Nairobi VDF. The aircraft had made a brief contact on the area cover VHF through Lodwa, and another aircraft north-east of Kisumu had heard the DC6, but of course had no idea of range or direction. This time I went through town at a more reasonable speed, opened up the radio, and called Air Liban. The crash crew was called out and the boys started dispensing paraffin and setting out the flares right away. I called Nairobi on 5680 H/F R/T to establish my station was on the ball, and every two minutes called the Lebanese Airlines aircraft. About 20 minutes later the aircraft replied to my call and I gave him a QDM of 225, and was satisfied there was no risk of it being the reciprocal. Three minutes later I measured 230 and then 235. He said his Giro compass was u/s and his magnetic compass erratic, and that he would use a standby giro, set to my figure. He turned 10 degrees to port and the QDM increased, 10 degrees to starboard and the figure decreased, so he was heading for Kisumu, and not going away from it. The bearings were given every two minutes and were reasonably steady, and after about 25 minutes the pilot said he thought he could see the coast, meaning the shores of Lake Victoria. It was still very dark but a clear night (not a contradiction of terms) and the boys hurtled out to light up the goosenecks. I told the pilot the wind was north-easterly at 15 knots, he was down wind, duty runway 06. I reminded him of the very high ground 2 miles to the north of the airport and he replied “O.K. Bud, Thanks a lot, I’ll come straight in on 24, hope youv’e [sic] got some gas, we shure [sic] ain’t [sic]”. A few minutes later he made a good landing and parked outside the 1932 wooden terminal building. The Captain of the Air Liban DC6 was an American pre-war Veteran. I had completely forgotten to tell the East African Airways agent but did so at 0545. There was no catering at the airport so he found some buses and the passengers were taken to the hotel. I was also late in phoning the police who dealt with immigration, but they hadn’t a clue how to deal with 60 international transit passengers. Similarly, it was a new experience for Customs, so both departments decided to pretend it hadn’t happened.
The Captain asked me to tell the non-English-speaking African Shell Assistant to put 3000 gallons of 100 octane into the tanks. I translated to the startled assistant “Bwana Mkubwa anataka gallon elfu tatu, pipa sabini na tano”. That was 75 drums of petrol to be pumped by hand. Finally he compromised with 400 gallons, but it was still quite a task, even with only 10 drums.
The Captain was concerned about the limited fuel and lack of a reliable compass and we double-checked that the met. conditions to Nairobi were near perfect. A scheduled DC3 of East African Airways came in at 10am. And was taking off for Nairobi at 11 am. The two pilots talked together at length and studied the map. The DC6 took-off three minutes after the Dakota and the two remained in visual contact until Nairobi was in sight. Surprisingly, the DC6 did not carry a radio compass for M/F but relied entirely on VHF, which, in East and Central Africa was quite inadequate.
I was criticised by DCA for not informing them in detail of progress, and was conscious of this at the time, but had I done so, they would have confused the issue with lots of advice. A civilian airliner without a reliable compass would be a major issue. I operated an “aerodrome
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advisory service”, not being an Air Traffic Controller. F.I.C. would have tried to control my detailed activity, but with a bit of common sense, things worked out well.
The visit of Her Majesty the Queen Mother to Kisumu went off smoothly except that two European Police Inspectors on the airport main gate refused permission for me to enter without a permit. One of my passengers, an R.A.F. Wing Commander leaned out and said he was the Queen’s Pilot, better open the gate old chap. Police had been drafted in for this event from hundreds of miles. I remember little else about the Royal Visit, or it’s main purpose. On these occasions most of the senior officials climbed in on the act, establishing their own importance.
I do remember in detail the visit of Billy Graham. My brief from the organising committee was to provide the Public Address systems. The main system had to cope with an audience of 30,000 people, with three microphones for which I borrowed a 300 watt amplifier from Twenche Overseas Trading Co. in Nairobi and used my four 100 watt loudspeakers. In addition there were six other systems for separate areas where the audience spoke only their tribal languages. Each of the six would hear Billie Graham plus one interpreter translating into the appropriate tribal language for that particular group. There were nine microphones on the platform for the evagelist [sic] and 8 interpretors [sic]. In addition the Post Office ran a special line about a mile at the end of which they connected a candlestick type of telephone with a carbon microphone and place it with my nine microphones. This relayed the proceedings to another mass meeting in Nairobi. The microphone was ineffective until I connected the P.O. line direct to the main amplifier output via a suitable transformer. Billie Graham had a very efficient team. Harley and Bonnie Richardson are two I remember, both very hard working and leaving nothing to chance. They were backed-up by representatives from most church denominations.
The following Christmas, the missionaries approached me again, could I use my loudspeakers at the Church to simulate bells on Christmas morning. An interesting proposition, and someone had written to Bradford Cathedral to scrounge a tape of the Cathedral bells. I had to edit the tape considerably, as every two a rich Yorkshire-accented voice was superimposed with “You are listening to the bells of Bradford Cathedral”. I set-up the amplifier and loudspeakers at the Church at about 7 pm. On Christmas-eve and tested the system with a record of carols. Within minutes, people began to gather and joined in. The Vicar asked if I could connect a microphone and in no time at all he was conducting an impromptu carol service with a bigger congregation than he had enjoyed for a long time, well over 1500. At 7 am next morning I relayed the bells of Bradford Cathedral, but could not resist pre-empting them with a verse of ‘Christians awake’. The loudspeakers were in constant demand and were in use every day for two weeks during H.H. the Aga Khan’s visit. Events included H.E. the Governor’s barazas, opening a ginnery and so on, all official requests from the Provincial Commissioner. I was spending so much time away from the airport that I fitted a TCS12 Transmitter and a good H/F receiver in the car to work aircraft and keep in touch with the airport. At the African hospital I fitted a receiver and 50 Watt Vortexion amplifier imported by my father, and installed 30 loudspeakers round the wards. This was followed by a similar
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job at an American mission hospital about 30 miles from Kisumu, but more ambitious with microphones, tape recorder and record player. At the Roman Catholic Cathedral in Kisumu I fitted an amplifier and loudspeakers with microphones on the Altar and pulpit. Another system was fitted at the African Community Centre in Kisumu and one way and another I was kept very busy indeed.
The transmitter in the car was used also on the 40 metre amateur band to keep in touch with my father and amateur chums in Nairobi and other parts of East Africa. On one occasion Tom Mboya took an interest in it and was quite impressed. Tom was a Luo by tribe and a party leader of the Kenya African Democratic Union, a very nice chap with an attractive wife Pamella [sic], daughter of Mr. Odede, a Kisumu lawyer. Tom wanted to buy the transmitter but for me to sell it to him would not have been wise. Later Tom was shot and killed in Nairobi.
Kisumu was fairly well populated and within 10 miles or so of town we saw very few wild animals. The two exceptions were the protected herd of impala in Kisumu township and the hippo which abounded on the lake shore. They came ashore at night to graze and I encountered them on the aerodrome several times. One rather amusing occurrence, the airport was wide in area and Africans frequently trekked across the runway and even drove their cattle over it at most inappropriate times. On several occasions I impounded the cattle after due warnings and charged the owners with trespass under section 69 of the Colonial Air Navigation Act. When I found the offenders were getting six month’s imprisonment and losing their cattle, I stopped charging them and the Police insisted upon taking over this task. Finally they agreed to drop the practice, when I told them that I doubted whether the Colonial Air Navigation Act really applied in Kenya and in any case I had invented the content of section 69. However, the runways had to be watched carefully and checked every time there was an aircraft movement.
One morning at Kisumu a uniformed Prisons Askari I had known at Nairobi Prison in 1950 came to my Control Tower and after a smart salute handed me a note saying it was from Bwana Mkubwa ya Ndegi. It was from Commander Stacey-Colles R.N. Ret’d., my former boss and previous Director of Civil Aviation. He had arrived at Kisumu Prison only two hours earlier, and was serving a three year sentence. He had been found guilty of receiving money, a refund of an airline ticket issued by the High Commission and which he did not use. At the time he was in Britain having travelled home on a complimentary ticket from Air France. The official ticket was handed in to East African Airways and a refund obtained which was paid into his bank instead of the High Commission’s account. He claimed no knowledge of this and most of us believed him. He would not prejudice his career and Navy pension in this way, someone had fixed him. The note was a list of things he wanted, which I soon assembled and took to him at Kisumu prison, where I found I knew the Prisons Officer from 1950. A very embarrassing situation. I met Stacey and gave him the radio, writing materials, money, cigarettes and cakes from Hilda, on the first of many visits. Three days later the Askari was back with a long message in code for Muriel Pardoe, his former secretary in Nairobi. I sent this off straight away on the aeronautical W/T channel, addressed to HKNCHQPA, the ICAO address which would reach Miss Pardoe from any airport in the western world. HK was Kenya, NC Nairobi City, HQ DCA
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Headquarters and PA Personal Ast. To the Director. The code was in five letter groups with a double substitution of letters, a similar system to that used during the war.
The message was decoded by Muriel who obtained whatever it was Stacey was asking for and gave it to Capt. Casperuthus who was DCA pilot of the Avro Anson. Casper gave it to the Controller at Wilson airport who passed it to a pilot about to depart for Kisumu. The pilot handed it to me at Kisumu and I delivered it – whatever it was – to Stacey in prison the same day. Three days later the radio set came back to me with the askari, not working. Two of the valves had been swapped over, and I noticed a piece of paxeline had been fitted neatly inside the bottom of the set, forming a false bottom. Under it was a note asking me if I could fit a B.F.O. into it. This was a beat frequency oscillator and Stacey could want it for only one reason, to monitor morse, probably on the Prisons channel, to see what was happening. There were two spare holes for valve holders on the chassis and plenty of space for fitting a mains power supply, vacant in this case because it was a dry-battery receiver. I fitted the B.F.O. as requested, and also another valve as a flea-power transmitter, using just a channel freq. crystal about 6.5 MHz and a tuned circuit on the anode. Maybe 50 mW output, I had no means of measuring it, but I tested the set at a range of 2 miles using 3 feet of wire for an aerial it was received at the control tower. The morse key was just a matter of touching a wire to the chassis. I returned the set to Stacey personally and explained the switching of the B.F.O. and transmitter keying. He was delighted and agreed to be very careful, taking absolutely no-one into his confidence. About six weeks later I met my former colleague the Prisons Officer in town and he told me there was some concern over the prisoners getting confidential information before he received it himself. He quoted that a week ago a prisoner asked if he could change cells and share with a particular prisoner who would be transferred to Kisumu with three others on a date a week hence. He said the four arrived that day, how could the prisoner have known a week ago? It should have been obvious, there were many ex-service personnel who were good W/T operators and the Prisons Radio on 7 MHz could be monitored by anyone, the signals being in plain language morse. I said nothing. Stacey’s frequency was monitored at my office where I had a similar tiny transmitter. It was used at a specific time of day on only two occasions for test purposes, but he found it satisfying and consoling to have a personal and totally clandestine link to the outside world. It gave him a great deal of satisfaction and from my point of view did no real harm. Stacey was a great organiser and motivator.
The African Inland Mission in Mwanza had colleagues in the Sudan [author indicates with X and page footnote that it is Kisumu not Mwanza] who visited Kisumu frequently in their Cessna aircraft. They desperately needed two transmitters in the Sudan but were not able to obtain import permits. They could however get a permit to re-import a transmitter if it had been sent out of the country for repair. I suggested to them that they should send me a piece of otherwise useless equipment which might look like a transmitter to the uninitiated and send it to me as a transmitter for repair, together with the appropriate paper work. This was done and in an antenna tuning unit they brought me, I built a 10 Watt transmitter without changing it’s outward appearance in any way. A few weeks later a second one was built and the two did a very useful job in the Sudan for about six
[KISUMU NOT MWANZA]
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months until the African Inland Mission stations there were closed, and the missionaries withdrawn. The missions’ aircraft were also licenced on that frequency and I contacted them occasionally. It is most reassuring to be able to communicate with someone in times of trouble, and plenty of folks in Africa were in that situation.
But trouble was also brewing in the Belgian Congo, just across the Lake. Six months earlier, the Belgian Government had advised the missionaries and other settlers to leave, but many were dedicated to their work and some felt they were quite indespensible [sic]. The Belgiauns [sic] had handed over the reins of Government and administration hurriedly to a totally ill-equipped and unprepared Congolese. The consequences of withdrawal by the Belgians were clearly predictable but they succumbed to political pressures from all directions. There was human slaughter on a big scale, and the only information coming out of the Congo was on the frequency of 7150 operated by Mission stations, and also shared with East African amateurs. It was in Kisumu that I received a message from a mission at an Agricultural Station which read:-
“We are being menaced by 100,000 hostile savages. We have their chief as hostage and expect annihilation within one hour. We have ammunition but no guns, please advise Kamina”.
The amateurs among the DCA staff in Nairobi, of whom Viv Slight was one, had set up a W/T link to the Belgian Coast Station at Ostend, using a communications booth in the D.C.A. Communications centre and a powerful DCA transmitter at R.A.F. Eastleigh.. I relayed the message direct to them on the aeronautical W/T channel, and Nairobi passed it straight to Ostend, with a steady flow of other messages. Ostend relayed it to Brussels who passed it to the Military where it was relayed on it’s final leg back to Africa, to the Belgian Paratroop Base at Kamina. Within 20 minutes of my receiving the message at Kisumu, the paratroopers were airborne and the Agricultural Station was liberated. Hardly had I cleared the message when I received a correction to it which advised:
“Not one hundred thousand savages, only ten thousand”
When I passed this to Nairobi, the reply was “What’s the bloody difference”
There were many such stories during the evacuation of Europeans from the Congo. Uganda was the main escape route and DCA Nairobi asked that any aircraft available and pilots who could make it, should get to Entebbe and help in the evacuation regardless of Certificates of Airworthiness and Pilot’s licences. One of my ex-pilot friends evacuated about thirty people in several trips in a Rapide aircraft. The last aircraft he had flown was a Beaufighter during the war. Some thousands were got out from the Congo, one way or another, mostly via Kampala and Kisumu. The Kenya Girls’ High School in Nairobi (known as the Boma) was turned into a Medical Reception Centre the records of which show the dreadful experiences and medical remedial action taken. Wendy reminded me that she and all the other girls who were not taking G.C.E..s were sent home a week before the term was due to end, to maked [sic] room for the refugees. At Kisumu I met many who came out by road. Two middle-aged ladies came to my Control Tower and one phoned her parents in
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the United States with a terrible story of pillage and rape. A third, more elderly, who had three American Doctorate degrees – Medicine, Divinity and a PhD. – had devoted her entire working life to helping and teaching Africans, but she said a lifetime had made only a superficial advance from their savagery.
Most of our memories of Kisumu were of happier days. There was an excellent social club but we were not members due only to the lack of time. The children made good use of the swimming pool, the lake being too dangerous, not only with its hippo and crocs. but with Bilharzia and hook worm. Hilda enjoyed her painting and drawing and we even managed to take a few photographs.
After nearly three years at Kisumu, Colin was still at the Prince of Wales School in Nairobi and with Wendy at the ‘Boma’ we were not seeing very much of either. And so a transfer was arranged and we packed up our household once again and moved to Nairobi, to a lovely house in Nairne Road, near Wendy’s school.
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[underlined] D.C.A. HEADQUARTERS [/underlined]
It was then June 1960, the Mau Mau emergency was still with us, but 84 Squadron had finished their bombing of the Aberdares which had raised the eyebrows of a few ‘hasbeens’ like myself. I had talked with the crews of the R.A.F. Lincolns some time earlier at R.A.F. Eastleigh and it all seemed very unreal to me. Perfect weather, ceiling and visibility generally unlimited and no enemy opposition from either the air or ground. Bombing over the bush was a matter of a timed run at a specific speed from a firmly identified point on the ground. Hardly a challenge for the Chaddertons and Fosters of this world and I don’t know what comprised a tour. It reminded me of O.T.U. where I saw the log book of a fellow-instructor with 40 ops. to his credit. His first tour ops were shown in the normal way, Benghazi 0340, Benghazi 0345, Benghazi 0342, Benghazi 0350, about 6 pages of Benghazi and no other target. But then, there are those among us who never bombed B.G., so the song goes. I could visualise the log books with several pages of ‘Aberdares 0125…”. Some of the Africans reckoned it was “mzuri sana” (very good) for the terrorists, the bombing just laid on a supply of fresh meat without their having to hunt for it, but there was probably more to it than that.
My place of work was the Communications Centre in the High Commission Building, on the top floor, above the Inland Revenue office. My duties were those of Telecomms. Supt. i/c a watch, responsible for the operation of the telecommunications system. We were not really concerned with aeroplanes, only messages about their movements. We had Radio Teleprinter circuits with Johannesburg, Khartoum, Der es Salaam, Entebbe, and Gan, and teleprinters on line to R.A.F. Eastleigh, Wilson Airport, Nairobi (Embakasi) and the Flight Information Centre next door. Our internal communications, that is within East Africa, were mainly by W/T links, to Iringa, Songea, Mbeya, Mwanza, Tanga, Dodoma, Arusha, Kisumu etc. Every teleprinter link had a standby W/T channel and most of these were resorted to in the early mornings, about 4 to 6 am. Brazaville [sic] and Leopoldville in the Congo were only on W/T but there was little traffic to the west and none to the east except Gan. With Gan, we operated an emergency channel with a test message every twenty minutes, to supplement the R.A.F. network if required, but they seemed to manage quite well without us. We handled about 20,000 incoming messages per day in the Tape Relay Centre, and apart from one or two all had to be relayed out again and logged. We also had three ground to Air operating booths, two of which were always manned, working aircraft, one on HF/RT and the other HF/WT. The European Radio Officers preferred the latter, where often three messages per minute were handled for long periods.
As soon as an aircraft left, say, Khartoum, a message would be sent on the Fixed Service by RTTY to the Tape Relay centre which should reach F.I.C. within a few minutes of being originated, requiring two relays, at Khartoum and Nairobi Tape Relay Centres. The system was that the pilot would not need to call Nairobi until he reached the Flight Information Region Boundry [inserted] Boundary [/inserted] at 4 degrees North, as Nairobi F.I.C. should have already received all the information by teleprinter. However, this being Africa and therefore supposedly not very efficient, the pilot would call Nairobi as soon as he could after take-off, on HF/RT. On the older propeller jobs, (the real aeroplanes), this would have been
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carried out by the Radio Officer on W/T., where just a few groups in code meant a great deal, for example:-.
ZGU de VPKKL Nairobi this is VPKKL
QTN STKM 0201Z I departed Khartoum at 0201 GMT
QAH 24 TTT QBH My height is 24,000 ft. below cloud
QRE HKNA 0718 I am estimating Nairobi Airport at 0718
QRX FIR I will call you again at the Flight Information Boundary
The Radio Officer would write those 14 groups onto a pad and his Clerk would put two copies through the hatch to the Air Traffic Controller.
The Clerk would spend most of his time putting carbon paper between the pages, it was fast going during the busy periods, but was even faster before HF/RT was introduced.
The aircraft would remain in constant contact with Khartoum on VHF until it reached 4 deg. N. when Nairobi would become responsible. Many aircraft were still using W/T at the time. There was no really conscious use of code, it was as commonplace as plain language and to a radio operator the two were synonimous, [sic] as were the many technical and other abbreviations. One example which comes to mind was at a Board of Enquiry into an accident where an aircraft had crashed into Mt. Kilimanjaro. An elderly judge asked the Ground Radio Officer if there had been any radio message, and the R/O replied “Yes, I last worked the aircraft on C.W. at 0247” “What is C.W.?” asked the Judge, and the reply “C.W. is Charlie Whisky your worship” and the Judge nearly gave up, maybe thinking whether Irish or Scotch.
Some Radio Officers preferred to transcribe the morse and speech messages straight onto a teleprinter which produced a simultaneous page copy in front of the controller, but this method was not very popular. With several aircraft calling at the same time it was easy to make a mistake but too slow to correct it on the teleprinter. The F.I.C. Controller operated the VHF himself. The whole set-up was very well thought out and we were very well equipped. Communications were our line of business and we were highly organised.
The tour of duty was rather longer in Nairobi, where one had to work for 4 years to earn 6 month’s leave, compared to only 2 1/2 years in Tanganyika. I believe there was some reduction for the Kenya coastal strip. These were the rules established when East Africa was supposed to be an unhealthy and hostile place, and most of the Europeans were Administration officials. I always felt the home leave terms were over-generous, as we also enjoyed three weeks of “local leave” each year with railway warrants provided to any part of east Africa. Where there was no railway to our particular ‘holiday resort’ or we chose to travel by car we could claim car mileage costs. Most people preferred to go on leave by sea, depending upon the time of year, possibly home on a 10 day voyage via suez, returning on a 3 week cruise via the Cape of Good Hope, on Union Castle liners. Some preferred the long way round both ways, spending as much time at sea as possible and thus economising
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on accommodation costs in the U.K. My only experience of sea travel had been the four troop-ships and Hilda claimed she couldn’t swim; we wanted to spend as much time as possible with the folks back home so we chose to travel by air every time.
Within a year of our return to Nairobi, June 1961, political unrest was well to the fore and getting worse. Alice, my step-mother, was a Senior Secretary to an African Minister in the Secretariat, and felt it was getting too dangerous to remain. Luigi and Mary had already retired to Italy and Alice was preparing to join them. Most of us were expecting the balloon to go up at any moment and people were getting jittery. We had been close to the hiatus in the Congo and the more recent mutinies of the armies of Kenya, Tanganyika and Uganda, and Europeans were beginning to leave. The weight of evidence of impending disaster was overwhelming and towards the end of June Hilda returned with the four youngest children to U.K., Colin remaining at the Prince of Wales School as a boarder. Alice and Brian returned to Italy shortly after and my father moved in with me at Nairne Road. My father and I had become very involved with emergency communications for the settlers up-country, which dominated our lives for the next few years, but this is a story unto itself and is dealt with in the chapter “Laikipia Security Network”. The mutinies referred to occurred soon after the British Forces had left Kenya, and the emergency was declared officially over. Some European Service personnel remained as advisers to the Kenya army - there was no Kenya Navy and the Kenya Air Force existed mainly on paper but with a few light aircraft. We awoke one morning to the news that the three separate armies many hundreds of miles apart, had thrown out their European officers and declared themselves independent of any authority. Within 48 hours and before they could organise themselves and cause any damage, very small forces of British troops appeared simultaneously near Nairobi, Jinja and Dar es Salaam, subdued and disarmed the lot, without any loss of life or limb. I recall a cartoon in the East African Standard, showing Jomo Kenyatta with both arms raised to paratroopers dropping from aircraft and the caption “How good it is to welcome old friends” - His arch-enemies for 10 years or so. I saw several hundred African soldiers sitting on the grass at Wilson Airport with three European soldiers guarding them with machine guns. There was a large pile of rifles and other weapons nearby, also guarded.
Life was not all traumatic, however, we had the occasional laugh. One of our officers, MacDonald, was on official leave of absence quite frequently and we understood he was masterminding a very hush-hush communications link direct to U.K. from Government House and even satellites had been mentioned furtively. This was before the days of the Sputnik when satellites were a part of science fiction. He was one of the [underlined] firt [sic] [/underlined] to retire and as he was leaving he let us into the secret. Mac. had indeed spent a great deal of time at Government House. He was a master baker and was responsible literally for the icing of the cake. He told us also that when he joined the Dept. he stated that his qualifications included a final City & Guilds Certificate. They did, he confided, as a Master Baker, but not in telecommunications.
One Sunday morning in October on duty at the Comm. Centre I found my African Supervisor was monitoring Reuter on teleprinter, and looking over his shoulder I read on the page copy that thousands of Africans armed to the teeth were surrounding the High Commission building and holding hostage the
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Europeans working inside. The report gave more detail of riots and demonstrations and gave the impression that we were really in trouble. I went out through a window and onto the flat roof of the High Commission building and gingerly looked over the parapet entitled to expect a hail of bullets. On the road was a police car with two officers watching a group of about 20 Africans, some of them supporting two banners on which was written “Wazungu Rudi Uliya” (Europeans return to Europe). That was the extent of the demonstration reported to the entire world in Reuter’s message. Had it occured [sic] in Cambridge it would not even have received a mention in the free local papers.
My tour of duty ended in December and I relinquished the house, my father moving into Plums Hotel. A nine hour flight to London, and I was home for Christmas.
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[underlined] Dec. ’61 ON LEAVE [/underlined]
Hilda and Anne came to London and I met them at Paddington. We intend to spend a week with Joan and enjoy a holiday in London, but Hilda had a rather worrying cold so we limited our stay to two days.
The next six months or so were spent on leave. With the exception of Colin who was in the R.A.F., the whole family was together in Wales at Glaslyn. My father was in Nairobi, and his regular letters referred to increasing unrest. He was working flat-out in building the ‘Watson Wonders’ and he asked me to take back 500 B7G valve holders and 150 modulation chokes
In May ’62 I said goodbye to the family and returned to Kenya. As I was unaccompanied, Sid Worthy the Chief Engineer asked me if I would housewarm for him whilst he was on his 6 months leave. This meant that he paid the rent but could just walk out without packing up his household and walk back into the same apartment on his return. There was a tendency for senior officers who were permanently based in Nairobi to try and retain the same house or apartment once they had found the right one. Rent was in fact 10% of salary and it was well worth it. My father moved in with me and together we carried on with the transmitters, having rented a workshop next to Stephen Ellis in Victoria Street. After only 3 months in the apartment I received a letter from Sid telling me he was returning immediately, could he please have his flat only a few days hence!. The following morning we were going up-country and I could see my father was a more than little depressed. He was driving like a madman down the Nairobi escarpment and I insisted that he let me do the driving. He told me he had to go to Mombassa [sic] next day, having received a telegram from Alice that she and Brian were returning on the Union Castle. This was supposed to be a surprise to him and I did not doubt that it was so, but Alice admitted later that she had in fact booked return tickets on the homeward trip. She had been totally dishonest in her statements about her intentions which had resulted in Hilda and the children staying in Wales. Our safari was cut short and we returned to Nairobi the same day, a 500 mile round trip. Alice’s return meant a complete change in plan; clearly she and my father expected to share my accommodation but with Sid’s return they had no option but to move into an hotel again. They were lucky in obtaining a couple of rooms at Plums, after only two nights in the flat. I moved into Woodlands Hotel, but applied for a housing allocation as my family had decided to return to Kenya. Hilda and the children rejoined [sic] me and we moved into a house at Likoni Lane, resuming a normal life except that it was dominated by the Laikipia network and work at the Comm. Centre. Within a year of my return I was promoted to Asst. Signals Officer and took over from Mike Harding As [sic] Officer in charge of the Communications Centre. This I had tried to avoid for a long time, not the responsibility, but the working hours. The new post meant working office hours and for the first time in my life I was working a five-day-week. On watches it had been a four-day cycle of say monday afternoon, tuesday morning and all tuesday night, then off duty until friday afternoon. The 2 1/2 days off within every 4 days had suited me very well and was a very popular roster with everyone. Office hours curtailed my visits up-country except at week-ends, but I did have every evening free. Very soon, each European Radio Supt. In charge of a watch had an African trainee assistant. Shortly afterwards one joined me. They were all supposedly bright boys from Secondary School and we delegated the routine work to them as much as possible. Their presence was resented by the old-timers among the
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wireless operators, who knew what they were doing and were very good operators, but their educational background was inadequate for the senior posts. Africanisation was the policy dictated to us and we bowed to the inevitable. I trusted most of my Africans, and there were about 180 of them working on the 4-day Watch roster at the Communications centre. Although many of them had served with the British Army both during and after the war, I could not completely lose sight of the fact that some had taken part in the Lare massacre when an African village was set ablaze and almost everyone slaughtered as they tried to escape. The majority of my staff were from the three main problem tribes, the Kikuyu, Meru and Embu, and a few of the Luo tribe from Nyanza.
My father’s farm had been abandoned long ago. It was not possible to obtain reliable labour during the Emergency, and the whole of the European settled areas was to be handed over to the Africans. There were already very few farmers left in the Trans-Nzoia and the Eldoret areas, the latter being mainly from South Africa. The Laikipia farmers were the last to hold out, except perhaps for the bigger ranches near Athi River.
Our next home leave was in June 1964 and the story of my activity over the three years leading up to it is synonymous with that of the Laikipia Security Network. The network seemed to priority over everything, but lives were at stake. Occasionally Hilda and the Children would go up-country with me, and one memorable week-end was spent with Tony Dyer and Family at their lovely home facing Mount Kenya. One afternoon Tony asked the children if they would like to go to a polo match and they took off in Tony’s Cessna from their own front door, landing at the side of the pitch. One of Tony’s sons was killed some months later whilst taking a gun out of the back of his vehicle. It was never discovered how the gun came to be loaded and with the safety catch off. Hilda and the children stayed too at the farm of Dr. Anne Spoerry, at Ol Kalau. Anne’s loo was a traditional type in the bushes down the garden, very comfortable and lined with bookshelves, full of the Lancet and other medical journals. Anne was a wonderful character. Only once did we go to the coast for a holiday, and this was two weeks spent at Likoni, near Mombassa [sic]. Unfortunately we chose to go in the rainy season but it was a welcome break. We took Chippy, our cockerel, and it followed us around everywhere, afraid of absolutely nothing. Chippy returned home one day in Nairobi with a broken beak and was unable to peck for food. Fortunately Jean and Dick Chalcroft came to stay overnight with us and Dick fitted a new lower section to the beak with the plastic resin we used in making dipole aerials.. It took an hour to cure, or set, and Jean and Dick held Chippy during that period, and again whilst they filed down the surplus plastic and polished the result. Chippy was ravenous and began to feed straight away, but was very aggressive towards humans, except for Jean and Dick, who took him back to their farm at Molo. I saw Chippy several times after that at the farm, lording it over the hens, and not another cockerel in sight.
One day I bought a petrol/paraffin engine-driven alternator and a bank of batteries, a complete 32 volt lighting set in fact, too good to miss for £25 in Nairobi. The dealer said the engine wouldn’t start although it had just been thoroughly overhauled. I knew that Jean and Dick were without power on their farm although their house was wired for a 32 volt DC system such as this. I knew too of Jean’s prowess with anything mechanical and I took the whole lot straight up to the farm at Molo. At 10pm. on the Saturday Jean started stripping down the engine whilst I was linking together the 26 alkaline cells
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and checking the house wiring connected to my car battery. Jean, assisted by Dick slogged on until 5am. in the light of an Alladin lamp, but she had discovered the trouble long before that. The timing was exactly 180 degrees out of phase. At 5am, just before dawn, the batteries being flat, Jean cranked the engine which roared into life, literally, we were deficient of a silencer for the exhaust. The batteries were taking a charge and we changed from petrol to paraffin and switched on a few lights in the house. The following evening the Chalcrofts were very proud of their lighting system. That sort of effort and co-operation did give one a great deal of satisfaction.
My recollections of work in D.C.A. over that period are very few.
We seldom talked of the war, but in the middle of one night I somehow got chatting to the F.I.C. Controller, Sqdn Ldr. Anderson DFC & Bar, who had also been in 5 Group on Lancasters. Andy said we were sometimes like a lot of sheep, he recalled one night having reached his ETA, all was very quiet except that markers had been dropped 20 miles to the south. Within minutes bombs were crashing down so Andie turned south for five minutes and joined in. Next day it was found that the target was 20 miles north of where most of the bombing had taken place. My reply was just “Politz”, we had done exactly the same thing, followed the flock. We talked together of flying during the war, several times, but my memories of the actual events are more vivid now, after 45 years, than they were 25 years ago. Perhaps because there was not a great deal in East Africa to remind me of it, compared to today, living 4 miles from Wyton on the approach to Alconbury. To see the Lancaster of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight fly over gives me rather more than a lump in my throat at times. Pathfinder House is not what it was with Don Bennet, either, it is now the place where I pay my rates, but they at least have a picture of a Lancaster on the wall near the Cashier’s office. A couple of years ago I asked one of the cashiers why it was called Pathfinder House, she had no idea, I asked what the aeroplane was and the answer was the same. I let the matter drop.
I had taken over the comm. Centre from Mike Harding who had retired prematurely, and his immediate predecessor had been “Bing” Crosby, ex Royal Signals. Bing was in Headquarters just along the corridor and came into my office every day to inspect an object pickled in a sealed jar which he had left on the shelf when he was promoted. Although he urged us to take good care of it, he used to look at it and say to it “You useless ruddy thing”, or words to that effect. Finally, on retirement, he came and collected it and let us into the secret, with the parting words “Oh don’t worry, the other one’s fine, you only need one you know”.
Alice and my father had left in May for Italy, to stay with Mary and Luigi. My own feelings were that he should have stayed in Kenya, possibly up country with Jean or with one of his many other friends among the Settlers. He had worked unceasingly on the network for over 4 years, but Alice insisted upon their return to Europe. In June ’64 it was time for home leave again. We were reluctant this time because there was so much happening up country and we expected it to be our final tour in East Africa together, unless I returned and carried on with communications on a commercial basis. This was still an option, communications had kept me very busy and with lots of ‘job satisfaction’, but it was DCA who had paid my salary. I still had a family to support, and there was a great deal of uncertainty in Kenya. And so it was we flew to London yet again, and joined Hilda’s Mum at Glaslyn.
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[underlined] ON LEAVE June 1964 [/underlined]
Before leaving for Wales we bought a second-hand Vanguard from a dealer in Putney which was to prove very useful in the next few months. At the end of our leave it was sold to the local Policeman for the same price.
A month or two before we returned, the house next to Aunt Doll had become vacant and was put on the market for £500. It was small and in shocking state, but a real snip so we bought it. Five months was spent in refurbishing it, building a bathroom, kitchen, replastering, new fireplace, rewiring etc. I remember John mixing at least a ton of concrete manually, he was a tremendous help. Electricity at the house had not been used for many years, and what little wiring remained, mostly twin flex, we ripped out. Electrical contractors quoted £900 to rewire, which was totally ridiculous, and finally John and I did it in one day, having spent about £50 on materials through an advert in Exchange & Mart. We tried to buy the field - or even part of it - at the back - of the house, but our lawyer said it was quite impossible to find out who owned the land. Many years later it transpired that it had in fact been owned for at least a hundred years by members of his own family.
Visits were paid to my other in Barnoldswick and to Joan and Ken in London, but the greater part of my leave was spent on the ‘new house’.
At the end of April Hilda’s Mum moved into her new home and made comfortable. From the house there was a wonderful view of the mountain separating the Neath and Rhonda valleys, with the river within 25 yards in the foreground. Perhaps it is only fair to mention the road between the house and river, but when the bypass was built a few years later this road carried little traffic.
In November ’64 I returned to Kenya unaccompanied, and being so, moved into Woodlands Hotel. The following day I was in touch with Laikipia and also back at work. I relieved Mike Harding as Asst. Signals Officer in Headquarters, Deputy to ‘Spud’ Murphy who was Telecommunications Officer (Operations). The job was just a matter of dealing with the steady flow of paper-work. Every piece of paper coming in was registered in Central Registry and filed by the Clerk. If he couldn’t decide which file to put it, he would open a new one. The file was then delivered - and booked out - to the officer thought to be the one who should deal with it. The officer would either add his comments as a minute and pass on the file to someone he thought might not return it to him, or if he felt he was authorised to make a decision, draft a letter for his immediate superior. Very occasionally, on an external matter he might even sign the letter “for the Director of Civil Aviation”. I was expected to finalise all matters concerning the operational aspect of the Telecommunications side of DCA, including all staff problems, their examinations and promotions.
Europeans were leaving the Directorate almost every week and being replaced by Africans. Those with African proteges training to take over the senior posts were most vulnerable. The Africans thought it was easy to sit back and authorise someone to go on leave, or to promote or reprimand another. The newcomers could read the many returns and forms but whereas a European officer could do every job subordinate to his own, the assistant had neither the experience, qualifications nor ability to do those jobs. In some cases the African was promoted and his former boss remained as his assistant. It was
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obvious who did the actual work. I found the work uninteresting, mainly it seemed just a matter of going through the motions and staying out of trouble by being non-committal, which was completely out of character. My main thoughts were with the 5190 Network, something that really mattered.
Sqdn. Ldr. Anderson was still with us and when he went on two week’s leave to the coast he asked me to sleep at his house, which made a welcome change from staying at the hotel. At about 3am on the third night there was a hullabaloo outside and a pounding on the door. “Police, open up”. I opened up, 9mm. Mauser ready, to be greeted by an African Police Inspector and about 15 Askari with enough weaponry to start a rebellion. Andy had told the Police he would be away for two weeks and would they please keep an eye on the house? I told them he had asked me to sleep there but they were not convinced. All my documents were at the hotel and eventually the Inspector ‘phoned the Acting Director of Civil Aviation at his house - Dickie Dixon, my old antagonist from Entebbe. Dickie was not amused, he never was, with me, but the Inspector was satisfied. A few nights later, about 10pm. I was lying on the bed reading, the house in darkness except for a small reading lamp. I heard footsteps on the gravel outside and quickly extinguished the light. I heard a key turning in the lock of the pateo [sic] door. By this time I was off the bed and standing at the bedroom door, left hand on the hall light switch and my Mauser in the right, cocked and with the safety-catch off. When the outside door opened I switched on the light and was startled to identify the intruder as Jimmie Sanson, whom I had not seen since we were in Kisumu. If he had been carrying a gun I might have blown his head off before it became unrecognisable. Andy had done it again, asking Jimmie also to keep an eye on the house. That night my car had been in Andy’s garage. On the following nights I left the car in full view outside, and with the a few lights in the house switched on.
For several years I had held one of the very few Flight Radio Officer Licences in the Department and frequently flew as Radio Officer first on the Anson VPKKK and later on its replacement, the Heron. On my last trip on the Heron we did a “tour of inspection” with visiting officials from ICAO in Montreal. Whilst supposedly inspecting the runways here and the Met. Station there, a V.O.R., D.M.E. and other aids to Aviators, in reality we enjoyed a visit to Zanzibar, flew around inside the Ngoro-ngoro crater, an extinct volcano well stocked with wild life, witnessed a specially-staged lion kill in Tsavo West National Park, and entered into the spirit of a very expensive ‘Cook’s Tour’. A few weeks later I did another tour of airports, inspecting the Telecomm. aspect and also giving morse tests to operators who were otherwise already qualified for promotion. I knew most of the staff and the stations also. 16 years previously I had first visited Iringa, which was then run by ‘Blossom’, Mrs. Brown, the only lady Radio Officer in DCA. Blossom was an ex-WREN officer who had specialised during the war in Japanese morse. I think she told me there were about 120 characters in their morse alphabet, and she used to transcribe in Jap. characters for hours on end. It was someone else’s job to translate them into English. Blossom had left some years previously. The morse tests were interesting, first the candidate sent for 10 minutes at 25 w.p.m. of 5-letter and figure groups, which was recorded on tape. The second test was 10 minutes of plain language, and the third receiving for 10 minutes of automatic morse. The fourth test was for the candidate to receive the morse recorded in the first two tests, without telling them of it’s origin. Many complained that the
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fourth test was unfair, the morse being very poor and difficult to read. Some found it difficult to believe the poor morse was their own! In general, the morse was, in fact, very good, most of the old-timers having been British Army trained, during the war.
Soon after the invasion of Zanzibar I flew there in the DCA Anson piloted by Capt. Casperuthus. The two Air Traffic Controllers had been deported to Mombassa [sic] and almost all the Telecomms. equipment was faulty. The teleprinter on line to Dar es Salaam still worked, however, and this was taken over by an African from Tanganyika. Zanzibar and Tanganyika became known as Tanzania and for the very first time customs and immigration formalities were introduced between the two. I recall paying customs duty in Dar es Salaam on 200 cigarettes bought in Zanzibar, although the price was the same in both places, and duty had been paid already to the same authority, the new government of Tanzania. There was no rational explanation to some of the politics in East Africa. Rumours were rife that a huge Russian biplane bomber made secret trips at night without contacting DCA, the aviation authority, and the machine was said to be in a particular hangar. We were intrigued by this and taxied very close to the hangar, a ‘deliberate mistake’, and took photographs of the aircraft. It was a biplane about three times the wingspan of a Tiger Moth, but we were not able to find anyone who had actually seen it airborne.
By May 1965 I was recovering transmitters from Settlers who were leaving the country, and these sets were more than meeting the demand for new ones. I felt that by the end of the year there would be very few Europeans left, and in that atmosphere of intense anti-climax I gave 6 months notice of my retirement. The leave earned would take me to just over my 44th. birthday when compensation for loss of office would be at its peak. Looking at this in more detail, compensation would have been reduced by £2,000 per year of delay. There was really little choice but to go.
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[underlined] JOB HUNTING [/underlined]
I returned home finally on the 11th. of November 1965 and joined Hilda and the family at Glaslyn, except for Colin who was in the R.A.F. in Aden. My father and Alice were settled in Voghera in Northern Italy. There was plenty of time to look for a job, as I was on full pay for about six months and could not really afford to start work until April. Had I started before that, it would have meant paying income tax at the U.K. rate for the previous year on my world income, so I was advised, probably wrongly.
I wrote many letters, one offering my services to O’Dorian of Redeffusion [sic]. They were at that time considering establishing a Radio Relay system in the African areas of Nairobi. Other firms were also interested and the City Council was monitoring a pilot scheme which I.A.L. had fitted about a year previously. The pilot scheme had been put out to tender and my father had submitted a bid to provide for a four-program system. The contract went to I.A.L. on the grounds that they had shown confidence in Kenya by being established there for many years and were a reputable firm. My father was invited to comment and said I.A.L.’s presence was nothing to do with confidence, they were wholly-owned by B.O.A.C. and were there to do aircraft radio maintenance for E.A. Airways also owned by B.O.A.C. As for being a reputable company, so are Marks and Spencers but like I.A.L. they have no experience in Radio Relay. I had seen the pilot scheme at Kaloleni. Each house had a loudspeaker on the wall with volume control, and the system was wired in D8 cable and flex, with no protective devices. Reception was poor and quality was that of a typical bus station P.A. system. I gave O’dorian [sic] a detailed report of what I thought could be achieved in Nairobi and also the whole of Kenya, together with the engineering detail, resources required, budgets etc. The report was mainly the result of my father’s efforts of two years previously, updated. I included my report of I.A.L.’s one programme pilot scheme the performance of which could induce the Council to reach only one conclusion about Radio Relay. One of not to bother with it. Transistor radios were then on the market at 40 shillings giving good world-wide reception, Moscow being a necessity. I mentioned too the near to impossibility of collecting payment from individual subscribers. Payment would have to be made by the authorities. O’Dorian thanked me for my interest and appreciated the report and said he would be in touch. About a month later he wrote again and said they had decided not to pursue any interest in Kenya.
I also tried West London Telefusion who I knew at working level in 1947, and had an interview in Blackpool with their M.D., and Personnel Manager, for a new post as Development Manager in Taunton, Somerset. The job was to establish a cable T.V. system. I was offered the job after a prolonged interview and at a good salary. I accepted there and then and was advised to start looking for a house around Taunton. Only the starting date was uncertain, but they agreed to confirm the appointment in writing and provide a detailed Terms of Reference. I was very surprised indeed a few weeks later when a letter from Mr Wilkinson said he was very sorry but had decided not to proceed with the Taunton project and all development was under review. I realised that cable TV was popular in fringe areas but more and more repeaters were being provided and the need for cable was reducing all the time. I am writing this in 1993 and the concept of cable TV has developed from the 1966 “amplified aerial” to a single coaxial cable providing over 30 T.V. channels, radio and telephone, and
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most recently, scanned T.V. Security Systems. The technological advances in Relay since its inception in my father’s time, around 1928 have meant many fresh starts for the industry.
I had an interview with Aero Electronics at Crawley – to whom I had a letter of introduction, and was offered the job of Development Engineer & Manager! I felt this was aiming rather high. The interview took place in a large country house, alongside which was a fairly new factory with lots of activity, and a sketch of which appeared on Aero Electronics letter heading. I later found that the factory had no connection with Aero Electronics, which was in fact a one-man show. The job would have been responding to overseas enquiries received mainly via the Board of Trade, designing a system and providing equipment, winding up with a quotation. On the face of it a very interesting prospect, but with no back-up of any sort, and relying upon other firms’ equipment. I felt it to be somewhat dicey, particularly when I was asked if I could type! I had to say it was a job for a team, not one man.
From Crawley I went to see G.E.C. at Coventry for interview as a “Production Team Leader”. The job turned out to be the leader of a team of about 12 assemblers and wiremen constructing telephone exchanges – one at a time. I was shown one being assembled and spent an hour with the Team Leader on one particular exchange which comprised thirty 7’ racks of relay panels, counters uniselectors, jack fields etc. As far as I could see it was just a matter of ensuring each item was in the right place and wired-in correctly. Turning down the job was the right decission [sic] for the wrong reason. There seemed to be thousands of people around all moving at the same time, and the environment depressed me. Although I was only vaguely aware of it at the time, that type of system would be giving way to electronic exchanges within a year or two.
Next stop was Redifon in Wandsworth, who were advertising for Test and Installation engineers. The job was described accurately but was basically testing H/F and M/F equipment at the end of the production line, with very occasional trips into the field on installation and commissioning work. There was great competition for the field work. I was offered the job but the Personnel manager told me to think very carefully, Wandsworth was a terrible place to live in. I was given two weeks to think it over, and turned down the offer. I asked the Personnel Manager what happened to the job I was offered in 1957. The requirement was for an engineer who had a PMG1 licence to operate on ships and an MCA Flight Radio Officers Licence to operate on aircraft. He was to take equipment to sea and into the air to ensure there were no problems, and if there were, to resolve them. That job really appealed to me and could very well have become what I cared to make it. Maybe. He looked up my file and told me the vacancy was not filled and the post was withdrawn.
I saw a job advertised for a Telecommunications Engineer for Gambia, 18 month tour, £3500 per year + 25% gratuity, and applied for it. A week later I was called for interview. I didn’t think there was the slightest chance of this happening, having applied out of interest and an expences [sic] paid trip to London. The interview went well and soon after my return to Wales a letter arrived asking me to confirm my acceptance on a salary of £2500. I was in a quandry [sic], I didn’t really want to go to Zambia, but wrote to the Crown Agents and pointed out the discrepancy between the advert of £3500 and offer of £2500.
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They regretted their mistake in the advert, and on those grounds I was able to decline
I applied for an advertised post of Signals Officer at the Ministry of Aviation’s Communications Centre at Croydon for which my D.C.A. experience fitted me well. The interview went off very well and I found that in some respects E. Africa was more up to-date than was the practice at Croydon. At the end of the interview they said they would write to me. About a week later their letter arrived and advised that I had not been selected but only because a more senior post would shortly become available and I was already short-listed for it. Good news indeed, but having heard nothing further after four months by which time we had moved house to Cambridge, I wrote to them. In their reply I was told that the letter offering me the job had been returned to them marked “Gone away”. As Communications Officer in charge at Croydon life would have been rather different.
Becoming more and more disillusioned with U.K. I went to see the Overseas Services Resettlement Bureau at Eland House, Victoria. I saw a Mr. Williams who was ex-Malaysia P.& T and we chatted for a while about the prospects of settling down to a job in the U.K. I had to agree that after 18 years in East Africa I was not impressed with what I saw in Britain nor with the people who occupied it, it was a vastly different place to the one I had left in 1948. He was quite right in saying that I first had to decide whether I wanted to stay and if so to make the best of it. What job did I want? I told him I had hoped to join Pye Telecomm’s technical sales dept. I knew Pye aeronautical equipment and felt I could fit in there, but had written and been advised there were no vacancies. “Did I still want the job?”. Having replied yes please he picked up the phone, and said “get me Ernie Munns at Pye”. Moments later he greeted someone in what I assumed was Malay, then switched to English “look Ernie, I’ve another bloody Colonial here, thinks Pye’s the ultimate., When can you see him?” We agreed 2pm the following day at Pye Telecommunications, Newmarket Rd., Cambridge. More words in Malay between them and he wished me luck.
I liked the friendly environment at Pye and was interviewed by Ernie Munns, head of Systems Planning Dept. and his deputy, Cyril Foster. The interview was constantly interrupted by the telephone and people barging in for instant decisisons [sic]. I recall Ernie asking whether I would be prepared to write a paper for a semi-technical customer on the relative merits of conventional VHF links and Tropospheric scatter and I said “yes”! Fortunately the phone rang and both interviewers were involved, which gave me a few minutes to think about it. I had heard of Tropo-scatter, but that was about all. I awoke to the question of “how would you go about it?” I replied that I would read up the subject in the Pye library. It must have been written up many times, I would study it and probably be able to quote a learned authority. I agreed that I didn’t know all the answers, and Ernie said “Thank god for that, one or two around here think they do”. I was told that my application was opportune, if I joined them I would be in the Aeronautical team headed by Cyril, which was currently preparing a factory order for equipment to re-equip 22 airports and several other sites in Iran, plus a lot of other orders for aviation equipment. Basically the job was block-planning of systems to meet the customers’ operational requirement, prepare quotations, to engineer the job in detail and to project manage the order to its conclusion. This was the sort of job offered by
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Aero Electronics but at Pye there was full backing from experts in all fields. The second part of the interview was with Cyril and the Personnel manager who said he would write to me with the result. The letter arrived a few days later offering me the post at £1250 per year and to start preferably on the first of April. This was gladly accepted. Hilda and I went to Cambridge and after a week’s run around by Estate Agents we found a nice 4-bedroomed house at 14 Greystoke Rd. near Cherry Hinton which was to be ready by the end of March.
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[underlined] AT PYE TELECOMMUNICATIONS [/underlined]
The first two years at Pye were spent as a Project Engineer in Systems Planning Dept, not in the Aviation team as hoped, but in Duncan Kerr’s team doing general systems. Also in the team were Jim Bucknell, Ian Douglas, and Mike Bavistock who had also joined Pye on April first. Duncan was away most of the time drumming up contracts with the Scottish Police forces but on our first day Mike and I did meet him briefly and he gave us two pink files. ‘Take one each’ said Duncan. ‘Turkey 10th Slice is now an order and needs a flimsy, and the Libya quote needs revalidating’. Mike and I hadn’t a clue on Pye methods and we decided to work together, providing a mutual back-up. It quickly transpired that we had something in common, Mike had been in the Gambia for three tours whilst I was in East Africa. I told him of my experience with the Crown Agents for the Gambia job and he had seen the advert for what had in fact been his post. He was not amused when he saw his £2500 a year job advertised with a salary of £3500.
Of the 36 people in the department, no-one was particularly helpful, in retrospect mainly because they were themselves under great pressure and had problems of their own. I saw the Chief Clerk, - later known as the Admin Group Leader – and said ‘Duncan wants me to do a flimsy, what’s a flimsy?’ He was most unhelpful although he was responsible for the admin. aspect of many hundreds of them. His philosophy was that he wasn’t going to help anyone who was on a bigger salary than his own. I had to go to Export Sales to find out what a flimsy looked like. It turned out to be an all-singing and dancing instruction to every dept. detailing all the action required in designing, manufacturing inspecting packing shipping and invoicing and even installation of a customer’s order. All the information available was entered on the forms and circulated around the departments. The initial circulation was programmed to take six weeks. The system was designed in detail and all the engineering information added with ammendments. [sic] Eventually there were so many ammendments [sic] I had to completely rewrite the flimsy after six weeks, and finally there was an issue 4. The job was eventually engineered by Dickie Wainwright – ex East African P.& T., following a departmental re-organisation, and I picked it up again at the delivery stage having moved to the Systems Installation Dept.
My performance on my first task in Pye was not at all brilliant, and about 18 months later when the installation was finished I issued a memo entitled “Lessons Learned on Turkey 10th Slice”. I started with saying that a week of training in Pye methods would have saved a great deal of cost and misunderstanding and went on to discuss the contract itself. The contract stated that ‘The Turkish Version of the contract shall be deemed to be the official version’, and it seemed there were many anomalies all to the advantage of the Turks, in particular to our agent, a chap called Avidor, who in fact translated the Turkish contract into English!. The system originally quoted was for a microwave chain the length of Turkey with a dozen or so links carrying teleprinter and telephones. We were awarded only the links, the radio parts of which were main and standby. One rediculous [sic] requirement in the Turkish version was that they wanted the main link in one place and the standby in another. We were providing main and standby transmitters etc within a link, not a completely seperate [sic] standby link. The whole thing was quite rediculous, [sic] no
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wonder it was given to one of the new boys and everyone else steered clear. The title of the contract simply meant that it was the 10th slice – or part – of a multi-million dollar allocation of N.A.T.O. funds. I don’t know how many slices there were, but one was enough for us.
With Mike’s first job, revalidating a quotation might on the face of it seem more straight-forward. It is just a matter of extending the date on which the offer expires, or is it?! The engineers who did the quotation with many versions over a period of 10 years, and the half dozen salesmen involved over different periods had all either left or moved on somewhere. Now they were all out of picture, it was Mike’s job, and he was on his own. Revalidation implied that he must thoroughly understand the customer requirement. The quotation comprised 18 volumes of A4 size, each 2” thick, plus a mountain of minutes of meetings and correspondance [sic] over a period of 10 years. Undertakings made in good faith years ago could well be quite impossible to honour, requiring endless variations to the tender document. Every change required approval from others in Pye. Every aspect had to be checked. Equipment from other manufacturers was included and confirmation of availability and price had to be obtained, every move documented and absolutely every aspect of the tender was Mike’s direct responsibility. When I think back to those days, I remember how every letter and memo originated had to be written out in longhand for the team’s typist to action. I understand the office system did not change in the next 25 years although there is much less of it. Mike asked me to sit in at his very first meeting on this project, the main purpose of which was to put him in the picture and answer any queries he might have. One item in the quote was ‘2 years Bavister £2000’ What’s that asks Mike. The finance dept man said it’s an accountancy term, just leave it in but add 10%. Two others had totally different ideas and finally a fellow woke up and said “I’m Bavister, I’m supposed to go out there for two years to help the customer”. There followed a discussion on the price of whether it was 2 or should be 20 thousand and which department accepted the responsibility. Mike asked why we are using scramblers bought from Redifon at £1200 each when we can make them. It turned out they were actually ours, produced in Cambridge for T.M.C. who sold them to Redifon who in turn mounted them on a panel with their label, and sold them back to Pye at about 10 times the price.
The Libya communication system itself was very good, a policeman on a camel with a hand-held portable could talk through a local Base station and several UHF links and an HF SSB link to his HQ 3000 miles away if required. Mike Bavistock saw the project through two revalidations and the tender’s final acceptance, and the production stage, over a period of 4 years. He went on to do many other big projects before deciding to resign and return to Africa to try and regain his sanity.
When I joined the department, one half prepared quotations and everything else with the exception of the detailed engineering. The other half were responsible for engineering and nothing else. The system was sound, one person should not have to divert his thinking from conditions of sale to pricing to shipping to the specific connections on a 131 way socket. After a while the system was changed whereby one man did the lot, and with a dozen or more projects on hand at any one time constant re-orientation was getting me down and I asked for a transfer to Systems Installation Dept. Meanwhile I pressed on
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doing many quotations and made sure I did not get involved with detailed engineering design or anything else which could delay my transfer. In fact I feigned some excentricity [sic] and got away with it. The pressure however was high and there was a great deal of jeolousy [sic] and backbiting in the department.
At one stage I did a couple of Fireman’s callout schemes and these were done on the electric typewriter by a typist who normally did only the conditions of sale. The only difference was in the number of base stations and portables, and the finance. Together using the same basic tape we could rattle off a quotation in half an hour. We made about 20 spare copies and sent them to Home salesmen who were not already in the know, to help them secure orders from their local fire services. This was very rewarding to Pye.
One monday [sic] morning I was given the job of providing a quotation to meet a requirement for the Yugoslavian police, to be ready by 4 pm on friday [sic] . It was a big job and I would have three chaps to assist me but I was not to make a start until the go-ahead was received from International Marketing Dept. At 2.15 pm I was told to forget it, it would not be possible to complete it in time. On Wednesday at 10 am I was told the job was on and vital, top priority. Drop everything and get on wth [sic] it. I would not have any assistants and would have to complete it myself. So one man had two days and two nights to do a job which was too much for 4 men in 5 days and 4 nights. I worked almost non-stop, all day and all night, mostly at home, and on the thursday [sic] I asked for a typist to be available for friday [sic] night. By 5 pm on friday [sic] the document was ready for typing, a very long technical description and equipment schedules. The prices had not been agreed with the finance dept, so I used standard Export price with 15% mark-up for luck. No signatures of approval were obtained from Snr. Management although a quote for over £100,000 needed signatures from three Directors and finally the Company Secretary. I did ‘phone Bert Ship who was responsible for determining delivery time and I put 5 months instead of his 9. The typist did not materialise, and as a last resort I took an office typewriter to my daughter Wendy’s home and she typed it overnight.
At 7 am on the saturday [sic] I assembled a batch of relavant [sic] publicity material and technical leaflets, and made 10 copies of the whole document, four of which I signed and gave to the Salesman at 9 am. He translated the Technical Description and schedules into Italian on his way to London Airport by road and to Milan by air. It was retyped into Italian on the Sunday and presented to the client in Rome on the Monday [sic] , by Pye Italy. A month later the Salesman told me we had got the job and thanked me, but there was no other official recognition. I was amused to have signed it myself, having cut through all authorities and proceedures. [sic] One copy of the file was circulated around for approvals by Mike Loose and this was completed a few days before we got the contract. Not all jobs were like that.
One particular quotation was done for Frank Mills, a salesman responsible for dealing with government departments in Wales. I had first known Frank when he was Provincial Police Signals Officer at Mwanza in Tanganyika when I was in charge of the airport. Prior to that he had been a Radio Officer with D.C.A. in East Africa. Frank had told me of his lucky escape when he went to Musoma on a routine inspection. An african [sic] sold him a live snake in a sack for a shilling and Frank decided its skin would make a good present. An 8 foot python for a shilling. First the python had to be killed and whilst still in the sack was placed in an empty 40 gallon storage drum. A pipe was connected between his
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landrover [sic] exhaust and the drum, and the engine left running. After an hour the python was removed and made ready for skinning, but first let’s take a few photographs. Off came Frank’s bush jacket, and the python wound round his chest and neck, with Frank gripping the snake’s head and looking it square in the eyes. The photos were taken and the snake lowered to the ground. It was sweaty work and Frank sat on the back of the landrover [sic] drinking a cool beer. After a few minutes the python slid away into the bush. However, Frank had arranged to collect the quotation at 1.30 pm. and as the hour approached it was ready in triplicate except for the three front labels. All the typists and secretaries were enjoying their lunch break, most of them sitting at their desks knitting or reading. Not one of them would type the labels, so I used a spare manual machine and typed them myself. It was their right to stop work between 1 and 2 and they would excercise [sic] that right regardless of everything else. Most of them didn’t speak to me for weeks. This childish attitude was only too prevalant [sic] throughout the organisation and was completely foreign to me. However, Frank collected his quotation and we had a short chat about old times. Tragically he was killed in a road accident next day whilst on the way to see his customer with the quotation.
After my 2 years or so in Systems Planning, Bill Bainbridge one of the two Field Controllers in Systems resigned to start his own business, Cambridge Towers, and I was fortunate in succeeding him. At the same time Harry Langley Head of Systems Installation moved into Sales and D.A.D. Smith took over as Manager of Systems Installation Dept., (S.I.D.). I got on very well with Harry Langley, he had been with the Kenya Police as a Radio technician seconded from the Home Office. Howard (Jimmie) James was the other Field Controller and between us we managed all S.I.D. projects, mainly installing and commissioning systems in the field, about 60% being overseas. In theory we had a Project Engineer heading each Installation team but as each was involved in several jobs at any one time it was never possible just to sit back and let the P.E. get on with it. He was likely to be abroad when most required.
[underlined] IRAN [/underlined]
One of the first jobs allocated to me in S.I.D. was the Iranian Airports project, Pye being a member of a consortium with Marconi, C & S Antennas, Redifon, G.E.C. and S.T.C. All came together as the Irano-British Airports Consortium to re-equip the major airports and aviation facilities in Iran. This was the project mentioned to me at my interview when applying to join Pye and Cyril Foster and Allan Breeze had devoted their last two years entirely to it, and much of 5 years before that. Allan in fact eventually went to Iran to commission the F.I.C. console. I had a great respect for him when we went to Iran together and whilst I was struggling along in French he was talking in Farsi with the hotel staff. He had been quietly studying it in Cambridge and could even read it, which was a tremendous achievement.
I became suspicious when I received a memo from D.A.D. Smith the Departmental Manager enclosing a change-note and asking me to confirm that we could still carry out our installation committment [sic] in Iran for the £85,700 he had quoted. A change-note was a notification from a Lab. making a minor change in the design or manufacture of a piece of equipment. In this case it refered [sic] to a resistor which would make no difference to anything except the parts list.
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[photograph of the head and shoulders of a man]
[Arabic writing]
[stamp]
[Arabic writing] G. Watson [Arabic writing]
[signature]
[Arabic writing] JSB/100/14/6/T [Arabic writing]
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Not “will the change-note make any difference?” His subtle phraseology was making me responsible for the whole installation amount, not just a possible minor differe [deleted r [/deleted] nce. His figure was derived by taking 5% of the factory transfer price of the equipment which had no real relationship to the cost of fitting it, and was totally unrealistic.
I studied the draft contract and drew up an installation plan, and after a few days replied to my manager that “if the work can be carried out in the 12 month time scale as in the contract my estimate of costs is not £87500 but £250,000. I believed the work would take at least 5 years, it would not be possible to co-ordinate the many scores of officials with their different loyalties and the organisations involved. The final cost could very well be double the £250K. The end customer was the Iranian Director General of Civil Aviation, represented by Aerodrome Development Consultants Ltd., (A.D.C.) apparently a private firm, but wholly-owned by the then British Board of Trade and staffed by their officials. They were more than loyal to their Iranian masters.
After a great deal of arguement [sic] with A.D.C. and other Consortium members about methods, division of responsibilies [sic] , consequential losses and costs etc., the quotation was accepted including my price of £250K, and the contract signed. I was to live with that contract for exactly 10 years and have been sorely tempted many times to record the frustrations, stupidities and almost impossible business of working with the Iranians whilst retaining any degree of sanity.
It was the custom in Pye at the time, and a very good one, that before work was started on a major quotation, the comments of people with recent similar experience were sought as to its desireability, [sic] and with the question “Do we want the job?”. The file, an informal one came to me and in answer to that question I wrote in a light-hearted moment, “pas avec un barge pole.” I didn’t know that our masters Philips in Holland were involved until a minute came from them asking ‘vos ist ein barge pole’? This surprised everyone as the Dutch generally have no sense of humour where money is concerned.
One year from the signing of the contract, bang on time, we airfreighted the 26 racks of equipment and a mass of other material for installation at Meherabad airport, a direct flight from Stansted to Teheran where it was to be fitted. The pilot spent 36 hours under armed guard first for not having a “Certificate of no objection” from Iranian Airlines and secondly for paying a parking fee for only a 12 hours stay. There were many problems with that first consignement [sic] which provided a good pointer to the difficulties to follow. It was 12 months before the equipment was released from Customs and then it was stored in the open air outside the Meherabad receiving station for 6 months. Soon after that first air shipment I returned to Iran and spent 6 weeks studying the first 12 airport installations, including Meherabad, and re-formulating detailed plans. Meherabad was the main International Airport and included the Flight Information Centre. One problem at the F.I.C. was how to fit a 24 ft control console manned by 6 people whilst maintaining a full service on the old console which occupied the same floor space. In addition the contract stated that 12 racks would be fitted in the old equipment room on the fourth floor and 14 in a new equipment room on the second floor. This really was quite impossible and I was keeping the problem to myself. When I was discussing with the Iranians the work involved in their own equiupment [sic] room,
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they became extremely worried because their wiring was an absolute shambles with hundreds of multipair cables actually threading their way in and out and through racks which we had to replace with no interuption [sic] in the service.
They finally startled me by laying down the law and insisting that we stay right out of their old equipment room, and they would knock down walls between six offices on the second floor to house all 26 racks. This area was very close to FIC and made our job not only possible, but easy. Also the change was their firm requirement and we charged them £17,500 extra for the priveledge [sic] .
On Kushi Nostrat mountain, Marconi were to fit a Radar scanner, which we were to link to Meherabad by a 7GHz link, but the only way to reach the site was by helicopter, unless one was a mountaineer. There were no civilian helicopters in Iran and it was only when I put the problem to A.D.C. that I found the Radar stn. was to be at Kushi Basm and not Kushi Nostrat, a totally different mountain. This had an access road and Meherabad was a line-of-sight path of 32 miles. At a critical distance was a salt pan and we were supposed to go round this desert on a dog leg using a microwave link repeater. There was no suitable location for the repeater because of the “change” in location of the Radar site. This resulted in another variation to contract for a frequency and space diversity single link, less equipment than in the original contract but we got away with charging £18,000 more. Some of the problems were pathetic, others amusing. When I checked the earthing and lightening arrestor system at Meherabad I found the one inch copper earth lead was terminated not with an earth mat in the ground but to a spike stuck in a concrete plantpot on the first floor verandah. That was and probably is still there and highly dangerous. Incredible but true.
At Bandar Abbas Airport I prepared a detailed installation plan which together with others was discussed later at a monthly progress meeting in London. It bore no resemblance to a plan prepared by Redifon two years previously and we realised that since Redifon’s visit a new airport had been built about 9 miles away. More variatons [sic] to contract. There were 260 of them finally. At Bandar Abbas, the port of which was the main base of the Iranian Navy, I was with the Provincial Governor, an Iranian Air Force General and the Airport Manager. All three agreed it was permissible for me to use my camera. Later when an army corporal confiscated the camera they all denied it and simultaneously lost their ability to speak fairly good english, resorting to french in discussion with me. I had already met the works manager in charge of the extensive building operations who spoke excellent english and was apparently all-powerful. He not only recovered my camera from the army but also gave me a fine selection of photographic prints together with detailed architect plans of all the buildings. I did not see the three senior chaps again but the works manager put a car and driver at my disposal. I think he must have been related to someone important, maybe the Shah-in-Shah, or maybe he was a member of the secret police, there is no knowing.
A consignment of Redifon transmitters was held up in Customs for over two years with a documentation problem, and even the fixer employed was quite ineffective. To clear through customs it was necessary to get 120 signatures and rubber stamp impressions on the release document and this had to be done in a single day. This was finally achieved after the Shah had decreed that the equipment must be released, but the chap on the gate seemed to resent this interferance [sic] and refused to release it. The document with the signatures was out
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of date the following day so the man’s boss supported him and the equipment remained a part of the scenery. A week or two later, another department came into the act and gave notice that if Redifon did not remove it within 7 days, it would be sold off by police auction. Redifon did not appreciate my suggestion that we should go to the auction. The problem had arisen because one small item of equipment was refered [sic] to as a “tone transmitter”, the word transmitter being anathma [sic] to Middle east types. It did not appear on the schedule [deleted] d [/deleted] of approved tranmitters [sic] and was regarded with grave suspicion.
It took four months to amend the contract to exclude the tone transmitter and substitute a tone oscillator, - the same thing -, but even then 36 copies of the invoice had to be changed and re-submitted.
The Consortium offices belonged to the G.E.C.O.S. agent who kindly trebbled [sic] the size of them at the Consortium’s expence [sic] . All the members’ staff in Iran moved in and made themselves comfortable. About three weeks later a gang of workmen with demolition equipment reduced the new buildings to rubble and said “sorry, no planning permission”. Two months later the lawyers proved that all the proper authority and permissions were completely in order. The gang returned and said “sorry, ok you build”.
Despite all the red tape in Iran it was generally possible to get results eventually, the main difficulty was often finding out just which palms had to be greased. Our man in Iran for three years was Mike Cherry and he was successful in getting an amateur radio licence, with the call-sign EP2MC. Mike fitted an SSB125 transceiver in the office in Teheran and I was in daily contact with him from both my house and the office in Cambridge. By using very carefull [sic] phraeseology [sic] I was kept right up to date with progress in the field.
I was talking with Mike from the office one evening on 14 MHz when Dr. Westhead the Chief Executive came in and asked who I was talking with. I replied “to Mike Cherry, our man in Teheran, Sir”. He grimaced and said “Ah well, ask a stupid question..” The public telephone system to Iran was diabolical most of the time. I used to book a call for 4.30 am the following day and take it from home, which saved a great deal of time in both places. Teheran time was 2 1/2 hours ahead of U.K. On most occasions the Post Office telephoned several times during the night to confirm the call or advise of delays, which was very tiresome.
Monthly progress meetings were held in London, and at one of them I was asked to quote for additional work at Esfahan during the 2500 year celebrations, which were to take place before the new equipment was fitted. They required to talk with aircraft and I suggested they should do so on a mobile set which would be quite adequate. Our team would already be on site with the mobiles so without any fuss I quoted £300 which was put forward. At a board meeting a week later this was confirmed and the Pye member of the Board, Pat Holden who was also our International Marketing Director promptly withdrew it as I had not gone through the proper channels. The next day he sent for me and instructed me to cancel my quotation, and with a great thumping of the table told me to increase it £3000. Then followed a lecture that “we are here to make money, add a nought”. I told him the job would take about an hour and £300 was more than adequate. £30,000 was utterly rediculous. [sic] I told him “I was doing no such thing, put it in writing through the head of my department and meanwhile you are clear to return to earth”. I then excused myself and left him
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[page break]
to it. I returned to my own desk 20 minutes later to find a note asking me to go and see the boss, not surprisingly. I told him exactly what had happened and he laughed. I said I thought I had burned my boats with Pat Holden and David Smith my boss said “far from it, he admires you for standing up to him and asks you to forget it.” I took no further action in this and in the event there was no income at all, but the job took only 30 minutes for one engineer.
Another equally challenging job was the installation and commissio [deleted] m [/deleted] ning of a UHF system within the London Stock Exchange. This employed 520 adjascent [sic] channels. The Base Stations in the basement comprised a transmitter and receiver for each channel, all being combined into one “radiating feeder”. About 600 pocketphones on the Stock Exchange floor were used by dealers working into this system. An invitation to tender for this job had been received by Pye about two years previously and comments invited from all technical departments. It was unanimously agreed that the job was quite impossible and must not be attempted. Pye did not quote for it and the contract was awarded to S.T.C. Mobile division. Nearly two years later Pye or Philips aquired [sic] that organisation and half the installation had been fitted. About 60 channels were in use and very unsatisfactory. Dealers received messages intended for others and signals faded out at the crutial [sic] moment. Firms were receiving wrong messages and transfering [sic] and buying shares erroneously through these faults. The task of bringing the job to a conclusion was allocated to me and I chose my favourite team of Nick Fox, Aussie Peters and Jack Faulkener.
There was a local Service Dept. depot at the Stock Exchange of four engineers who were struggling to get the system working and we took over from them. On arrival there was a flap on, a dealer had acted on a false message and bought some tens of thousand shares for which he had no client and he was stuck with them. He said he was going to sue Pye for his loss. He dropped that idea next day when he sold them at a profit. The main problem was loss of signals into the pocketphones on the Stock Exchange floor but we were not allowed onto the floor during dealing times to make tests. Eventually we were given an ultimatum to either fix it or remove it and face an enormous claim for damages.
This was very serious indeed and I reported back to Cambridge. The Engineering Director, Frank Grimm showed me a copy of his comments of two years ago when he said the job was quite rediculous [sic] and impossible, and that was the end of it. No-one wanted to know, “It’s your problem Cliff, get on with it”. So it was back to the Stock Exchange, and I demanded permission to see for myself what was actually happening by being on the floor during dealing hours, otherwise there was nothing more we could do. The Chairman gave permission, quite unprecedented and we were then able to make a more scientific approach. We stayed on that evening and with Jack Faulkener in the basement at the transmitters we measured signal strengths which were astonishingly high and with no blind spots. Jack reduced the base station transmitter power at the input to the antenna system until even with the antenna completely isolated the signals were far more than adequate. This provide the mathematicians were all wrong and we were all barking up the wrong tree. We then carried out the most elementary test of all, whilst receiving properly on a pocketphone we transmitted on other pocketphones – on other channels – at a distance of ten feet. We had found the reason for the problem, simple R/F blocking which should have been checked in the Lab. at a very early stage. That evening we modified 6
[page break]
pocketfones [sic] , fitting a 2 pf. capacitor at the receiver input and completely bipassing [sic] the transmitter output stage. They worked perfectly, and with no blocking even at 2’ distance between portables. We had found the answer and the next day, friday, [sic] we recovered all the 160 pocketfones [sic] and over the weekend modified the lot. Everything worked as it should and the customers were delighted. We had received no co-operation from anyone in Cambridge but word soon reached Cambridge that all was well. We deliberately kept them in the dark until I issued a formal report. I had of course no authority to modify equipment but deliberately flouted this on the grounds that someone had to do something constructive or we would have been thrown out of the Stock Exchange. It did not improve my popularity with the people who could influence my career.
In 1979 after being responsible for some dozens of major projects three more Field Controllers were appointed, Dave Buller Mike Simpson and Clive Otley and I felt that a change was long overdue. Relationships with the Departmental Manager and his yes-man deputy Joe were deteriorating rapidly. I transfered [sic] back to Systems Planning Dept. and overnight became a specialist in Radio Frequency propagation. I was in a small team headed by Dave Warford, and including Lewis Wicker and John Ewbank, and a trainee. Our job was to plan Radio Links and area coverage systems, within the parameters laid down by D.T.I.
At the outset my knowledge of R/F propagation (or Electromagnetic Radiation) was limited to my practical experience of what had been achieved and what had failed to work. The theoretical aspect was highly mathematical but fortunatly [sic] the subject was well written up and the principles well established. Dave Warford and Lewis Wicker were a great help in getting me onto the right lines.
A typical job would be a request from a salesman asking whether a radio link on a particular frequency band would work between two specific sites and if so what aerial height would be required? The first step would be to study the Ordnance Survey maps of 1:50000 scale, and plotting all the contours on the direct line between the points. From this information a profile of the earth’s surface would be prepared including the earth’s curvature
[inserted] To be continued [/inserted]
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[page break]
[underlined] Dresden 13 – 14 February 1945 [/underlined]
At the end of January 1945, the Royal Air Force and the USAF 8th Air Force were specifically requested by the Allied Joint Chiefs of Staff to carry out heavy raids on Dresden, Chemnitz and Leipzig. It was not a personal decision by Sir Arthur Harris. The campaign should have begun with an American daylight raid on Dresden on February 13th, but bad weather over Europe pre-vented [sic] any American operation. It thus fell to Bomber Command to carry out the first raid on the night of February 13th. 769 Lancasters and 9 Mosquitoes were dispatched in two separate attacks on Dresden and at the same time a further 368 R.A.F aircraft attacked the synthetic oil plant at Bohlen near Leipzig. A few hours after the RAF raids 311 bombers of the 8th US Air force attacked Dresden. The following day (15 February 1945) the USAF despatched 211 bombers to bomb Dresden and a further 406 bombers on the 2nd March.
As an economic centre, Dresden ranked sixth in importance in pre-war Germany. During the war several hundred industrial plants of various sizes worked full-time in Dresden for the German War machine, Among them were such industrial giants as the world famous Zeiss-Ikon AG (Optics and cameras). This plant alongside the plant in Jena was one of the principle centres of production of field glasses for the Armies, aiming sights for the Panzers and Artillery, periscopes for U-boats, bomb and gun sights f or the Luftwaffe. Dresden was also one of the key centres of the German postal and telegraphic system and a crucial East West transit point with its 7 bridges crossing the Elbe at its widest point.
In February 1945 the war was far from over. The Western Allies had not yet crossed the Rhine, Germany still controlled extensive territories, and Bomber Command lost more than 400 bombers after Dresden. The war was at its height, the Allies were preparing for the land battles which would follow their crossing the Rhine, the Russians were poised on the Oder. This destruction of Dresden meant a considerable reduction in the effectiveness of the German Armed forces.
The Germans followed Hitler even after the liberation of Auschwitz in January 1945 when its horrors were broadcast to the world. They continued to follow Hitler even after they watched the thousands of living skeletons from concentration camps being herded westward in early 1945.
A quote from former POW Col H E Cook (USAAF Rtd) "on 13/14 Feb 1945 we POWs were shunted into the Dresden marshalling yards where for nearly 12 hours German troops and equipment rolled in and out of Dresden. I saw with my own eyes that Dresden was an armed camp: thousands of German troops, tanks and artillery and miles of freight cars …. transporting German logistics towards the East to meet the Russians.”
[signed] Jim[?] Broom [/signed]
[page break]
[curriculum vitae page 1]
[page break]
[curriculum vitae page 2]
[page break]
[autographed photograph of Lancaster bomber]
[page break]
[history of Jack Railton and Emma Sharpe]
[page break]
[history of George Henry Watson]
[page break]
[history of Herbert Kilham]
[page break]
[history of Herbert Kilham continued]
[page break]
[photograph of male]
[page break]
[history of George Henry Watson]
[page break]
[history of Jack Railton and family]
[page break]
[history of Jack Railton and family continued]
[page break]
[history of Cliff Stark’s early years]
[page break]
[letter from LMS railway to C.W. Watson page 1]
[page break]
[letter from LMS Railway to C.W.Watson page 2]
[page break]
[letter from LMS Railway to C.W. Watson]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Just Another Tailend Charlie
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir written by Cliff Watson divided into 20 chapters.
The Earliest Years.
Born in Barnoldswick, then in Yorkshire, now in Lancashire in 1922. His father ran a wireless business until 1926. He describes his years at schools and a move to Norwich. The family then moved to London where he started an apprenticeship as an accountant.
Joining Up.
Cliff left the accountants to work in his father's radio business. Initially he was rejected by the RAF because he wore spectacles. He reapplied and passed various written, oral and medical examinations. Initial training was at Torquay then Newquay. Once training was complete he sailed from Greenock to South Africa.
Southern Rhodesia.
After acclimatisation in South Africa, Cliff and his colleagues were put on a sleeper train to Bulawayo in Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe. Training commenced on Tiger Moths but he was 'scrubbed' or rejected. He was reselected as an air gunner and completed a course in Moffat, also in South Rhodesia. Hospitality in Rhodesia and South Africa was described as generous and excellent.
Postscript.
Cliff describes a run-in with a training corporal who took a dislike to him. Despite faked evidence he proved his points and emerged with a clean record and passed his exams.
Operational Training.
In August 1942 he sailed back to the UK. He was sent to Bournemouth for assessment, then on to RAF Finningley for training then RAF Bircotes for operations. Next was a move to RAF Hixon and its satellite airfield at Seighford. He married Hilda on 1st March 1943 during a week's leave.
Second Time to Africa.
He was then sent to West Kirby, Liverpool to join a ship sailing to Algiers, for further training. Their destination became Blida where they started operations on Tunis and Monserrato airfield. They then moved to a desert strip to the east by 250 kms. From there they continued operations into Italy. Later they moved to Kairouan and continued operations into Italy, mainly Sardinia and Sicily. Each operation is described in great detail.
He has included a letter in Arabic with instructions to take the bearer to British soldiers for a reward. At the end of his tour they sailed back to Greenock.
Screened.
After some leave Cliff's next posting was at Operational Training Unit Desborough where he helped train new gunners. Due to an argument with an officer he was sent to RAF Norton for correctional training. On his return his case was reviewed and the severe reprimand was removed from his record.
Scampton.
Scampton was Cliff's next operational base then Winthorpe for its Heavy Conversion Unit on Stirlings, followed by Syerston on Lancasters then Bardney.
227 Squadron.
Cliff joined 227 squadron at Bardney. Again he covers in detail each operation. His flight was later transferred to Balderton. During this period he was awarded the DFC.
Final Leg.
His squadron was transferred to Gravely at the end of the war. He did a photography course and was transferred to Handforth. There was little work, some unpleasantness and eventually a period of extended leave, a spell at Poynton looking after prisoners then demob.
Back to Civvy Street.
Cliff returned to Whitehaven to revitalise a radio company. He gives great detail about the improvements made. Later he set up a similar enterprise at Maryport. Wired radio services were set to become less popular and financially worthwhile so seeing the writing on the wall he decided to emigrate.
Kenya.
Cliff and family flew to Nairobi, then bus to Kitale where his father was.
Hoteli King George.
Dissatisfied with life on his father's farm, Cliff took a job as a prison officer. He and his family moved to Nairobi. He relates several stories about prisoners and their better qualities but in the end he gets restless and leaves.
Civil Aviation.
Cliff joined the East African Directorate of Civil Aviation in April 1951 as a radio officer. He and his family were relocated to Mbeya, 900 miles from Nairobi. His skills as a radio engineer were well used in this remote location. After 2.5 years the family returned to UK on leave. On his return he was posted to Mwanza, also in Tanganyika. He describes in great detail a royal visit. They left on leave in June 1957 and collected a VW Beetle for transport to Kenya. Their next move was to Entebbe. This was not a happy posting and led to a transfer to Kisumu in Kenya. After three years they transferred to Nairobi to spend more time with their children, who were at boarding school there.
D.C.A. Headquarters.
His role here was Telecomms superintendent. He describes in detail the operations of his section. This was an unsettled period in Kenya with many Europeans returning home.
Dec' 61 on Leave.
Leave was spent at their house in Wales then in May 1962 Cliff returned alone to Nairobi. His family did return later. By this time his father had abandoned his farm and was building radios.
On Leave June 1964.
He bought another house in Wales and spent his leave restoring it. His wife's mother moved in. In November 1964 Cliff returned alone to Nairobi. he left within a year due to the worsening situation.
Job Hunting.
Several electronics firms were approached offering Cliff's services. He attended an interview with Pye who quickly offered him employment.
At Pye Telecommunications.
He found his colleagues unhelpful. A great deal of time was spent on a Turkish quotation that had been in progress for 10 years. A quotation to the Iranian Directorate of Civil Aviation contained complications leading to Cliff revising the quotation. Later there was a complicated installation job at the London Stock Exchange. Eventually Pye pulled out from the bid but a rival company won it, only to be taken over by Pye. At first the system was troubled but after a simple modification it worked perfectly.
Dresden 13-14 February 1945.
A one page description of the bombing of Dresden.
Curriculum Vitae.
Cliff Watson's CV, dated 1976.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Cliff Watson DFC
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1989-06
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
192 typewritten sheets and photographs
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SWatsonC188489v1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Huntingdon
England--Yorkshire
England--Norwich
England--London
England--Torquay
England--Newquay
England--Birkenhead
Scotland--Greenock
Sierra Leone--Freetown
South Africa--Durban
Zimbabwe--Bulawayo
South Africa--Mahikeng
Zimbabwe--Harare
Singapore
South Africa--Cape Town
England--Bournemouth
France--Paris
Algeria--Algiers
Algeria--Blida
Tunisia--Tunis
Italy--Sardinia
Italy--Cagliari
Tunisia--Bizerte
Italy--Monserrato
Italy--Decimomannu
Italy--Trapani
Italy--Palermo
Italy--Naples
Italy--Rome
Italy--Lido di Roma
Italy--Tiber River
Italy--Alghero
Italy--Castelvetrano
Italy--Pantelleria Island
Tunisia--Sūsah
Italy--Syracuse
Italy--Messina
Italy--Salerno
Italy--Bari
Italy--Comiso
Italy--Crotone
Italy--Pomigliano d'Arco
Italy--Paola
Italy--Battipaglia
England--Desborough
Norway--Bergen
Netherlands--Walcheren
Germany--Hamburg
Norway--Oslo
Belgium--Houffalize
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Berchtesgaden
England--Whitehaven
Kenya
England--Yeovil
Kenya--Nairobi
Kenya--Kitale
Tanzania--Mbeya
Tanzania--Mwanza
Uganda--Entebbe
Kenya--Kisumu
England--Cambridge
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Braunschweig
Germany--Düsseldorf
Zimbabwe--Gweru
Zimbabwe
South Africa
Sierra Leone
France
Algeria
Tunisia
Italy
Netherlands
Germany
Norway
Poland
Belgium
Tanzania
Uganda
Iran
North Africa
Germany--Nuremberg
Iran--Tehran
Poland--Police (Województwo Zachodniopomorskie)
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Germany--Homburg (Saarland)
Tunisia--Munastīr
Tunisia--Qayrawān
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Cumberland
England--Devon
England--Hampshire
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Norfolk
England--Northamptonshire
England--Somerset
England--Lancashire
Italy--Capri Island
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
109 Squadron
142 Squadron
150 Squadron
1661 HCU
227 Squadron
25 OTU
30 OTU
5 Group
617 Squadron
84 OTU
9 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Albemarle
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Beaufighter
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
C-47
Defiant
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
ditching
FIDO
flight engineer
Flying Training School
Gee
ground personnel
Halifax
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hudson
Hurricane
Initial Training Wing
Ju 87
Ju 88
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
mess
military discipline
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Mosquito
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
RAF Balderton
RAF Bardney
RAF Bawtry
RAF Catfoss
RAF Desborough
RAF Eastleigh
RAF Farnborough
RAF Finningley
RAF Graveley
RAF Hemswell
RAF Hixon
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Milltown
RAF Norton
RAF Scampton
RAF Seighford
RAF Strubby
RAF Syerston
RAF Waddington
RAF Wick
RAF Winthorpe
RAF Wyton
searchlight
Spitfire
sport
Stirling
Sunderland
Tiger force
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
wireless operator / air gunner
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1671/30465/BCameronDCameronDv1.1.pdf
b0bff7f94bf1612f872c86b64efb811e
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Cameron, Don
D Cameron
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2020-08-20
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Cameron, D
Description
An account of the resource
90 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Don Cameron (173516, Royal Air Force) a pilot who flew Lancaster on 115 Squadron. Collection contains his log books, a memoir, a aircrew categorisation card and photographs.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Neil Cameron and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[Illustration showing Lancaster Bomber with following text superimposed]
World War II & Flying Memoirs
by Donald Cameron
[handwritten] To Neil & Diane
With love from Dad
Don Cameron
June 6, 2000 [/handwritten]
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
[Photo of man in RAF uniform]
[bold] How did I get to be in Scotland and England for 15 years? [/bold]
Most of you will have heard this story already, but just in case, here it is again.
In 1937, my sister, Miriam arranged to spend her summer holidays with a visit to Scotland. I went with Mum and Dad to see her off at Union Station. I don’t think the train was out of sight, when Dad said, “Let’s go off to Scotland too”.
I told them that I could not really go, because I had promised to go to a boys’ camp at a farm just north of Klienburg, as nature study leader. This camp was got going by one of my brothers Ken’s friends, Al Richardson. The boys were mostly from Dufferin St. Baptist Church. We had cycled up there quite often in the spring to get things all set up. Of course Ken could not go either, because he was already working.
Well my parents quickly arranged for Mrs Mascall to be our housekeeper while they were away and Mum and Dad took off for their holiday in Scotland.
1938 was the year of the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow Scotland and I was hoping that somehow I get to see it. We had friends, Dr. Ernie and Bella Pallet. We knew them as Uncle Ernie was a government veterinarian. He suggested that I should work my way to Scotland on a cattle boat. I went for that in a big way, so he
2
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
arranged the whole thing. I was to start my trip at the stock yards at St. Clair and Keele Street, where I was to get aboard the caboose of the cattle train. Actually I first had to climb up into the shunting engine, while they were hooking up the train, great fun for a sixteen year old. Then I climbed down and changed into the caboose. This part of my journey cost $2.00. There were three of us in the caboose, me and an old Glasgow man, as well as the regular guard. It was quite a ride. Canadian Pacific had started their express freight trains, which was something new at that time. I was surprised to see a spanking new passenger engine on the front of our train. I was able to sit up top and look out over the train and all around as we took off along the CP line across the city just north of Dupont St. very close to home, then out through Agincourt on the line that still comes through Whitby. As night came on I was given a mattress to sleep on and it was on top of what looked like a storage chest, with a flat top. Everything was just dandy until the engineer decided to slam on the brakes. This was no stop like on a passenger train. I went sliding, mattress and all right off the bed place and hit the front of the caboose. The guard had a good laugh. So did I, once I realised that nothing was wrong. This happened just near Trenton.
Next day, I had to arrange about signing on as part of the crew of the cattle boat. Apparently I was the youngest of the lot. They decided that that I should be pantry boy and that did not please me at al. I had hoped to be looking after the cattle. Strangely, the cattle were breeding stock. Usually, I thought, Canada imported breeding cattle from Europe, but apparently it worked both ways.
One of my duties was to take the brass ventilators off the officers’ cabin doors, polish them, and put them back on. I had them all set up in the pantry, perched myself on a high stool and started to clean them up. Well, the captain came by and started yelling at me. I hadn’t a clue was [sic] he was saying, although I found out later that he came from Port Gordon in Banffshire where my mother was from. Anyway, I got fired as pantry boy and was put with the other cattlemen. I was happy about that. We had a real nice smooth trip across the Atlantic. It was like a mill pond. A big Basking Shark seemed to follow us all the way. I had never seen one of them before.
There were all sorts of surprises; we were not strictly a cattle boat; we had other cargo as well. I remember watching as they loaded all sorts of stuff. I remember that there were crates marked Singer Sewing Machines. As we sailed up the Clyde, I was surprised to see the big Singer Sewing Machine factory on the banks of the Clyde.
We docked at Princess Dock in Glasgow, right in the centre of the city. We were told to wait board until Customs and Immigration came aboard to clear us. Well I sat for a good half hour and then decided that nobody seemed anxious to see me. So off I went. I had an address to go to and started off on a tram. I was meeting Emily Gault, one of the women who made our house their meeting place. These women were in Toronto in domestic Service. Emily worked in Rosedale.
We got together alright and I made some visits to the Empire Exhibition. Then Emily was to take me north to
3
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
visit her family in Thurso, right up in the very north of Scotland. I remember that I had a hard time realising that it could possibly be 11 p.m. and still be quite light.
[blank space - missing photo?]
My big memory from his visit was my first flight in an aircraft. The lane was a DeHaviland bi-plane with a crew of one, the pilot. The door to the cockpit was left open and I wondered how this guy could fly this plane and take pictures of the WWI battleships that had been scuttles in Scapa Flow back in those old days.
After that I went to visit all my relatives in Buckie and Aberchirder. Finally I settled in Aberdeen with Aunt Miriam and Uncle John. I had a great summer holiday.
My father had asked me to look at a course with the North of Scotland College of Agriculture. We intended to go into a horticulture business together, once I graduated from my training. I really did not want to train in Scotland and told him that I would much prefer to go to Niagara College for my training. The result was that I suddenly realised that I was due to report in Glasgow for my return trip to Canada, but had never gone to see the college in Aberdeen. Their head office was in an old Victorian building at 41 ½ Union Street on the 5th floor. The elevator was an old fashioned wire covered affair, which did not impress me at all. I took a look at the big mahogany door with frosted glass and gold lettering and decided this was not for me. Before I had turned to come away a woman came up behind me. She said, “You want the North of Scotland College of Agriculture? This way.” She seemed to almost push me through the door. I know she did not actually, but anyhow I was in.
Well they did have a good course. One of my spur of the moment decisions made me sign up for the course. So there I was a guest of my aunt and uncle which my Dad had arranged if I should decide to stay. Before I could start my course, they required a year’s experience working in horticulture. If I wanted, I could work without pay, in their experimental gardens at Craibstone. I started almost immediately.
As Craibstone was about 5 miles from where I lived in Aberdeen, I soon got permission to buy a bicycle.
I well remember the day war was declared. On Sunday, September 3rd, 1939 I came out from morning
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worship service to find that special editions of the Press and Journal were being sold on the street corners. Britain had declared war on Germany after they refused to withdraw from Poland. We had been reading about their Blitzkreig tactics throughout their take over of so many countries in Europe. I thought, “They will sink this little island!”
By this time I had finished my year at Craibstone. I started the course and I did finish my first year. Of course by this time Britain was at war with Germany. The government wanted to increase food production as much as possible. I was asked if I would postpone my training until after the war. I told them that I felt sure the answer would be, “Yes”, but as I was here at my father’s expense, it would have to be his answer. His reply to my cable agreed. The college then employed me at Craibstone as one of their gardeners
Britain had conscription, so one by one the workers were absorbed into the armed forces. I gradually took over different jobs. The last one I took over was to operate their big Dennis power mower. The lawns were to be cut with light and dark stripes and very straight. Mowing one direction I would make a light stripe. Going back the opposite direction it showed up as dark. The job was to keep all lines straight. Mr. Cox, their head gardener wondered whether I could manage this task. I was willing to try. He watched as I did a few lines and decided that I could do the job just fine. I must admit that they did look good.
My age group came along for conscription. I reported, showing my passport to show them my age. They told me that I was not a resident, just a visitor and could not be conscripted. I was amazed and asked if anything could stop me from volunteering. No, I could certainly do that. I made my way to the RAF recruiting office and volunteered for the RAFVR (Volunteer Reserve).
Eventually I was asked to report at Lord’s Cricket Grounds in London. We were in a holding centre until we could finally be sent to an ITW (Initial Training Wing). They were really pushing pilot trainees through at this time and all ITW’s were going at capacity. I was sent instead, to a bomber airfield, Hemswell in Lincolnshire, where the education officer did his best to teach us what we had to know. I did manage to pass, although more than half of our course did not make it. They were sent to a regular ITW.
After finishing my ITW course at Hemswell in Lincolnshire, I was eventually posted to a holding centre in the Metropole Hotel in Brighton. This seemed to be a place where trainees were kept until somewhere would be available to start them on their flying training. In all I was there for 16 weeks. It was a case of being present for morning parade, where a roll call ensured that you were present. This was followed by a march along the promenade, for no better reason than there was nothing else to do with us. It did not take long for a few of us to find that being in the tail end of this parade, we could easily vanish down a side street and be lost. There was a convenient Lyon’s café, that had delicious crumpets and marmalade. The local YMCA, I think it was, had a good billiard table. I became pretty good with billiards and snooker during this period. I did get a task to do in the post office in the hotel. Apart from sorting out the mail for inmates like myself, we also collected the old newspapers for
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disposal. I started doing the Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle, which developed my liking for good crosswords. We did get really fed up down in Brighton. A posting to Rhodesia came up, so I volunteered to goo there for my flying training. After getting various inoculations for all sorts of diseases, I got a week’s embarkation leave. Then I was told that since I came from overseas, I could not be sent overseas for my training. Apparently they had lost one or two who had just vanished once they were away from Britain.
Eventually I did get a posting to an elementary flying training school at Booker, near Marlow in Buckinghamshire. I was happy at last to be flying, but it had taken until March 23rd, 1942 to get to this stage. I thoroughly enjoyed flying. Apart from my actual training there are events that I will never forget.
Early in my training my instructor was flying us to an auxiliary field. I decided that my harness was not tight enough. I pulled the release and began to pull them tighter when I noticed that the horizon was beginning to slowly go around. He was doing a slow roll. I had no time to even attempt to do up any of my harness. All I could do was to brace myself on the sides of my cockpit and hold myself from dropping out as the ground went slowly pas as I looked down at it. When I told him what had happened he had a good laugh.
Again, early in my flying, it might have been my first flight (but I’m not sure about that), my instructor, an ex-fighter pilot got together with a Boston fighter bomber. The two of them decided to have a mock dog fight. It was great fun, but my poor stomach. It was not accustomed yet to this kind of thing. I sat, holding my stomach, but enjoying the whole thing.
My first experience at night flying was quite something. We took off into the inky blackness of the blackout. The idea was to fly a square pattern to the left after getting up to 1000 ft. Then as we turned to complete the square, we should find that we were approaching the landing strip again ready for descending to make a landing. It was a scary feeling, to think that we were actually doing this with no navigation aids at all. However after several circuits it gradually became just the thing to do.
I was in real trouble on Easter weekend. The day before the weekend I was flying solo doing circuits and landings. I came in to land, right in front of the commanding officer’s office. There was a gusty sort of wind and I had trouble getting the plane to land. Right away I remembered the important instructions. With any difficulty in landing, give the engine full power and go round again for anther[sic] circuit. I opened up the throttle and got the shock of my life. My port wing just dropped and hit the ground and the poor old Tiger Moth flipped right over, nose to the ground, leaving me hanging upside down in my harness. I quickly released my harness and dropped onto the ground. Then I remembered – turn off the ignition switch. I crawled back under the plane and did so. I was to report to the commanding officer right after Easter weekend.
I went into London for the weekend, and spent the time with my brother, Ken. He was stationed at RCAF
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headquarters in London at Canada House. Unfortunately I forgot the the[sic] last train from Marlebone Station left 5 minutes earlier on Sunday nights. I just missed it. In fact I saw it pulling out of the station. We went to Ken’s place overnight, and I got up and made my way to the station, but the train I got was not the first one in the morning. I was on the mat for not being back to base by 11:59 hrs. I had to see the Commanding Officer about that. Well it turned out that he gave me 7 days jankers for that. Then I had to wait to see him about my upside down landing. I was really down in the dumps, thinking I would probably fail as a pilot. What a surprise when he sent a message out that he did not want to see me about this, as he had watched my attempted landing and said I had done everything right. What a relief. I didn’t mind my 7 days of picking up litter etc. after that.
After 41 hrs. 5 min. of flying training at Booker there was another change of policy. There would be no more flying training in Britain. All training would be overseas.
All pilot trainees were to have a flying test after 8 hours flying to judge whether they should continue as pilot trainees or switch to some other aircrew training. I was told that I was to be sent to the U.S.A. for my training. We got the impression that they were sending the better flyers to the “General Arnold” scheme. I don’t think I was any better than most, but my 8 hour test was done after 41 hours flying.
Primary Training, Lakeland Florida. PT 17.(Stearman)
I finished flying at Booker EFTS on May 10th, 1942. We were sent overseas in the old ‘Leticia’ which had been converted into a troop transport. We soon found ourselves in Moncton, New Brunswick, awaiting posting to get flying once again. I somehow found that we would be two or three weeks, so applied for leave to visit Mum and Dad in Toronto. I got it! It was great to see them again and to visit with lots of people that I knew. Then it was back to Moncton where we found a good swimming hole beside a railway line, not far from our base.
Finally we boarded the troop train, which was to take us to somewhere in the southern States. One of our stops turned out to be in the Union Station in Toronto. It looked as though we would be there for a while, so I phoned home and told Mum which platform we were stuck on. She came down and was able to meet a good few of my friends who were training with me. I think she was able to spend about an hour talking to us all.
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Fourth row, fourth from right:
[photograph]
Course 43B
Lodwick School of Aeronautics[?] 1942.
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worship service to find that special editions of the Press and Journal were being sold on the street corners. Britain had declared war on Germany after they refused to withdraw from Poland. We had been reading about their Blitzkreig tactics throughout their take over of so many countries in Europe. I thought, “They will sink this little island!”
By this time I had finished my year at Craibstone. I started the course and I did finish my first year. Of course by this time Britain was at war with Germany. The government wanted to increase food production as much as possible. I was asked if I would postpone my training until after the war. I told them that I felt sure the answer would be, “Yes”, but as I was here at my father’s expense, it would have to be his answer. His reply to my cable agreed. The college then employed me at Craibstone as one of their gardeners
Britain had conscription, so one by one the workers were absorbed into the armed forces. I gradually took over different jobs. The last one I took over was to operate their big Dennis power mower. The lawns were to be cut with light and dark stripes and very straight. Mowing one direction I would make a light stripe. Going back the opposite direction it showed up as dark. The job was to keep all lines straight. Mr. Cox, their head gardener wondered whether I could manage this task. I was willing to try. He watched as I did a few lines and decided that I could do the job just fine. I must admit that they did look good.
My age group came along for conscription. I reported, showing my passport to show them my age. They told me that I was not a resident, just a visitor and could not be conscripted. I was amazed and asked if anything could stop me from volunteering. No, I could certainly do that. I made my way to the RAF recruiting office and volunteered for the RAFVR (Volunteer Reserve).
Eventually I was asked to report at Lord’s Cricket Grounds in London. We were in a holding centre until we could finally be sent to an ITW (Initial Training Wing). They were really pushing pilot trainees through at this time and all ITW’s were going at capacity. I was sent instead, to a bomber airfield, Hemswell in Lincolnshire, where the education officer did his best to teach us what we had to know. I did manage to pass, although more than half of our course did not make it. They were sent to a regular ITW.
After finishing my ITW course at Hemswell in Lincolnshire, I was eventually posted to a holding centre in the Metropole Hotel in Brighton. This seemed to be a place where trainees were kept until somewhere would be available to start them on their flying training. In all I was there for 16 weeks. It was a case of being present for morning parade, where a roll call ensured that you were present. This was followed by a march along the promenade, for no better reason than there was nothing else to do with us. It did not take long for a few of us to find that being in the tail end of this parade, we could easily vanish down a side street and be lost. There was a convenient Lyon’s café, that had delicious crumpets and marmalade. The local YMCA, I think it was, had a good billiard table. I became pretty good with billiards and snooker during this period. I did get a task to do in the post office in the hotel. Apart from sorting out the mail for inmates like myself, we also collected the old newspapers for
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disposal. I started doing the Daily Telegraph crossword puzzle, which developed my liking for good crosswords. We did get really fed up down in Brighton. A posting to Rhodesia came up, so I volunteered to goo there for my flying training. After getting various inoculations for all sorts of diseases, I got a week’s embarkation leave. Then I was told that since I came from overseas, I could not be sent overseas for my training. Apparently they had lost one or two who had just vanished once they were away from Britain.
Eventually I did get a posting to an elementary flying training school at Booker, near Marlow in Buckinghamshire. I was happy at last to be flying, but it had taken until March 23rd, 1942 to get to this stage. I thoroughly enjoyed flying. Apart from my actual training there are events that I will never forget.
Early in my training my instructor was flying us to an auxiliary field. I decided that my harness was not tight enough. I pulled the release and began to pull them tighter when I noticed that the horizon was beginning to slowly go around. He was doing a slow roll. I had no time to even attempt to do up any of my harness. All I could do was to brace myself on the sides of my cockpit and hold myself from dropping out as the ground went slowly pas as I looked down at it. When I told him what had happened he had a good laugh.
Again, early in my flying, it might have been my first flight (but I’m not sure about that), my instructor, an ex-fighter pilot got together with a Boston fighter bomber. The two of them decided to have a mock dog fight. It was great fun, but my poor stomach. It was not accustomed yet to this kind of thing. I sat, holding my stomach, but enjoying the whole thing.
My first experience at night flying was quite something. We took off into the inky blackness of the blackout. The idea was to fly a square pattern to the left after getting up to 1000 ft. Then as we turned to complete the square, we should find that we were approaching the landing strip again ready for descending to make a landing. It was a scary feeling, to think that we were actually doing this with no navigation aids at all. However after several circuits it gradually became just the thing to do.
I was in real trouble on Easter weekend. The day before the weekend I was flying solo doing circuits and landings. I came in to land, right in front of the commanding officer’s office. There was a gusty sort of wind and I had trouble getting the plane to land. Right away I remembered the important instructions. With any difficulty in landing, give the engine full power and go round again for anther[sic] circuit. I opened up the throttle and got the shock of my life. My port wing just dropped and hit the ground and the poor old Tiger Moth flipped right over, nose to the ground, leaving me hanging upside down in my harness. I quickly released my harness and dropped onto the ground. Then I remembered – turn off the ignition switch. I crawled back under the plane and did so. I was to report to the commanding officer right after Easter weekend.
I went into London for the weekend, and spent the time with my brother, Ken. He was stationed at RCAF
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headquarters in London at Canada House. Unfortunately I forgot the the[sic] last train from Marlebone Station left 5 minutes earlier on Sunday nights. I just missed it. In fact I saw it pulling out of the station. We went to Ken’s place overnight, and I got up and made my way to the station, but the train I got was not the first one in the morning. I was on the mat for not being back to base by 11:59 hrs. I had to see the Commanding Officer about that. Well it turned out that he gave me 7 days jankers for that. Then I had to wait to see him about my upside down landing. I was really down in the dumps, thinking I would probably fail as a pilot. What a surprise when he sent a message out that he did not want to see me about this, as he had watched my attempted landing and said I had done everything right. What a relief. I didn’t mind my 7 days of picking up litter etc. after that.
After 41 hrs. 5 min. of flying training at Booker there was another change of policy. There would be no more flying training in Britain. All training would be overseas.
All pilot trainees were to have a flying test after 8 hours flying to judge whether they should continue as pilot trainees or switch to some other aircrew training. I was told that I was to be sent to the U.S.A. for my training. We got the impression that they were sending the better flyers to the “General Arnold” scheme. I don’t think I was any better than most, but my 8 hour test was done after 41 hours flying.
Primary Training, Lakeland Florida. PT 17.(Stearman)
I finished flying at Booker EFTS on May 10th, 1942. We were sent overseas in the old ‘Leticia’ which had been converted into a troop transport. We soon found ourselves in Moncton, New Brunswick, awaiting posting to get flying once again. I somehow found that we would be two or three weeks, so applied for leave to visit Mum and Dad in Toronto. I got it! It was great to see them again and to visit with lots of people that I knew. Then it was back to Moncton where we found a good swimming hole beside a railway line, not far from our base.
Finally we boarded the troop train, which was to take us to somewhere in the southern States. One of our stops turned out to be in the Union Station in Toronto. It looked as though we would be there for a while, so I phoned home and told Mum which platform we were stuck on. She came down and was able to meet a good few of my friends who were training with me. I think she was able to spend about an hour talking to us all.
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Fourth row, fourth from right:
[photograph]
Course 43B
Lodwick School of Aeronautics[?] 1942.
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
While flying Oxfords, I was sent to Docking in Norfolk to practice the use of radio beam approach. Off to one side of the beam the radio signal was the letter ‘A’ in Morse code. On the other side it was ’N’. When the dot?dash merged with the dash/dot, they made a constant continuous signal and that was right on the beam.
My flying at Windrush was completed on July 20th, 1943. I was given a 72 hour pass, before reporting to No. 26 OTU (Operational Training Unit) at RAF Station Wing. On the train heading up to Aberdeen, a fellow asked what I was doing on this leave. I told him that I only had a three day pass and had no idea whether I was going to my wedding or not. I soon found out. Mary and I were married on July 24, 1943. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday too. It was in the middle of the Aberdeen Trades Week holiday and there were no facilities open for the reception. We had 14 at the reception in Mary’s Aunt’s tenement flat, next door to where Mary lived. My Aunt Barbara happened to be in Aberdeen that weekend. I insisted that she come to the wedding. She said she was ‘Black Affronted’ she had nothing to wear. I insisted that she come in whatever she was wearing. We, of course, had nowhere to go for even a brief honeymoon, but another friend, Jean, got on the telephone to another friend, Jeanie.
Jeanie had the hotel in Huntly. The phone call was hilarious. It started something like this, “Is that you Jeanie? Well this is Jean. There’s this couple just newly married. They just have this weekend. Could you put them up?” When we got to Huntly, (incidentally, my Aunt Barbara travelled with us on her way back to Buckie) we found that Jeanie had cleared out the Bridal Suite for us. (Short but sweet, the honeymoon).
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[photograph]
Operational Training Unit
Strangely enough, I was a day late in reporting to No. 26 Operational Training Unit, and even more strangely, nothing was ever said about it. Here, at RAF Station Wing, (Little Horwood) I was crewed up and we flew Wellingtons Mk. 3’s and 10’s. Our flying began on August 16th 1943. We worked up to our special exercise, dropping leaflets on Rouen in France. I have included this with my operational flying in detail.
During some of my night flying, I had a new experience. While taking off one night one of my tyres burst. I did manage to get the plane off the ground, but called up to let control know about it. My flight commander came on the
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radio and told me to just circle until all night flying was completed. My crew were of differing opinions as to which tyre was gone. I felt that it was the port main wheel. My bomb aimer was sure it was the starboard wheel. I decided to go with my own decision, because I was flying the plane, and it certainly felt like the port wheel. After many tedious hours of circling the airfield I got instructions to land. My flight commander spoke to me, giving me very detailed instructions as to what to do. I was to land using the starboard wheel to land on. I was to try to keep my port wheel off the runway as long as possible. I could expect the plane to veer off the runway as once the port wheel came down. I had to repeat everything back to him. Then he wished me a good landing, and said that he would be right behind me on his motor bike when I landed. Well I got it down on the starboard wheel, but as soon as we lost all lift the port wheel came down we veered into inky blackness. When we finally came to a stop, he was right there. I was calling each of the crew to make sure they were OK. He yelled to me to get out in case of a fire. Luckily there was no fire, but I did find the end of my port propellor imbedded about six inches behind my head. Nobody was hurt!
It was while we were here that Mary sent me a telegram telling me that grandmother had died. She did not specify that it had been her grandmother, so I figured I might get some time off. I went in to the commanding officer with the telegram and he gave me a 72 hour pass. I could leave in the morning after finishing all my night flying that night. By the time I arrived in Aberdeen, I had fallen asleep in the train. Mary had come to the station, but no Don. The cleaners came in, because the train had to leave again, so luckily they wakened me and I arrived at 31 Justice Street not very long after Mary and her uncle.
That crew of mine was split up after my navigator, Hugh Maher (pronounced Marr) RCAF, was invalided out of the air force and sent home to Montreal.
I was posted to No. 17 OTU at Silverstone, to take over a headless crew. Neither they nor I were very happy about this, but we soon got to know each other. They had not completed their OTU training, so I flew with them until they had all completed their various exercises.
We advanced from OTU first to 1651 Conversion Unit at RAF Station, Wratting Common, where we all had to get familiar with flying the Short Stirling. We flew the Stirling Mks. 1 and 3. I did not like the Stirling. This took us to January 5th, 1944.
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So much for the Stirling; we were off to 1678 C.F. Waterbeach where we were introduced to the Lancaster Mk.2. My first flip in the Lancaster was familiarisation with F/O Coles. Again we had a burst tyre. F/O Coles made a beautiful landing at Newmarket Race Course. On January 25th, 1944 we were sent to 115 Squadron at Witchford, near Ely. I was now a flight sergeant.
October 4th, 1943: Special Exercise
This was my first flight over enemy occupied Europe. I wondered how I would react. Fortunately I was O.K.
On this night there was a raid by 406 aircraft on Frankfurt, with a diversionary 66 Lancasters bombing Ludwigshafen. There were 12 Mosquitoes went to Knapsack power-station, 1 mosquito to Aachen, 5 Stirlings did mine laying in the River Gironde, 8 O.T.U. sorties. There were no losses on the Ludwigshave [sic] raid. On the Frankfurt raid there were 10 RAF aircraft lost, 5 Halifaxes, 3 Lancasters, 2 Stirlings. One of 3 American B17’s was lost. I was one of the 8 O.T.U. sorties. We were not aware of these other activities.
At this time I was doing my operational training, flying Wellingtons, at RAF Station, Wing. We were to go on a special exercise, our first time over enemy territory. We were to fly to Rouen in France, then up wind, a distance predetermined by the winds at the time. Then we were to drop our leaflets which would float down to Rouen to inform the French people a bit of what the Allies were doing 2.
It was a funny feeling to be flying over enemy controlled territory for the first time. Our route was planned for us, but unlike later bombing raids there was no exact timing. We were to fly south to the Needles (Isle of Wight), then across to Fecampe on the French coast, south to Rouen, and then west, almost to Le Havre, where we were to drop our leaflets. Then we were to turn north east to Fecampe once again, then home via the Isle of Wight.
The weather was fully overcast, but the clouds were quite low. We climbed into bright sunlight and headed for the needles. I had a rough idea of how long this should take us and was soon asking my navigator, Hugh Maher (pronounced Marr) if we were nearing our turning point. “No, not yet,” came the reply. It seemed to me that we must have passed the
2 I have included a copy of this leaflet in these memoirs (see page 16).
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[page written in the French language]
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needles when I asked again. He had not yet fixed our turning point. Eventually I said to Hugh that by now, I was sure that we must be right across the English Channel and over the Cherbourg Peninsula, and asked what his air plot told him. He told me that he had not maintained his air plot, because this aircraft was fitted with GEE. He had been unable to get a fix with GEE.
Great! Now I felt certain that we were lost somewhere over France. After establishing that there was no way he could work out any reckoning of where we were, I had to resort to radio. The Wireless Operator called for a fix – no reply. I asked him to try again with a priority. This he did. Yes, we were over the Cherbourg Peninsula of Normandy. I then told Hugh that we would fly north east from this fix. He was to use only dead reckoning navigation, no GEE. When we reached our intended crossing route of the Channel, he would guide us to Fecampe, Rouen, up wind to dropping point, back to Fecampe and so on. This we did. How ever after leaving the French coast, Hugh decided to get himself a fix using GEE radar. He was really worried. He came on the intercom telling me that he had just got a fix with GEE. We were not over the English Channel, but were over the North Sea.
A fix with GEE is a definite thing. I began to doubt Hugh’s ability with his dead reckoning navigation. To reach base we should fly roughly west south west. He gave me the course to fly. Eventually he told me that we should be crossing the cost. It was pitch black but there was no sign of a coastline even though the clouds were no longer below us. I told Hugh that we were certainly not crossing a coastline, but he assured me that he had been doing an air plot, dead reckoning since the Fix. Well I said that we should get an answer on the R.T. That was my job, so I called. No answer, I called using the distress call, “May Day”. No reply.
At this point I asked the Wireless Operator to ask for a fix using a priority. No reply. We were fairly low on fuel by this time so I said, “Same again with S.O.S.” Back came an immediate fix. We were over Brittany, in France.
To get home I had to turn almost 180 degrees. Then I gave my crew the serious news. One wing was completely empty of fuel. Both engines were using the almost empty port wing tanks. We still had a 60 gallon tank full, not much to fly very far. When the engines stopped we would pull the cross feed to use both engines on this 60 gallon tank. If they stopped after that was gone we would bale out.
Once again we were over 10/10 cloud, and as things turned out, this helped up. The airfield at Christchurch, near Bournemouth was having problems with their lighting. My bomb aimer was the first to see clouds off to starboard with lights going on and off, lightening them up.
We headed straight for them and I called up to get permission to land, asking what the cloud clearance was. I also told them I was very short of fuel. They told me that I had 800ft clearance under the cloud and told me to land. As we broke through the cloud, incidentally now using the last 60 gallon tank, I found right in front of me a beautiful runway lit with green lights at the beginning, white along the
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sides and red towards the far end. I did not care what airfield Command station, Hurn. Later in my career I was based at this field with B.O.A.C.
Poor Hugh! Once back at OUT, the navigation boys did a thorough review of his night’s efforts. They credited him with successfully flying to the target area and to the dropping point. It was the GEE fix that was the big error. The chain of stations were designed for the east coast of Britain. They were useless off the south coast, where we were flying. Previously he had suffered a severe bash on his head, coming out of a crew bus with his equipment. The rear slanted doors had slammed on his head. Later, while flying with another crew doing practice bombing with smoke bombs, they apparently had a very heavy landing, which set off one smoke bomb they had not dropped. He was standing in the astro-dome and figured the quickest way out of what seemed to be a burning aircraft was to bash his way through the Perspex dome.
They found that he no longer had the ability to navigate. He was invalided out of the RCAF and sent home to Montreal. My entire crew was split up. I was sent to R.A.F. Station Silverstone, where I took over a crew which had no pilot.
January 30th, 1944
This is the night I first went on a bombing raid. I did not pilot the aircraft. The pilot was F/Lt. Hallet. He was a Newfie and really wonder how he ever qualified as a pilot. When we crossed the enemy coast on the way home, he this was, I just landed. It turned out to be a Coastal asked me whether I would like to fly right back to base, which of course I gladly did. As we came in to make our landing, he asked me what the green light was, just before the runway. “There has always been a red light there before.” The light, of course was the glide path indicator. If you were high it shone amber. If you were too low it shone red. Right on the correct glide path it shone green. I explained to him what it indicated. On his next bombing trip, he actually hit the top of one of the Drem light poles on the way in.
However he was terrific as an operational pilot, and I picked up some valuable tips from him. He pointed out the slight difference between our Pathfinder markers at the target and the decoy markers dropped by the Germans. He also showed me a Lancaster going down in flames and the German oil bomb which simulated this. We called them Scarecrows. Since the end of the war, we found that the Germans had no such things as these scarecrow bombs. They had, however a type of gun and gun sight which fired up from below on an angle. They called it in German, “Slant Music.” Maybe this is what we saw.
Before the briefing, we knew it was to be a long tripfull load of fuel. However, it was still a shock to walk into the briefing room. There was a big map of Europe with a red tape running from our base at Witchford, across the North Sea, over Denmark and the Baltic Sea. Then there was a 90 degree turn south to Berlin. The homeward trip was right across Germany, south of Brunswick and Hanover, north of the Ruhr, across Holland and back to our base. I really believed that this was to be the last day of my life here on
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earth. Yet there was no thought of not going. After all, this is what all my training had been for. In fact this was some final training for me before I took my crew with me. It proved to be an excellent training trip. I did not know any of this crew I was flying with, but they did a very good job. F/Lt. Halley made a point of showing me various things, some of which I have mentioned. At interrogation after the trip they did a good job of giving an accurate account of what happened. I felt ready now to tackle such a sortie on my own. However on 115 Squadron new pilots always did two trips as second pilot. My next trip would be on February 15th, 1944.
This raid was made up of 534 aircraft. There were 440 Lancasters, 82 Halifaxes and 12 Mosquitoes. 33 aircraft were lost, 32 Lancasters and 1 Halifax or 6.2% of the force.
February 15th, 1944
This was my second sortie as a second pilot. This time I flew with a crew, every one of which had the DFM (Distinguished Flying Medal). The pilot was an excellent flyer, but in my estimation, not a good captain of his crew. I honestly believe they probably got their DFM’s in their fabulous interrogations, or de-briefings. I was really amazed at what I heard.
Fortunately it was a quiet trip, as far as contact with enemy fighters or flak were concerned. Again, the target was Berlin and we flew a very similar route to the one on January 30th. All the way along there was very little silence between crew members. One would talk to another and so on. My crew were never like that, even on local flights. On the ground we were just a great bunch of guys, but once inside the aircraft they were a real good crew.
There was a very unfortunate occurrence. After we had turned south from the Baltic and were flying towards Berlin, the intercom system broke down. There is a system of light signals for the bomb aimer to let the pilot know how to approach the target, to replace the, “right right” or “left” verbal instructions. Instead, the bomb aimer shouted his instructions from his position down by the bomb sight. The pilot couldn’t hear properly what he had shouted, turned the plane fairly quickly. The bomb aimer presumed they were being attacked by a night-fighter and jettisoned all our bomb load. There was quite a mix up until they set off for home, with bomb doors closed. As I recall, the intercom did come on again, so things settled down more or less.
In my judgement, our load of bombs were dropped well east of Berlin. Of course we were not told of other activities that night, but I did see a raid in progress in Frankfurt-on-Oder. I think our load was somewhere between these two targets.
Back at base we were ushered in for interrogation. According to that crew we had been attacked while running up to the target. The bomb aimer had taken an opportunity as we levelled off to drop our bombs, he claimed, pretty close to the markers etc. etc. I could not believe my ears. Mind you, from my point of view, I could not have had two second pilot trips with better teaching. The first on January 30th showed me how; this one showed me how not to. From now on I would be skipper of my own crew.
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
There were 891 aircraft on this rain, 561 Lancasters, 314 Halifaxes and 16 Mosquitoes [sic]. The records show that on this night, apart from this raid, 23 Mosquitoes [sic] attacked 5 Night-fighter airfields in Holland, 43 Stirlings and 4 Pathfinder Halifaxes carried out mine laying in Keil Bay. Also 24 Lancasters made a diversionary raid on Frankfurt-on-Oder.
Total sorties this night were 1070. 45 aircraft were lost, (4.2%).
February 24th, 1944 - February 25th, 1944
On the 24th, I flew with my own crew for the first time. We bombed the ball bearing factory at Schweinfurt. Then, on the 25th, we bombed Augsburg. On the Schweinfurt raid there were 734 aircraft involved, 554 Lancasters, 169 Halifaxes and 11 Mosquitos. This was the first Bomber Command raid on this target. On the previous day 266 American B17’s had raided this target. Bomber command introduced a new tactic on this night. 392 aircraft and 342 aircraft separated by a two hour interval. The first wave of bombers lost 22 aircraft, 5.6% of the force. The second wave lost only 11 aircraft, 3.2% of the force. Total losses were 33 aircraft, 26 Lancasers [sic], 7 Halifaxes - 4.5% of the force. These sorties were very similar and the same thing happened to us on both trips. It was a weird sort of route and seemed to last forever. Actually it was 7 hrs 45 min on the 24th and 7 hrs 15 min on the 25th. On both occasions we were routed over France and almost to Munich, before turning north to our targets. Many of our bomber stream wandered over Switzerland in error, The Swiss, true to their neutral position, fired anti-aircraft flak, apparently well away from any planes, but giving no excuse for the Nazis to say they were favouring the Allies. We ourselves did not track over Switzerland.
Our problem was with the searchlights around Munich. Both nights they got me coned in what were obviously radar controlled lights. One lit up on me and immediately the manually controlled lights swung right onto me as well. So there I was, very new to this job and feeling very naked; on view to the whole of Nazi Germany. To say I was scared would be putting it extremely mildly.
I immediately threw the Lancaster into a violent, “Corkscrew” manoeuvre. This is what was drilled into us once we started flying bombers. Mind you, I had never actually done it before, and luckily for me, we were taking part in a second raid that night, on Schweinfurt. What I managed to do was to keep the fires of Schweinfurt somewhere in front of me as I threw that aircraft down to port and up changing to starboard and so on. It seemed like hours that I was in those searchlights. Luckily the smoke from the target area blacked out some of the searchlights, and by this time the radar-controlled lights would be trained on some other unlucky aircraft.
Ever since those two sorties I have had a strong aversion to searchlights of any kind, even those used in advertising.
Another incident happened on the Augsburg sortie. Before we were caught in the serachlights, I noticed out of the side of my vision that, “Taffy” Jones had his arm up in
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
the air. What made me look round, I’ll never know, but we were very fortunate that I did. Taffy was obviously the only one who saw a Messerschmitt 110 attacking us from above and starboard. He was apparently speechless with fear, which is not really surprising, but could have killed the lot of us. As I looked round to see what Taffy was doing, I realised what was happening and gave the stick a quick shove forward. With the Lancaster II, with Bristol Hercules engines you can cut all engines by doing this. I must have dropped a few hundred feet, but we saw all the cannon fire pass overhead. I spoke to Taffy after we got back to base. I asked him to try to poke me, or something if he couldn’t speak.
On the Augsburg trip someone had timed our searchlight ordeal. We were coned in searchlights for 10 minutes.
Taffy was a very good and very thorough flight engineer. Once we were back at base, my thoughts were to get through our interrogation, then our bacon and eggs and off to bed. Taffy, of course had to give a full report which included dial readings of quite a few dials. He always was last one off the plane. I was always trying to egg him on. Once I had finished our tour, my ground crew, “Chiefy”, told me that they estimated we would last only about three or four sorties. They thought I was always arguing with my flight engineer.
Mind you, I felt that we could not possibly get through any of our sorties, even before we got airborne!
March 24th, 1944
We set off on March 22nd for a sortie to Frankfurt, but had to return to base shortly after take off because of the failure of our port inner engine.
On March 24th, our next sortie was back to Berlin for me and first time for my crew. As it turns out this was the last major bombing raid on Berlin. 811 aircraft took part in this raid, 577 Lancasters, 216 Halifaxes, and 18 Mosquitos. 72 aircraft were lost, 44 Lancasters and 28 Halifaxes - 8.9% of the force.
In spite of strong winds which were not forecast, we had no difficulty in reaching our target. Our route home was the one I had followed during two previous trips to Berlin. This was south of Brunswick and Hanover. Jog around the north end of the Ruhr, etc. If we had followed the route given me by my navigator, Rex Townsend, we would have flown right across the Ruhr with all its flak. Fortunately, many ahead of us made this mistake, and it was strictly because of a serious error in the forecast winds. At any rate, using the Ruhr searchlights for guidance, we successfully negotiated our way.
After that things began to go wrong. First of all our oxygen supply ceased to function. I maintained our height until we crossed the coast and were over the North Sea. This was very likely the cause of our troubles; 20,000 ft is far too high without oxygen.
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
[missing photograph or text]
[four obscured words]
Once over the sea, we came down to under 10,000 ft so that we would not suffer any effects of lack of oxygen. Another unforeseen thing happened. Low cloud had formed over all of East Anglia We must have passed fairly close to our base, judging from the talk we heard on the RT. However my navigator was not able to get us to Witchford, in fact, according to his findings we were still a good distance from Witchford. On we flew, my RT signals were getting fainter. When Rex told me we were approaching base, I realised we were nowhere near and were getting a bit low on fuel. Fog was forming on the ground. As it turned out we were very close to Ludford Magna in Lincolnshire. They were equipped with FIDO, the fog dispersal system of gasoline fires along both sides of the runway. I called up and received permission to land. It was nice to get down onto the ground that night.
If this trip of ours to Berlin sounds a bit tame you should watch the video, “Night Bombers.” This is about a sortie to Berlin just a week or so before this. You would get some idea of what all our bombing trips were like.
How I Became a Commissioned Officer
Sometime between April 14th and April 18th, 1944 I no longer was F/S (flight sergeant) but became P/O (Pilot Officer). This is a crazy, almost unbelievable story.
Up until this time on 115 Squadron I was a flight sergeant. My crew were all sergeants. We all used the Sergeants’ Mess. We all lived in one Nissen Hut. This was a very good way to live.
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
Our flight commander, Squadron Leader, George Mackie wanted all his pilots to be Commissioned Officers. I was well aware of this, but was quite happy living together with my crew, so did nothing about it. George Mackie was a typical air force guy, complete with a big handle-bar moustache. Incidentally, he was from Aberdeen. His family owned Mackies Dairy in Aberdeen.
I got pretty good at avoiding this little business of applying for a commission. However, one morning I made my way to the flight office. Very unusual, the office was empty, except for Mackie. As soon as I went in he said to me. “Ah Cameron, just the man I wanted to see. Take a seat at my desk.”
I could see the forms all laid out for me to complete.
Mackie went over to a filing cabinet, took out his revolver, put in a full six rounds and pointing it towards me said, “Now fill in those forms.”
He was laughing and so was I by this time. I told him that he could very well be court martialed [sic] for threatening me with his revolver.
Who would they believe with such a story, you or me?’ Well I pretty well had to fill in the forms for him. This is how I advanced from an NCO to a Pilot Officer.
One strange thing about my flight commander, he was not a pilot. He was doing his third tour as a Bomb Aimer. The pilot of his crew never got beyond the rank of Flight Sergeant. They were lost on a trip to LeMans on May 19th, 1944 after he finished his 25 sorties.
Apparently, our crew were the only ones who reported seeing a Lancaster going down in flames on that trip.
Mackie must have had access to all the interrogations. He told me that I was the only one reporting this. As you can imagine, he was very upset. He asked me whether there was a chance of any survivors. I had to tell him that if they were in that plane, none of them could possibly survive. It just blew up.
I was sent on 7 days leave at this time, so that I could purchase my new uniform. A friend of mine, who was in the RCAF, P/O Don McKechnie said that I should not travel in a NCO’s uniform, now that I was a P/O.
Mary and I had our photograph taken during this leave. We have it on the wall in our front room. A careful look would show you that the pilot wings are actually RCAF and not RAF.
May 9th, 1944
This was a very short trip, just across the Strait of Dover to Cap Griz New. We carried deep penetration bombs. Our instructions were to bring back the bombs if we could not identify the target. Our target this time was one of the rocket launching sites for the V2 rocket which could not be avoided until they exploded in London.
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Donald Cameron: World War 11 and Flying Memoirs
[photograph]
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We found the whole area was covered with 10/10ths. cloud, so we returned with our full load of bombs. Of course, we were still far too heavy to land. Our instruction were to jettison some of our fuel load, so this is what we proceeded to do. We emptied two tanks, one in each wing. One tank emptied just fine, but the other one emptied into the wing. The fuel ran into the bomb bay. The fumes from this fuel filled the whole aircraft. I didn’t realise that these fumes were affecting the crew, except the rear gunner, who was sealed from things in his gun turret.
It was not until I started to make my final approach that I began to realise that these fumes had made me a bit drunk. I certainly did not fancy landing without my full capacity to know what I was doing. Don’t ask me why, but I had not brought along my goggles. In any case I had to stick my head out my side window to clear my head. Mind you I had to more or less close them to just a slit because of the speed. Never mind, we made a good landing with our full load of bombs. I made sure that I had my goggles with me after that
These are a few other incidents that happened to us during our Bombing tour. Here are one or two incidents during some sorties.
Dusseldorf: April 22nd, 1944
597 aircraft took part in this raid. There were 323 Lancasters, 254 Halifaxes, 19 Mosquitos.
On each night bombing raid, one or two squadrons were given the task of being a support to the Pathfinder squadrons, who mark the target for the main force. We still had to try our best to bomb the target aiming point, but this was not our main function. We had two jobs. One was to give the Pathfinders a bit more cover. The other was to toss out lots and lots of, “Window.”
Window was strips of foil, the length of which were designed to appear on radar as aircraft. I believe the first time it was used was on a raid to Hamburg. It succeeded, making the German radar showing millions of aircraft. This provided cover for the main force coming behind us, but not for us. We had to try and bomb the aiming point, either by the markers, if available, or by our own recognition of the target. There was no problem; the Pathfinder Force were doing a good job.
This was entirely different from bombing with the main force. We were accustomed to a barrage of anti-aircraft fire, but this time it was not a barrage, they were aiming at individual aircraft, and that included us. This was much more scary; this was much more close generally than we were used to.
Duisburg: May 22nd, 1944
510 Lancasters and 22 Mosquitos carried out the first large raid on this target for a year. 29 Lancasters were lost, 5.5% of the force.
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Most of this trip was like any other trip, but two things stick out in my mind.
The first was as we approached the target. There were Lancasters circling everywhere, and cloud seemed to cover the whole target. They were obviously having trouble in finding the target. I instructed my Bomb Aimer, Attwood, that we would open the bomb doors as we ran up on the centre of the brightly lit clouds. If the worst came to the worst he should let them go as near to the centre of the searchlights as possible. Actually, this strategy worked in our favour. I soon found out the reason for all the circling. As we approached the centre of the lit up clouds, there was a big hole right down to ground level, and there, right on our path were the target markers. We were able to get an aiming point on our photograph. I was glad that we did not have to circle and try again.
Coming out of the target area, we had one of our many narrow escapes, and so did a German night fighter, who was heading into the target area to see what he could do. If he had been even six inches (15 cm) lower, or we had been that much higher, I am sure that we would have scraped each other and probably both planes would have been badly disabled and would have crashed. As he whizzed over us we felt the bump of the change of air pressure. That was the closest I ever got to a Junkers 88.
Cologne: April 20th, 1944
357 Lancasters and 22 Mosquitos took part in this attack. 4 Lancasters were lost.
After our Berlin Raid on March 24th, there was a change in the role of Bomber Command. Although Harris was still our commanding officer, he now came under General Dwight Eisenhower. This meant that the emphasis was no longer that of knocking out German industry, but was more designed to help with the coming, “Second Front.”
We had trips to Ville Neuve St. George on April 9th, and Laon on April 10th. We had some flak damage on this trip. Then it was Rouen on April 18th.
These were mostly railway marshalling yards, making railway transport more difficult for the Germans.
However, on April 20th, it was back to industry in Cologne. The Lancaster we were flying had one bad failing. It was very slow in climbing. All planes had various quirks, but I did not like this one.
Our route to Cologne took us to a point due south of Cologne, then we turned north to the target, climbing from 18 to 20 thousand feet. I knew that our aircraft would have no hope of making this climb and keep on time, so I instructed Rex Townsend, my navigator, to make our time at the turning point one minute ahead of the scheduled time. Unfortunately we arrived there one minute late.
I could not possibly climb to height without falling behind the bomber stream. I maintained our speed, but we could not gain much height at all.
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We went ahead and dropped our bombs on target and were immediately hit, I presumed, by flak. Two fires developed, one in the port wing outboard of the engines. The second one was in the starboard inner engine nacelle.
I gave the order, “Prepare to Abandon the Aircraft.” Then several things happened. My indicator light came on which tells me my wheels are down and locked. (I knew they were still up). Another light told me that I had the wrong supercharger gear on for landing. (Good, at 18 thousand feet I was not landing) Through my mind flashed the briefing we had before take off. The winds over the target are from 270 degrees. If we all bailed out, we would float right back into Cologne in our parachutes. I made a spur of the moment decision to blow up with the aircraft along with all my crew. We had it drilled into us that the maximum time we would have was 2 minutes, before the plane would blow up. Even today, I wonder how I could decide to kill all 7 of us. I guess it was the thought of floating back into Cologne in our parachutes.
Taffy Jones, my flight engineer, had clipped on his parachute in preparation for bailing out. He had the presence of mind to drag my one out from behind my seat and was holding it up for me to put on. You see, I was one of many pilots who did not have a pilot’s parachute. Instead, I had the same harness as all of my crew. This was clipped onto the chest when being used. Of course there was no room for me to wear mine, while I was flying the aircraft. I said to Taffy, “Just put it down there,” pointing to the floor beside my seat. Taffy told me, when we eventually landed, that when I said that, he was no longer afraid.” If he only knew!
Well the fires soon seemed to be dying down and both went out together. A pencil through the covers on my warning lights gave us darkness in the flight deck once again. However what would happen when I landed was anybody’s guess. Would my wheels lock down. I decided to head for our emergency landing field at Woodbridge. This had a runway three times wider than our normal airfields and it was much longer as well. It was also lit up like a Christmas tree. Two bright searchlights pointing up and converging welcomed aircraft that were in trouble. We could see these as we left the enemy coast. We were given permission to land. I instructed all my crew to take up crash positions as I made the approach, which they did. My wheels and flaps seemed to functioning normally, but we could not be sure. Then thankfully we made a perfectly normal landing. What a great relief!
Next morning my ground crew were flown in to examine the aircraft – C-Cameron. I never used the call sign C-Charlie. One of my ground crew decided to get up onto the wing. Hoe thought he saw something wrong from the ground. We watched as he reached down through a hole in the wing. He pulled out a live British incendiary bomb from one of our fuel tanks. We had not been hit by flak, but by incendiaries from a plane above us.
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D Day: June 5th/6th, 1944.
The Normandy Coastal Batteries
This day 1012 aircraft took part in raids on the costal batteries at Fontenay, Houlgate, La Pernelle, Longues, Maisy, Merville, Mont Fleury, Pointe-du-Hoe, Ouisterham and St-Martin-de-Varreville. 946 aircraft carried out their bombing tasks. Three aircraft were lost, 2 Halifaxes on the Mont Fleury raid, and 1 Lancaster on the Longues raid. Only two of the targets – La Pernelle and Ouisterham were free of cloud; all other bombing was based on Oboe marking. At least 5000 tons of bombs were dropped, the greatest tonnage in one night so far in the war.
Our target was the coastal batteries at Ouisterham. Although we took off in darkness this trip turned out to be our first daylight bombing. We did not use any different tactics which turned out to be a little bit scary. As we flew towards the target it began to get closer to daylight, I remember another plane from 115 Squadron came alongside me and we continued in a sort of loose formation towards the target. Others about us were doing the same, so that when we reached the target and tried to fly over the markers, we would have all collided. I was fortunate that I was able to drop my bombs on target, but there was no way that I could say my photograph would show this. As soon as the bombs were dropped, I climbed above the crowd to avoid collision with other planes.
I was due to go on leave on June 6th, but because of this trip, all leave had been cancelled. Mary and I had arranged to meet at Kings Cross Station in London, but instead I was on my way back across the Channel and into bed at Witchford. Fortunately I found someone trustworthy to waken me if leave was on again. As soon as he woke me, I was off to London. I was not too worried about Mary, as she knew where we had arranged to stay.
Instead, when Mary arrived at Kings Cross, she saw hundreds of service people but no Don. Somehow she saw this woman in air force officer uniform, but with a different cap to the WAAF of the RAF. She spoke to her and asked whether she were Miriam my sister. Of course she said yes, and that she was there to try to meet Mary. I had not been in touch with Miriam, but of course she knew of our arrangement to meet at Kings Cross. They spent most of the day together. Miriam took her to her office with the RCAF, and introduced her to some of the people she worked with.
Mary and I had a very happy week together. We stayed with Mrs. Clark who had a house in the Elephant and Castle area. We had a lucky escape with this leave. The night when I put Mary on the train for Aberdeen, while I made my way back to Witchford, the room we had slept in was demolished by a German bomb. I think it was one of their Doodle Bugs, the ones you could hear approaching and hoped would pass you before its engine stopped. Our room was upstairs. Fortunately Mrs. Clark lived one level below street level, but level with the back garden. She was not hurt, but had to be taken to a decontamination centre to get all the oil cleaned off. This was another of our narrow escapes during WW2.
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After D Day
June 14th, 1944. Le Havre. There were 221 Lancasters and 13 Mosquitos taking part in this raid. It was in two waves, one in daylight and the other later in the evening in darkness. We were in the second wave. The objectives were the fast German motor-torpedo boats (E-boats) and other light naval forces which were threatening Allied shipping off the Normandy beaches only 30 miles away. Both waves were escorted by Spitfires. 1230 tons of bombs were dropped including 22 Lancasters from 617 Squadron, each loaded with a 12000-lb. Tallboy bomb. The E-boat threat to the invasion beaches from this port was almost completely removed by this raid.
I reported no problems on this raid, but next morning, Chiefy Williams asked me what had happened. One of the propeller nacelles was bashed in, with the paint from a British bomb on the bashed part, another lucky escape that we were not even aware of at the time.
Including this raid on Le Havre, after D Day we did seven night bombing trips, mostly to railway marshalling yards. We also took part in 4 daylight raids, the last one on July 10th, completed our tour of operations. The final six or seven, although quite short trips were very worrying. We all felt that we could not possibly make it to the end of our 30 trips with 115 Squadron and the end of our tour of operations.
No. 3 Lancaster Finishing School.
RAF Station – Feltwell, etc.
After completing my bombing tour at Witchford I was sent to Feltwell. This was not far east of Ely. I was to be an instructor at this school. Crews came here after finishing their operational training, to get enough experience flying Lancasters before going to a bomber Squadron. I had to get experience in handling a Lancaster from a right hand seat, usually occupied by the flight engineer. They extended the connection of the wheel across from the regular control, for the instructor to use. The seat normally was fastened to the pilot’s seat and was clipped onto the right hand side of the aircraft when being used by a flight engineer. It was far from being comfortable. My complete training for this consisted of one afternoon, lasting 1 hour, 5 minutes. Now, I was an instructor.
Now that I was no longer flying with a bomber squadron, I found a room in a farmhouse about 5 miles from Feltwell in Methwold. This village consisted of 1 street, with 6 pubs. Our room had one 15 watt bulb for light. The floor slanted down from each side to a sort of trough along the middle. Mary came down from Aberdeen to stay with me. I told her that when I was finishing my flying for a day, I would fly over this house, and rev. up my engines, so that she would know I would be home shortly. This worked just fine until I once did an air test with another of the instructors. “Oh that’s where you live.” Mary never knew when I would be finishing. All my friends would rev their engines over the house.
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Mary, from about 500 miles north, could not understand the old man who owned the house. I, from 3000 miles away had to translate. The Norfolk dialect was really different to most English accents. His daughter and her husband kept house for him. They farmed a piece of land not attached to this property. The old man would sell her eggs from his chickens, as well as apples. In turn she would sell him any produce from their land. This was a new kind of family for us to experience. When we went on leave, to Aberdeen the old man would give Mary some apples. “Don’t tell Annie that I have given you these.” Annie had to buy her’s from him. What a way to live.
Some of the old Lancasters we flew at Fetwell were in very bad shape. Feltwell was not a paved airfield. We had to land on a grass landing strip. I had taken one crew to a bomber airfield for some experience. We were recalled because some fog was beginning to form at Feltwell. I took over the controls and flew back to base. They had lit some fire flares alongside the landing strip, but I had no difficulty in making my approach and landing. As I tried to turn the plane to starboard into where I was being guided, I could get no power from my port outer engine. I shouted to my guide to look at my port outer, as I could not get any power from it. He shone his light and yelled back that there was no engine there. It had dropped off as we landed. Years later I visited the aeronautical museum in Ottawa, with David, Patricia, Graeme and Heather. David and I were up looking into the cockpit of a Lancaster on exhibit there. Mary spoke to a man who was sitting on a bench looking at this Lancaster exhibit. Mary asked him if he had flown Lancasters. He said that no he had never flown, but he had worked as ground crew on them. He said that he had worked at No. 3 Lancaster Finishing School all the time it was in operation. I asked whether he had been there when the pilot of a plane that had just landed, asked the person directing the plane to shine a light on the port outer engine as he could get no power, and he said there was no engine there at all. He said yes, in fact he was the fellow who told me that there was no engine. What a small world. He belonged to an air force club in Oshawa and was very keen that I should join as well when he found that I lived in Scarborough. These clubs usually turn out to be just a drinking club, so I never did go near it.
After January 23rd, 1945, I was transferred to RAF Station Lindholme, near Doncaster in Yorkshire. This was a training station for Lancasters. We flew with crews who had not yet flown heavy bombers. They had a much more involved course of training.
I made a point of never looking at the students’ log books. I judged their flying ability from what they did for me. That was until I had one student, a flight lieutenant whom I thought was a danger to his crew. I looked in his log book and found that in his flying career he had never had less than, ‘Above Average’ in his records. I thought perhaps there was something wrong with me, so I asked the flight commander to take him up. He failed this man after a single trip and thanked me for letting him take him for a test.
On April 4th, 1945 I was sent on a flying instructors course at F.I.S. (Flying Instructors School) at Lulsgate Bottom, near Bristol, flying Airspeed Oxfords, where I did about 20 hours flying. This consisted of flying with only one
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engine, steep turns, really low flying, stalls, flapless landings, and forced landings (no power) – something called precautionary landings.
This turned out to be really great fun. I felt that this is how we should have been taught to fly Oxfords when I first started flying twin-engined planes. After this I became a category “C” instructor. While I was here, Miriam, my sister came from London to visit. We were able to take a tour through Cheddar Gorge and the cave. It was very interesting. The course lasted until May 4th, 1945, so of course Glen was born while I there. I was given 7 days leave to visit Mary and Glen in the Osborne Nursing Home in Aberdeen. They had to stay in the nursing home quite a long time because Mary developed a fever. They called it Milk Fever. She could not feed her baby, so he had to be brought up on National Dried Milk.
While on my way north I heard the announcement over the loud speakers at Crewe Station, that the war in Europe was finished.
Then it was more instructing at Lindholme for a short time. During this short time, I took some air cadets up for a trip in an Oxford.
I was still flying Lancasters as an instructor. However there was one interesting break. On July 6th, 1945 I took some passengers on what they termed a Cook’s Tour. The war in Europe had come to an end. My passengers were all service personnel from Lindholme. I took them across the North Sea to the Rhur in Germany, and we flew down over the Rhur to see what Bomber Command had done to German Industry there. In comparison, you would say that London, with it’s blitzes had hardly been scratched. It was absolute devastation.
On July 17th, 1945 I was sent to Bomber Command Instructors School at Finningly in Yorkshire. This is here I was paired with John Cooksey. Frankly, this is where I really learned how to fly a Lancaster. This even included how to land a Lancaster with no engines. Mind you, for safety’s sake the engines were left just idling, so that if I goofed we could soon have power. The instructor did the first no power landing and then asked me to try it. I came in with more speed than usual, thinking I was avoiding a stall. But when I leveled[sic] off for a landing I could not hold it down. It just ballooned up and I could do nothing about it. All he said was, “Do you know what you did wrong?” I of course said that I had approached too fast. He told me to try once more, and this time I had no problem.
John Cooksey and I got along together just fine. Neither one of us were really interested in becoming instructors. So I would put him through each exercise and he would do the same for me. If we did them OK and we did, we would spend the rest of the time exploring the countryside and coast around there. We were both upgraded to category “B” instructors. This is the highest anyone could be graded at this B.C.I.S.
I went back to Lindholme until I was sent to RAF Station, Snaith. This was a B.A.T. flight, where I was introduced to making a beam approach. The beam is a radio beam. On the beam we could hear a constant signal. If we
34
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
were off to one side we heard the morse code for “A” on the other side it was the letter “N”. One was dot - dash. The other was dash - dot, so that when they came together you heard a constant sound. This was done with Oxfords and Link Trainers.
1332 HCU (Heavy Conversion Unit)
RAF Station Dishforth
In February 1946, I was posted to Dishforth, where I flew the Avro York. This was just until I was familiar with handling this aircraft.
Transport Command. 246 Squadron. Holmsley South.
On March 9th, they sent me to 246 Squadron at Holmsley South. I was now a F/Lt. (Flight Lieutenant) in Transport Command, with my new crew. For the first time in my flying career, I had eco-pilot, and a really good navigator. They made sure that I was familiar with such
[photograph]
My Transport Command Crew at Cairo (jack Easton, Geof Sames, Gordon Megson, Me, Johnie Ottewell) April 26th, 1946
things as 3 engine landings and overshoots, flawless landings, ground controlled approach. This also included a GEE let down for bad weather approach. Then finally on April 15th, I started my first overseas trip. My route was from base to Castel Benito in North Africa and on to Almaza at Cairo.
35
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[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
Incidentally, my entire cargo was Sunday newspapers As we stopped at Castle Benito the ground crew were keen to get a copy of some. I told them not to meddle, but said I was off to see about my flight on to Cairo. They were pretty good; the cargo did not appear to be tampered with, but I am sure we had a few less papers. We staged at Cairo for two days, picking up the next plane to come from Britain. From there we flew to Shaibah at Basra. Then a long hop to Mauripur at Kirachi [sic]. Then another two day in Kirachi [sic]. Our next hop was supposed to be to Palam at Delhi, but we were asked to land at Jodhpur. This was my first experience of using a runway which was just a black strip of thick oil. Well I made quite a good approach to land right at the beginning of this strip, because it did not look to be very long. As I arrived over the
[photograph]
Almaza, Cairo June, 1946
hot black strip ready for a three point landing - the aircraft started to float upward with the very hot air rising from the runway. I was determined to get the plane down so I just waited until we stopped floating
up, then gave her lots of power as we started to fall. Hey, we made a nice safe landing after all, even if it was not too smooth. I was glad I had quite a bit of flying experience by this time.
On the way home from Delhi, we made the same stops, except for Jodhpur, but when flying on the final stretch across the Mediterranean, we had to call up the station at Istres in the south of France for permission to carry on, depending on the weather in England. We were asked to land, so we had an extra day on our trip.
My next trip was the same route, but straight from Kirachi [sic] to Delhi, no stop at Jodhpur. Again we were asked to stop at Istres on the way home.
No. 242 Squadron, Oakington
The next trip, we carried passengers, service personnel of course. This involved first flying from our base to Lyneham, which was an international base, complete with customs officers. We had seats fitted. They did not look too comfortable to me. We carried troops who were being sent to relieve some who were coming back to Britain. This trip was only to Cairo. On our return journey we were bringing one stretcher case, complete with a woman medical officer. The man had a brain tumour. One officer, a Naval Captain, which is a fairly high rank, did not turn up on time. Well I refused to hold up the trip for him, telling the staff that he could pick up
36
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
his luggage at Lyneham. I felt that getting my stretcher case to hospital in Britain was more important. There were a few fighter pilots among my passengers too. When we landed at Castle Benito, the plane just rolled smoothly along the runway with no kind of any bump. This was a rare thing for an Avro York. They could not be landed without a bump of some sort. My air quarter master (Steward) bragged to these fighter guys that I did this all the time. I reminded him that I still had to land them at Lyneham. By this time I was sure that Istres always asked us to land no matter what the British weather conditions before leaving Castle Benito. Sure enough, they asked us to land. However I told them that I was carrying an urgent Stretcher case and wanted to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. They did not hesitate to allow me to proceed. I realised that I had made one goof. The troops were all wearing tropical dress and wanted to change, but did not wish to embarrass the woman medical officer. I brought her up front with me and had told her that she could hear the various info. I received as we flew. When I pushed for not landing at Istres, she told me not to fly on if the weather was bad. The invalid was not that urgent. I had to tell her that there would be layers of cloud when we got there and maybe a bit of drizzle, but nothing to make it a dangerous landing. Actually we didn’t even have the drizzle, but did I ever bounce in on my landing.
Then I was sent with another crew to get some route experience for a trip to Singapore. F/Lt. Audis was the pilot. Well, after we left Basra and were flying down the Persian Gulf, I went back to have a rest. I don’t think I was really asleep, but suddenly I became aware that something was wrong. Even though the aircraft was cruising OK, I went up front and asked what the trouble was. Well the port outer engine was not functioning, something wrong with the supercharger. The pilot had decided to fly lower, so that he could see more closely things at ground level. However at the bottom of the gulf, we would have to climb to over ten thousand feet to get over some hills, before flying along to Kirachi [sic] over the sea. He got permission to land at Sharjah, where we would wait until a replacement engine could be flown to us. We were there from August 19th. to September 1st. Strangely enough a friend from my days on bombers flew the engine to us in a DC3 (Dakota).
Apart from one more flight along with another pilot, just doing an air test, that was my last flight with the RAF. I had flown total of 1201 hrs 50 min.
My flying with British Overseas Airways Corporation
While at Aldermaston, back at school, in training for my various licences, I flew once with Captain Green on an air test in a Viking aircraft , just for 1 Hr 20 min. This was strictly off the record and is not included in my log book. I also went up for an air test in a Dakota with Capt. Levy. This lasted !hr. 30mn. As we approached for a landing he suggested that I try the landing. I didn’t even know the speed to make the approach at. He told me the speed and said to go ahead. I would find that it would pretty well land itself. So I did land it and with a nice smooth landing.
I had to do some flying in the York again, which included landing fully loaded. I was sent on a cross country
37
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron: World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
flight with another First Officer, F/O Clink. However I was to be in charge. We had all sorts of different personnel on board. They came and asked if I was ready for dinner. As I was in charge, I was to them Captain. Well you have no idea of the fancy treatment I was given. Of course the stewards were also in training and were being watched. I have never been so handsomely treated to a meal before or since.
When I was fully qualified I was sent to Turn, near Bournemouth.
My first trip as First Officer started on November 23rd, 1947. Captain Phillips was in charge. We flew to London. On the 24th our route was first to Bordeaux and then to Castel Benito, then on to Lydda. This was a staging Post for the crew. The plane flew on with a different crew. On November 28th we took over a different plane on to Basra and Kirachi [sic]. On November 30th we were off again, this time with a Cast. Maltin. We flew to Dharan at Delhi. When we took off from Delhi, as we were gaining speed for take off, Capt. Maltin suddenly shut the throttles right down and exclaimed, “Holy cow!” This surprised me to hear him say a thing like this, but when I looked to see the problem, there was a cow strolling slowly across the runway. I laughed and said to him, “I have never heard that expression used correctly before.” Captain Maltin flew us as far as Lydda on the way home. We found ourselves as supernumerary crew. In other words there were two crews, but only one plane, so we flew on in the same plane, but with a different crew. That saved us a day, as we stayed with the plane right through to Castle Benito, but were delayed a day, I think by a sandstorm before returning to base.
The next flight started on December 24th, 1947. We had two children by this time, so Christmas arrived a wee bit early, but, neither Glen or Patricia were aware of that.
The name of the plane was Macduff. G-AGOF. We flew to London late on the 24th. Our take off was on the 25th. None of us in the crew were happy about this. Neither were most of the passengers. Captain Kelly came aboard and looked around at the long faces, and asked the steward if we had Christmas Crackers on board. We did, so he asked that a cracker be given to every passenger and every crew member. There was a tiny decorated tree just at the entrance, which on the York was mid-way up the passenger cabin. When we all had our crackers Captain Kelly said, “Now all of you pull your crackers and put on the paper hat.” That broke the ice and we had a great trip after that. We made landings at Bordeaux for lunch (Christmas Dinner), then on to Castel Benito and Cairo.
Both passengers and crew had an overnight stop in Cairo. Then in early morning we flew down to Khartoum. A lovely breakfast was waiting for us in Khartoum.
As we flew south from Khartoum, Captain Kelly asked me to go back into the passengers to point out any wild game. He purposely flew fairly low and I pointed out large animals like giraffe and elephant and such like. Two little girls, about nine or ten years old, latched onto me at this time. They had a great time as I showed them quite a few animals on the ground.
38
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[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
As for me, I was very interested in not only seeing all this wild game, but also we flew low over the Murchison Falls on this branch of the Nile River.
We arrived in Nairobi on December 27th and were treated once again to another Christmas Dinner. I am afraid the two little girls ended up sitting on my knees, one on each knee. This was hardly airline etiquette, but by this time passengers and crew were just like one huge family. When we finally returned to base, we received no less than 5 letters, commending the crew for a great trip. Most were being sent out from England on a scheme to grow ground nuts (peanuts), which turned out to be a complete flop in the end. None were very happy about going.
After Nairobi we flew past Kilimanjaro, quite a nice sight to Mombasa, on the coast of the Indian Ocean. Then we headed south over Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. This was our final destination and my first crossing of the equator. There were no celebrations on board.
Our return trip was still in the Macduff as far as Cairo. Then we staged, flying on December 31st in a York called Marston, G-AGSO. Between Cairo and Tunisia Captain Kelly gathered the whole crew up front. The radio was tuned to the BBC in London, and as the new year came in we had a bit of a celebration. We were unable to land in London because of fog and were diverted to our base at Hurn. Here was still a lot of cloud below us, but I suddenly spotted our base and gave Cpt. Kelly a nudge. He was determined to land at base, but the passengers must have wondered what was happening. To say the least it was not a normal approach, although to us up front it was certainly not dangerous. So we came to the end of one of my most enjoyable trips.
On January 22nd 1948, I did the same route again with Captain Bennett. Then my final trip was to India once again with Captain Buxton. This time we went one more stop after Delhi, to Calcutta.
I am not sure which of these trips this incident happened, but on one of our stopovers in Cairo, we arranged with a local man to take us from the Bentley Hotel (I think that was the name) to the Pyramids and Sphinx, with a tour up inside the Great Pyramid. We would pay him for the entire trip. We settled on a price. Everything went very well. I opted to ride an Arabian horse instead of one of their moth-eaten camels. All went very well including the climb up inside the pyramid, until nearly down inside. Then this guide decided he would like a bit more money. If we wouldn’t give him this he would leave us in the dark. He had been lighting our way with magnesium strips. Needless to say the poor guy was completely surrounded by us, and told he had better not try any tricks like that. I think he thought we would take the magnesium and leave him behind, but anyway we got out okay.
By this time, my left eye had really started to go blind. I realised that I could not renew my licence and so resigned from BOAC.
My total flying time, including air force and civilian was 1455 hrs 55min.
39
[page break]
[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
[medals and other insignia photographed on a black background]
[top] [RAF wings]
[1st row L to R] [1939-45 Star; Air Crew Europe Star; 1939-45 Defence Medal; 1939-45 War Medal]
[2nd row] [Bomber Command Tribute 1939 – 1945]
40
[page break]
Campaign Stars, Clasps and Medals
instituted in recognition of service
in the war of 1939 – 45
[list of awards]
[award certificate for those who served in Bomber Command 1939 – 45]
41
[page break]]
[italics] Donald Cameron World War II and Flying Memoirs [/italics]
[bold] Footnote to My Flying [/bold]
Mary and I were at our trailer up near Norland, when we received a phone call from our daughter, Patricia. She asked us what we would be doing on August 19th 2000. I looked at our calendar and told her that we had tickets for the theatre in Lindsay. We were going with some friends.
Well we were told to cancel these arrangements. Our three children had combined to give me a trip up in the Lancaster at the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum in Hamilton. They had joined to purchase membership in this museum for me ($75). As well, they paid $1000 for a flight of about 45 minutes in the Lancaster. It was a real thrill to be back in a Lancaster once again.
[colour photo of man and woman in front of a stationary Lancaster]
42
[photograph of Donald Cameron wearing his war medals]
[article from the ‘News Advertiser’ dated 3rd September 2000, including photograph of Donald Cameron in front of a Lancaster aircraft]
High times for veteran flyer
Second World War pilot revisits his glory days
By Jane McDonald staff writer
When Don Cameron headed towards a certain aircraft on a sunny Saturday, Aug. 19, it was as though 55 years suddenly melted away.
“He strutted over that tarmac like a 20 years old,” says Pat Boocock of Ajax, the 53-year-old daughter of Mr Cameron who, with her two brothers arranged for her father to fly once again in a famous Second World War Lancaster. Mr Cameron wasn’t quite 20 years old when he joined the Royal Air Force in 1941. Originally from Toronto, he’d gone to Scotland in 1938 to study at an agricultural college. After war broke out the following year, he tried to join the air force when he reached the age of conscription.
“They told me, ‘No, you’re not a resident’” recalls the almost 79-year-old Whitby man. He joined anyway as a volunteer and headed for the southern United States to train as a pilot. And although he qualified as a fighter pilot, by the time he got back to England, he was posted to 115 Squadron, part of the RAF’s No. 3 Group Witchford. This meant flying multi-engine aircraft like the Wellington and Stirling. But his favourite by far was the Lancaster. Mr Cameron remembers, with the help of his log book, his first operational trip to Berlin when he piloted a Lancaster, the heavy four-engine bomber, many of which were built at Victory Aircraft, the Canadian Crown corporation at Malton, Ont.
[photograph with caption “Don Cameron still hadn’t come back to earth after flying in a Lancaster bomber, the same plane he flew as a pilot with the Royal Air Force during the Second World War. He went up on Aug. 19.]
“I flew five different (Lancaster) planes,” says Mr. Cameron of his time on operational missions. “Then somebody would take one up (when he was off duty) and not come back.” He had his own close calls like a particularly ‘nasty trip’ he made to Cologne, the city in northern Germany on the Rhine River, when his plane had two fires burning as he struggled to get his crew back to England.
“Cologne was the scariest,” he admits. It turned out to be British incendiaries that landed on us. We were coming out of Cologne and I gave orders to prepare to abandon the aircraft. Then the whole (pre-flight) briefing came back to me … I realized then that it would be better to blow up there than bail out and drift back into Cologne. That decision saved our lives.” Another time, after landing successfully on a grassy strip, Flight Lieutenant Cameron asked a ground crew member to shine his light on the port outer engine which he thought might have something wrong with it. “There is no engine,” answered the man.
But the plane he went up in Aug. 19 had all four engines. Lovingly refurbished by a dedicated group of volunteers, the pride of the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum at Mount Hope Airport in Hamilton is the only airworthy Lancaster in Canada.
“I just heard about it on the radio three or four years ago,” says Mrs. Boocock. “I tucked it away in my mind but when my father started having heart problems, I thought we’d better do it soon.” She contacted the museum and was told her father could go up in its Lancaster for a ‘donation’. She and her two brothers came up with $1,000, which she says will be their father’s “birthday and Christmas” gift.
Mr. Cameron says he found the flight to be “quite similar” in many respects. “The only thing missing was the piece of armour plating that used to be behind my (the pilot’s) head,” he adds of the 45 minute flight that took him over Niagara Falls. And although it was “bumpy”, there was no need to worry about anti-aircraft flak hitting this Lancaster. One night in 1944, his plane came back from a sortie with 47 holes in it and he lost an eye after the war as a result.
“I really haven’t come down to earth yet,” says the happy and grateful family man. “It’s something I just never expected.”
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
World War II & Flying Memoirs
Description
An account of the resource
Writes of travelling to Scotland before start of the war and then joining the RAF Volunteer Reserve. Continues with account of training in England before going to Lakeland Florida for primary flying training, Cochran field for basic and advanced training on Harvard at Napier Field, Dothan Alabama. Continues training on return to United Kingdom at RAF Windrush flying Oxford. After getting married continues training at RAF Wing on Wellington and then on to RAF Silverstone and Wratting Common on Stirling followed by Waterbeach for Lancaster. Continues with account of first operation over Germany while still training at Wing on 4 Oct 1943. He then went to 115 Squadron at RAF Whitchford. He continues with accounts of first operation on 115 Squadron flowed by detailed accounts of operations in February and March 1944. Mentions that he was commissioned and then describes further operations to Germany and in support of D-Day operations and afterwards. Concludes with description of activities as an instructor at RAF Feltwell.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
D Cameron
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Sussex
England--Brighton
England--Buckinghamshire
England--High Wycombe
United States
Florida--Lakeland
Georgia--Macon
Alabama--Dothan
England--Gloucestershire
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Suffolk
England--Northamptonshire
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany
Germany--Schweinfurt
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Duisburg
France
France--Normandy
England--Norfolk
France--Le Havre
Florida
Alabama
Georgia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-03-23
1942-05-10
1942-08-11
1943-05-21
1944-01-05
1944-01-25
1943-10-04
1944-01-30
1944-02-15
1944-02-24
1944-02-25
1944-04-14
1944-06-05
1944-06-06
1944-06-14
1944-06-15
Format
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Thirty-eight page printed document with b/w and colour photographs
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BCameronDCameronDv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
115 Squadron
1651 HCU
1678 HCU
17 OTU
26 OTU
aircrew
bomb struck
bombing
bombing of the Le Havre E-boat pens (14/15 June 1944)
bombing of the Normandy coastal batteries (5/6 June 1944)
Cook’s tour
crash
Flying Training School
Gee
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lancaster Mk 2
love and romance
Me 110
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
promotion
RAF Dishforth
RAF Feltwell
RAF Hemswell
RAF Lindholme
RAF Silverstone
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Windrush
RAF Wing
RAF Witchford
RAF Wratting Common
searchlight
Stearman
Stirling
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
Window
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1695/27467/MPhillipsD1653229-180604-020001.1.jpg
64960b8eac84e58c3defaaabf1dee2cb
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Phillips, Daniel
D Phillips
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-06-04
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Phillips, D
Description
An account of the resource
40 Items. Collection concerns Warrant Officer Daniel Phillips ( - 2022, 1653229) who served as a Lancaster navigator on 460 Squadron at RAF Binbrook in 1944/45. Collection contains service history, documents, a letter, photographs of people, places and aircraft. It also includes his flying log book and course notes from his navigator training.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Rhodri Phillips and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] Preservice [/underlined] 1940 – 42 Brewery Clerk. Normal
[underlined] Service [/underlined] Aircrew (Navigator) Training
1942 – 1944 Varied
460 RAAF Sqdn
[underlined] Lancs ops 1944 – 1945 [/underlined]
[underlined] 1945 – 46 [deleted] Ops [/deleted] Movements [/underlined] [inserted] Clerk India [underlined] Loud. [/underlined] Normal [/inserted]
[underlined] Post Service [/underlined]
Brewery Clerk 1946 – 47 Normal
[inserted] 27 [/inserted] Colliery Storekeeper 1947 – 53 Normal
College Student 1953 – 55 Normal
Schoolteacher 1955 – 1982 Normal
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Daniel Phillips brief service history
Description
An account of the resource
Mentions occupation pre-service as a brewery clerk. Aircrew navigator training, 460 Squadron on Lancaster and then mention of post war RAF and civilian career. On the reverse a shopping list.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
D Phillips
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Hand written notes
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MPhillipsD1653229-180604-02
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Roger Dunsford
460 Squadron
aircrew
Lancaster
navigator
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2215/40621/BBurnsDRBurnsDRv1.2.pdf
13956a0faf79bfc21be66fdb3be96a72
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Burns, Bob
Denis Robert Burns
D R Burns
Description
An account of the resource
23 items. Collection concerns Warrant Officer Bob Burns (1525609 RAFVR) he flew operations as a navigator with 106 Squadron and became a prisoner of war when his aircraft, Lancaster ND853 was shot down 27 April 1944. Collection includes an oral history interview with John Usher about Bob Burns, photographs, documents, various memoirs of his last operation and captivity. It also contains recordings of his saxophone being played.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by John Usher and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2022-04-07
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Burns, DR
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Bob Burns computer compendium
Description
An account of the resource
Draft of memoir with contents page - giving service history. Followed by pages with reference to photographs for name and rank, deferred service, ground training dates and places, training in Canada, back home for service flying, 5 Group, 51 base, 106 Squadron, last operation, Luftwaffe pilot who shot them down, graves of crew members, escape attempt at Arnstein, ministry of defence records, Dulag Luft, Stalag Luft 7, return home and flying after the war.
Creator
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D R Burns
Temporal Coverage
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1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1946-01-19
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
England--Sheffield
England--London
England--Sussex
England--Brighton
England--Newquay
England--Manchester
Canada
Manitoba--Winnipeg
Nova Scotia
England--Harrogate
England--Lincolnshire
Germany
Germany--Schweinfurt
Germany--Arnstein (Main-Spessart)
Poland
Poland--Opole (Voivodeship)
England--Shropshire
England--Leicestershire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Cornwall (County)
Manitoba
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Eleven-page handwritten document
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
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BBurnsDRBurnsDRv1
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
10 OTU
106 Squadron
1660 HCU
29 OTU
5 Group
aircrew
bombing
Caterpillar Club
Dulag Luft
escaping
final resting place
Flying Training School
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Ju 88
killed in action
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
navigator
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Bruntingthorpe
RAF Cosford
RAF Metheringham
RAF Scampton
RAF Syerston
shot down
Stalag Luft 7
Stirling
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Raettig, Dennis
Dennis William Raettig
Dennis W Raettig
D W Raettig
D Raettig
Description
An account of the resource
72 items. The collection concerns the wartime service of Leading Aircraftman Dennis William Raettig (b. 1920, 1136657 Royal Air Force). Joining the Royal Air Force reserve in 1941 he trained as a flight mechanic (Engines) before being posted to 104 Squadron (Wellingtons) at RAF Driffield. This squadron number was later changed to 158 Squadron flying Halifax at RAF East Moor, followed by moves to RAF Rufford and Lisset. The collection consists of a memoir, correspondence with family and acquaintances, family history, service and personal documentation, lucky charms,personal items, cap, boots, squadron tie, research on bombing in Hull as well as photographs of air and ground crew and aircraft. It also includes an oral history interview with Joan Raettig (Dennis Raettig's wife).
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Sue Burn and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-06-23
2016-07-08
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Raettig, DW
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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104/158 Squadron Bomber Command
[photograph of a Wellington]
I started my Air Force life as a Flt./Mechanic (Engines) at Squires Gate, Blackpool, in January 1941. Everyone remembers their service number – in my case 1136657 – and their first months in the forces. The endless marching around, inspections and going for your ‘jabs’ – mine took place in a church hall [italics] ‘Suffer Little Children” [/italics] was written above the stage. Not having been inoculated before, I didn’t really know what to expect, but at the front of the queue grown men were fainting even before they got to the doctor! A punch in the middle of the back by the orderlies seemed to be the cure – it certainly cured me!
It is possible that I am the longest serving member of 158 Squadron, posted to B Flight, 104 Squadron, 4 Group Bomber Command, at Driffield, in the 2nd week of August, 1941. Driffield aerodrome was built in the early 30’s, with the usual living quarters and 4 hangers – there were no runways, just a large grass field, the standard for an airfield in those pre-war days. The aerodrome had previously been bombed - a barrack block and a hanger had been badly [inserted] damaged [/inserted], it was rumoured that several personnel had perished.
104 Squadron was composed of 2 Flights of Vickers Wellington Mk. 2 bombers, powered by Rolls Royce Merlin X engines. The airframe was of geodetic construction, covered by a fabric which was stitched on with a very strong twine. It was designed by Barnes Wallis, who a few years earlier, had been involved with the airship R100 which was built at near-by Howden. The aircraft were mainly disbursed around the airfield, but some were parked in a field across a road which skirted the ‘drome. There was also a Blind Approach Training Flight, with 2 Whitley [inserted] bombers [/inserted], a Fairey Battle used for target towing for air-to-air firing; and most unexpectedly – an Autogiro – definitely not a helicopter! (used for weather observations over the North Sea) I serviced it on 2 or 3 occasions; and finally 4 Westland Lysanders, which were attached to a nearby army unit.
It was during October of that year (1941) that we were confined to camp. A number of aircrew and groundcrew were given 48 hours leave and the rest of us told that we had to prepare the aircraft for a special mission. We were later told that they were all going to Malta and spares would also be loaded on the ‘planes. As soon as I heard of the destination I volunteered to go (due to an accident, my parents were stranded on the island – and later Egypt) I was told that if any of the groundcrew failed to return from leave I would be considered. As it turned out one person failed to return on time and I was actually on the ‘plane when he turned up. [deleted] It was to be an [/deleted]
Aircraft and crews were soon replaced but it was around this time that U Uncle ([deleted] the [/deleted] [inserted] a [/inserted] dual controlled training aircraft) crash landed. This was my time to take over servicing the ‘plane and as new aircrews arrived they all took their turn on the ‘circuits and bumps’ training. However, a few days later I was reading D.R.O’s (remember Daily Routine Orders?) One paragraph read (roughly) that anybody who could successfully design a means of hiding the exhausts on the Merlin engine would receive an award of £200 (the stubs glowed red hot and were thought to be an easy target for enemy fighters). I thought no more about it until someone came from our office and told me that U would be the aircraft to test any of the designs and that I had to move my ‘plane to the parking area across the road from the main airfield and to take reasonable precautions in case of fire. That afternoon I got the tractor to tow U across the road to the parking area
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[deleted] Across the road] [/deleted] and [deleted] I [/deleted] surrounded it with as many fire extinguishers as I could get hold of. The following day the first test arrived in the shape of a cowling to be fitted on the starboard engine, on the inboard [inserted] side [/inserted] so that I could see it all the time I was testing. After fitting the cowling to the engine, I started up the engine and waited for the oil pressure g[inserted]u[/inserted]age to ‘break’, but it was obvious from the way exhaust gases came out that it was a failure. Over a period of several days more were tested until one passed the ground test, so I asked for an aircrew to fly the aircraft. When the crew came out and I explained what the test was they refused to fly it – well any sane person would, wouldn’t they? However, we came to a compromise by agreeing that just the pilot and I would fly as low as possible within the confines of the airfield – which we did – it was a case of ‘Down quick’. On the third occasion of a test flight the airframe mechanic asked if he could go up as he wanted to do a check. I told him no it was too dangerous, however he said it was fairly important for him to check the wing in flight, so the three of us went on the test. Very quickly it was a case of ‘down, down’ both from me and the airframe mech.. Apart from the exhaust burning the cowling, the starboard wing had ‘ballooned’ due to the cord stitching the fabric had worn away. It was all down to the skill of the pilot, he quickly feathered the prop., somehow managing to control the landing despite having a damaged wing, and landed safely. However, all our troubles were not quite over – having had to cut the starboard engine the hydraulic pump no longer worked the flaps or the brakes. So the Pilot’s problem was how to stop the aircraft from crashing into two 500 gal. petrol bowsers on the perimeter track just in front of the hanger. Fortunately, it stopped about 20 yards away. That was the end of U Uncle – the next day it was loaded onto a ‘Queen Mary’ lorry back to the Vickers factory. The problem of the glow from the exhaust system took a little longer – a few days later we received some cans of a specially thick red paint developed by I.C.I., with instructions to paint it thickly on to the exhaust stubs, which was duly applied. When the engines were run the heat turned the red paint black – problem solved.
… and now we are 158 Squadron
As autumn turned to winter it became obvious that without runways, the aircraft would be in difficulties with take-off and landing. At one stage we helped to lay a steel wire ‘runway’, which was duly tested but considered unworkable, so it had been decided some of the aircraft would operate from R.A.F. Pocklington, at the foot of the Yorkshire Wolds.
Due to the lack of living quarters, some of the ground crew were based at nearby R.A.F. Melbourne (which was in the early stages of being built) and bussed to and from Pocklington every day. The bus used to drop us at the end of a short lane to our billet, where a farmer had conveniently (for us) built a potato pie to protect his crop from being frosted. There were about 15 of us and as each one passed the pie they helped them selves to a potato, then on to the cookhouse for tea. One of the gang would talk to the cook, while one of us grabbed a packet of margarine, which we soon found on a shelf at the other end of the counter. Later in the evening in front of a red-hot stove we baked and ate our baked potatoes – never have they tasted better! However, as they [sic] saying goes, all good things must come to an end, as an officer arrived one evening and ‘tore a strip off us’
It was during mid February at Pocklington that we were informed that we were now 158 Squadron and the recognition letters on the sides of the aircraft changed from EP to NP, so as we prepared for operations the airframe mechanic did the necessary alterations to the lettering. That evening the aircraft flew with the new insignia and more importantly, all returned safely from that first operation of the new squadron. 2 or 3 other raids were carried out from Pocklington with the loss of 1 aircraft.
The new squadron then returned to our own base at Driffield, and for the next 3 months was engaged in many raids on enemy targets in which many brave men lost their lives. Some however, were captured and for the rest of the war interned in P.O.W. camps. During early May, we were informed that the squadron was to move to another station and be equipped with Halifax Mk 2 Bombers. In due course we moved to different stations to learn more about these ‘planes.
About 20 of us went to RAF Leeming. The first question any sensible airman should ask on arriving at a new station is “What’s the grub like?” – the answer here at Leeming was mind blowing – pictures of a pre-war summer day, mother bringing a cool green salad to the table in the back garden and as a special treat a slice of [italics] pork-pie [/italics] – here the dream ended. Pork Pies (about 3” diam.) were available for breakfast, dinner, tea and supper at this station. You soon got your fill of them – it was a few years before I tasted another! On the whole our stay was like a holi-
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day as we had no responsibilities and the weather was fine enough for some of us to swim in a small river at the edge of the ‘drome – including my friend Doug. Waddie, who not having any swimming trunks decided to hide behind some bushes and wrap his loins (ahem!) in 2 large handkerchiefs, jumped into the fast running river and immediately lost his dignity much to the amusement of a group of WAAF. I quickly picked up his towel and threw it across, but unfortunately my aim wasn’t good and it landed in the water – there was a great cheer as Doug. revealed all, to retrieve his towel. Shortly after this dramatic incident I was ordered back to Driffield, as I went down the narrow road from the Leeming ‘drome I noticed a fairly new factory with a notice ‘Pork Pie Products’ – so if any of you get posted there, you know what to expect!
Arriving back at Driffield, I was told that I had to report to the Group Captain. On entering his office he told me that he was as mystified as me as to what was going on but I had to check all the remaining aircraft and await further orders. One of my airframe friends joined me later in the day, and together we inspected the planes – there were only 8 or 9 Wellingtons left of the original squadron plus the Whitleys of the B.A.T. flight who had [deleted] there [/deleted] [inserted] their [/inserted] own service crews. On the next day more tradesmen arrived and we serviced those few planes. The following day, the 30th May 1942, was to be an important day in Bomber Command history. We were told to prepare the planes for a special raid. Regardless of trade we all helped each other – whether it was filling up with fuel or bombing-up and finally the aircrews came out started the engines and where [sic] off. It was an amazing sight, as squadron after squadron flew overhead for quite a long time. It was of course the first 1,000 bomber raid. Target Cologne. Two days later the planes were again prepared for ops. This time the target was Essen. That was the last Wellington bombing raid from Driffield by 158 Squadron. A few days later we rejoined the main squadron at the new station…
R.A.F. EAST MOOR
[photograph of a Halifax Mk 2 Aircraft]
Halifax Mk 2 4 Rolls-Royce Merlin XXII
About 9 miles north of York, close to the hamlet of Sutton-on-the-Forest, East Moor was one if the new breed of satellite stations, with well dispersed living quarters in the wooded areas.
The first days were filled with lectures mainly about the new aircraft and one I particularly remember was about security. After this meeting 2 or 3 of us decided to go down to the local ‘watering hole’, but just as we were leaving I was called back to ‘see in’ B Flight’s first new Halifax bomber. About half an hour later I went to meet my friends at the village pub and I saw them talking to a couple of civilians who on my entry, quickly left the premises. I was surprised at their quick exit and asked the lads what had happened. On being told that they had been asking questions about what type of aircraft etc., I asked the landlord permission to use his ‘phone and called the civil police and our own service police. On returning to camp we were interrogated by our police, but heard nothing further.
During the next few days, aircrew and groundcrew were arriving to bring the squadron up to strength. Again I was allocated to P, and was quickly introduced to the new aircrew as they came to test their ‘plane. When the crew came for their next flight I asked the pilot for permission for my new assistant (straight from training school) and I to go up for our first flight in a Halifax. We all climbed on board, and had a very pleasant flight on a lovely summer’s day – except the pilot didn’t warn us that he was going to do a few tests. The first inkling was when the outer starboard engine was stopped then feathered, next the starboard-inner, the nose dropped slightly and was corrected by the pilot, then the port-inner was stopped and immediately restarted when the nose dropped. Test over, and as the pilot lowered the undercarriage preparing to land, a horn sounded, not having heard this before, I asked the Flight Engineer what it was for. “It’s a warning to indicate that the landing-gear hasn’t locked” was the response. The pilot was receiving instructions over the radio. Climbing higher, he went into a fairly steep dive as he attempted to lower the under-
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carriage – still the horn sounded. After a few more attempts he was told to use-up some fuel, then land. All aircrew were ordered to crash positions between the main spars, while my assistant and I lay on the floor with our arms protecting our heads. It was a great relief when I heard the screech of tyres as we touched down – the horn continued all the time till we got to our base. Later, a ground check was made and an electrical fault was found on the system.
Towards the end of the first month at East Moor, planes were prepared for a raid which we learned later was the 3rd 1,000 bomber raid. This time against Bremen. During that month of June several raids were carried out and any loss of aircraft was keenly felt throughout the squadron, partly because we were such a small unit – 2 Flights – 16 aircraft maximum. [inserted] One [deleted] new [/deleted] innovation to our routeen [sic] was the introduction of a heater van [/inserted]
The following story may seem incredible, but it actually happened. All I can assume is that a certain Canadian F/Sgt. rear gunner found a cheap way of getting someone else to pay for his beer – My aircraft was based close to a narrow country road and one afternoon I was working by myself, on top of one of the engines changing plugs when I heard children laughing close by. Looking down I was horrified to see a lady and two young children (about 4 or 5 years old) sat by the side of the plane with a tablecloth spread out with plates of sandwiches, then from behind I heard a man call his wife to ‘come and look at this’. Turning round I saw a man looking into the aircraft though the entrance hatch. I told him to leave the field as he was trespassing. He said he wasn’t trespassing as he had arranged to meet his friend Flt/Sgt - - who had promised to take them on a flight and if I wasn’t careful he would report me to his friend and get me put on a charge. This was getting very silly, so I told him to go to ‘that building over there’ pointing to the guardhouse and they would get hold of his friend for him. So off he went. I don’t know what happened but he never came back for his free flight. Warning! If any of you get called up again (there’s no knowing the way things are just now, they are short of recruits) don’t try the free drinks trick on me, unless you pass me a bottle or two.
[italics] It was around this time that a Group Captain from a neighbouring ‘drome insisted on holding an inspection of all personnel once a month (I must have been born with 2 left feet!). His name was Gp. Captain John Whitley and he was later to become very important to me [/italics].
The Squadron was heavily engaged in August and suffered many losses, but one cheery note was that P.O. Chambers, who had been with the Squadron since the Driffield days, finished his tour of ops.. September was also a very busy month but towards the end we were less busy and I ‘volunteered’ (you, you & you!) for a special mission, in late October. Actually, there were six or so groundcrew, an MT driver and a bus. The instructions were to drive 10 miles south of York on the A19, open the secret instructions and carry on from there. Arriving at the 10 mile spot, the secret instructions were opened. We were to proceed the RAF Harwell and to prepare our Halifax aircraft for [underlined] Glider towing [/underlined]. As we were driven down we discussed the implications and came to the conclusion that someone ‘high up’ didn’t know what he was talking about – not unusual! As far as we knew, none of our aircrews had any training for towing gliders. However, on to Harwell, or so we thought, but leaving the road directions to the driver, it was a little surprising when we entered a small town whose main claim to fame was a statue of a lady riding a cock horse (what ever that is). Fortunately, one of the party knew the area, so beating a hasty retreat – (which included reversing into the statue) and sped like the devil in case anyone had noticed our arrival). We were late reaching the gates of RAF Harwell, only to be told that the operation had been cancelled – and no we couldn’t be admitted to the camp. Our driver pointed out that he had already driven over 8 hours and wouldn’t drive any further, so we had no alternative but to find somewhere to stay for the night. Fortunately there was a farmer near by who agreed to let us stay the night in his stables and led the horses into a field. We had a restless (and smelly) night and set off early next morning for our journey back.
On arrival, we were so exhausted that we went straight to our hut (most of the party were in my hut) and lay on our beds and began to doze off only to be wakened by a Flt/Sgt. telling us that we were supposed to be working on the planes and if not, we had to volunteer to fly on a special trip – it was the easy way out[inserted],[/inserted] so back to sleep. The next morning we were told that we would be
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taking over the duties of the squadron, whose own aircraft (Liberators) had been cannibalised one-at-a-time in order to keep their aircraft flying until they had only one aircraft. Our flight down to the South coast was uneventful, but the cloud base was rather low and we couldn’t see the ground so I cat-napped. Sometime later I awoke and was looking at a strange cloud rising just at the side of our ‘plane., about the size of a large black football – it then dawned on me and just as I was going to shout at the captain he called on the inter-com ‘Navigator we must be nearly there’. ‘Yes, just nip below cloud and confirm’. At least 4 German A.A. guns were firing at us, and looking hastily back, I couldn’t even see the Channel. Quickly climbing above cloud, we eventually reached our destination. But it was going to be one of those days best forgotten. I was given my instructions to try and keep the planes serviceable at all times and to make sure that all ‘planes were fully fuelled, as the trips were to be over the Bay of Biscay searching for enemy subs. Mine laying and submarine attack was the main aim.
As I got out of the ‘plane I saw a petrol tanker on the perimeter track, so I hailed him to come over, and told him we wanted to fill the aircraft immediately. ‘Sorry mate. You don’t belong to us’, was the response. So it was a case of ‘take me to your leader’ attitude. I climbed into the tanker, back to his base and had words with his officer, who more-or-less said the same thing. I was then passed up the ranks – Flt.Lt Engineer Officer, Squadron Leader, Wing Commander and finally the Group Captain. Repeating my request for refuelling the aircraft, I got the same answer – ‘No, I don’t know anything about you’. I tried another way. ‘Sir, someone must have sent a signal for reinforcements.’ ‘No, they would have told me about it’. Feeling that I was getting nowhere – ‘May I use the ‘phone , sir?’ ‘Yes certainly. Who do you want to ring’? ‘Our own base, there is little point in us remaining here, we may as well return.’ Ah! I’d hit a tender spot. ‘Now let us think this out’ he said. The solution he arrived at was that he would call in a WAAF typist, dictate an agreement to the effect that I was responsible for all the fuel used by our unit, and that we would both sign it – I know that it all sounds crazy, but that is basically what happened. [italics] (My recurring worry is that someone in the Air Ministry may find that document, and ask me to repay them for the fuel used. However, I am comforted that my fellow members of the Squadron will dig deep in their pockets to reimburse me.) [/italics]. However, having got permission I rushed back to fuel the aircraft, as a lot of time had been wasted and it was getting towards night-time. The tanker arrived and two of us, one on each wing, commenced to fill up. The driver warned us that if the ‘drome was attacked (France was only 20 or so miles away) the standing instructions were for him to pull away immediately. It rapidly got very dark that night, (remember it was early October). Suddenly, there was a big flash and bang, and without warning, the tanker driver started to pull away shouting at us as he went – we just had time to pull out the nozzles. Quickly fastening down the petrol caps, we slide down the wing stubs and met at the bottom. It was pitch-black by this time and we hadn’t a clue were [sic] any of the buildings were situated and just hoped that the rest of our party had found somewhere to stay. By good luck, the first building we got to was the NAAFI which was practically deserted, except some of our friends were there. They had similar experiences to us in that no-one on the ‘drome was interested in us – so it was a case of do-it-yourself – our lads just commandeered a Nissan hut, ‘pinched’ beds from other huts, bedding from several places and even broke into the coal compound. So, at least we had somewhere to sleep and in some sort of comfort. Someone explained that the big flash & bang we heard was their last Liberator blowing-up on its test flight. One can imagine that the whole camp, from the Group Captain to the lowest ranks, were so demoralised by the situation that there was no point in them being there. We had our own duties to attend to.
Our original instructions were [italics] ‘You’ll only be there about a week, You’ll only need your knife, fork and mug’[/italics] – we were to remain there until we were relieved early in December!. Things ran fairly smoothly at first, but then we all ran out of money.. The normal channels were tried – going to the accounts department and explaining the situation, but to no avail. Finally, a meeting was arranged with the whole detachment and a plan of action arranged – that on the next station pay parade we would disrupt the action by walking in front of the station personnel and prevent them from being paid. The pay day arrived and we caused absolute chaos – we were threatened with dire consequences, but eventually everybody calmed down and the Squadron Leader in charge of the parade promised to look into the affair straight after their men had been paid. We agreed to this and left the parade. The next day we were paid. So at least I could buy a cup of tea at the NAAFI.
We existed (couldn’t think of a better word) there for about 5 weeks – our only possessions knife, fork and mug. [underlined] [italics] No change of clothing. [/italics] [/underlined] One day, one of our own aircraft arrived unannounced, dropped off replacement ground crew (they returned the following day) and flew us back to…
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R.A.F. RUFFORTH
It was the 5th December when we arrived back again in the area of York. Rufforth is about 4 miles west of the city and was a typical war-time ‘drome, with 2 runways and scattered living accommodation. One difference to our previous home, there was a working farmhouse [underlined] within [/underlined] its boundary. I was allocated to P, which was based close to a country road.
Routine was slightly different than before, in that we serviced the ‘planes early in the mornings (remember this was winter-time and day-light hours were short. It would be dark by 5 p.m.) Aircrews air tested, and in the course of early afternoon we towed each plane by tractor, onto the runway, fairly close together, and at a 25o angle to the runway. The planes were then topped-up with fuel (some times overload tanks were fitted), bombed up – often with a mixed load of 2,000 lb. H.E.s and incendiaries.
On one occasion there was an electrical fault and a canister of incendiaries fell to the ground, fortunately very few ignited and we managed to throw, and kick them out of the way. The reason for parking the planes on the runway was to save as much fuel as possible as some of the raids were at Turin or Genoa. I remember on the return of one aircraft, how the crew waxed lyrical of how beautiful the Alps looked in the moonlight.
It was common practice for ground crews who were on night duty, waiting for returning planes, to cat-nap as best they could. One night I was awakened by an odd noise, looking out of the door of the office, I saw a horse, then noticed 2 or 3 more. Rushing back in I rang the control tower. There was quite a panic as the returning aircraft were due in about 1/2 hour. “A” flight office was informed and together with some control tower staff we just managed to get the last horse in when the first planes arrived. Well! I couldn’t face having to eat horse meat for the next week or two.
It was possibly early in 1943 when it happened – [underlined] [italics] the worst day of my life. [/italics] [underlined] The day started just like any other at Rufforth, early breakfast and off to work. After we had ground tested, the aircrew arrived and proceeded with the air test. Everyone going for an early dinner as the afternoon was very busy – only one tractor per Flight, and pulling the ground-starter motors over, ready to start the aircraft. The aircrews came out after briefing, engines were started up, and while the rest of the groundcrew cleared the area of ground-starter motors etc. I remained in the aircraft while the pilot checked the engines one at a time, checked the fine/course pitch, and so on until he was satisfied, checking the petrol and finally signing ‘Form 700’ – which contained the signatures of all who had done any work on the plane.
Closing the hatch, with the ‘700’ under my arm I walked to the Control Tower to watch the planes take-off. It was getting dusk but I could just read the letters on the side of my plane. As the pilot opened up the engines, I was horrified to see white steam pouring from the starboard outer engine – a sure sign of a coolant burst (the planes were all powered by Merlin XX’s at this time). I expected to see the pilot immediately shut-down and stop the plane, but no, the plane carried on gathering speed, as it reached the end of the runway and lift-off. I watched the aircraft as it slowly turned to port with steam still streaming out behind. Then inevitably, there was a dull thud and a flash as the ‘plane disintegrated, killing all the crew.
I was in a state of shock. Had I missed something on my check? My F/Sgt. was on the balcony of the control tower, and he called down to me [italics] “That was your aircraft wasn’t it? You had better give me the 700 before you do anything stupid with it.” [/italics] That statement certainly did not improve my already troubled mind. What of the poor crew – they must have realised that something was seriously wrong and tried to fly to the other end of the runway, so that they could land again. It must have been hell for them before the inevitable explosion. My mind was repeating all the event that had gone on during that fatal day. Would I be arrested and await a courtmartial [sic]? I eventually returned back to my hut, and my friends tried their best to console me
Page 6
[page break]
On reporting for work the next morning the F/Sgt decided that I wouldn’t work on aircraft but work in the office and be a general ‘dogsbody’ for any one who wanted assistance. I heard nothing about the accident for 2 or 3 weeks, until one day I was asked to report to one of the offices, were [sic] I was asked by a Sgt. S.P. to verify that it was my signature on the Form 700 and that was all I heard about it officially.
I was in the office a few weeks later when our office clerk said to me that there was a rumour that we were moving to another station near the east coast called Lissett, do you know it? I thought for a moment, ‘Yes! It’s a hamlet on the Bridlington Low Road. I’ve driven through it a few times. It is notorious for a stretch of straight concrete road w[inserted]h[/inserted]ere idiot motorists ‘open-up’ to see how quickly they can kill themselves.’ – and so on to …
R.A.F. LISSETT
We were still working on Rolls-Royce Merlin engines, a newer version Halifax Mark 2. and Flights A, B, & C. I was very surprised when I was put in charge of R Robert, based just out-side what was to become the Radar Office and close to the bomb dump. [italics] (Most of those who served at Lissett will have realised how dangerous that base was.) [/italics] There were differences in some of the Halifaxes – they now had the large oblong shaped tail, apart from that, most of them had radar blisters under neath [sic], but the aircraft I was working on had a blister made of metal and the rear was wide open to the air. It was suggested that it was intended to be a lowerer [sic] gun position, which never materialised. I went on the first flight and when the ‘plane was airborne I crept into the blister and strapped myself in – I’ve never been so frightened, the flight itself was rather bumpy but the air-drag was trying to pull me out of the open blister. Very carefully I undid the strap and held tight-hold of it, at the same time pulling myself into the fuselage. What a relief!
Page 7
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Dennis Raettig's wartime memoir
Description
An account of the resource
Wartime memoir covering Dennis Raettig's training at Blackpool and the posting to 104 Squadron at Royal Air Force Driffield in August 1941. Worked on Wellington aircraft and mentions that Driffield also hosted the blind approach landing flight operating Whitley and Battle aircraft. Tells of his time at Driffield including an attempt to deploy to Malta and deployment to RAF Pocklington during the winter. Notes that the squadron change number to 158 Squadron in February 1942. Relates training at RAF Leeming for squadrons eventual change to Halifax aircraft and preparations for the 1000 bomber operation on Cologne in May 1942 as well as the last Wellington operations shortly after. Goes on to tell of his time at RAF East Moor now with Halifax. with some anecdotal stories as well as relating story of a test flight and an abortive trip to RAF Harwell to prepare Halifax for glider towing. Describes another special operation trip to the south coast with problems with getting fuel for the aircraft. Talks of move to RAF Rufforth and describes routine as well as describing witnessing 'his' aircraft crashing on take off and its effect on him as the worst day of his life. Finally relates move to RAF Lisset.
Creator
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D W Raettig
Format
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Seven page printed document with illustrations
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BReattigDWRaettigDWv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Oxfordshire
England--Yorkshire
Temporal Coverage
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1941
1941-01
1941-08
1942-02
1942-05-30
1943
Conforms To
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Pending review
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Tricia Marshall
David Bloomfield
104 Squadron
158 Squadron
4 Group
animal
B-24
Battle
bombing
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
crash
fuelling
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
incendiary device
mechanics engine
military living conditions
military service conditions
RAF Driffield
RAF East Moor
RAF Harwell
RAF Leeming
RAF Lissett
RAF Pocklington
RAF Rufforth
runway
service vehicle
take-off crash
tractor
training
Wellington
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/266/17927/BGriffinDAJGriffinDAJv1.2.pdf
0afbe6b15e5e9db9c9cce9da8fba63c9
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
‘ONE MAN AND HIS TIME’
David A. J. Griffin
All the world’s a stage,
and all the men and women merely players:
they have their exits, and their entrances;
and one man in his time plays many parts.
AS YOU LIKE IT
ACT II SCENE VII
[page break]
SYNOPSIS
“I -INK”, the four-engined Halifax bomber had hit hard. Its bombs had cascaded down on the German target, and now it was home to an eggs and bacon breakfast.
However, the terse warning, “Look out” Skipper: Fighter to Starboard” is the beginning of the end for the gallant old Lady and six members of its crew: Pilot John Farmer, Wireless Operator Eric Springett, Mid Upper Gunner Alf Stewart, Rear Gunner William Musson, Bomb Aimer Jack Wilson, and Flight Engineer John Satchell.
The aircraft, a flaming torch, explodes and the only survivor is David Griffin its Welsh navigator, who
lands in Holland and becomes a prisoner of war.
David, with other unfortunates, becomes human flotsam, and during his nineteen month’s captivity is cattle-trucked hither and thither in search of a home, the prison camp.
In East Prussia, he is introduced to the raw life: the complete lack of privacy; the thousand and one
rumours and prophecies which are believed, because they are desirable, the indomitable Allied airmen in adversity; the effect of letters or lack of them from loved ones; the gnawing hunger and perpetual cold, life in the Lager with its humour, pathos, repartee and longing for freedom; and the illicit daily BBC News bulletin, and David finds himself in an army camp in Poland with Dunkirk veterans- the forgotten men of yesterday. He meets McLeod, a grizzled veteran who has soldiered all over the world, and whose stock-in-trade is relating sexual experiences.
The summer of 1944 is hot, the hunger pangs are assuaged, and one feels that freedom is near.
However, the Russian enigma, halting their advance in front of Warsaw, when they had urged the
Poles to rise and kill the German garrison was hard to fathom.
Again, they are forced to move westwards into the heart of Germany. The winter of 1944/45 is spent
without Red Cross food parcels, without cigarettes and showers, assailed by the biting cold and slush
mud, and the confiscation of the Paillasses, the last vestige of prisoner comfort, when the Gestapo
swoop in the morning dark. However, humour and optimism still prevail and the fluctuations and
vicissitudes of war are eagerly discussed and analysed by the prisoners. Finally, Montgomery’s
armies cross the Rhine at Wesel and the camp takes to the road on foot. Trials and tribulations beset
the marchers, and the problem is to survive. Finally, David accompanies by his friend, Welling’s,
escapes from the column and endeavours to make his way to the “front”, and link-up with the
advancing Allied armies.
They are recaptured near Belson, but regain freedom and finally security when they live with Polish
slave workers in a big barn. Freedom is theirs when the 11th British Armoured Division overruns the
area and David meets Sergeant Bill Woodward, Military Medal, who had fought in the North African
Campaign and helped to liberate Brussels.
[page break]
[photograph] Handley-Page Halifax B.MK II Series (RAF)
[photograph] Author: Warrant Officer David Griffin (1945)
[page break]
[map] Reference Locations in Germany.
[map] Reference Locations as located within 2017 international borders.
[page break]
CHAPTER I
It was just before midnight on 27th September 1943. Crump! Crump! Went the bursting venom of the
anti-aircraft shells, and the Halifax bomber seemed to buck and leap several feet in the air as the
explosion reached upwards to claw it from the sky. This sudden, feverish burst of activity subsided
almost as soon as it had begun, as if the German range finders, 21,000 feet below, now disclaimed all interest in their target.
'Christ! That was close,' exclaimed Alf Stuart, the mid-upper gunner, 'If that was their first attempt, I'd hate to be around for the second.'
'Me, too,' chimed in the bomb aimer, Jack Wilson, 'the sudden racket frightened hell out of me.'
'Okay, let's settle down then,' commanded the skipper, 'we've just crossed the Dutch coast and that was the welcoming committee. So stay off the intercom! By the way, navigator, what's our ground speed?'
'One hundred and seventy-eight knots, Skip. We have a headwind and a full bomb load, but I estimate we're bang on track.'
Communication and the cackle of the intercom were turned off by the clicking of a switch, and
everyone went back to his appointed task of keeping the ship airborne. The gunners, mid-upper and
rear, scanned the darkened skies for possible attack; the wireless operator, Eric Springett, fiddled with the W/T knobs and slowly turned the direction-finding loop antenna for a bearing; the pilot, John Farmer, and flight-engineer, John Satchell, carefully scrutinised the dials of the aircraft's controls; while the bomb aimer, Jack Wilson for the umpteenth time, checked the bombsight to ensure all was in readiness. The navigator, David Griffin, meanwhile, was on his hands and knees looking for the transparent, celluloid 360° protractor, which had slid off the chart table when the aircraft had been uplifted.
'Bloody thing,' muttered Dave, 'it's always slipping and sliding, and in this black hole it's impossible to find.'
His fingers groped along the aircraft's floor until contact was made, enabling him to slide his fingers
under the elusive protractor and return it to the table on which the Mercator's projection was pinned.
By, the faint beam of light, he viewed the table's unholy mess: the once blank map now rapidly filling
with straight lines, figures and E.T. As, the highly gleaming dividers for measuring distances; the
pencil perched on the edge and ready to do a vanishing trick; and the ICAN computer which provided most of the answers to the problems besetting him. However, something was missing.
'Where's the bloody rubber?' he asked himself. He knew the answer and was just about to seek it out in the darkness below the table when he heard the clicking of the intercom.
'Captain to Navigator, what's the E.T.A. target, and give me a course for home when we've dropped
our bundle.'
'Okay, skipper!'
Dave went to work with feverish energy. He drew straight lines on the map, measured distances
meticulously with the dividers, worked out the new wind speed and direction and then, with the aid of the computer, arrived at an answer.
'E.T.A. target, 2325 hours, skipper, and the course home will be 278° magnetic.’
[page break]
The captain acknowledged, and then there was silence save for the steady drone of the aircraft's four powerful engines drawing them irresistibly towards the target.
Dave checked his calculations for possible error and then transferred the findings to the log sheet.
Everything was shipshape so far and going smoothly. Once the bombs had gone and they'd cleared the target area, the danger of plummeting earthwards would slowly recede and the odds of getting back to base and an egg and bacon breakfast would look rosier. Still, there was many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, as Dave knew only too well, and the homeward path would be fraught with difficulties, especially the German night fighters who'd be waiting for them.
At briefing, the navigation officer had told them that the actual bombing of the target area was to be
completed within forty-four minutes - saturation bombing they called it - allowing each wave of 150
aircraft 11 minutes to perform its task. Dave's squadron had been allocated to the third wave, and as
the first wave was due to commence at 2300 hours, Dave knew he was bang on time and would be
away before the fourth and final wave did their destruction. In the early days of the war, raids had
dragged on interminably as solitary bombers found their way to the target area only to be
overwhelmed by the ground defences. Now, however, saturation meant that the greatest number of
aircraft was over the target at one time and the defences could not cope with the avalanche that swept down upon them. The intensity of the attack would ensure that the ground defenders would be unable to leave the shelters to extinguish the incendiaries and so the target would be well ablaze and, hopefully, out of control by the time the fourth wave departed.
Dave tried to adjust the thin pencil-ray of light above the navigator's table so that it would reveal the
elusive eraser, but failed. He bent down to commence a square-search of the blackness and his efforts were immediately rewarded.
'Got it!' he exclaimed triumphantly, and then his short-lived joy was abruptly terminated by his knee
coming into hard contact with the sextant.
'Jesus Christ!' he groaned, 'My bloody knee'. He sat on the seat and nursed the hurt, feeling very sorry for himself.
'Only birds and fools fly', he mumbled, and then added as an afterthought, 'and birds don't fly at night.’
However, his feelings of self-pity were short-lived when the cackle of the intercom was immediately
followed by: 'Navigator, I can see the PFF flares going down, and the target is ahead and slightly to
starboard. Well done!'
Dave knew that the Path Finder Force, the elite of Bomber Command, always went ahead of the
bomber force to ring the target with different coloured flares. The following bomber force bomb
aimers were instructed to bomb on a particular colour. I for Ink, the aircraft in which they were
travelling, was still thirty minutes away, but at 20,000 odd feet one could see for miles.
'Good stuff’,. we won't get lost now,' he mused, then laughed at himself for being self-congratulatory.
Then it was back to the Mercator, groundspeeds, tracks, courses, airspeeds and the ever-fickle wind
speed and direction. It was feverish and painstaking activity, but Dave knew from experience that the hairline between life and death depended on Lady Luck and the vigilance and dedication of each
member of the crew.
[page break]
CHAPTER II
Dave checked his figures and calculations. Everything was correct. In two minutes they would arrive
at the turning point, ten nautical miles north of the target, and then head due south to perform their
night's work. All aircraft had to obey this ruling so that the bomber stream would be flowing in an
orderly direction and collisions in mid-air would be minimised.
The cackle of the intercom broke the silence, 'Okay, skipper, navigator here. New course 184°
magnetic, ready, now!’
The aircraft wheeled to starboard as if it were a winged mallard avoiding a fusillade of shot, and then
settled down for the run-in. There was silence for about thirty seconds and then the bomb-aimer took control: 'Two degrees to starboard, skipper, steady, steady, bang on, hold it!'
Dave estimated that they would continue this straight and level run for six minutes and in that time the bombs would have gone, the target cleared and then they could turn for home, so at 2328 hours they would steer 278°. He left his seat and peered over the crouched back of the bomb aimer through the perspex domed-nose of the Halifax. The night was literally on fire and the red, lurid glow of the
holocaust below was doing its best to banish the enshrouding darkness. The target was festooned with flames and the glow of the tracer bullets was like lianas creeping up from below to entwine and
squeeze the marauders from the sky. The descending coloured flares of the Path Finder Force made the area a veritable fairy-ground, but the crump! crump! of the exploding ack-ack shells reminded the intruders that this was hell on earth and the beckoning fires were waiting to envelop and consume them.
'Steady, skipper! Hold it! Hold it! Bombs gone.'
The Halifax seemed to lift upwards as if relieved of a weighty problem, but still continued on its
straight and level run.
'Christ! Did you see that Lanc?' exploded Jack Wilson, excitedly. 'It almost crashed into us.'
'The bloody fool was going the wrong way,' chorused Bill Mussed, the rear-gunner.
'Keep off the intercom!' commanded the skipper, and then there was silence.
'Get ready to steer course 278° magnetic, skipper—now!' commanded Dave, and the four-engined
bomber slewed once again to starboard and hurried into the night away from the inferno.
'Thank God for that,' whispered Dave to himself, 'and now let's get home to those bacon and eggs.
Bugger this for a lark!' He settled down to his charts and navigation, plotted a few loop bearings to
determine position and discovered that for once the wind speed and direction were constant and no
course change was necessary. So it was going to be a piece of cake and another op nearer the magical twenty-eight and 'screening'. Each crew member, excepting the skipper, had to complete twenty-eight operational flights before being rested as an instructor at an Operational Training Unit, and this was the Mecca everyone strove to attain because it meant a well-earned lull where relative safety and longer life expectancy existed. Not that any member of aircrew felt that he was going for a burton. The consensus of opinion was that it just couldn't happen to them, and Dave thought, like every other member of his crew, that he was luck personified and untouchable. The gods would always smile in his direction, even if they were angry at times and vented their wrath on others.
'I for Ink' stooged on unmolested, although both to port and starboard the luckless ones were trapped irretrievably in the bright glow of the spider's web weaved by the German searchlights. The bomber force was on its way home, but there would be many an airman missing when breakfast was served.
The rules of the game were being observed. The invaders had hit hard and relentlessly, and the
German night fighters would do their utmost to wreak vengeance.
[page break]
'Look out, Skipper! Fighter to starboard!' excitedly warned Bill, and then, almost immediately, from
Jack: 'another coming in from port. Look out!'
The rattle and clatter of machine gun bullets ripping and tearing their way through the fuselage were
so sudden and unexpected that Dave stood as if movement would help avoid destruction. Then there was quiet, a deathly quiet, and Dave thought that he must be the only one alive, and was just about to click on the intercom, when, 'Skipper here. Are you alright, navigator?'
'I'm okay, skipper.'
'Are you alright, bomb aimer?'
'Okay, skipper.'
So the roll call was carried out, and the seven members of the crew were all unhurt.
'Well done! We're all still hale and hearty so let's get our heads down and get this ship back to base.
By the way, rear gunner, which fighter attacked us?'
'Both, skipper. The attack was simultaneous - the starboard fighter came across the rear, while the one from port struck underneath at the belly. Bloody miracle that we're all still alive and airborne.'
'Don't underestimate I for Ink, Bill, she's a tough old girl. Engineer, check for damage! Now let's keep
quiet. We've still a long way to go. Keep your eyes peeled for fighters!' So the excitement was over,
and it was back to work. Dave glanced out of the astrodome and, although they were miles away from the target, the fires were plainly visible and the distant sky was suffused with a reddish glow. The incendiary bombs had done their work and the explosions would go on all night as the conflagration spread.
'I'd hate to be down there,' thought Dave. 'The farther I can get away the better. God help those who bale over the target area, they'd get curry.
His thoughts and feelings of smugness and security were rudely shattered with, 'Skipper, the port
outer's on fire.' It was Jack’s voice and sounded so matter of fact.
'Flight engineer, skipper here, see what you can do with the fire extinguisher! Do you think I ought to
dive her to see if we can blow it out?'
'Hang on, skip! I'll give it a go first.'
Dave switched off the light above the table, pulled aside the small blackout curtain and peered into the night. Flames from the port outer engine were being swept back by the slipstream but, although this was a dicey situation, there was no need to panic as the engineer might be able to come up with an answer. However, Dave couldn't understand how the fire had started. Some time had elapsed since the attack, and it seemed that the aircraft was functioning efficiently. Still you had to be prepared for all eventualities in this game.
'I've tried the extinguisher, skipper, and it doesn't seem to have any effect. You'd better dive.'
The big bomber seemed to lurch forward, and Dave held on tightly to his seat as the aircraft's nose
dipped and the rapid descent began. However, the flames just wouldn't disappear and were still licking hungrily around the engine cowling and being swept backwards by the force of the slipstream when they attained, once again, the straight and level position.
'I'll give her another go, engineer,' and immediately the rapid downward motion began again, but to no avail. The flames were determined in their resistance.
'What's our position, navigator?'
[page break]
'We've just crossed the Dutch border, skipper, and within ten minutes we'll be over the North Sea.'
'What about 'ditching'? Engineer, do you think the kite will hold together until then?'
'I don't think so. She could blow.'
All the crew heard the conversation, and Dave knew that ditching would be preferred to baling out.
They had practiced baling-out drill when the aircraft was on the ground, but all had voiced the opinion that they wouldn't be keen on the real thing, believing that pancaking into the sea would be preferable, although they had never experienced the latter.
'Let out the trailing aerial, wireless operator, so that we can transmit an SOS before ditching. Then
they'll know our position.'
I for Ink, still fully operational, relentlessly ploughed its way homewards, but now the flames from the engine were leaping and dancing their way backwards in the slipstream current, seeming to reach half the length of the aircraft.
'Okay, skipper here. Bale out!'
The terse and dreaded command struck home forcibly. This was it, the real thing. It was to be obeyed immediately.
Dave knew the drill: he clipped his 'chute to the snugly fitting harness; upended the navigator's table, fastening it to the fuselage of the aircraft; then kicked the fallen navigational instruments out of the way so that he could get to the escape hatch in the floor of the aircraft. He bent down, grasped the ringed handle and tugged upwards, but it failed to budge.
Looking up he saw the bomb aimer, wireless operator and other crew members lined-up in the correct order for baling, then heaved once more. The hatch door shot upwards and he fell back on his arse with the wind whistling in, twirling and twisting the small navigational slips and the paper log. Holding firmly to the floor of the fuselage, he lowered himself out feet first, his back facing the
direction in which they were heading. His legs hit the full blast of the slipstream to move upwards and adhere to the underside of the fuselage. Then his knee-length suede zip-up flying boots slid off into the darkness, and he was left in the ticklish position of having his head, shoulders and arms inside the Halifax, while the lower portion remained outside. Taking a final look at his oppos, he heaved upwards with his arms and was out into the night, sliding below the fuselage and hitting and taking something with him. Feverishly, his hand sought the handle of the ripcord, pulled hard, and within seconds it seemed that he was going upwards towards heaven rather than earthwards. The quiet and calm of the night surrounded him and it seemed as if nothing stirred. Perhaps this silence and serenity were accentuated by the tremendous contrast between being a prisoner of the noise, tension and unceasing, feverish activity of the aircraft for so long and then being suddenly liberated from it all. He was safe.
The sky, the clouds and the filtering moon were his, but way below him, to his surprise, was the
flaming torch, 'I for Ink'. How it had got there was beyond him, because he thought his rapid descent
would have taken him below the Halifax. The blazing aircraft riveted his attention as if mesmerised,
and then the spell was broken by an explosion, accompanied by a sheet of flame, and I for Ink'
plunged relentlessly earthwards.
Dave closed his eyes. 'Jesus!' he whispered. 'What an end!' He knew that the bomb aimer would have had time to bale, but the other five members of the crew would be trapped in the flaming hell by gravitational force and would be incinerated before they reached the ground. The German defences had done their work ruthlessly and efficiently.
The parachute oscillated in the cold September air and Dave placed one stockinged foot on the other
for warmth. Clasping his hands, he realised that something was amiss as they felt sticky and wet and
[page break]
on examination, he discovered they were bloody. His right knee felt cold and as his hand slid down to succour it, it contacted the bare, sticky flesh.
'Christ!' he blurted, 'My trouser leg must have ripped. How the hell did that happen?' Then it dawned. It was the trailing aerial which he had hit and carried away and the flesh of his hands and knee must have been cut in the process. Still, that was nothing. He was alive and kicking and that's what counted.
The descent seemed long and so he had time to ruminate upon the situation. He had no boots and no escape kit, having left the latter in the Halifax, and would be landing in Holland. The Germans where there as in every other occupied part of Europe, so it would be a long walk home. But he felt he could do it, such was the confidence of youth.
Suddenly a group of trees became discernible and the ground came rushing to meet him. He was going to land on his back, so frantically pulled on the parachute’s silken lines to gain control.
Then bang! He hit, not the ground, but what seemed a tall, wired fence. It held him for a moment, and then he crashed to the ground.
'Oh, my bloody ankle! My ankle!' he moaned.
Releasing himself from the harness, he hobbled around in small circles and realised he wasn't alone,
but had a spectator. On the other side of the fence was a large bull, which snorted away and was most angry because his nocturnal quiet had been shattered by the billowing, white angel from the skies. 'Piss off!' cried Dave angrily, and then, 'Jesus, my bloody ankle!'
The bull moved away but Dave still kept moving around in circles as if movement would alleviate and
banish the pain. Finally, he gathered his life-saving silk and moved to a spot a few hundred yards away to bury the evidence of his arrival. It was hard work and a sense of dissatisfaction existed with his handiwork on completion. Still, it would have to do, as he couldn't afford to linger.
He set off in a westerly direction, keeping the Pole star to his right, hobbling and favouring his left
foot, the stars, the clouds and the night his companions, and the quiet and stillness making their
impact.
'So this is Holland,' ruminated Dave. 'It could have been worse.'
[page break]
CHAPTER III
He had only walked about a 100 yards and already his busted ankle and feet were killing him. His
ankle pained his every step, while the soles of his feet, were cold and sore. Then he neared a clump of trees surrounding a small cottage. Nothing and no-one stirred and, thus, emboldened, he approached the front door, paused for a few moments and then knocked loudly. The sound reverberated in the still night, but no-one answered the summons, save the shadows of the nearby copse which seemed to jump in the flickering moonlight. Dave knocked again, but it seemed that the whole world was asleep and oblivious to his plight. He was just about to knock a third time, when he heard movement from within and muted voices as if they were discussing a course of action concerning their nocturnal visitor. Then
there was quiet and Dave, fearing that they thought he had left, knocked loudly.
A voice called out in Dutch, and Dave, not knowing the language, interpreted it as, 'Who are you, and what do you want?' So he set about giving an explanation: he was a British airman who had been shot down and wanted a new pair of shoes. It sounded ludicrous, almost like a music hall joke, but there was no response from within so obviously they didn't understand what he was trying to convey. The humour of the farcical situation was lost on the inmates. Mutterings continued to filter through the door, and so Dave knocked again and repeated his requirements. Finally, the door opened slowly and a powerful, middle-aged man carrying an oil lamp emerged. He thrust it at Dave's face, blinding him temporarily, and then lowered it to scrutinise the rest of him. Having satisfied that all was correct, he motioned the airman to enter, closed the door behind, and then turned up the wick of the lamp to reveal the other occupants: a stoutish woman - whom Dave assumed was the mother - and two children, a girl, aged about thirteen and a boy about sixteen.
The mother motioned him to sit and there was silence as he became the cynosure of all eyes. They
examined him closely; the children his navigator's brevet and sergeant's stripes; the man staring
intently at his face as if trying to recall recognition, while the woman seemed to be fascinated by his
trousers. He thought something was amiss and glanced down to rectify and button up, only to see his protruding, dried, bloody knee. He moved his hands to close the gaping rent in the cloth and noticed his hands were of the same red hue. No one moved, and for Dave the quiet and intensity of the observation was both unnerving and unsettling. He moved his feet to create a noise and lessen the tension, which created a stabbing pain from his injured knee causing Dave to gasp in pain.
The emission of sound broke the trance and created a stir. The mother moved into the next room and returned with a bowl of warm water and some soap and, with the aid of the daughter, proceeded to wash and cleanse the flesh around the right knee and also the hands. Then she removed Dave's left sock, revealing a very swollen, puffed, blue-mottled ankle. A few words were exchanged, but communication was difficult because of the language barrier and it was left to gesticulation and signs. Then there was food, a glass of milk and two slices of darkish coloured bread with honey.
It was now the early hours of the morning and Dave could hardly keep his eyes open. He was sick
with tiredness and every part of his body hurt, from the soles of his feet to his aching head. His host,
realising this, beckoned him to follow and he hobbled and limped in his wake to an adjoining room
containing an alcove, where a makeshift bed existed. It belonged to the boy and it was indicated that
for the next few hours it was Dave's also. The lamplight was removed, and Dave stripped to his vest
and pants, climbed in beside the boy and within minutes, despite the aches and pains which plagued
him, was fast asleep.
The next morning he awoke to the sound of voices and dressed hurriedly. The pain from his ankle was intense and, in the light of day it looked as if it had been painted blue. The clock informed him that it was almost eight. So he'd made a late, bad start to the day and his resolve to be a successful evader would come to naught, unless he left the present scene immediately.
In the next room, Dave was introduced by his host to three strangers, one of whom spoke a little
English. This person informed him that they were neighbouring farmers who had come to see him.
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'No bloody good,' ruminated Dave, 'the whole neighbourhood must know I'm here.'
He pointed to his feet and asked for shoes, for it was time he went. If he stayed much longer he was a goner. The woman brought him a gaily painted pair of Dutch wooden clogs which fitted fairly
comfortably, despite the swollen ankle, However, when he stood it was difficult to move freely as the shoes seemed to want to stay in one spot, and his ankle hurt like hell. Nevertheless, he had to go and so extended his hand in farewell. However, the woman placed an arm around his shoulders and
pointed to the food on the table, insisting that he partake.
Dave was so grateful for her kindness, and, also he realised that the next meal may be a long time
coming.
He sat down and was just about to commence breakfast when two Dutch policemen were ushered in by the boy. They motioned Dave to finish his meal, and then carried on an affable conversation with those present.
The meal over, the police stood and motioned that he should accompany them, but before he could do so the visitor, who could speak a smattering of English, grasped his hands and began to apologise,
'Gestapo, shooting, concentration camp, in the night, finished', were words mentioned and from the
explanation Dave arrived at the conclusion that during the night the Dutch farmer, his host, had gone to the local police station to tell of his whereabouts. He had done this not for himself, but for his family. Harbouring or helping an evader was punishable by death and his host had to put his family first. Dave understood the predicament as he would have done exactly the same thing if positions had been reversed, so as he moved towards the door, he stopped, looked his host straight in the eye and proffered his hand. The farmer grabbed and wrung it warmly, and Dave thought he detected a tear in the eye. It was as if he were pleased to be forgiven. He was no Judas, but a man, who, rightly so, placed the welfare and safety of his family above all else. Dave smiled at the mother and nodded his head in appreciation for what she had done, then threw a friendly salute at the two children before moving outside to the waiting car.
A friendly atmosphere pervaded the local Dutch police station and Dave was extended every courtesy, being allowed to sit in the office with the policemen on duty, drink coffee with an acorn flavour and carry on a conversation in sign language. Then the ringing and answering of the telephone brought the euphoria to an abrupt end. The word Luftwaffe was mentioned and Dave was bundled into a cell and the door clanged behind him. Within minutes, the cell corridor resounded with approaching steps and Dave, for the first time, was confronted with the greyish-green uniform of the Luftwaffe.
'Bloody good communication system these Dutch have', reasoned Dave. 'they knew these bastards
were on the way'.
The cell door was unlocked, and the German officer motioned Dave to follow him to the office, where a Luftwaffe feldwebel awaited. A canvas bag was produced, emptied, and Dave was asked to examine the contents - the pitiful, charred remains of five members of 'I for Ink'. It would have been impossible to identify anything or learn to whom they belonged, except that Dave knew what he was looking for and on the blackened, burnt 'dog-tags' was able to trace a few letters, fill in the ones that were obliterated and so make a name which represented a member of his crew. It was as if he were
completing a crossword puzzle. The officer informed him that five airmen had been incinerated in the plane crash, while the sixth member had been found dead in a garden about a mile away, the parachute open and surrounding him. Dave was shown the patch of leather on which the airman's name was printed and worn by aircrew as easy identification on the squadron. It was the wireless operator's, Eric Springett. No reason was given for the cause of death, save that the airman had a large cut on his forehead.
One of the policemen exchanged words with the Luftwaffe officer, and the latter instructed Dave to
remove his clogs as they were to be returned to the owner. Then he was conducted, bootless, to the
waiting truck, placed in the back with three Luftwaffe members - part of the crew that had been
examining the remains of 'I for Ink' - and driven off.
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The journey lasted about three-quarters of an hour, and Dave tried to fathom the reason for the
wireless operator's death. He had baled successfully as evidenced by the open chute, so what could
have caused it? The only conclusion he arrived at was the exploding bomber must have been
responsible as the luckless airman would have been in close proximity when the blast occurred. What a way to die! Five of his oppos burnt alive and the sixth also dead. These crew members over the past three months had been like a family. They had lived together in their Nissan hut. They had flown eight previous missions all without incident. He thought of the Irishmen, Jack Wilson and Bill
Mussed, the Londoners, John Farmer and Eric Springett, Alf Stuart from Northern England and his
close friend John Satchell, with whose family he had shared a meal and the last words John’s mother
had said to him, was “Look after John”. The thought made him shudder and realise that but for the
grace of God and that he was the navigator, first in the baling order, he would be dead too
The journey terminated with their arrival at an aerodrome, and from the number of M.E. 109s and
110s, at dispersal points and sprinkling the runways, it was easy to conclude that here was the home of several fighter squadrons, which battled with RAF bomber hordes at night and then cut swaths in the marauding American B17s during the day. Dave was taken into the administrative block and given a pair of RAF flying boots, identical with the ones he had lost. However, when putting them on found that they were both left-footed. He stood and felt like Charlie Chaplin doing the 'can-can', as both his feet pointed in the same direction.
A voice in German drew his attention from the lower half of his body and looking up, he saw a young, fresh looking Luftwaffe pilot observing him. The pilot spoke a few more words and Dave believed he was commiserating with him on his misfortune of having been shot down. Dave just smiled, shrugged his shoulders, then pointed to his two left feet. The German laughed and, as he walked away, said, in an impeccable French accent, 'C’est la guerre', and Dave, who had a smattering of French in his education, knew that although the fortunes of war had been unkind, the gods had smiled upon him during the last twenty-four hours.
Escorted by two guards, he duck walked his way to the cooler and was locked in a cell. Strangely
enough, a sense of security came over him with the shutting of the door, as this was a haven from the recent, violent vicissitudes which had stormed around and over him. Here was a refuge where one could rest and recuperate for the gales and tempests ahead. He removed his two 'left feet', lay on the narrow bunk, pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and within minutes was fast asleep.
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CHAPTER IV
The train rattled its way across the tracks, and the uneven motion caused Dave to sway against the
burly, armed guard sitting next to him. The movement produced a smile on the face of the German
soldier sitting opposite, and he, for the umpteenth time, produced the remark, 'For you the war is over'. Neither of Dave's custodians could speak a word of English, but this saying had found its way into the German's vocabulary at some time or other and now he loved using it. Perhaps it was to show his command of the English language or to impress on the prisoner the futility and hopelessness of his situation. The carriage had seats on either side and an aisle running down the middle, so the passengers could walk freely to and fro. Consequently, the RAF navigator attracted much attention and the Dutch passengers wanted to converse with Dave and offer him cigarettes. The burly one, however, wouldn't allow this and gesticulated with his machine gun for the gathering onlookers to disperse and go back to their seats, while his comrade-in-arms just sat and smiled benignly on all and sundry.
The train made several stops along the way, but finally the terminus was reached - Amsterdam. Here, Dave was hustled through the commuter crowd going their divers ways and into a room at the end of the platform, where three Luftwaffe personnel, one of whom was a feldwebel, waited. The burly guard produced an envelope containing three forms, all of which were duly signed. Thus, Dave, was signed, sealed and delivered. His two former guards, their task completed, left, leaving him in the custody of the new arrivals. Then, escorted to a waiting car, he was whisked through the streets of the city to his destination.
Dave was never really sure where the Royal Palace of the House of Nassau-Orange was actually
situated, in Amsterdam or The Hague, but in late September, 1943, it was the Headquarters of the
German Luftwaffe in the Low Countries and it was to this place that he was driven and incarcerated.
Although only there for a day and a night, his stay was uneventful, save for a chance meeting with Ray Bolland, a Canadian fighter pilot. After about three hours’ imprisonment, he was taken to the urinal by a guard and encountered the indomitable Ray, who was relieving himself. Dave sidled alongside the big Canadian, undid his fly and commenced pissing.
'What the hell brought you here, for Christ sake?' demanded a Canadian voice, half-humorously, half sarcastically. Dave, turned to view the speaker. The left side of his face was badly burned and part of
his battle dress had been charred. His left arm was in makeshift sling and he looked in bad shape.
'Bloody shot down. That's what happened to me,' informed Dave. 'I'm not here by invitation. What
happened to you? You look like you've had a rough time.'
'Shooting up trains, when I bought it and crashed'.
One of the guards yelled out something like 'Shut up' or 'hurry up'.
'Fuck-off, you son-of-a-bitch!' was the Canadian's immediate reply. Then he finished his toiletries,
carefully and deliberately buttoned up his fly with his good hand, and then shuffled off to his cell.
The next morning, they were off early and on the train before 7.30 a.m. The party consisted of Ray
Bolland, Jack McDonald, three guards and Dave. Ray and Jack were both Canadians who had been
shot down a few days previously while shooting up trains. They belonged to the same Typhoon
squadron, which made, weather permitting, daily sweeps of Northern France and the Low Countries.
Jack was unhurt, but Ray was in constant pain from the burns he'd received when his aircraft had
caught fire. Nevertheless, he was always cheerful and uncomplaining, and one had to admire his spirit and courage. The guards were fairly decent and although in their forties and seemingly too old for active service, were afraid of being sent to the Russian front. Every time Ray would mention 'Ruskies', they would throw up their hands in horror. A stint on the Russian front was the last thing that any of them wanted. It was a fate worse than death.
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The train was now ploughing its way through the wreckage of the Ruhr Valley. Germany's life-blood
as far as the sinews of war were concerned. Here nearly everything was made for the German war
effort, from the largest cannon and shell to perhaps the coloured pins placed on maps to indicate the various fighting fronts and the progress the German armies were making. All Royal Air Force flying personnel were familiar with the dreaded Ruhr, nicknamed 'Happy Valley', because it was a spot revisited time after time by Bomber Command and its thirty thousand antiaircraft guns had exacted a heavy toll of the invaders. Now, however, the rubble and wreckage on both sides. of the railway line were ample evidence of the special treatment meted out to it by the bomber boys. The crews of the Lancasters and Halifax’s performed their work of destruction in darkness and never saw evidence of their handwork, and it pleased Dave that it had not all been in vain.
The engine maintained its pace until it came to a large junction, where the lines criss-crossed to such a degree that their train was forced to lose momentum and click-clack its way along, finally stopping at a fairly large station. Everyone disembarked and gravitated to the platform on the other side. There was a big crowd and, as the waiting minutes ticked away, the three airmen and their guards became the centre of attention. The hostility was very much in evidence as, in all probability, these onlookers had been subjected to aerial bombardment and some had lost relatives and friends in the almost nightly holocaust. The mutterings and threats increased so the guards moved their charges against the wall and then took up protective positions on the outside.
'Christ'. They'll lynch us if that train doesn't come soon', stated McDonald. 'These bastards follow each other like a flock of sheep - they don't think for themselves.'
Then to the fore came a grizzled, old, railway worker carrying a large hammer. He was obviously a
wheel-tapper and looked menacingly at the prisoners of war.
'If he comes at me with that hammer, I'll be over those tracks like a two year old', stated the
irrepressible Bolland. 'He's a mean-looking son-of-a-bitch.'
The arrival of the 'old one' seemed to give the crowd direction and purpose, so two of the guards
pointed their machine guns at the menacing crowd, while the third drew his pistol
Things looked dicey, then the long awaited train puffed its way into the station and so the crowd had
somewhere to go and something else to do and so dispersed. The six of them clambered into a vacant carriage and slammed the door shut.
'I hope my stay in this goddamn country improves!' exclaimed Bolland. 'Bugger a mob which doesn't
make you welcome,' and with that he plonked himself in the corner seat, stretched out his long legs
and closed his eyes.
The journey terminated at Frankfurt on Main at about ten p.m., and they were exposed immediately to the military might of the Third Reich. The station, with its huge domed-glass roof, was seething with uniforms as army, air force and naval personnel were either catching trains to the far-flung outposts of the expanding or contracting Greater Germany, or disembarking for well-earned leave. No-one took any notice of the newly arrived POWs, for everyone was intent on going about their business and getting to their destination. Then the banshee of the air raid sirens was heard and the momentum increased. It seemed to Dave that he was watching an old silent movie and the actors, the milling throng, flickered on screen momentarily and then disappeared. The guards prodded their charges into a canter and they went down several flights of steps, reaching a sort of basement where there were bunks equipped with palliasses. This, then, was their resting place for the night.
For the next fifty-minutes or so it seemed that all hell was on the rampage. The scream of bombs could be heard as they hurtled earthwards, chilling the marrow of the bones and squeezing the innards until they felt like water. Then there was the crump of the bursting ack-ack shells and the roar of exploding bombs. Twice the whole building seemed to rock and then gently settle down as if annoyed at such rude awakenings. Dave lay on his bunk and thought of how his position had been reversed. Previously, he had always been above dishing it out, but now he was on the receiving end and wasn't too keen
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about it. Only about ten days ago, he had been over Frankfurt hitting shit out of it, but now it was he
who was getting lambasted.
'Bloody, stupid war!' he thought, 'But for me the war is over', and then immediately queried this
assumption, for it seemed that it was beginning all over again, but this time he was on the other side of the fence. Finally, the all-clear sounded, and so it was to sleep and let tomorrow look after itself.
On the morrow the three of them were taken to an interrogation centre for aircrew, situated a few
kilometres outside Frankfurt. Dave was searched, stripped of all personal possessions - one solitary
Parker fountain pen with gold nib, and then placed in a small, monastic-like cell. The quiet of the
surroundings contrasted sharply with the bustle, turmoil and ceaseless activity of the last seventy-two hours or so. It seemed that a thousand years had passed since being shot down, not just a few days. The endless and feverish movement from place to place had prevented him from contemplating his present position or thinking of the anguish his disappearance must have caused to his family, especially his mother.
It was his mother who counted. His father was soldiering somewhere in India, while his only brother
was deep in Burmese jungles grappling with Japs. It was his mother who would receive the dreaded
telegram, 'MISSING IN ACTION' from the Air Ministry, and would have to sweat out the weeks, until
she received news that he was a POW. He felt dreadfully sorry for her, as she had borne,
uncomplainingly, the brunt of everything. She was indestructible, but the pain and worry of it all must surely take their toll. He remembered the end of his last leave, when she had insisted on accompanying him to the railway station, over a mile away, to catch the 4.30 a.m. train. They had walked in the cold, dark starlight morning, not saying very much, but she occasionally reiterating the phrase, 'Take care of yourself, David and he, in his youth and exuberance, feeling that there was no need for worry as nothing could harm him. Then the train had pulled away from the platform, and she had been left, a deserted and very lonely figure filled with thoughts of apprehension and trepidation for the future.
In the afternoon he was conducted to the administrative block and interrogated by a Luftwaffe officer with an American accent, who began the session with a request for name, rank and number. Dave replied: David Job Griffin; Sergeant; 2711131. Then there were further requests for information: such as squadron number, how many planes involved in the raid, where were you trained etc. Dave knew that the only information he had to supply was name, rank and number and so remained silent in the face of further questions. The interrogator was skilled and couched the same questions in different ways, but Dave volunteered no enlightenment. After half an hour, Dave was returned to his cell, fed, locked up and left to wrestle with his thoughts, sweet and wonderful. The image of the beautiful, vivacious Joan, came flooding to his mind, cascading and sweeping all other thoughts away. Her dark, long hair framed her face and he wished fervently that he could be with her now, instead of in this bloody, miserable cell. She'd know now that he was missing, but he always told her that no harm could befall him and together they'd laughed away the fears that tried to mar their happiness. During his leaves, Joan and he had tramped the Welsh mountains enjoying the grandeur of the rugged scenery and happy in the knowledge that they were together. Life on the squadron was just too hectic and to be away from it all, safe, body whole, secure and Joan at his side was perfect. Then there was a sense of peace and permanence, for on the morrow you didn't have to be airborne and fly on operations, not for another seven days anyway and that seemed a lifetime away. Thus lost in thoughts, beautiful and wonderful and oblivious of his surroundings and predicament, he fell asleep.
For the next two days no-one bothered him. It seemed as if they had forgotten his presence and, apart from being allowed out to relieve himself, he was locked up all day. While in the lavatory, he came across some English literature in the shape of the newspaper, 'The Scotsman', cut into rectangular shapes for bum wiping. It was interesting reading, the advertisements, the snippets of news, the society gossip et cetera, and Dave became so engrossed that he forgot the passing of time. The banging of the door brought Dave back to reality and he hurriedly completed the necessaries and then took a batch of the 'toilet Scotsman' and stuffed them into his pocket. They would make good reading material when he became bored and so would help to pass the time. He was escorted to the toilet about three times a day and so would return the read material and return to the cell with a fresh batch of sheets. He came to regard the toilet as a lending library, where he borrowed and then returned the not too crumpled sheets and hoped that none of the other prisoners objected to the crinkly, slightly-creased toilet paper.
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On the fourth day, he was once again interrogated, being accused of belonging to a squadron involved in dropping saboteurs and agents in Occupied Europe. Why did he come down in Holland? Bomber Command didn't attack Dutch targets? Halifax’s were used to drop agents and his aircraft had been a Halifax? He was not a member of Bomber Command, but belonged to a squadron intent on the sly, dirty business of dropping spies et cetera? Then the interrogator would change his tack and laugh at the way Dave had been caught by the Dutch police.
'All Europe is on our side,' the interrogator would rave on, 'you had no chance of escaping.'
Finally, Dave was returned to his cell to the reading of The Scotsman, his concern and fears for his
mother; and then at night he would escape his imprisoning surroundings and become lost in
wonderful, tender thought of Joan.
There were two more interrogations before he was released. Dave was herded into a truck with about twenty other Empire airmen, who including the two Canadians; Bolland and McDonald, and driven to a transit camp to await transportation to a POW camp.
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CHAPTER V
The railway cattle truck with the French words, '8 Chevaux ou 48 Hommes' painted on its sides, rattled and swayed its way along the tracks, while the twenty-nine Allied airmen, all newly baptised prisoners of war of the German Reich, sat on the hard, wooden floor, backs to the sides for support and bodies slightly rocking in unison with the motion of the truck. All the prisoners were shoeless; these having been confiscated in order to minimise chances of escape. Although the sun had not yet set, the interior of the truck was dimly lit, for the light could only filter through the narrow, barred windows near the roof and the slit-opening caused by the sliding door not being completely closed.
The journey was nearing the end of its second day and already the cold was beginning to seep through the boards and into the stockinged feet of the inmates.
'Shit! This bloody cold kills me, for Christ sake,' stated Bolland to those near him. 'Talk about Canada!
That frost last night gave my feet hell. I thought my toes would drop off.'
'Me, too,' subscribed someone else. 'I was bloody glad when it warmed up this morning. The frost
seems to come up from the rail tracks and attacks your balls. Trust the bloody Germans to think up
some new form of torture.'
At this there were roars of laughter and the tedium of the journey was broken for a while. Dave knew how cold the previous night had been. He had wriggled his toes endlessly within the woollen stockings and had pulled his knees up into the stomach for warmth. Jesus, he was tired and, in all probability, it would be bitterly cold again tonight and there would be little sleep.
Someone got up to relieve himself by sidling up to the narrow aperture caused by the slightly open
sliding door and pissing out on to the moving, shiny tracks below.
An hour later one of the three guards lit the oil lamp and then a slice of dark bread, accompanied by a piece of German sausage, was handed out to each prisoner and hungrily devoured. The meal over, a quiet settled over the group and each prisoner was alone with his thoughts. Dave thought of Bill and the other dead members of his crew. They had been together for so long and were like members of a happy family. On the squadron they all lived in a Nissen hut, and when not flying would go off to the local pub and enjoy the friendliness and bonhomie that existed. The bar would be crowded with aircrew types, all living it up. They were the 'quick' of today and were not yet the 'dead' of tomorrow, so they had to make the most of it while the gods still favoured them. Often the last bus would be missed because of an attractive girl's company, but Dave didn't mind for he was free of emotional entanglements, having not yet met Joan. He loved walking back to base under the cold, frosty starlight for it made his blood tingle and course in his veins. He was alive and that was what mattered. He believed in his indestructibility, but doubts would arise when he saw what havoc operational flying was causing to his friends. Large gaps were being literally torn in the fabric of the squadron and these were filled by the 'sprogs', who arrived to fill the voids. It was an awful way to live, but better than dying.
The frost was now beginning to bite and the wooden boards of the floor were really cooling to the
arsehole. He was hale and hearty, but there were those in the party who had had a rough time. The
frost must be giving Bolland's burns hell, and yet the Canadian never complained. Then there was
Blackston, a rear gunner, who had come down from 20,000 feet and survived. All his crew had been
killed, but, on impact, the rear turret had broken loose, being propelled away from the burning wreck. Blackston had been in hospital for several weeks, but was one hell of a mess and pain plagued him. Danzey, a bomb aimer, had been shot down over Dortmund and his collarbone had never really knit. Each airman had a tale to tell. They had come down from God knows what height and survived. They looked a motley collection, but Dave admired their toughness and cheerfulness.
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Dave's thoughts were interrupted by the soft singing of the words:
'Missed the Saturday dance,
Heard they crowded the floor,
Couldn't bear it without you,
Don't get around much anymore'
It was the diminutive wireless operator, Slater, who occupied one of the corners of the truck. He had
been singing the song, on and off, all day. Most probably it had romantic associations, but he was
quite right, he wouldn't be going to any Saturday dance or getting around much for a long time.
Dave was pleased to see the rising sun on the morrow, as the early hours had been bitterly cold,
allowing him to sleep only in fits and starts. It seemed that the train had been stationary all night and little progress had been made towards their destination, the prisoner of war camp.
After another half hour, there was stirring amongst the inmates, and utterances such as, 'Christ! It was a bloody cold night' and 'I believe train hardly moved. We'll be in this caboose until resurrection day' et cetera. It seemed that the prisoners, spawned by the war, were no better than human flotsam. Their degree of priority was nil, and so the engine to which their truck was attached was shunted hither and thither to make way for important traffic which ferried soldiers, shells et cetera to the frontline. Thus the cattle truck was left motionless in some siding for hours, while the airmen cursed their luck and nearly froze to death.
The sun was high enough in the sky now, so the locking bar on the sliding door was removed. The
prisoners, under the direction of the three armed guards, then trooped out of the motionless wagon and walked a little way off the tracks. The morning ritual was then performed: trousers downed, each man got into the crouch or sitting-down position, bared his arse to the cold morning elements and proceeded to relieve himself. Everywhere you looked there were either steaming, white bums or dripping cocks.
'I've seen it all now!' exclaimed one wit. 'The seven wonders of the world'. and another asked, 'If a
passenger train passed now, I wonder what the traveller would think was going on?' and quick as a
flash came the answer from a connoisseur of the world of experience, 'I bet he'd think he'd seen not
arseholes, but Red Indians smoking big, brown cigars.'
The ceremony over, it was back to the truck with the door locked in a slightly ajar position to
accommodate the prospective pisser. It was breakfast time now, the slice of bread and sausage,
followed by coffee, German style, tasting like burnt acorns. The food, coupled with the rays of the
warming sun, helped to dissipate the effects of the cold night and make one feel almost human again. Then the train started to roll, everyone became cheerful and Slater began singing, 'Missed the Saturday dance.' The airmen were used to activity and motion and standing still in a deserted siding or on some out of the way railway track made them champ at the bit like horses waiting for the barriers to go up at the start of a race.
During the day, Dave was able to assess his companions in adversity. He had long conversations with
the Canadians, Bolland and McDonald. Their squadron, equipped with Typhoons, harassed trains,
road movement and specific daylight targets such as factories, gun emplacements et cetera. Both were unmarried, but Bolland loved England and wished to settle there after the war. McDonald had been at university studying economics, but had decided that he wanted to fly, so joined the R.C.A.F. They had flown umpteen ops between them, and, although their planes had suffered damage previously and had limped home, this was the first time they had been shot down.
Slater, of 'Missed the Saturday dance' fame, came from Manchester where according to him, 'lived the most beautiful girl in the world', his fiancée. They were due to be married next month, November, and
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he was quite cheery about it all, 'just temporary postponement' was his summation. His crew had
consisted of all officers, excepting him, he being a flight-sergeant. Consequently, after being shot
down and interrogated, he had been parted from other members of the crew, they going to an officers' camp.
'We'll be home by Christmas,' he confidently predicted. 'We're giving the Hun hell, and the Russians
will shake the piss out of them this winter.'
Blackston, the rear-gunner, filled him in about his crash from 20 000 feet. They were attacked by
fighters on leaving Monchengladbach and he shot one of the planes down. The bomber, a Lancaster,
had gone into a dive. Blackston tried to bale by rotating the rear gun turret, but it had jammed. Then
gravity got him and he couldn't move. On crashing, the turret had broken away from the aircraft and
been hurled yards away. The Lancaster had caught fire and had blown up. Only Blackston had
survived. Eight weeks in hospital had followed, but he still had problems.
Danzey, a bomb aimer, had come down with the aircraft from 18,000 foot into a Dortmund suburb,
ploughing through telegraph wires and buildings. Only Danzey and the mid upper gunner had
survived, and the latter was still in hospital. When they had been extricated from the wreck, the
intention of the rescuers was quite clear, they wanted a lynching, but the pathetic state of the two
survivors had somehow softened their approach.
'You can't blame the bastards', Danzey had told him. 'We knock hell out of their homes, kill their
wives and children and we expect the red carpet treatment?'
Then he'd asked Dave, where had he been shot down? And on hearing that it was Holland, he
commented: 'Avoid that bloody target area. That's where they'll give you curry. An eye for an eye et
cetera.' Everyman had a vivid story to tell. The three guards were quite friendly and from them Dave
learnt the German words for 'thank you', 'food', 'bread', 'cigarette' et cetera. They all thought the war would go on forever and felt that the Russians were the danger. They even voiced the opinion that the Germans, British and Americans would, before the war's end, unite and fight the Russians, driving them back from whence they came. Their thinking flabbergasted Dave, who believed that Hitler and the German nation were the main stumbling blocks to peace and international harmony. One of the guards always stood by the slightly ajar door, but the aperture was too narrow for escape, being designed solely as a piss hole. At first there had been a lot of ribaldry concerning the unusual urinal, with such comments as 'You'd better watch the passing trains or your cock and balls will finish up in the West, while you'll finish on the Russian front completely euchred', but now no-one took any notice, familiarity breeding contempt and disinterest.
The journey continued its slow, eastward progress, punctuated by long halts and harried by bitterly
cold nights. Dave would look out of the narrow opening and watch the passing pageant, consisting of
seemingly fast passenger trains or slow, ponderous freight trains. The latter were either open wagons, loaded with tanks, artillery guns, motor trucks et cetera, or cattle trucks, like the ones they were travelling in. What amazed Dave was that it seemed that the Greater German Reich had filched rolling stock from every part of Europe. The French wagons had written on them ‘8 Chevaux ou 48
Hommes’, while the origin of the others could be identified by such words as 'Italia' et cetera.
On the fifth day, the landscape started to change. The soil became sandy and pine forests abounded.
The outlook became monotonous, dreary and depressing. They were now in East Prussia, although
Dave didn't know this. He didn't know where the hell they were going and didn't much care. All he
wanted was to get the hell out of this wooden rectangular box, bathe and have a good sleep. His wish was granted about four p.m. on the sixth day, when the train pulled into an almost deserted siding. The prisoners were unloaded and marched along a sandy narrow track, flanked by the ubiquitous pines. Then after about four kilometres, they were there, their new home Stalug Luft 6, consisting of two lagers, A and K, and ringed by barbed wire and tall, stilted, postern boxes where Argus-eyed German sentries kept guard.
Outside a tall, heavily-barbed gate, the main entrance, they were kept waiting for about an hour before being admitted to a fore-lager, where the administrative office block was situated. Here they were
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stripped, their clothes searched and they were given their ikriegsgefangenert, prisoner or ‘kriegie’
number. In the darkness they were taken through another gate to B Block within K Lager, their new
home. Eighteen of their number were accommodated in room B3, while the remainder went to B4. A meal of a quarter of a tin of corned beef and mashed potatoes awaited each of them and then it was into the bunk, wrapped in two Russian blankets, spoils of war, and to sleep.
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CHAPTER VI
The inmates of B3 were awakened by shouts of, 'Austrichten! Ausrichten!' as the door was unbolted
and the guards came stamping in. Within minutes the kriegies were up, outside and lined up ready for the 'appel' or roll call. The guards moved down the lines, counting as they went. Then, when all were accounted for, the prisoners were dismissed and allowed to return to their huts. Then it was grub-up. Two steaming jugs of coffee, acorn flavoured, were brought from the camp cookhouse and distributed, a mug full each. That was the lot, breakfast was over.
Hut B3 fitted snugly into B Block, which was a long, low building divided into twelve divisions of
drab, colourless huts, B1 to B12. So B Block resembled terraced houses in some, very poor neglected
suburb. Opposite was C Block, in every way identical with B Block, with its twelve huts. Separating
the two was a sandy thoroughfare of about 60 feet in width. Each hut had a cobbled stone floor and
down each side were arranged eighteen two-tiered bunks. Thus, being full, B3 had a complement of
seventy-two persons. In the centre of the rectangular but was a stove with an iron top, measuring about eight feet by six and used for the dual purpose of heating and cooking. At the far end there was a small alcove and here resided a very large, galvanised dustbin, used at night as a urinal. The interior of the hut resembled a large stable with the two-tiered bunks being the stalls where the horses were bedded down.
Dave looked at the miserable surroundings and decided to hit the sack. The Germans wouldn't allow
members of aircrew to work, so he had no pressing engagement. He stretched out on the lower bunk, but couldn't be comfortable. He arose and shook the palliasse, his mattress, containing wooden shavings, but found that they had shifted to either the top or bottom of the sack, leaving the centre part almost denuded. He redistributed the shavings and examined the 'springs' of his wooden bunk. These consisted of six wooden slats, each about eight inches in width. However, instead of being equidistantly spaced, they had slid to new positions. Dave rearranged them and thought that if he were to lie on them for a lengthy period his body would finish up snakelike, in and out of the slats. He replaced the palliasse carefully so as not to disturb his handiwork, then gave the sack pillow a pummelling to soften the shavings and climbed into bed. His rest was soon disturbed by the itching of his ankles and lower legs. His first night in the lager hadn't been a restful one, for his whole body had been given curry by being bitten. It was, although he didn't know it yet, the wood termites in the shavings which were responsible.
Unable to rest, Dave decided to have a look at the outside, the world enclosed by barbed wire. The
thoroughfare between B and C Blocks was fairly crowded with kriegies. Some were just sitting or
standing sunning themselves, while others were brewing-up using their home made tin blowers. Dave made his way until he passed the end of B Block and then encountered, about twenty yards further on, two detached huts, the first being the kriegies' administration block where the British Man-of- Confidence and his staff did their 'sums' and the other being the camp theatre.
Fifteen yards on was the ablution block, and then before you reached the end of the city limits - the
barbed wire - was the toilet. Dave, feeling the call of nature, entered the 'rialto' of the camp, so named because it was here that the prisoners discussed the world situation and swapped tit-bits of news. At the 'rialto' rumours were born, gathered momentum and then radiated to all parts of the camp, keeping the prisoners' hopes alive that the war would be over by Christmas. The festive season seemed the terminating point for all things, when the kriegies would be home eating turkey, plum pudding et cetera.
The toilet was a long, hut with a floor of about 20 feet in width running down the middle and flanked
on either side by plank seats, containing about 60 holes each. Beneath was a huge pit dug in the earth which received the daily droppings. Thus 120 kriegies could relieve themselves at one time, but when Dave parked himself it was only half full. Wherever he looked, to the sides, to the front, one was confronted with crappers. Some were staring into space, others concentrating on the morning ritual.
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There were those who were reading the most recent letter they had received from home, while others were just yarning. All this was quite an experience for Dave, for he was used to privacy.
'How are you crapping today?' asked a Flight Sergeant sitting next to him. 'My piles are giving me
hell. What I need is plenty of fruit. One must have fruit for a good, comfortable shit.'
Dave didn't answer this familiarity and felt uncomfortable. Then the neighbourly Flight Sergeant
leaned towards Dave, and stated in a whisper, but ensuring that those near would hear. 'I heard that the British and Americans are landing in France in a week's time, and Churchill believes the war will be over by Christmas.’
This statement made those within hearing distance prick up their ears.
'How do you know?' demanded one. 'Is it pukka gen?'
The Flight-Sergeant just smiled knowingly, and placed a finger to his lips as if he couldn't betray his
unimpeachable source of information.
When those around left, the Flight Sergeant burst out laughing, 'This place gives me the effing shits,'
he roared. 'You say something whilst you are in here and it’s all around the camp within twenty
minutes. When I get back to the hut, they'll tell me that the British and Americans have already landed and Churchill's with them. This place is full of bloody rumours and boy do they get bigger and
bigger?'
Dave and the Flight Sergeant left together, he to return to his hut, Dave to 'bash the circuit'. Bashing
the circuit was walking around the perimeter of the camp and a path or track had been beaten out bythe feet of the kriegies. The way around followed the 'warning wire', and was the extreme limit to
which a prisoner could go. Touch the wire and the itchy finger of the sentry in the postern box could
bring about death. Five yards on the outside of the warning wire was the tall, thick, barbed wire fence, the second line of defence, and interspersed in this prickly maze were the stilted, postern boxes and their sentries.
On the northern side was the fore-lager, where the German administrative staff was housed. However, encircling the camp was another wire fence and then on the very outside was a huge ditch or moat to prevent tunnelling. The would-be tunneller would have to burrow deep to avoid surfacing in the ditch. All kriegies bashed the circuit in an anti-clockwise direction so it was rarely you passed someone face-to-face. The prisoners walked singly or in pairs, seldom in threes. When you walked alone you escaped from the overcrowding, the lack of privacy, and the congestion of seventy- two in a hut and almost two thousand enclosed in a compound that was far too small for such a number. On your own, one could lose oneself in private thoughts and escape from the monotony of the diurnal round and the impact the barbed wire had on the outlook of the inmates. Thus most of the airmen walked their days away so that time would go and release would seem to come sooner.
On his return to B3 it was almost midday and yet a few prisoners were still bedridden. Once morning
roll call was over, there was no sense of urgency as there was nothing to do. Consequently, some of
those who had been in the 'cage' for a long period had taken to the 'pit' and were indifferent to all else, as if they had woven a cocoon for themselves in which to take refuge. At noon a tub of meatless swede soup arrived from the communal kitchen and was distributed, a cup full per person. Dave felt the hunger pangs.
Breakfast had consisted of coffee and now a cup of watery, swede soup did nothing to alleviate the
situation. He was bloody hungry and was pleased when the daily bread ration arrived at two o'clock.
Twelve loaves were delivered for the 72 people, so it was six to a loaf. Being portioned out as equally
as possible, playing cards, of ace, king, queen, jack, ten and nine were placed on each share. Then
those involved drew from six other cards, and if the ace was drawn you collected the bread portion
with the ace, and so on. This lottery prevented anyone from gaining an unfair advantage in the bread stakes. Thus the bread was parcelled out and Dave, having examined his share, cut it down the middle
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into two slices. He knew that his bread ration had to last twenty-four hours and there was need to
conserve, eating one piece with the evening meal and the other for breakfast. He nibbled a little, and soon one piece had disappeared. He was still hungry, however, and couldn't refrain from devouring the other slice. He realised that he had committed a cardinal sin and on the morrow he'd feel miserable on an empty stomach. Still it was a lesson he would remember and his appetite would have to be curbed or he'd always be hungry.
The second and final 'appel' of the day was taken at about four p.m., followed by mashed potatoes and a quarter of tin of corned beef per man at about 5.30 p.m. Then the doors of the huts were locked and the captives were left to their own devices. Some of hut B3’s inmates were veteran prisoners who had spent time in other camps and had been shifted from place to place; then there were those who had been in captivity for about six months; and the newly arrived of which Dave was a member. Familiarity and understanding had not yet been established and so there was general quiet with small groups conversing quietly and others just lying on their bunks. It was a quiet night for ex-members of aircrew, a far cry from the rip-roaring, squadron, salad days when one went to the pub and lived it up. Then the lights went out and everyone returned to his thoughts, escaping to a certain extent from the drab trappings of captivity.
As the night progressed, one or other of the kriegies would be forced to make the pilgrimage to the
big, galvanised dustbin in the alcove to relieve themselves, and sometimes the volume and noise of the waterfall so made could be heard by those in close proximity. This would often result in vehement protestations:
'I don't mind the pissing or the noise,' stated the first speaker. 'It's the bloody stink I hate. It's those
stinking bastards who creep down here in the middle of night and leave their visiting card. The 'pong' almost kills me, and then in the morning you see those big, black turds floating about in a sea of piss, and some poor bastards have to empty it.'
At this there were always roars of laughter and the thaw was broken. So the banter continued until
tiredness and a desire for sleep overtook the participants.
So ended the first full day for Dave’s internment.
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CHAPTER VII
The mail arrived at infrequent intervals, but when it was delivered to each hut and doled out, the
kriegies stood around in hopeful expectancy. There were those who received four or five letters and
would then retire to the 'pit' to savour and ruminate the contents of each one; while others just stood, received nothing, shrugged their shoulders and smiled it off. Soon the have-nots would leave the hut to bash the circuit and get the bitterness out of their system. The majority of these had been behind barbed wire upwards of three years and had become the forgotten men of the war. Their wives or girlfriends had grown tired of waiting for the war's end and had found consolation elsewhere, for England was swarming with Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen in the shape of Yanks, Canadians, Poles, Free French, Australians and New Zealanders, apart from British personnel. Males from the four corners of the world had converged upon the little island and women were in short supply. So the kriegies who were still remembered, read and re-read their letters; while those who had been letter less consoled themselves that everything would be rectified with the next mail delivery. There were also those who lay on their bunks indifferent to everything.
The circuit was crowded with walkers all going one way. If one didn't walk there was little else to do
and boredom set in. Dave tried to walk twenty circuits a day, ten in the morning and ten in the
afternoon and then he was buggered. How many miles a day he wasn't able to estimate, but it was a
long way for his legs felt like weights when the daily exercise was completed. Still he wanted to keep
fit and, although it was a chore, he did his best to ensure the stint was completed.
Around the 'messpot' board a big crowd had gathered to read the latest sensational news from home. Dave didn't stop for he wanted to complete a few more circuits before resting. The 'messpot' board was so called for here letters were publicly displayed so that the world behind barbed wire could learn of the infidelity and indifference of the women they had left behind. A 'messpot' was a letter from a 'loved one' stating that the relationship was over and done with, and there was a crop of final notices every time there was a mail delivery. The recipient, instead of keeping the news to himself and brooding, was supposed to display it and show the world his indifference. Whether everyone carried out this procedure was doubtful, but the 'messpot' board was always pretty full after the postman had been.
On the tenth circuit, Dave was able, the crowd having thinned, to stop and read the details of the letters displayed. They contained the usual details; You've been gone a long time; I'm tired of waiting; you're only young once; there is someone new in my life who is absolutely wonderful et cetera. Three letters however, made Dave chuckle for they were so unusual, bordering on the absurd. The first, after the usual preamble, concluded with 'so I'm having a baby by this American, but don't worry, Darling, he's sending you cigarettes.' Another stated; 'I've married your father, Love Mother'; and the third announced that the correspondent, a former fiancée, had married a sailor, who was not the jealous or possessive type, and she was certain that when the respondent came home they could resume their love relationship once again without any problems.
Dave walked on and thought what a topsy-turvy world it was. One day you were in England, in love
and loved in return, confident wedding bells were for you. Then the next, you were a prisoner-of- war, forgotten, rejected, and kicked in the guts. No-one could predict the future and, although Dave had been a prisoner for nearly ten weeks, he still hadn't received any mail as yet and so in the years ahead there was plenty of time for a 'messpot' to come his way.
As he approached B3, he was reminded by the presence of the hand-wagon, laden with Red Cross
food parcels, that it was Saturday. He helped with the unloading and was rewarded with a Canadian
parcel. The parcels came from Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United States. It was
potluck what you received. All parcels contained two tins of meat, such as corned beef, ham roll, spam et cetera, but these had been removed to the communal kitchen so that the quarter tin of meat could be given to each prisoner for his evening meal. The Canadian parcel was prized for it contained a large bar of chocolate, a tin of butter, powdered milk called 'Klim', some sugar, a dozen 'dog' biscuits, a tin
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of jam and a packet of tea. There was also an issue of fifty cigarettes per man, so it was a weekly red
letter day for the camp. Dave buttered one of the biscuits and scoffed the lot. He then placed a little
sugar on a spoon, dipped in 'Klim', and sucked the contents. It was delicious. He reasoned that this was better than putting it in tea, for tea could be drunk without milk. He loved spooning the mixture of powdered milk and sugar, as his body seemed to cry out for sweet things. However, he had to observe restraint for there were seven days to go and one couldn't hog the lot and be hungry for the rest of the week.
He joined the group warming their backsides around the big stove and listened to the discussion about the wars progress.
'The bloody Ruskies will hit shit out of them this winter. They've already started their winter
offensive. Good old Joe, he'll get us out of here,' stated one Stalin enthusiast.
The kriegies were well-informed for every day a member of 'Big X' would come into the hut and read
the latest BBC news bulletin. The radio receiver's whereabouts was a top-secret and, in all probability, was only known by one or two prisoners. How on earth it had been made or smuggled in was beyond comprehension, but the camp was full of diverse and extraordinary talents and anything and everything could be accomplished.
‘We'll be out of here before Christmas. Maxie Clarke has predicted it. His latest is that the war will
finish on 23rd. December. Maxie's always been right,' chipped in an optimist.
'I'd put my money on Clarke any day. When he goes into a trance he comes up with the 'gen',
supported another Clarke supporter.
'Bullshit! You don't believe in that crap. Who's Maxie Clarke anyway? Some washed-out kriegie
living in B9, who goes down to the bog and has wonderful visions. Christmas is only three weeks
away, and you expect the war to be over by then. You all must be bloody crazy and around the bend.
Talk about barbed wire madness,' stated a realist.
'I'll put my money on Maxie,' retorted the optimist. Clarke says anything, because he enjoys being a
prophet. 'Talking about the bog, I need to go,' chimed in a disinterested bystander. 'That bloody place freezes the balls off you.
After the evening meal of a quarter of a tin of spam and spuds, the doors of the huts were locked and the long night began. There were bridge games, one hundred rubbers up as time was limitless and the same four people pitted their wits against each other night after night. Some played Ludo and others Tip-it. Cooking was going on at the stove, the Canadian biscuits having been enlarged by a long soaking were now being fried in margarine, supplied by the Germans, and then eaten with a dollop of jam on top. It was Saturday night and consolation was needed. On the squadron Saturday night was really enjoyed to the full. It was the pub, the dance, the girlfriend et cetera, but in B3 there were those just lying on their bunks, deep in thought of the Saturday nights of yesterday.
Out went the lights and on went the Saturday night's entertainment. The portable gramophone,
supplied by the Red Cross, started to churn out the music and the disc jockey for the night prattled on, while the ex-airmen relaxed in their pits.
'I'm a little on the lonely, a little on the lonely side,
I keep thinking of you only, and wishing you were by my side,
For you know dear, when you're not near, there's no-one to romance with' warbled Sinatra.
This was followed by Vera Lynne's:
'Yours till the stars lose their glory,
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Yours till the birds fail to sing,
Yours till the end of life's story.'
So it went on until the strain of, 'Whose taking you home tonight, after the dance is through,'
resounded through the hut.
'Jack! someone yelled. 'I wonder what Dulcie's doing tonight. I bet she's not thinking of you.'
'Once met, never forgotten.' replied the gallant Jack with a show of bravado. 'Dulcie will be waiting
when I get back. I'm number one.'
At this there were roars of laughter.
'Kidding yourself, aren't you?' quipped another. 'You'll be past middle-age by the time you get out of
here, and past it.'
'Not bloody likely', retorted Jack. 'Maxie Clarke has forecast we'll be home for Christmas.’
Then there were chortles from everywhere.
The night dragged on and the gramophone ceased to make music. Dave felt the urge to visit the 'bin'
and open his bowels, but although it was after midnight it wasn't a propitious moment to make the
long trek. Every night the conversation would finally centre on the bin and there would be grumbles
and oaths concerning the rotten, stinking bastards who had crept down in stealth and the dead of night to relieve themselves and leave the smell for those in the vicinity. Everyone used it at some time or other, but even if you had been one of the culprits the night before, you joined in the protest as vehemently as anyone else. Finally, Dave could hold it no longer and tip-toed towards the Mecca of relief. He unburdened himself and then, quickly but quietly, got back just in time to his neck of the
woods.
'Jesus Christ! Who’s the dirty bastard with the black, reeking arsehole? Saturday night in the lager
stinks!' exclaimed an angry kriegie. Of course, everyone seemed to stir themselves and join in the
tumult. The blokes at top end, away from it all, expressed righteous indignation mixed with muffled
laughter, while those in the path of the smell kept up the tirade.
Relieved and feeling a lot better, Dave pulled his two blankets closer to him and settled down for the
night.
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CHAPTER VIII
Christmas had come and gone and Maxie Clarke's prediction had failed to materialise. The winds were now bleak and chilling and the ground was iron hard and corrugated. There had been snow and rain about a month previously making the earth very wet, soft and boggy, and this situation had not been helped by the feet of nearly 2000 POWs pounding it incessantly. All this had changed, however, with the advent of icy frosts and drying, blood curdling winds.
The recreation or soccer, rugby, cricket ground was in continuous use all day. It wasn't really a
recreation ground, but was the only vacant area in the camp, being bounded by the back of C Block
and the warning wire on the southern side. In the morning there was always one rugby union match
played by the Kiwi enthusiasts against some form of opposition, while for the rest of the day the
ground was devoted to soccer. Each hut had a team in the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the Lager League,
and games were of an hour's duration. Then every afternoon about 2.30, a Major League game would take place. This league consisted of six teams, such as Arsenal, Leeds United, Manchester City et cetera, and only the very best players, generally professionals, semi-professionals or top class
amateurs participated. At these big games nearly all kriegies attended and a carnival atmosphere prevailed. The bookmakers would shout the odds and the currency was cigarettes. Everything was negotiable, providing you had the wherewithal, from a toothbrush to a Red Cross parcel. Over the years, individuals or combines had amassed fortunes, being sent cigarette parcels by relatives and friends, and it was whispered that some combines, consisting of three or four persons, had nest eggs of 40,000 cigarettes upwards. However, for the newly arrived prisoner the cigarette parcels had not yet started to flow and the individual was dependent on his weekly issue from the Red Cross. Dave couldn't afford a wager, for if he came unstuck then there would be no smokes until Saturday.
Although the ground was bone-hard and devoid of grass, Liverpool and Tottenham Hotspurs battled it out to the very end. The standard of play was exceptionally high and polished, and the spectators,
although chilled to the marrow, stayed to the bitter end and then the successful punters gathered their winnings and bee-lined for the huts to thaw out. East Prussia and the Baltic area were, according to the kriegies, the place where the balls of the proverbial brass monkey froze.
The continuing cold ensured that the pangs of hunger were always present, as the only supplement to the Red Cross parcel was the meagre German rations consisting of the acorn flavoured coffee at
breakfast and the evening meal; a cup of meatless, swede soup at midday; the daily ration of bread -
about two slices; a small weekly portion of margarine and about two potatoes daily. The body cried
out for bulk, such as plenty of bread to fill one up and sweet, cloying substances such as syrup. The
cold seemed to attack the 'waterworks' and one was forever urinating. The cold was only one factor,
the other being that nothing really solid was being consumed.
The cold was so intense that after morning roll call many of the inmates of B3 would return to their
bunks and stay till midday. However, the Canadians in the lager were more active and in the afternoon would be busily engaged in pouring buckets of water over the hard ground, thus obtaining a layer of ice the next morning.
This was repeated daily, until about three inches of ice thickness covered the surface. An ice-hockey
pitch was then marked with red and blue paint, with a maple leaf in the centre. More water was then added so a further layer of ice resulted and the lines underneath plainly visible. Then, with the aid of the Red Cross ice skates, the hockey games were on with a vengeance. The winter sport attracted many an onlooker and when the hockey was abandoned because of injuries, the lager took to icesliding minus skates.
The winter was long, dreary, cold and miserable and everyone longed for the spring greenery and
harbingers of warmer weather. The camp theatre was in constant use with the artistes taking part in
revues, plays and potpourri shows. The camp boasted two dance bands: a soft lights and sweet music
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combination; and a 'big band', similar to Glenn Miller's, whose rendering of 'American Patrol' was
superb.
Somewhere in the lager a tunnel was being dug so that escape could be effected in the warmer days
ahead. The only indication that escape activity was in the air was the request for bed boards to shore
up the sides of the tunnel and the presence of the 'penguins', the disposers of the newly-dug sand. The difficulty with digging a tunnel in East Prussia was the disposal of the sand. The whole camp was built on a sandy plain and when the tunnelled sand was strewn on the surface of the compound its different colour was plainly visible and the Germans knew that an escape was in the offing. The job of the 'penguins', so called because they waddled about when performing their function, was to fill socks with sand, place these down their trouser legs and walk around the camp gradually releasing a little at the time, then pressing or rubbing it into the surface. It was a tedious job and there was a lot of sand to dispose. The bulk of the sand was placed between the ceiling and the roof of the ablution block. It might have been winter, but there was no hibernation for 'Big X' as it had its sights on escape and freedom in the spring.
The cold 1943-44 winter brought good news from the Russian front. The Ruskies were bounding
along westward at a quickening pace, and every time a BBC bulletin was delivered to B3 another
Russian town had been retaken and the Germans driven pell-mell before the Red Army juggernaut. All this was very heartening for the, 'we'll be home by Christmas brigade', but the towns mentioned were hundreds of miles away and this fact was sobering. It would be a long while before the return to Blighty, unless the Second Front was opened up.
The discussions on this aspect of the war were often and heated. The prisoners of the 1939, 40 and 41 vintage couldn't understand Churchill's reluctance to attack Hitler's European fortress. They argued that there was plenty of room from Norway to the South of France for a landing, and the much vaunted German coastal fortifications were a myth - a figment of propaganda. Then there were those who debunked this line of thought as they had been shot down in the amphibious assault on Dieppe and had received a bloody nose. Their verdict was that the Atlantic Wall was tough and there would be tremendous casualties on invasion day. However, all longed for the Great Day to arrive and concurred that the war would be soon over after the landings. One thing the kriegies had in abundance was supreme optimism.
Whenever a newly shot-down airman arrived he was the centre of interest for a few days while
questioned about the world outside. When was the Second Front going to take place? What was it like in England now? Was the place full of Yanks, and were they as successful with the women as rumours had it? It was a small world, especially the bomber world. Many of the new arrivals had served on the same squadrons as those who had been in captivity for years and so knew the same pubs, the same streets and, in some cases, the same women.
The afternoon roll call now took place at 3 p.m., as it was almost dark three-quarters of an hour later. Thus the confinement to the hut seemed endless and more time was devoted to the culinary arts. Each day Dave would trim the crusts off his two slices of bread and place them in a tin. For seven days he would do this and then on Saturday night he would have a big bust. The chopped up crusts would be placed in a container, the contents just covered with water, and the lot placed on the stove, heated and constantly stirred. Thus a watery mixture would be achieved or a type of bread pudding. A little sugar was then added and it was a feast fit for a king - or it filled the void in the gnawing stomach for five minutes.
Once a week it was down to the ablution block for showers. Each hut was allowed three minutes from the time the water was turned on to its turning off. Seventy-two airmen would hurriedly strip and rush to get a share of one of the 24 water outlets in the ceiling. On would go water as cold as ice and everyone would flee from the icy jets, only to remember they only had 3 minutes. So it was back to the showers. Then it was too hot, burning the skin, followed by hasty retreat. It was back to the shower, only to find that the water had been turned off as the three minutes was up. So it was another seven days wait until the next shower. Still, it was all part of a kriegie's life and wouldn't last forever.
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To relieve the monotony of the daily round guest speakers would be invited to huts to expatiate upon their roles in civilian life. To B3 came a big game hunter from Kenya who woke up the denizens with stories of elephants running amok, lions springing from rocks on the unsuspecting hunter, and
romance under the African stars with a beautiful woman on safari. It was all magical stuff and the
dreary and monotonous surrounds were forgotten for an hour or two. Then, another time, the guest
speaker had fought as a pilot in the Spanish Civil War and spoke of the barbarism and atrocities
committed by Franco's men. Perhaps the most interesting talk was given by a former Hong Kong
police officer who spoke about gunrunning, opium addicts, brothels, venereal disease, murder and
violence. The lager was chockfull of talented men who had lived life to the full and then had taken to
the air to wage war against Hitler's Germany.
The German guards were nicknamed 'goons' or 'ferrets' and they were always in and out of the huts.
Trading with the enemy was 'verboten' as this could cause a spiral in prices and so this segment of
commerce was in the hands of the 'Big X' committee. The members of 'Big X' would inveigle an
unsuspecting guard to bring in from outside something unimportant and he would then be rewarded
with cigarettes or chocolates. Then, as time progressed, the same guard would be encouraged to
smuggle into the camp more important things, until he was hooked and blackmailed into smuggling
cameras, wireless valves, a compass, a passport and anything that was required. Thus an inaccessible
and necessary item became available for escape purposes et cetera.
The 'Big X' committee was in-charge of all important things such as escaping, trading with the
Germans, tunnelling et cetera. Before any escape attempt could be made, it had to be approved and
sanctioned by the committee. They were the experts and decided if the plan was feasible or not. They offered advice on tunnelling and in some cases took charge of the project. They were shadowy figures and no-one really knew their identities. It was better that way, so security could be maintained and leakages minimised.
The camp's third lager C was opened in March, 1944, to accommodate the American flyers who were being shot down in droves in their daylight sweeps over enemy occupied Europe. The Flying
Fortresses had a crew of ten or more, and the long flights over Europe to bomb and then fight their
way back to base were fraught with hazard. The odds were stacked against them. At first they came in trickles, but soon the floodgates opened and the new lager was soon packed to capacity. A and K
lagers housed British and British Empire airmen, and A, being the longest established, was the richest not only in cigarettes, but in all things, K came a poor second, but poor old C was certainly the poor relation, having to start from scratch. The lagers were separated by barbed wire entanglements, and the Germans wouldn't allow visiting or exchange of goods et cetera. However, as the months passed, the affluence of the new arrivals grew with the arrival of oodles of cigarettes et cetera, and the roles were reversed, the British lagers becoming the poor relations.
Thus the winter gradually wended its slow way towards spring, and the prisoners looked forward to
the warmer days ahead when the sun would help to assuage the pains of hunger and the biting cold
would leave the bones' marrow to rest and recover. Warmth and release from captivity were what the kriegies wanted and they felt that the summer of 1944 would grant them their wishes.
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CHAPTER IX
Although it was fine, it was a cool rather bleak day for the 'Kriegie Lager Fair'. The show had been
advertised for a number of weeks, but the roll up was rather poor. In the thoroughfare between B and C Blocks, a number of stalls had been set up by enterprising entrepreneurs who not only wanted to entertain and provide recreation for their fellow prisoners, but had an eye on enlarging their cigarette fortunes. Some stalls concerned themselves with the throwing of darts - five cigarettes a go, score 75 or over to win, odds of 10 to 1. Kicking a football through a hoop at 15 yards' distance was another game of skill or chance, while if you threw three balls out of three into a bucket from about ten yards, 'the world was yours' according to the barker. The variety offered was excellent, and Dave enjoyed himself stooging from stall to stall as one could forget the menial round for an hour or so. He had received four cigarette parcels since being shot down so he wasn't too badly off, but still had to observe restraint or his small nest egg would disappear. He paid ten cigarettes in order to try kicking the football through the hoop. He placed the ball on the spot, kept his eye on the ball and head steady, then carefully kicked and followed through. The ball slewed off his right foot a thousand miles from the target.
'Shit! What the hell went wrong?' he queried angrily.
'Bad luck, sir!' commiserated the obliging barker. 'Have another.
'Bullshit!' retorted Dave. 'You can't kick a football with two left feet.' He walked away realising that as the weather was chilly he'd worn his flying boots to the lager fair. He had received from the Red Cross a pair of RAF lace-up leather boots and a pair of trousers, but still wore the warm, fleecy-lined flying boots when it was cold. It was time he decided to return to the hut and change boots and then he'd give the barker, 'Bad luck, sir.' Dave had played a lot of soccer and felt that he could augment the Griffin fortune, but it was impossible with two left feet.
He was busily changing shoes, when the cry, 'News up! Watch the windows and doors for goons!'
'Christ! The news is early.' Dave reflected. 'The newsreader generally does his stuff in the afternoon
about 4.30 p.m.'
'Today, at dawn, the Allied Forces under the Supreme Commander, General Eisenhower, began their
invasion of Europe. Beachheads have been established and our troops are moving inland. 6th June,
1944, will live in history as Deliverance Day,' concluded the excited newsreader.
There was a groundswell of excitement in B3, but it didn't erupt into cheers as the kriegies had to
maintain restraint. They weren't supposed to know anything about the outside world and would have to wait until the Germans released news of the invasion. The hut was agog with excitement and
bonhomie. Everyone agreed that the war would soon be over, six to twelve weeks would see the end. They'd all be home by September at the latest, so there'd be no more cold, bloody winters to contend with. Life was going to be sweet from now on, so the summer months would be enjoyed for at the end it would be back to Blighty.
Dave thought he'd celebrate. He had his shooting boots on and so took out of his store five packets of twenty. A hundred cigarettes would give ten tries at kicking a ball through a hoop and, besides, you didn't have an Allied invasion of Europe every day. However, it wasn't his day, and within ten minutes he was back in the hut, minus the cigarettes.
To round up the fair, there was an inter-lager soccer match between A and B. The Germans were
allowing the A Lager team, plus one hundred supporters, to visit K Lager and it was going to be a big
match. The bookmakers, in an attempt to induce bets on K, were offering odds of 4 to 1 and there were plenty of takers. Dave felt that his team had sufficient talent to win and, after much soul-searching and trepidation, plonked down one hundred cigarettes on the underdogs. If K could win then he'd finish the day well in front, but if they came unstuck then he'd have squandered away a small fortune.
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The game was fast and furious and the spectators were in fine fettle for they knew more than their
captors - the invasion of Europe had begun, but not a word was disclosed. A Lager won 3 to 1, and as
Dave returned to B3, he felt like an eighteenth century rake who had just diced away the family
fortune. He admitted he had been profligate, but what the hell, the war was as good as over.
He had only been in the hut a few minutes when there was a mail delivery. There were three letters
from Joan and two from his mother, all written about a month previously. He retired to his bunk and
read and re-read the mail. Joan was well and expressed the hope that the war would soon finish and
they would be together again for always. She was lonely and missed Dave, and longed for his return.
His mother's letters were brave and encouraging, but reading between the lines he realised that she was anxious, worried and concerned about her son's health and welfare. 'What a wonderful day it's been!' thought Dave. 'I've had five letters from the two people that really count, and the Allies have invaded Europe. To hell with the cigarettes, I can afford it.'
The weather grew warmer and the two left flying-boots became unbearably hot to wear. They were
decidedly unseasonable in the July sunshine and had out-served their usefulness and should be got rid of. This line of thought was reinforced by the D Day invasions. Admittedly, the Allied armies weren't making the rapid progress that was expected of them, being bogged down in the Caen area, but the prisoners were convinced that they'd be home well before the winter commenced. Consequently, he wouldn't need his flying boots again, so what was the use of keeping them? The plan was to raffle, despite the fact that they'd give the lucky winner two left feet. He sought out Don Slater of 'missed the Saturday dance' fame and did a deal. Slater was to be an equal partner in the project and would display one of the boots in each of the B huts and ask for ten cigarettes a ticket in the lottery. Dave meanwhile would parade the other boot in the C huts. Everything in the lager was raffled and very little salesmanship or peddling was required.
Dave took a cardboard box, some paper, a pencil, and one of the flying boots with him and started off in C1. It was dead easy, he displayed the boot, eulogised about its qualities and then mentioned the ten cigarettes necessary to be in it. A member of a combine would just throw a packet of twenty into the box and request two tickets. This went on in every hut, but the problem was when you were paid ten loose cigarettes and they were just dropped in the box. They would get crumpled, tattered, and a little worse for wear, but they were still legal lager currency.
After a hectic, morning's business, Dave had his box full and so did Slater. They counted the cigs. like
misers and then split down the middle with just over two and a half thousand each. Then they put the names in the box, drew the lucky winner, who hailed from C5, and Dave delivered the 'golden' boots.
On Dave's return, Slater enquired anxiously, 'Jesus! What did he say when you presented him with the two left-ones?'
'Bugger all,' replied Dave cockily. 'He didn't blink an eyelid and just thanked me. He did mention
though that he'd raffle them, as two left boots would keep someone warm.'
'I'll have a few tickets in that raffle, Dave,’ commented Slater, 'and if I win, then we'll raffle them
again.'
That afternoon Dave accompanied Bolland, the ex-Typhoon pilot, to the communal kitchen to see Jack McDonald. Jack had his bunk in B3, but spent all his waking time in the kitchen, ensuring that the coffee jugs were full for the first and last meals of the day and the spuds were cooked for the evening meal. Sometimes the potatoes and corned beef were mashed together into a hash and this added a little variety to the bill of fare. Jack enjoyed cooking and claimed that he would open a restaurant when he got back to Canada and to hell with flying and prisoner of war camps. Jack had adapted well to prison life, for working full time in the cookhouse had ensured that his boundless energy was channelled into a positive direction. Bolland would never change. He was still irrepressible and ebullient, and his repartee was always sharp and affective. His wit was much appreciated in B3 and would produce roars of laughter with his comments, once the lights had been doused, about the 'bin'.
'You'll be home before long, Dave,' stated Jack. 'They'll get that Welsh dragon out to greet you.'
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'I bloody hope so,' replied Dave, 'but the progress the Allies are making is so bloody slow that we'll be here for bloody Christmas if they don't speed it up.'
'Like hell you'll be here,' interposed Bolland. 'The way the Ruskies are advancing you'll either be in
Moscow dining on caviar or the Germans will ship you west and you'll be deep in the heart of
Germany.'
They were joined by burly cookhouse boss Bill McGuinness and an almost Dickensian looking
character attired in a black top hat and a morning suit. This latter character was the local chimney
sweep and one would think that he was going to a wedding rather than a big soot clean-up.
McGuinness spoke a few words to the three of them and then he and the sweep disappeared into the cookhouse.
'A tremendous guy that McGuinness,' commented McDonald with undisguised admiration. 'I'd like to have him on my side if the chips were down.'
Bolland and Dave said nothing, both knowing that McGuinness had performed a superhuman feat
about two years previously and had been 'gonged'. He and his crew had crashed into the sea, and
McGuinness had swum three miles with his navigator, who couldn't swim, on his back. There were
brave men in the lager, but McGuinness ranked with the best of them.
The doors of B3 were unbolted and the 'ausrichtens' were a lot sharper and more imperious than usual. There was no doubt that the guards weren't putting up with any backchat or tardiness, for it seemed that they were on edge and this wasn't an opportune time for fooling around. The kriegies dressed quickly and moved outside into the warming sunshine and lined up outside the huts to be counted.
Then it was the camp commandant's turn. He was annoyed, and the kriegies, having learnt a
smattering of German, knew the drift of his anger even before the speech was interpreted into English. Apparently, during the night, part of the ceiling of the ablution block had collapsed under the weight of the stored sand from the tunnel and he, the colonel, would seek out the culprits and it would go hard with them. The prisoners were obviously tunnelling their way out, but the escape route would be found that day and it would be bulldozed out of existence. There was no escape from this stalag-luft as it was escape proof. He, the officers and the guards would see to that. The prisoners must be very naive if they thought they could outwit the German authorities. The prisoners were stupid, ungrateful and if they left the security of the camp could expect no mercy. The kriegies listened in silence for their commandant was a real soldier and a man of authority, having fought in France and on the Russian front. However, on dismissal, they laughed and joked about the happening in the ablution block.
They knew the tunnel would be discovered, but it mattered not, as soon the war would be over, once Monty and Ike (Montgomery and Eisenhower) got their act together.
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CHAPTER X
C Lager, where the American flyers were housed, had grown apace not only in numbers, but affluence. The parcels - cigarettes, clothing and food had cascaded in from the U.S., making the lot of the American kriegie a lot happier. They were now either better off or at least on a par with the two British lagers, A and K, and felt that in keeping with their new status should entertain and throw their 'home' open to their British comrades-in-arms. They had decided on a boxing extravaganza to which three hundred guests from each of the other lagers would be invited. The program would commence at 11.30 a.m. and continue until 4.00 p.m., and the Americans would fight and take on the other two lagers at fisticuffs. The big bout was to be between the 'Bearded Wonder', the C Lager champion of champions, and A Lager's Bill Macey. Macey had proven himself previously when boxing matches had been arranged between A and K, and had waltzed through his bouts with ease, generally flooring his opponents. He was the undisputed reigning British Kriegie Champion, and a lot was expected of him by his supporters. The 'Bearded Wonder', on the other hand, was an unknown quantity having never fought a fight in the camp.'
Three weeks before the big day, the ballyhoo began. The A Lager scribes published twice weekly a
one-sheet newspaper with all news of the forthcoming battle. Macey was in tremendous shape and
rearing to defend the honour of A and K Lagers. The paper stated that the British hero was an exguards officer, who had forsaken the regiment to fly with the Royal Air Force. It was all bullshit, at
least that was what Dave thought, but still it was good publicity for the coming encounter. Then there was a column contributed by the Americans about the 'Bearded Wonder'. He breakfasted on steaks, disposed of six sparring partners daily and did miles of roadwork. His identity was a closely guarded secret and it was whispered that during the fight he would wear a mask so he wouldn't be recognised. The article concluded that in all probability the 'Wonder' belonged to one of America's top families, a Roosevelt or Vanderbilt, and his anonymity must be preserved as Daddy wouldn't approve of Junior's participation in such a violent sport.
The big day dawned and Dave, who was fortunate enough to be included amongst the guests, trooped over to C Lager. The Americans had really entered into the spirit of the thing and constructed a first class boxing ring, and had home-made movie cameras, which didn't work, standing on tripods everywhere. Above, these cameras were signs such as 'Pathe', 'C.B.C. News', 'Movietone' et cetera. Each contest consisted of 3 rounds of 3 minutes’ duration, and fight followed fight. The boys from the A and B Lagers were given a touch of glamour by being introduced as Johnny Jones from Nepal, Fred Stuckey from Hong Kong, Bill Haines from the South China Seas, and Bill Waring from the Khyber Pass, India, the far-flung outposts of the Empire being given much prominence. Then it was 3.30 p.m. and time for the big bout, again a three rounder, as the camp diet was insufficient to warrant a fight of longer duration. The camp celebrities were introduced from the ring: American Man-of-Confidence, British Man-of-Confidence, then a string of well-known personalities who had made the big time in civilian life and whose status had been reduced by the vicissitudes of war. It was a topsy-turvy world, up one minute and down the next.
The betting was high and the American bookmakers were offering four to one on Macey, showing that in a two horse race he was considered a non-starter. The six hundred British visitors were plunging heavily on their champion, for they felt that the odds were terrific and they'd go away with fortunes. However, it was not to be. The A Lager champion, despite background and guardsman's moustache, succumbed to the 'Wonder' in a points decision. Of course, there was a howl of protest at the decisionfrom the British contingent: 'We wuz robbed', plaint, but the 'Wonder' had won fairly and squarely.
So it had been a great day and the Americans had grown richer by thousands of cigarettes and had left the poor relations A and B far behind.
The weather was really hot and the kriegies' attire was becoming less and less. Some had taken to
sunbathing in the nude and this was becoming the vogue, until a rumour circulated that hot sun on the
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testicles rendered one sterile. So respectability was gained by the 'g' string and the inmates continued to enjoy the warmth.
The heat helped to drive the hunger pangs away, and there seemed to be more energy for other
pursuits, such as swimming. K Lager had a fire pool, which was as black as the ace of spades and full
of frogs, but it was hot and an enterprising prisoner considered it was time for a swim. Everything was contagious in the Lager and within an hour the pool's surrounds were littered with naked bodies all enjoying the amenities of the new-found lido, while the pool was jammed with bathers who emerged a darker colour than on entering. For two days the new attraction was allowed to prosper by the authorities, although the amount of water gradually decreased as the water was splashed outwards on to the muddy banks by the antics of the bathers. Then the Germans acted, it was declared a health hazard - typhoid being mentioned and the pool was 'verboten'. So ended the two-day interlude at the seaside.
The aquatic activities having been curtailed at the height of the season, it was on with another summer sport, cricket, and what better than a test match between England and Australia to capture and hold the interests of the men of B Lager. The English supporters stated that it would be a non-event, because of the limited choice available to the Australian selectors, but when one considered the number of Aussies in the lager it was time for reconsideration. Although it was true that the bulk of the POWs were from the British Isles, it was surprising the contribution made by Australia and Canada, considering their small populations. It was to be a three-day match with set intervals for lunch and tea, just like at Lords, despite the fact that there would be nothing to eat. Still tradition had to be complied with.
Australia won the toss and batted on what was supposed to be a perfect pitch, devoid of a blade of
grass. The dust heap had been swept and then rolled with petrol drums filled with water. The
Lancashire curator from C9 had declared it the best wicket he had seen outside Old Trafford, and there was a bag of runs to be had, but the English opening bowlers seemed to think otherwise and made the ball bounce and lift alarmingly.
Four Australian wickets tumbled for nine runs and then the boys from Down Under decided that it was time for bold tactics. They hit out lustily much to the crowd's delight and at lunch were five wickets for 113 runs, a useful start.
As there was no selling of scorecards, chocolates, cigarettes or matches during the break, the lager's
brass band entertained with such tunes as 'Colonel Bogey', 'Anchors Away' et cetera. Then some of the spectators, thinking that they could do better than the actual players, invaded the playing area and commenced a test match of their own on the holy of holies, the test wicket. This continued until the irate curator emerged from C9 and uprooted the test stumps in a bid to check the proceedings and force the invaders to take up positions behind the boundary. The abrupt ending of the game almost resulted in fisticuffs, but all ended well with the reappearance of the players.
The Australian batsmen pushed on, timing their shots and slogged the many loose deliveries, and were further aided and abetted by some poor English fielding - innumerable catches being dropped. So a respectable score of 197 was reached and Australia was well-satisfied.
The Englishmen batted as if they were at Lords, very correct and proper, but the wicket was
treacherous, bouncing, shooting and keeping ankle high, so were dismissed for a paltry forty-two.
Being forced to follow-on over 150 in arrears, they changed tactics and lashed out, but could only
muster 148. So the three-day match had ended in a day and the Aussies had won the test by an innings and seven runs. The blame was heaped on the ground staff and the curator, who had let the kriegies down. One day of cricket, when they were expecting three was poor and unforgiveable by anyone's standards.
The lights were out and the kriegies were relaxing in their pits after a day in the sun. The conversation generally centred itself on women, the war or the 'bin', but tonight the war took precedence.
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'I'll tell you what!' called out Bolland. 'For us this goddamn war will soon be over. The Ruskies will be
here and then we'll all go home via Moscow.'
'Bullshit!' interrupted Mackie, the Australian pilot who had topped scored in the recent test match.
'Listen mate, who the bloody hell wants to go home via Moscow? There'd be nowhere to go. It would be a dead end and they might keep us there for years.'
'We could no home via India or the Black Sea or some other route', explained Bolland tamely, who
had been temporarily set back on his heels by the Aussie's assertive statement. However, he gathered momentum for he was never nonplussed for long. 'Moscow will do me! Think of all those Russian women just waiting to meet a Canadian fighter pilot. I’ll be an instant success. Who the hell gives a shit where we go, as long as we get out of this bloody place?'
'I'm with you there, Canada.' replied Mackie. 'When you talk of 'sheilas', you're talking my kind of
language. We'll go well together, the perfect and irresistible combination. Me with my sun kissed body and you with your good looks. God! What a time we'll have!'
'What a lot of crap you bastards shovel around!' chipped in an interested listener. 'Mackie, when you
get to Moscow you'll be buggered. The lager diet makes you sterile and there won't be any women
interested in you.'
'Like bloody hell!' retorted the valiant Mackie. 'There's bugger all wrong with me. I'm as good a man
as ever I was. Who topped scored in the recent test? The old Bondi hero.' There were roars of laughter at this self-recommendation.
'Atta boy, Mackie! You give 'em heaps,' encouraged Bolland. 'We Aussies and Canucks must stick
together.'
Then the argument about possible evacuation continued far into the night, and the kriegies saw
everything through rose-coloured spectacles for hope sprang eternal in the prisoner's breast and the
'home by Christmas' mentality was very much to the fore.
The warmth and sunshine continued from day to day and the belief that for the prisoners the war was nearly over gained a stronger and stronger hold. It was inevitable that the Russians' westward drive would reach East Prussia in a matter of weeks, and so the intervening period was a time to be enjoyed and to prepare for freedom. However, fate can be unkind and it has a habit of jolting one's apathy and feelings of euphoria.
One night the kriegies were awakened by rifle shots, followed by a lot of commotion. The Russians
had arrived at last, but then things went quiet and returned to normal. It was discovered the next day that an American from C Lager had tried to escape by scaling the barbed wire entanglements and had been killed. The camp was saddened, for they felt that had he waited a little longer then rescue was inevitable. However, the shock brought to the fore the realisation that the war was not yet over and the casualties and deaths would continue to mount.
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CHAPTER XI
For two days a carnival atmosphere had pervaded the camp and an air of abandon possessed the
prisoners. The evacuation had been announced by the commandant at afternoon roll call, and the next day, C Lager had been cleared and the Americans dispatched to some unpronounceable place, deep in the heart of Germany. Within twenty-four hours, A Lager had moved out to an unknown destination, and these two large compounds were now empty, silent and ghostlike. Tomorrow was K's turn. The remaining prisoners were to be evacuated in two groups and sent their various ways. So now it was time for rejoicing, for it was the last day of incarceration and freedom beckoned in the guise that the war was as good as over. Admittedly, the kriegies' initial reaction to evacuation had been annoyance and frustration for hopes of deliverance had been pinned on the Ruskies and there had been visions of Moscow and a good time. Later, however, they had reasoned that the Germans must be on their last legs and had no hope of stemming the Russian advance westward, and further the overall position of an early release had been enhanced by the British and American successes in France.
Dave had been going over his few precious belongings and packing in readiness for the exodus.
Travelling space would be very limited and everything taken had to be carried, so one had to be
selective. The two blankets were a must, and so was the Red Cross food parcel which had been issued one to each person for the journey. Dave knew all about cattle trucks and the time taken to get from A to K. However, there would be a thousand prisoners involved this trip, and it could be a long time before the destination was reached and another issue of food given. The Germans wouldn't be catering on this trip - it was the food parcel and nothing else. Then there was the cigarette problem - how many to take? Dave had about 1200 in packets of 20, so he wouldn't leave any behind. He'd take those for they represented currency, but 60 packets of 20 made a bulky parcel. The knife, fork and spoon, plus the drinking mug and dish were vital, but when all were put together the luggage would be heavy, cumbersome and unwieldy. He possessed one pair of socks, a vest and pants as a change from what he was wearing, so they had to be taken too. The big question was, what to do with the RAF greatcoat, a Red Cross donation? At night it was his third blanket, but in the hot July of 1944 it looked strangely out of place and superfluous. If he took it, he would be weighted down like a packhorse and would sweat streams walking from the camp to the railway siding, their departure point. Then, again, he reasoned that the war was as good as over and there would be no second winter to endure. He rolled it into a ball, kept in place with string, and then loaded himself. The blankets and greatcoat went on his back, rucksack style, and the rest was carried by hand. He felt hot, buggered, and loaded to the gunwales. It would be hard work carrying his belongings in the heat of the sun, for it was bad enough just standing in the cool of B3. He debated with himself the necessity for the greatcoat's retention and decided to hang on to everything. If the worse came to the worse, he could throw the coat away.
Everything being ready for the morrow, he left the hut to join in the festivities. The whole world
seemed topsy-turvy. The Red Cross store had issued its whole stock of toilet paper rolls, as it couldn't be transported to the new camp, and so there was an abundance - about four rolls a person. The electricity and telephone wires were festooned with bunting as the rolls were thrown upwards draping everything and making a ticker-tape departure. Some of the bunting had even been thrown at the highstilted sentry boxes and now adorned these forbidding sentinels. Perhaps the drapery was symbolic of the contempt the prisoners had for Hitler's Germany and all it represented.
There were gramophone records or discs flying everywhere. Over the years the Red Cross had been
generous in this direction in an endeavour to cater for the musical needs of the deprived. In addition, many music lovers had preferred record parcels to cigarettes and so had accumulated vast stocks. It was impossible to transport these to the next camp, and so were being thrown in all directions, whizzing through the air like boomerangs. They were dangerous, too, so you had to tread warily or the head would go a-rolling. On the recreation ground one enterprising entrepreneur had set up a game of chance by sticking a piece of wood in the ground, draping it with a coat, and charging 20 cigarettes a go at trying to hit it at 30 yards’ distance with a record. The prize being 50 cigarettes. No one knew what he would do with the profits, for he certainly wouldn't be able to take them with him.
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The toilets seemed to have a very special attraction for the kriegies for, antlike and loaded with
cardboard boxes of cigarettes, they made pilgrimages to the 'bogs'. Here they would tip the 'currency' down into the shitty depths. They were throwing away fortunes which had, in some cases taken almost five years to amass, for it was no good to them now. They couldn't carry their loot with them and the alternative was to leave it for the enemy.
'Not bloody likely!' was the consensus of opinion. 'They'll get bugger all from me. If they want a
smoke, then they can have shit on it as well as arsehole aroma.'
The cigarettes were poured into this depository and the lager's wealth gradually disappeared. This
dissipation was a great economic leveller. The kriegies, who possessed fortunes, were now reduced to a common denominator, for wealth depended on the number of cigarettes you could transport, and after the essentials such as blankets, greatcoat et cetera, were taken into consideration, the amount of room for 'smokes' was roughly the same as everyone else's. Those who lacked lager 'gold' were now able to stock up from those divesting their fortunes in the morass and quagmire of the lager's 'rialto'.
Despite all the unusual things going on, tradition was hard to break and many prisoners were still
'bashing the circuit'. It seemed that years of habit couldn't be discarded overnight just because an
exodus was in the offing. Dull routine was an essential ingredient of lager life, and the swirling and
twisting records, plus reams of toilet paper strewn all over the place, couldn't deter the regimented.
However, the postern or sentry boxes weren't manned, and it was the first time that this state of affairs had existed so there was no-one to take a pot-shot at anyone infringing regulations, such as touching the warning wire et cetera. Indeed, down at the ablution block, scores of prisoners were doing their dhobi in preparation for the move and had cheekily hung the washing on the warning wire to dry, for there would be no retaliation.
The last night in B3 was full of speculation about the future. What would the morrow bring, and where were they going? Most agreed that it would be deep in the heart of Germany where they would come to rest and there would be no chance of escape. However, Mackie started an argument about repatriation. He tried to convince the inmates that the Germans no longer had the food to feed the prisoners in K Lager, and they would all be sent to Sweden, where they would remain until the end of the war. This line of argument was easy to swallow for everyone wanted it to happen, and so the more gullible gave Mackie their support. However, Bolland told Mackie that he was pissing down his leg and was being bloody stupid.
'Sweden! Mackie you must be joking.’ No-one knew whether Mackie was really in earnest, for he
often said things just to get a reaction and an argument going.
There was a lull for a few minutes as if everyone was contemplating the future. Sweden was just a
pipe dream, so the alternative was 'deep in the heart of Germany'.
'I'll tell you what, Mackie!' blurted Bolland. 'I know you give me the shits and the piles, but you're not a bad sort of bloke deep down. In fact, you'll do me, how about you and me staying behind tomorrow? Everyone pisses off, and we'll have the camp to ourselves, we could hide in the roof of the ablution block and wait for the Ruskies to come.'
'She'll be right, mate', came the Aussie's reply, 'but I wouldn't like to be stuck in the roof for a few
weeks. It would be too bloody hot. Besides your feet stink and I couldn't stand it and I'd give myself
up to the Germans.'
'We'll be in the ablution block, won't we?’ demanded Bolland.
'So I'll be able to slip down through the trap door and have a shower three times a day. Besides, it
wouldn't be a bad idea if you had a shower occasionally and then you could wash the piles out of your arse. They must give you hell. No wonder you're always scratching it.'
At this there were roars of laughter.
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'How about me joining you?' someone asked, good humouredly. 'What with the piles and the stinking feet, I feel you need a third person to keep up the morale.'
'Piss-off!' retorted Mackie. 'Me and Bolland want to be alone. Don't we? Haven't you heard we've got a thing going between us, and a third party would bugger things up?'
'For once I agree with you, Mackie,' was Bolland's laughing reply.
'We don't want anyone else. Two in the roof will be plenty.'
'By the way, Bolland, I see you've lost your mate, McDonald,' stated Mackie. 'Why the hell did he ship out with A Lager? Didn't he like you or something?'
'The cookhouse mob was moved out together with the A Lager bods, so McDonald went with them,'
was Bollard’s reply. 'I told him I'd see him when we got back to Canada, and the way the war's going,
it won't be long.'
So the banter went on until the early hours of the morning.
The next morning the men of C Block were counted, checked, rechecked, and then marched out of the camp - destination unknown. B Block received the same treatment about two hours later, and by noon were on their way to the railway siding about four kilometres distant. The day was hot and the August sun made Dave feel like a trussed rooster, especially with the blankets and greatcoat on his back and the Red Cross food parcel and other luggage to hand. It was hard work just putting one foot after the other and there were frequent stops for rests and the readjustment of luggage.
At the siding the cattle trucks were drawn up ready to receive the passengers, and on the platform were innumerable buckets of drinking water. Then the prisoners were herded into the trucks, the sliding doors closed, and they were sealed, signed, and ready to be transported. The instruction ‘8 Horses or 48 Men' seemed to have been stretched a little for there was precious little room for each person, without the accompanying luggage. Everyone was standing as if expecting the door to slide open, and the guard would yell, 'All change! All change!' However, there was no such call, and the train remained stationary at the siding, and the temperature within the trucks seemed to rise appreciably and the perspiration simply poured from everyone. It was sit down or fall down, and gradually everyone sat. The lucky ones had their backs supported by the sides of the truck, but those in the middle were less fortunate. The leg room was sufficient if drawn up, but once outstretched they brushed someone else or rested on top of another pair of legs, accompanied by: 'keep your bloody feet to yourself.'
Then the train started to move, and Dave heard Bolland say, 'Christ! This is where I came in. I've done it all before.'
'Me too, mate!' chorused Mackie.
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CHAPTER XII
The hot sun burned down on the weary, disconsolate marchers as they covered the distance from the railway station to the new camp. Although it was only four kilometres, the journey seemed endless, each plodding step requiring so much effort. The impedimenta; the blankets, the Red Cross parcel et cetera with which each person was burdened, seemed to weigh tons and became heavier with every movement, while the rays of the sun seemed to percolate to the very marrow to ooze perspiration all over. The long, bedraggled column limped its way along, watched only by a few disinterested pedestrians.
'So this is Poland!' mused Dave. 'The Germans can stuff it as far as I'm concerned.'
He felt exhausted and dispirited, despite the warmth of the day, for the journey had been a real bastard, Four days they had been cooped up in the cattle truck, only to be let out morning and evening to relieve themselves on the side of the railway tracks. The journey had been punctuated by stops and starts, and the stops had been often and lengthy. Once the sun had started to rise the temperature within the cattle truck rose appreciably until it became suffocating, especially if the train was at a standstill. The shortage of leg-room was acute for if you stretched out someone would place his legs on top of yours and so on, until yours were at the bottom of the pile and pins and needles occurred through lack of movement. Then they were extricated with difficulty and plonked on the top. This continuous game of musical chairs reminded Dave of a game he played as a child, when hands were placed on top of each other and the bottom hand was moved to the top in rotation.
In the end one would tire of the continual movement and withdraw from the contest by pulling the
knees into the stomach. However, when the knees and legs grew aching and tired in this position, the solution was either to stretch out again and become involved or stand up.
The water situation had also been a problem. Buckets of drinking water had been placed inside the
truck, but the movements of the train, especially the stoppings and starts had caused a certain amount of sloping and wastage. However, the urinal, the narrow gap caused by the partly open sliding door, was not in great demand for the perspiration was great and the warm weather placed no undue emphasis on the bladder.
The trek continued and Dave felt like discarding his greatcoat. Many of the prisoners had left theirs
behind in the lager or had dumped them somewhere along the route, feeling that they had a outlived their usefulness. The high temperature reinforced this feeling and Dave favoured the idea of following suit as it would make his load a lot lighter. He felt as if he were part of a mule train in a cowboy movie moving ponderously and laboriously towards the horizon. Still he had brought the coat this far, so he reasoned he'd hang on to it for another few kilometres.
Before entering their new abode, the prisoners were made to strip, their clothes searched, identity
checked by means of 'dog-tags' and then the gates opened and they were allowed to proceed. From
previous experience, the entry of new arrivals was always greeted by a large crowd who were
impatient to learn, at first hand, the latest news from home or, perhaps, were hoping to meet someone whom they had known, previously on the squadron or from their home town. Thus the intermingling of the old and the new was generally a slap-backing occasion with animated discussions. However, there was no welcoming party here, and there prevailed a complete indifference to the new arrivals. The prisoners were led along a sandy track and on each side, dotted here and there, were detached huts - a far cry from the terraced type of the previous camp. The compound was huge and seemed to sprawl endlessly, lacking cohesion and togetherness. This could be attributed to the lack of barbed wire. At the previous camp there had been lagers all separated from each other, thus giving rise to closely knit communities, but here there was no separation and one could wander at will.
Dave enjoyed his new home for the weather was hot and there was freedom of movement. The camp was for soldiers, but this ruling had been waived to accommodate the newcomers. Thus, in his
wanderings, Dave met men who had been far removed from his path in life. There were Dunkirk
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heroes, the forgotten men of yesterday, who had fought on the beaches seemingly years ago and had spent the intervening years in different parts of the Greater German Reich. There was McLeod, a
grizzled, old army veteran, who had served in India, frequented the brothels of Hong Kong, caught
gonorrhoea in Singapore and been baked to a cinder in Aden. Shipped home in time for the
commencement of World War II, his military career had come to an abrupt halt when captured in
France in 1940.
A very relaxed atmosphere pervaded the whole compound and here things differed considerably. It
seemed that one was allowed to trade with the Germans for there were numerous stalls about the place where one could purchase - providing you had the cigarettes - eggs, bread, margarine, vegetables and some fruit. However, the airmen's currency had dwindled and there were few buyers amongst the flyers. The biggest entrepreneurs were a combination called 'Burly and Bill', who owned a fairly large premise and seemed to have a monopoly on the more desired foodstuffs. Where they obtained it no one seemed to know, but at times they had small fish for sale and even one or two chickens. All the other traders seemed poor relations in comparison and didn't possess the contacts that the partnership had. Still, it seemed that racketeers existed everywhere, even in a German POW camp.
Most of the army prisoners were employed during the day on neighbouring farms or in local factories and this contact with the outside world helped to facilitate trade. Further, it was the essential ingredient that destroyed the rule of ' no trading with the enemy', which had prevailed and been strictly adhered to by the airmen when in East Prussia. The lassez-faire attitude which permeated the camp after the strict regimen of East Prussia was, at first, difficult to get used to, but, nevertheless, it was something new and tended to break the monotony of confinement.
The weather continued hot and dry, and so the hunger pangs assailing the stomach were appeased to a certain extent and Dave was free to wander over the sand wastes comprising the camp. The terrain reminded him of the dunes of the Porthcawl area back in his native Wales, where he had always spent his annual holiday as a boy. However, here there was no sea to bathe in.
The hut housing Dave was parked on its own and contained twenty-four two tiered bunks and the newfound freedom existed even here. There was no six o'clock curfew when the doors were locked and no piss-bin to generate controversy. One could sleep in the sand if desired and also use it as a urinal at night.
Most of the old B3 crew were still together in the hut. At night there were no longer a gramophone and records to entertain, so it was chit-chat about the new acquaintances and experiences.
'Jesus, I'd hate to be one of those Dunkirk wallahs. Fancy being in the cage nearly five years, it would
drive you mad. You wouldn't know what your cock was for after all that time. Their kids will be
grown up and married by the time they get back to Blighty, and God knows what their wives have
been doing,' stated Bolland in his nightly communiqué on the state of the camp.
'Bullshit, mate!' retorted Mackie. 'Most of the poor buggers are wire happy. When you've been behind barbed wire as long as they have you don't want to get out. This place represents security and when you grow old you don't look for challenges.'
'What a lot of crap you blokes spray about. If I were in this bloody country a hundred years, I'd still
want to get back to good old Manchester and the girlfriend,' interposed Slater.
'If you were here for a hundred years, it wouldn't be worth going back,' chuckled Blackston. 'You're a
cockless old wreck now without waiting all that time.'
'Talking about calling the kettle black!' retorted Slater. 'Yours almost disappeared under the 'waterfall' the other day.'
'Shit! That bloody waterfall would freeze King Kong's waterspout to the size of a peanut and make
him forget sex for six months. It's the coldest, bloody thing I've ever known. Jesus, you need to be mad
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to go under that,' joined in Bill Welling’s, a native of Liverpool, who had been a prisoner almost two
years.
Welling’s was a man of few words, but he managed to extract a laugh when he made a pronouncement.
The 'waterfall' consisted of a huge, iron, corrugated tank placed on a wooden platform about twentyfeet off the ground and supported by four large poles. In the base of the tank was a spring trap door from which dangled a piece of wire. The kriegies would shower by standing under the tank, hold their breath, and then jerk the wire. The icy water would cascade down, drowning the bather, who would be forced to release the wire, thus closing the trap. The water must have been pumped from the bowels of the earth for it was freezing and you needed an hour to regain breath and composure.
The lull in conversation was broken by Danzey's voice. 'Talk about waterspouts and sex, that bloody
McLeod has done everything and everybody and has caught a few surprise packets along the way. He was telling us about when he was stationed in India. The white women were all hoity-toity being
officers’ wives et cetera and the men of other ranks were left out in the cold. So he had to resort to the brothels, and, boy, were his descriptions vivid and colourful.’
'Did he tell you how he caught gonorrhoea in Singapore and the antics he had to go through to make
himself clean again? He must have felt like a bloody pincushion by the time the treatment was over,'
added Bolland. 'Christ! The poor old bugger must be sixty, and after nearly forty years of soldiering
he's still only a corporal.'
'What do you expect?' demanded Welling’s. 'He wasn't interested in promotion. His priorities were sex, brothels and clap, and now he's only got his memories. Poor bastard!'
'I knew a bloke like that back in Sydney,' reminisced Mackie. 'He'd strut about Bondi Beach in his
swimmers and all the sheilas would be crazy about him. He had sex for breakfast, lunch and dinner
and then he'd have it for afters as well if it were around. Jesus, he thought a lot of himself! Always
combing his bloody hair. He'd leave McLeod for dead.'
'What happened to him?' asked Danzey innocently.
'Poor bastard caught nearly everything going,' replied Mackie, 'and passed on most of it. He died early. Just couldn't stand the pace.'
'You talk a lot of horseshit, Mackie,' stated Bolland bluntly. 'This Bondi Romeo of yours just wasn't
good enough. He's dead, but McLeod's alive. So who's the better man for Christ sake?'
'You blokes are sex crazy,' interrupted Blackston, 'Let's talk about something interesting, like the war
and when we'll get out of here.'
'Hell! You're a bloody comic, Blackston, 'laughed Danzey. 'Here we've been having a bloody
interesting conversation and you have to get back to reality and ordinary things. You give my piles a
twist, and believe me they're sore enough as it is.'
'Talking about piles,' joined in Slater, 'my arsehole has been giving me hell lately. It's this bloody diet.
You get nothing to open up the old bowels. When I have a shit it's like trying to pass red hot daggers
through the eye of a needle.'
'You poor bastard!' sympathised Welling’s. 'I have the same problem so I know what it's like. If you
could get some ruddy ointment it would be a help.'
'Why don't you go and see old McLeod?' asked Bolland laughingly. 'He's got a cure for everything,
and they tell me he's a bit of a surgeon as well. He might be able to operate on you both in between
telling his life's history and his brothel adventures. It would add to his status if he could put up a sign
stating that he was a haemorrhoid specialist as well as a pox doctor's clerk.'
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'You're a real bastard, Bolland. You've no sympathy for anyone', said Mackie, entering into the fray.
'You can thank your lucky stars that you're tucked away in a POW camp or you'd be poxed up to the
eyebrows by now. The war's saved you, Bolland.'
'I don't know about the pox,' returned Bolland gallantly, 'but hells, bloody bells I want a piss. I'll have
to go outside and study the stars for a few minutes. Don't hold your breath while I'm away, and for
Christ sake give old McLeod a rest.'
Bolland exited to roars of laughter, and then a silence fell on the hut as each person took refuge in his private thoughts and world.
[page break]
CHAPTER XIII
Bill Welling’s and Dave were walking about the camp, neither saying much. The sun was hot and its
warmth comforting and soothing. Dave knew all about Welling's background. He hailed from
Liverpool and possessed the inimitable Liverpuddlian accent. Before the war he had worked as a clerk with a shipping firm and had hated the dull routine and regimen the daily task imposed. It was eight till five, and often no-one was prepared to leave until the head clerk had downed tools and quit. Then it was on to the RAF, where he had graduated as a bomb aimer. Mission had followed mission, and he felt that he had a charmed life and, like all aircrew personnel, was indestructible. However, a raid on Essen had proven his undoing. The bombs had been delivered and the return flight seemed a piece of cake, when the Lancaster had been mortally wounded by cannon shells from an enemy fighter. The crew baled out coming down in Belgium, but had been scattered. The next morning, while Bill was walking along a country road, he was approached by a young woman who asked in English was he a member of the plane that had been shot down the previous night. Being in RAF battledress and feeling that the girl was sympathetic and friendly, he admitted that he was. She then led him to a small house about 2 kilometres distant, where he bathed, ate and was given civilian clothing. The Germans had occupied nearly every Western European nation and the penalty for harbouring the enemy was death. Thus the family housing Bill was exceedingly brave. On the third day, Bill was given instructions to walk straight down the road for about a kilometre where he'd see a man standing with a bicycle and his hat in his left hand. He was to follow him at a respectable distance and on no account was he to communicate or make any sign of recognition. This person would lead him to his new sanctuary. The journey was quite long, but worth it for on arrival at his new abode he was reunited with his skipper and navigator, looking strangely out of place in civilian clothes instead of the customary officer's uniform. There was a joyous reunion and questions asked and answered about the other members of the crew. Apparently, all had baled successfully, but the rest of the crew had been picked up by the enemy who were still scouring the area for the three evaders. They were confined to the house for a week and exercised indoors, played cards, slept and ate. Then the escape routine was repeated by walking to the railway station - being previously provided with tickets - boarding a train that went to Brussels and so finishing up in the capital. This journeying from place to place went on until they reached an hotel in Paris, where the Gestapo swooped and rounded up not only the three in question, but also about twenty other evading airmen. Then it was to Fresnes, the Gestapo prison in Paris.
'Fresnes must have just about driven you mad, Bill? Dave said unexpectedly. 'I know I would have
gone bonkers if they'd locked me up there.'
'Dave, you've got no idea of what it's like. I tell you I nearly went around the bend. When you're
locked up in solitary with no-one to confide in, your troubles seem mountainous and insoluble. It's
either very quiet, not a sound, or you hear some poor bastard wailing or crying. The Gestapo were
either beating shit out of him or he'd gone off his head. It wasn't hard to do.'
'Did they beat you, Bill?'
'No, they didn't actually inflict any physical punishment, I suffered mentally. They interrogated me
about the Underground and where had I been? Whose house had I been in? What were the names of the people who had cared for me et cetera? Thank God I didn't know. No-one told us their real names or where we were, as they felt it was better that way. I was scared stiff they might take me back to where I was shot down and try and make me find the place where I went first. I freeze up when I think of it. One piece of information and they'd unravel the knot and then God help the Resistance.'
'Your six weeks must have seemed like years, Bill?'
'It was the longest and worst six weeks of my life. Jesus, I feel sorry for Docker, he was in Fresnes ten
months. No wonder the poor bastard is as grey as a badger and he's only twenty-three. They must have given him the treatment.'
'What do you intend doing when the war's over? Is it back to the shipping office?'
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'Like bloody hell! I just couldn't stand the monotony. I'd tell the head clerk to get stuffed. The
pompous arsehole. A little power makes some people drunk. He ought to be in aircrew, then he'd be
levelled out.'
The two walked on, and then Dave suggested, as they were in the vicinity, that they drop in on
Corporal McLeod and find out what crap he was shooting around. The grand old man, as usual
surrounded by his devotees or those who wanted a laugh to relieve the monotony, was expatiating
upon his favourite topic. He'd just been asked what gonorrhoea was like and how it affected one, and his reply was vivid, humorous and colourful. Then the crowd dispersed.
'How are you today, Mac?' enquired Bill.
'Bloody awful! I feel like my guts have been taken out, chopped up, salted and peppered, and then put back in and my belly sewn up with a red hot poker. Jesus, I feel sick!'
'It's your past catching up with you, Mac,' said Dave jocularly. 'They say that too much poking doesn't do anyone any good, and it tends to rot the guts and the penis.'
'Horseshit!' was McLeod's emphatic reply. 'There's nothing wrong with my cock. It's as good as ever it was, for it's been in retirement for five years, but my guts are giving me hell. It's this bloody food and the flies. They eat you alive and shit all over the food, so what do you expect? It's a wonder we're not all dead.'
'We'll be out of here before long, Mac, and then everything will be peaches,' comforted Bill. 'You can
go back to Singapore for another dose of clap, and I'm for Blighty.'
'You're a bloody optimist then. We'll be here for years yet, and the Japs will be in Singapore for
another decade. There's too much on our plate. Shit, my gut is killing me! I'm off to the quack. I
haven't time to educate bastards like you,' and with that McLeod took his farewell, leaving Bill and
Dave a little crestfallen at the news imparted.
They made off in the direction of their hut, neither saying much but ruminating upon McLeod's
prophecy of the war's ending. Dave felt he couldn't and didn't want to do another winter as a captive. The bloody cold went through you and your state of health was deteriorating. The diet and privations took their toll and this was evident by the number of repatriations. When X-rayed by the Red Cross doctors the incidence of tuberculosis had been high amongst those who had been prisoners for a number of years. There were too many problems ahead and Dave didn't relish the future.
Dave broke the silence. 'What do you think about McLeod's forecast!'
'You mean about the war dragging on? McLeod gives me the shits. He's always crapping on about
something he knows bugger all about. He should stick to sex and not make pontifical statements about the military situation.'
'The war news is good in the West. The British and American armies are screwing the balls off the
Germans and Montgomery is showing the Yanks how a modern war should be fought. It's the Eastern front I can't fathom. When we came here in July, the Ruskies were steamrolling their way eastwards and it looked like Warsaw would fall. And what happened? We heard on the BBC news the Russians had asked the Polish Underground to rise up, take over the city and kill the German garrison. The Ruskies were only about 30 kilometres from the outskirts of Warsaw at that time, and what have they done since? Bugger all! They've just sat on their arseholes and kept a friendly eye on things, while the poor old Poles are being slaughtered. Buggered if I can understand it.'
'Don't worry, Dave!' Old Stalin's a cunning bastard. He's most probably giving his armies a breather
and regrouping. You watch within a week they'll be on the march again.'
'He'd better pull his finger out then or there won't be any Poles in Warsaw left to liberate.'
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The news from the East was disconcerting and worrying for the advance from that direction had come to a complete halt in the Central sector. Both Dave and Bill hated the thought of enduring another winter in captivity. It was hot now, but in the bitter cold of a European winter your body cried out for nourishment in the form of a good meal and warmth in the shape of a bed and plenty of blankets.
'Jesus, Bill, McLeod said that the Japs will still be fighting in ten years’ time. We'll be a fine pair of
bastards if the European war goes on even half that time. It won't be worth going home, for no-one
will want us.'
'You can say that again, Dave. We'll be the forgotten men of yesterday, and even our girlfriends will
have given us the big heave-ho. Just my luck!'
'Don't worry. She'll be waiting for you, Bill, even in five years’ time. You told me that Mary was
something out of the top drawer, so there's no need for second thoughts on the matter.'
'I haven't had a letter for three months. A man's morale needs reassuring from time to time, and mail from home is the best booster there is.'
Dave knew this to be true for he hadn't received a letter for several weeks and felt discarded and
unwanted. Perhaps Joan had forgotten; found someone else; a mess pot was on the way et cetera. It
was a topsy-turvy world with everyone being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Here he was in
German Occupied Europe while he longed to be in Wales. Then, again, the Yanks, Australians,
Canadians et cetera were in England and, he supposed, wished to be back on native soil. The thought of so many eligible men parading around back home gave rise to further apprehension – Joan could be married to an American by the time he was out of the cage. Everything was so uncertain and unpredictable. The war, according to the kriegies, was always going to be over by Christmas, but it seemed never-ending. If there was a definite date that one could look forward to then the uncertainty would disappear and the mind set at ease. However, each big military advance by the Allies buoyed the confidence, only for it to be seriously deflated by a reversal, such as the inexplicable lack of movement by the Russian armies in front of Warsaw. What could the Ruskies be doing? Surely, they ought to go on with the advance and help the Polish Resistance in that city? Dave felt depressed, but had no wish to convey his thoughts to Bill. Everyone had his problems, despite the bravado, the sexual anecdotes by McLeod, Bolland, Mackie et cetera, and the feigning of indifference when the mess pot arrived. However, Dave consoled himself that shifting from camp to camp wouldn't help the delivery of letters and, further, no mail had been received by him from anyone, so no news was good news.
'What's wrong, Dave? queried Bill. 'Got the shits or something. You seem unusually quiet.'
'Bugger all's wrong with me.' lied Dave. 'Let's go back to the hut for I'm going to have a shower.'
'You wouldn't catch me going under the bloody 'waterfall', it would turn my balls into ice-blocks. The
sudden change in temperature can't be good for them. I reckon you become sterile if you had too many of those cold showers.'
'How else do you shower then, Bill? There are no hot showers or they haven't told us about them.
These soldier wallahs might be keeping it a secret. Jesus, in the winter I'd just stink. I wouldn't be able to stand the waterfall. Too bloody cold.'
'Okay, let's go! And don't forget I warned you about becoming sterile.'
'Piss off! I'll tell you what? I'll consult with McLeod about the effect of cold water on the knackers.
He's sure to tell me an interesting tale,' laughed Dave.
The repartee about testicles, sterility and McLeod had helped to liven things up and make the two of
them forget temporarily their personal problems,
[page break]
CHAPTER XIV
It was early October and the kriegies had been in their new camp almost three weeks. The advancing
Russians had finally ensured the evacuation of the Polish setup, and the procedure repeated: the walk to the railway siding; the incarceration in the cattle trucks; the seemingly endless journey of four days; the confined and cramped conditions; the disembarking and walk to the new camp; and, finally, the checking of identity and search et cetera before admittance. It was like seeing the screening of a movie for the umpteenth time.
The new 'home' was situated in the middle of the North German Plain and so, according to the German guards, was safe from the Russians and equally safe from the Allies. The guards were adamant that here the prisoners would remain until the Germans were victorious. No more moves, no more cattle trucks et cetera, as the Fuhrer wouldn't allow any enemy of the Third Reich to tread on German soil.
The camp was bleak and miserable in outlook, being divided into several lagers. However, there was
no restriction of entry. The huts were terraced-typed, similar to those in East Prussia and each
contained 36 two tiered bunks. Perhaps the biggest difference was the soil, which was a dark loam and contrasted sharply with the sand of the previous camps. It only needed a little rain and the tracks became boggy and the boots muddied with damp, clinging mud. However, it was still autumn and the winter and its damp seemed a long way off.
The terraced huts faced each other in long rows and at the farther end of the so-made thoroughfares was a detached ablution block with no shower facilities. Then another 30 yards on, away from everything, was the communal deep-pit, which served not only as a toilet but as the hub of misinformation and rumour. At the other extremity, placed in the middle of each 'street', was a small wooden shed containing a water tap which was attached to a pipe rising about three feet from the ground. This was used for filling buckets so that clothes et cetera could be washed, and also for
showering by sitting or kneeling under the tap and soaping oneself at the same time.
The camp, to the discerning, spelt future despair, hardship and privation, but that didn't worry the
prisoner for he dealt with one day at a time, and, anyway, he'd be home tomorrow. The store of Red
Cross parcels had been brought with them from Poland, but it was already rumoured that there was
only enough for an issue of one per person for so many weeks. After that a parcel would have to be
shared by two, three, four or more. Still, no-one wanted to believe it, so it was put down as a rumour
emanating from the shithouse and so had no credibility. The kriegies' mentality was similar to that of
an ostrich. When something was unpalatable then one chose to ignore it and stick one's head in the
sand. At the previous camps, coal in the form of briquettes had been supplied for warmth in the hut
and cooking in the communal kitchen. Here, however, there was no supply and no cookhouse, and fuel for heating and cooking was dependent on two persons from each hut being allowed out daily under a guard to forage for wood in the forests. Consequently, the fire in the big stove was not lit until evening when it became colder and it was time for the evening meal. In the relative warmth of early October this didn't matter so much, but in bitterly cold December, January and February it would be a different tale.
No-one was allowed out to work on neighbouring farms et cetera and so there was a dearth of extras in the shape of additional food, forcing the entrepreneurs of the former camp to close shop. There was nothing to trade and this was accentuated by the lack of kriegie currency, the cigarette, which had dwindled alarmingly in recent weeks. Further, the camp possessed no theatre where bands could perform or a production could be enacted, so there was no relief from the boredom and monotony of the daily round. When in East Prussia hot showers had been permitted once a week, while in Poland the only shower facilities had been those of the 'waterfall'. Still the icy, cold water was of little consequence in the hot weather and it mattered little. However, the showers here were situated in the outer lager and a visit was permitted once every three weeks. In between times, one was expected to sluice under the cold water tap in the little hut. The lack of a communal kitchen added to the difficulties of everyday living. Previously the tins of meat from each Red Cross parcel had been extracted, given to the cooks who had prepared the evening meal by either mixing the meat with
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potatoes to form a hash or issuing a quarter of a tin of meat per man. Now the complete parcel was
given, plus a daily issue of two potatoes, and the recipient left to his own devices. So combines or
groups of two, three or four were formed to overcome cooking problems. The individual kept such
edibles as chocolate, biscuits, sugar, tinned milk et cetera, but pooled the tinned stuff.
Despite the difficulties and the approach of the late autumn, the inmates were reasonably happy. They were convinced that they would be home for the festive season so a few temporary hardships were a bagatelle. The optimism that prevailed was high and little could dampen the outlook of the airmen. Admittedly, there had been, in lager parlance, a minor temporary setback, but it was nothing. The Allied forces in the West had made spectacular advances in July, August and September, forcing the Germans to withdraw to the defences of the Siegfried line. Something daring had to be done to hasten the end of the war and prevent a stalemate, so Operation Market Garden was carried out. Airborne British, Polish and American troops were dropped to secure bridges over the Rhine at Nijmegen, Eindhoven and Arnhem to find a route into the heart of Germany. However, success evaded the paratroopers, the British First Airborne Division being badly mauled at Arnhem and forced to withdraw on the 25th September and the mission aborted. The kriegies still received the BBC news, having brought the radio receiver from East Prussia via Poland, and were elated with the early successes of Market Garden. Then when the setbacks occurred there was a general souring and remarks like: 'Pull your bloody finger out for Christ sake!' 'What the bloody hell are you doing?’ et cetera. No-one, however, interpreted the writing on the wall as another winter to be endured in
captivity. That was too brutal a conclusion, despite the evidence of the approaching winter which,
would curtail tank warfare, aerial support for ground forces, and bring about a general lull on the
Western front. Christmas at home was the eternal attraction and, besides, the Ruskies revelled in the snow and if the British and Yanks were not good enough, then Joe Stalin's boys would be in and
through Germany like a dose of salts.
Now a six o'clock curfew applied and the doors of the huts were locked and no-one was allowed out,
so there was always a crowd around the big fuel stove in the centre of the room.
'Shit this place is getting bloody colder and colder,' stated Mackie.! I wish I were back on good old
Bondi basking in the sun and casting my eye over the sheilas. '
'You talk a lot of crap, Mackie!' retorted Danzey. 'You're always on about Bondi. I'd take Blackpool
anytime. The girls there are really something.'
'Blackpool, for Christ sake!' interjected Bolland. 'It nearly killed me. I was there for four weeks and
that's all I did was square-bash: ‘Right turn! Left turn! Squad!’ et cetera, and the wind never stopped
blowing. I thought my face was a piece of eroded rock by the time I was ready to leave.'
'Eroded cock, you meant' exclaimed Slater laughingly. 'I've often wondered why you look so queer,
and now I know. You're the same at both ends. Very good looking.'
At this there were roars of laughter, followed by a hush as the bystanders attended to the cooking pots. There was a variety of edibles all in different stages of readiness. Those near the actual fire were boiling merrily, while others, on the periphery of the stove, were stagnating and no movement was visible amongst the contents.
'This bloody wood is no good for cooking No body to it,' someone said. 'Anyway, there's never enough of it. Two blokes go out to collect in the forest and what they come back with is bugger all. Who were the bastards who went out today?'
'I'm one of the bastards,' a voice belligerently stated from one of the bunks. 'And what's it to you?'
'The next time,' came the answer, 'pull you finger out and bring something back worth burning. This
bloody stuff is not worth a crumpet.'
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'What do you expect? You're only allowed to pick up the dead stuff, and a man can only carry so
much. Wait till it's your turn to have a go.'
Again there was a lull in the conversation and a general departure from the stove area, leaving the one or two who were left the opportunity of moving their pot to a more favourable position nearer the source of heat. This was done by substituting yours for one that was already boiling or squeezing it in somewhere by creating space. This would cause arguments, accompanied by much banter, when the wronged person discovered what had taken place.
'Eh, Slater! Have you got your bags packed?' shouted Welling’s from his bunk. 'We'll be out of here
before the end of the month.'
'Who says so? Not that fake Maxie Clarke again? No-one listens to him anymore. He's a false prophet and the biggest phoney in the camp.'
'No, not him. It's in Revelations'.
'Who's he, for Christ sake?' asked Slater. 'Some sort of Gestapo boss who beats shit out of you with a
toothpick.'
'God, you're ignorant, Slater! How the hell did you ever become a member of aircrew? No,
Revelations is the last book in the Bible and tells you what's happened and when this war's going to
finish.'
'Where did you learn that crap?' queried Bolland.'
' Old Taylor in next door told me about it. He even read me the passages from the Bible, and his
interpretation of the white leader coming from the East and vanquishing the black Satan. He's
convinced the war will finish this month.'
'Old Taylor, be buggered. He's only 23 and already three parts around the bend. I don't know what's
come over you blokes,' continued Bolland, 'you'll believe anything.'
'Me and Bolland are the only two in this hut that have our feet on the ground,' supported Mackie. 'We don't listen to shithouse rumours, do we, Bolland? 'We'll be here for Christmas now that we've
received a walloping at Arnhem. Hell, we copped a hiding there! There'll be little military activity now that winter's nearly here.'
At this there were cries of protest from many parts of the hut, for this was realism and spelt out
another Christmas in captivity. Something no-one wanted.
'It was the British First Airborne Division that was dropped at Arnhem, wasn't it?' demanded
Blackston. 'I've got a brother-in-law, married to my sister, a paratrooper. I hope the hell he wasn't in
that lot or my sister will go bonkers. She worries all the time.'
'That bloody Montgomery wants gelding!' exploded Danzey. 'In September they made him a field
marshal and he's done bugger all since. I suppose he thought up the caper of capturing the bridges over the Rhine. I hope he's got another plan up his sleeve.'
'He's a brilliant bloody soldier,' added Welling’s. 'He gave Rommel's balls a'tingling in North Africa
and wrapped up that theatre of war in a hurry.'
'I was in that campaign and did we give Rommel a hiding from the air,' volunteered Sandy Smith. 'The Afrika Corps didn't know whether they were coming or going by the time we'd finished with them. There was only one road across the desert and it was pie-easy to bomb and strafe the German trucks and supplies. There was wreckage everywhere.'
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'If it was so easy, how come you finished up here? demanded Slater. 'I suppose you were invited and
too polite to knock back the invitation.'
'Something like that,' was Sandy's reply. 'We all get the chop sooner or later. Don't we, Slater?'
'Give me those Russian generals every time,' Bolland remarked. 'They know what they're about. Don't they, Mackie?'
'I'll take the Americans,' answered the Aussie just to be controversial. 'Eisenhower is Monty's boss, so it stands to reason he's better. And that Patton with his six-shooters -- now that's what I call
flamboyant. Then there was MacArthur with that bloody hat of his. When he arrived in Aussie to save us all down-under, my Mum thought he was the handsomest thing in breeches, and he was about sixty then, for Christ sake. Shows you what flamboyancy can do for you.'
So the meal preparation went on, interspersed with pontifical statements and a lot of crap.
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CHAPTER XV
It was bitterly cold, but the ground was not iron hard, as two days previously there had been some rain making the soil soft and clinging. The surface had been churned up by the tramp of thousands of feet and, although icy on the surface, cracked with the weight of the foot, oozing water from the soft, clammy interior. The boots of the three walkers were mud-soddened and looking the worse for wear.
'Eh, Dave! I told you we should have given our morning constitutional a miss. Look at my bloody
boots! I'll never be able to dry them out or the socks.'
'Stop griping, Slater!' was Dave's retort. 'If you don't bash the circuit, you lie on the pit and start
thinking of the outside world and then you're like a bear with a sore head. A brisk morning walk will
give you an appetite.'
'It's no good having an appetite if there's bugger all to eat!' interjected Welling’s. 'If I'd stayed in the pit and wrapped the blankets around me, I'd be conserving energy and keeping my hunger at bay. No-one seems to play sport anymore. The recreation field is always empty, not like it used to be when we were in East Prussia.'
'No-one's got any energy left,’ remarked Dave, 'we're all on our knees. Since I've been sharing my
weekly parcel with you bastards, I get nothing to eat.'
'Bullshit!' snorted Slater. 'Look how healthy you are compared with Welling’s and me. I reckon you
must be getting something on the side that we don't know about.'
'Wish the hell I was. Jesus, look at me! I was twelve stone when I was shot down and now I'd be lucky to make ten. If this war doesn't finish soon, I’ll lose another couple of stone and be like Gandhi.'
'You and Welling’s are shit lucky,' stated Slater, 'you still have your greatcoats. You're wrapped up like a pair of teddy bears, while I'm the poor relation.'
'They're a good third blanket, too.' gloated Welling’s, 'they help to keep rigor mortis at bay, especially at about two in the morning.'
'I nearly threw mine away,' volunteered Dave. 'The sun was so hot in July and August that I thought
that the cold had gone forever, and the coat was an anachronism - something like a bathing costume in Antarctica. Thank God, I hung on to it! I suppose it's my Welsh intuition that saved me.'
'What a load of bulldust you throw in people's eyes, Dave Griffin. You're just lucky, you bastard,'
scoffed Slater. 'Anyway, your Welsh intuition didn't help you with the flying boots. You raffled those
and then had to throw the proceeds down the bog. .'
'Listen to who's talking! Slater, you helped me raffle them, and then took half the cigarettes. A fine,
bloody friend, you are,' concluded Dave humorously, 'you should have persuaded me to hang on to
them.'
'My feet are bloody freezing and my socks are wet,' protested Slater. 'When we get to the hut I'm going in and wrapping the blankets around them. I don't want frostbite.'
'It's not your feet that you have to watch, Slater, it's your cock,' explained Welling’s. 'If the frost gives it a nip you'll be done for. It remains blue forever. They'll call you the 'Blue Boy'. Your girlfriend will
have the shock of her life when you're honeymooning or whatever you call it. She'll take one look at it and return to mother.'
For a while the three of them couldn't stop laughing, and then Dave interrupted the mirth with, 'My
ruddy socks are wet, too. I've only got one other pair and they're a bit holey. Hells bells, it's hard to dry
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things around here. I'll be coming in with you, Slater, when we reach the hut or my feet will be
knackered.'
'I don't know about your feet, but my boots need a pep-talk,' added Welling’s. 'They'll take a year to dry and, in the meantime, I'll have to hobble around the hut in stockinged feet. Hell, those cobbled stones are as cold as icebergs. Shit, I wish I could have a square meal, a hot shower, and then get into a warm bed with white, clean sheets. I'd sleep forever. I wouldn't care if I died as long as I was full, warm and had sheets. They're the things a man misses. I'm fed up with a sack filled with wood shavings for a pillow- it doesn't do the skin any good, and the blankets are filthy. God knows who had them before me. When I get up in the morning my face and neck are black from the bloody things.'
'That's because you never wash,' volunteered Dave. 'Don't blame the blankets for your lack of hygiene.'
'Talk about getting up in the morning, have you noticed McKenzie's face of late?' queried Slater. 'It
seems swollen and puffed up.'
'McKenzie's face is not the only one that's swollen when he gets up, I could name you at least ten more in the hut,' added Welling’s. 'Someone told me it's due to diet and lack of vitamins. The face becomes normal by noon. It's the kriegies who have been in the cage for years who are suffering. Some of them are losing their hair. It comes out in tufts. I saw a handful come out of Gerry William’s pate the other day. It gave me a bloody shock. The teeth also work lose.'
'Shit!' exploded Dave. 'I hope I don't go home bald and toothless! I couldn't stand it,' and then added, 'I'd buy a wig - a black one with a few silver streaks to make me look distinguished.’
And the three of them turned into the cold, miserable hut to obtain some form of succour.
The numbers in the camp had continued to grow and the huts became badly overcrowded as more twotiered
beds were squeezed in to accommodate the newcomers. Most of these were tough, vigorous air
borne soldiers who had fought in Operation Market Garden. Some had been glider pilots, others
paratroopers. They looked very professional in their red-devil berets and airborne insignia, contrasting
sharply with the underfed prisoner of a number of years. The news, according to the paratroopers, was
that the war couldn't finish until the summer of '45, as there would be a comparative lull during the
present winter, which would be used for regrouping and replenishing the Allied armies for the spring
offensive. This, of course, was a bitter pill for the old timers to swallow, as they found it unpalatable
and still argued that the war would be over by Christmas, which was only five weeks or so away. They
supported their arguments by referring to the predictions of the camp's visionaries, such as Maxie
Clarke; Old Taylor, the Bible-basher; and a new prophet, Charlie Haynes, who propounded the very
acceptable and palatable forecast that the Russians would arrive at the camp on Boxing Day and
liberate the kriegies. This was just what the doctor ordered, and so he was regarded as the Messiah and the greatest. Charlie Haynes had predicted, according to his adherents, the date of the D. Day landing; the Allies speedy advance across France; the failure of the Market Garden operation, and so had gathered disciples as his fame spread. Whether he had predicted what had eventuated was problematic, for no-one had been around at the time, except his bosom mates. Still, Charlie, as he was affectionately called, was now the vogue and regarded as number one.
The usual crowd was around the fuel stove either warming their backsides or tending to the cooking
pots, while the conversation ranged over a hundred and one topics.
'The elite of aircrew served in the Western Desert,' crapped on Sandy Smith. 'We were specially
selected for the job of driving Rommel back across Libya and out of North Africa. The Afrika Corps
were top class. They chased British general after British general back to Cairo, and it wasn't until
Montgomery took over the Eighth Army and Tedder the Air Force that we gave them curry. Those
were the days. Hitting hard the German supply lines in the desert, and leaves in Cairo. You blokes
don't know what life's all about.'
'You give me the shits, Smith!' exploded Mackie. 'The elite of aircrew, specially selected et cetera,
what bullshit! I wanted to be posted to the Middle East, so I'd get it easy. Just flying and strafing
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unprotected trucks and jeeps would be a piece of cake. No opposition. Bomber Command was tough
and for men only. Flying over Germany was not for powder-puffs. We'd battle our way to the target
and then fight our way home. Talk about the Desert Air Force, that was for geriatrics.'
Jack Tennant, a former Coastal Command pilot, then entered the fray. 'The real men of the Royal Air
Force were all in Coastal. Flying over those freezing, slatey grey waves was no picnic. If you had
engine trouble over the Atlantic, there was nowhere to go. We couldn't bale out like you bums, we had to tough it out. You desert rats and bomber boys had soft numbers. You ought to get some flying hours in before shooting lines. Try flying through a thunderstorm or a snow blizzard three hundred miles out at sea. You can't see out of the cabin window, and you could be flying the wrong way for all you know, and finish up in New York.'
'What about the compass?' someone yelled.
'Jesus! Just flying over the sea and looking for submarines is my idea of a war,' laughed Danzey.
'That's a lot easier than flying over enemy territory for six hours and getting flak thrown up at you all
the time, plus the fighters with their eight machine guns and four cannons. It's what survival is all
about. I take my hat off to every member of Bomber Command.'
'Do you think that's all we did was stooge over the sea?' Tennant asked heatedly. 'What about attacks on enemy shipping, battleships like the Bismarck and Tirpitz, and ports like Saint-Nazaire and Brest? You flew through flak as thick as snow and right into the mouths of those guns. Bloody frightening!'
'You Air Force pansies don't know what it's all about,' a paratrooper glider pilot stated bluntly. ‘Market Garden was no tea-party. At Arnhem we had to fly in gliders loaded to the gunwales with jeeps, light artillery and soldiers. And where did we land? Not on prepared runways like you Brylcream boys, but on a field or roadway, hoping like hell that you weren't crushed to death by the cargo on landing. It was a tough war. We didn't have engines. We didn't need them, we just glided in and hoped that luck was with us.'
No-one answered him. The banter that emanated from the group was always in good fun, and no-one meant what he said, as it was done to pass the time and relieve the monotony. Everyone respected the other and knew what tough wartime assignments they had performed. Sandy Smith had fought over the desert, had eaten the sand, slept in it, and had been fortunate enough not to be buried in it; the bomber boys had flown to the Ruhr Valley and faced the thirty thousand ack-ack guns and numerous other deadly obstacles; Coastal Command crews had faced a watery death and the menacing guns of the big German battleships; while the Airborne Division - the paratroopers and glider pilots had tons of guts and had shown their metal in so many hazardous operations in different theatres of war.
'We're all bloody good blokes anyway,' declared Welling’s, 'so who's arguing? Let's drink to the Royal
Navy. Those bloody sailors get all the luck.'
'I don't know about luck,' commented Bolland, 'for I don't seem to be having too much lately. That's all I dream about these days are cakes. Masses and masses of them with loads of cream and plenty of chocolate icing on top. It's no good dreaming about them for they never materialise, and I wake up as hungry as ever and dying for a piss. I never dream about sex now and I'm worried about myself.'
'I don't know about sex,' asserted Slater, 'but I dream about cakes, too. Women don't seem to worry me anymore. They say that the hunger drive is stronger than anything else. When you're well fed you want a woman, but lack of food drives the urge away. That's all I want to do, piss. I suppose the food shortage causes the liquid to run right through you. You must have something to absorb the water. Something like blotting paper.'
'To hell with the cakes,' chortled Mackie. All I have to do is think of the Aussie sun, Bondi, and the
sheilas and I'm alight. Boy, the sex flame will never go out in this baby! I'm a hundred per cent red
blooded male who can rise to any and every occasion.'
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'You're a goddam liar, you son of a bitch!' accused Bolland. 'Only last week you were telling me that
you felt that you were on the wane and that life was passing you by. You had doubts about your
masculinity.'
'Who, me? I'd never confide in you, mate, for you'd be down the shithouse and then it would be all
over the camp. No, I'm as good as I ever was. You speak for yourself, Bolland. The old Bondi star can
still play any tune that's called - and that's no bullshit!'
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CHAPTER XVI
Dave stood as close as possible to the big, German guard and inhaled deeply the cigarette smoke
wafting towards him. The guard puffed contentedly savouring to the full the enjoyment received. Dave moved a fraction closer, and the guard, sensing his presence for the first time, whirled around. The two faced each other momentarily, and then Dave walked off.
'Jesus, you were so close I thought you were going to eat him!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Your mouth was opening and closing like an elephant's arsehole. He must have had a hell of a shock to turn and see you gaping like a fish out of water.'
'Christ, Welling’s! You use some colourful language. Elephant's arsehole, indeed. I'd bet you've never
seen an elephant, leave alone his hindquarters. Hell, I'm dying for a smoke! I don't know what's worse to be without a fag or a meal.'.
'I'd settle for both, Dave, for you need one to complement the other. A good meal of roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by a couple of cigarettes - - - - how does that grab you?'
'You give me the shits, Welling’s. You're always talking about the impossible. The Red Cross parcels
are kaput, and we haven't had a cigarette for nearly three weeks. The last I had was a drag on one
Mackie scrounged somewhere. There were five of us and the Aussie gave us a puff each. A good
bloke, Mackie!'
'It might be December, but, according to the BBC news, the Allies are still strafing and bombing
anything that moves. I wish they'd ease up so that a few parcels could get through and then we'd eat
again,' philosophised Welling’s. 'A sixth of a loaf a day, a swede, watery soup without meat at noon,
and two spuds a day are not enough to keep a gnat alive. I'm hungry all the time,' and then laughingly added, 'one could easily become a cannibal and that's why I thought you were going to swallow the guard.'
'I don't know about cannibalism, but I'm dying for a piss. That's all I seem to do is urinate. Last night I
woke up and was almost pissing myself. I just got out of bed in time. Everything seems to go straight
through me. It's bloody embarrassing. If I hear the slightest sound of running water I'm off like a
scalded cat to relieve myself.'
'Me, too!' concurred Welling’s. 'There's no food in the stomach to soak up the water and I suppose your inside is like a waterfall and the deluge has to come out. I'm sure I'll piss the bed one night. It's the cold, too, that puts pressure on the old bladder. It's one hell of a life.'
'If the parcels don't come soon,' stated Dave, 'we'll be in a fine pickle for Christmas. Nothing to eat and no cigs. That's all we do is piss. I never seem to want a shit these days. Perhaps if I had some of those chocolate cakes I'm always dreaming of then I might get the urge.'
'You might be changing your sex, too,' laughed Welling’s. 'I'd better tell Mackie - he'd think it a great
joke.'
Then, after a few seconds of silence, added, 'Those bloody cakes haunt me, too. It could be lack of
sugar or something, but between pissing and cakes I don't know whether I'm an uncle or an auntie.'
'The difference between them' explained Dave humorously, 'is that your uncle has balls, so you'd better check when you go to bed tonight.'
'I don't need to check,' retorted Welling’s, 'I can feel them and they're as cold as ice-cubes. They're
getting it rough - bleeding cold all the time. Let's go back to the hut!'
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The mail was being distributed. There had been a comparative dearth of late, for the Allied advance in the West and the Russian push from the East had hard hit the German communication system,
resulting in a shortage of everything for the prisoners. However, there were some letters, Dave
receiving two: one from Joan and the other from his mother. He lay on his pit and read and re-read the letters. It was good to receive mail from home, although over a month old, and know that somewhere things were normal in a world gone mad. Joan stated that she still loved him and was eagerly awaiting his return. They would be together again in the summer, so it wasn't far off and the time would soon pass. She had sent several cigarette parcels and hoped they had arrived. She visited his mother often and they would have tea together. He was as pleased as hell that she still wanted him and was looking forward to his return, but then he realised that the letter had been written five weeks previously and in that time she could have changed her mind or married some dashing, uniformed figure. The comment, 'the time would soon pass ' made him wince inwardly. Each week now seemed like a year and it was a question of survival and hanging in there with both hands and feet. Still, he was gloriously happy at receiving the communication, despite the fact that the cigarette parcels hadn't turned up and never would. By now they were either part of the burnt wreckage of some train or goods yard, or had been filched by a German railway worker who had enjoyed then to the full.
'You bastard!' Dave muttered, and then thoughtfully added, 'bloody good luck to you, I'd have done
the same myself.'
The letter from his mother was full of courage, understanding, and her indomitable will was evident in every line. Her husband, Walter, Dave's father, was with Mountbatten somewhere in South-East Asia, while her elder son, Ken, Dave’s brother, was fighting the Japs in the jungles of Burma. She wouldn't give in, despite her family being torn asunder and would breathe and live for the day when peace came and they were all reunited. She was a wonderful mother and a lioness in adversity.
Welling’s joined him and said that his girlfriend was still faithful et cetera. Then the strains of 'Missed
the Saturday Dance' floated to their ears, and Welling’s concluded, 'It seems like Slater's struck gold,
too.'
The war news was bad. On 16th December the Germans had launched a major counteroffensive in the Ardennes with the hope of capturing Liege and Antwerp and so disrupting the Allies' supply system.
The success achieved was alarming, capturing Bastogne and other places which seemed to have been in Allied hands for months and taking thousands of American prisoners. The whole Allied lines of defence seemed to be crumbling, and on 19th December, Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander, placed Montgomery in command of all American forces on the northern flank of the fifty mile deep salient.
'We'll have a bloody awful Christmas!' grumbled Blackston. 'There'll be no food, no heat, and the
British will be doing another Dunkirk, but this time the Yanks will be with them.'
'If that bloody, heavy fog would lift we'd soon be giving them hell again,' declared Sandy Smith
authoritatively. 'It would be like the Western Desert all over again. Our planes would bomb and strafe their columns until they turned tail and fled for the Fatherland. Then they'd be into them again, and there'd be nothing left. The roads leading to Germany would be clogged with wreckage and the shattered dreams of Hitler's generals.'
'If, if, if! It's always bloody 'if'!' blared Slater. 'The fog has been over the front ever since the attack
began, and that's all we hear on the news is, 'Today, heavy fog seriously limited the number of Allied
air sorties! Blah! Blah!
They'd better pull their finger out or we'll be here for Christmas, 1954.'
'What's wrong with the bloody Air Force, anyway?' demanded Bolland. 'We used to do sweeps over
France and the Low Countries looking for anything that moved or stood still. We'd blast away at
trains, especially the engines, truck convoys, troop movements, water towers and even bridges. We'd fly under high tension wires, trees, anything as long as we could get right down so we wouldn't miss,
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and sometimes the mists would come up and we'd grope our way home. The Brylcream boys had
better start bouncing the ball around, fog or no fog.'
'She'll be right now, mate!' consoled Mackie. 'They've put Montgomery in-charge and He'll straighten things up, He has a touch of flamboyancy about him. Must be flash if you're going to be a success. Look at the way he wears that Tank Corps beret -- it denotes confidence and style. He's like
MacArthur, they've both got class.'
'The war can look after itself,' stated Welling’s, 'food is more important. I heard that Joe Cresswell has gone to Luneberg with a truck to get some Red Cross parcels. The German transport system's euchred, but there's plenty of parcels there.'
'Shithouse!' exploded Danzey. 'There's so many whispers going around this bloody place that you don't know what to believe.'
'I heard it, too,' solemnly stated Tennant. 'I didn't believe it, so I went up to kriegie admin. hut and said I wanted to speak to Cresswell on an urgent matter. I was told that the British Man-of-Confidence was unavailable. Now that's unusual, for old Joe will see anyone, so I drew my own conclusions: he'd gone to Luneburg to stock up. We'll be eating on Christmas Day.
'Jesus! If he's taken that red truck he won't be able to bring back more than six hundred, and that'll be roughly one parcel to sixteen men. We'll get fat on that!' declared Danzey.
'It will be better than bugger all, anyway,' pointed out Mackie.
'Half a loaf is better than none. Still, he'll have to hurry, it is the twenty-third today. If he comes back
on Boxing Day, we've had it, for we'll have to share the parcels with the Russians. Don't forget,
according to Charlie Haynes, they're dropping in on 26th to wish us a Happy New Year.'
'Haven't you heard the latest?' chortled Sandy Smith. 'This is the best and should get the 'Oscar' award for 1944.'
'Trust you to hear it, Sandy,' called Welling’s. 'You're always in the shithouse and I'm beginning to
have my doubts about you.'
'Then, here it is chaps!' proclaimed Sandy. 'Charlie Haynes has just announced the big one. He's
revised his forecast of the Russians being here on 26th December, because he's made a slight
calculation error, due to circumstances beyond his control.'
'Down the shithouse with him!' interjected someone. 'Then it would be a miscalculation on our part.'
'But you haven't heard it all,’ continued Sandy, 'he's revised the date to 3rd March and says that’s final and binding.'
'So be it!' solemnly chanted Tennant. 'We'll wait and see.'
Christmas 1944 didn't turn out too badly after all. The war news on the Ardennes front had improved and there seemed some form of stability: the forward advance of the German armies had been contained, and the Allies were counterattacking.
Further, the seemingly, everlasting, thick fog had lifted, allowing the Royal Air Force to strike hard at
the enemy and fly sortie after sortie. But the really good news was there was food to eat and fags to
smoke. The British Man-of-Confidence, Joe Cresswell, had returned from Luneburg with sufficient
parcels for an issue of one to every fourteen prisoners, and five cigarettes per man. It was impossible
to share two tins of meat, a tin of 'Klim' or condensed milk, a packet of biscuits, a bar of chocolate, two ounces of sugar, a small tin of oats, and a tin of margarine between fourteen, so the group Dave was in decided to glop the lot. That is put the lot in a big pot or bucket, add water, heat and stir so that you finish with a form of stew or thick, gluey mess. Still, it was wonderful and filled you up, especially
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when the bread ration was used to clean up the plate. Then it was a smoke and contentment as the blue haze floated around the hut, and the scintillating conversation of the inmates got under way.
'Merry Christmas, everybody!' called out Mackie. 'I've eaten a lot of Christmas dinners, but I reckon
that was as good as any. I suppose it was so unexpected and I've been hungry for months. It's good to have a smoke. I've nearly forgotten what it's like.
Bloody marvellous! In 1938 I had a great Christmas. The sun was a cow, as hot as hell, and I was a
lifesaver on Bondi.'
'What were you?' queried Bolland. 'Did I hear aright - a lifesaver? Jesus, they must take anybody in
Aus. I suppose they were hard up at the time.'
'Anyway,' continued Mackie ignoring the interruption, 'I used to love the beach, the sun, the waves,
and especially the sheilas. They'd always be around me. I couldn't get away from them. I believe they
used to go out in the deep water and just throw up their hands in the hope that I'd save them and, God, were they disappointed when someone else did the rescuing. Well, along comes this beautiful blonde and into the water she goes and throws up her arms. I'm in like flash, she's in my arms, and I carry her to the beach tent where I resuscitate with the 'kiss of life'.'
'You what?' demanded Sandy Smith. 'That's a new word for it. I haven't heard that one before. I'll have to remember that for the future.'
'It wasn't like that at all,' declared Mackie, 'it's your dirty minds. It was just wonderful, all peaches and cream.'
'What happened in the end?' asked Sandy.
'I suppose she's still on the beach throwing up her arms, and every lifesaver within cooee is just
waiting to save her.'
And with that the hut resounded with happy, contented laughter.
It was a Merry Christmas.
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CHAPTER XVII
The door of the hut opened with a bang, accompanied by the tramp of heavy boots on the cobbled
stones.
'Oh, for Christ sake!' yelled someone angrily. 'Can't you bastards do anything without making a din?'
'Piss off!' shouted another. 'It's too early yet for roll call! It's still dark as hell.'
Then the lights went on revealing the situation. The hut was filling with soldiers all with fixed
bayonets. Something was afoot and these intruders meant business. They weren't the usual camp
guards, but men brought in especially for the occasion. The kriegies tumbled out of bed saying little
for the moment wasn't opportune for the usual banter and exchange of pleasantries.
Dave dressed hurriedly, donned his greatcoat, and then shuffled out into the morning dark.
'Shit! It's cold,' he muttered to himself. 'Bloody freezing.' Then he turned to Welling’s, and asked,
'What the hell's up? I hope the roll call doesn't take long. I want to get back to the pit.'
'It's the Gestapo!' answered Welling’s. 'Didn't you see the two in our hut with the soldiers? You can't
mistake those bastards. I've seen too many of them in Fresnes, and they all dress and look alike.'
As they made their way down the thoroughfare between the huts and towards the parade ground, they realised that the camp was bristling with soldiers and members of the Gestapo.
The prisoners took up their positions in ranks three deep; members of each hut forming a squad to
facilitate counting.
However, there seemed no hurry on the part of the guards to carry out the daily ritual. Over an hour
passed and the dark had given way to the lengthening light, and still there was no count.
'Bugger this!' exclaimed Bolland. 'I'm not standing around here like a bloody wallflower. I'm off, and
they can come to the hut and count me if it's so important.
'I'm with you, Bolland,' agreed Sandy Smith. 'Let's go!'
The two walked off, but were promptly returned to their positions at the end of a bayonet.
'Take it easy! Take it bloody easy! gritted Sandy as he swayed to avoid the lunges of his captor. 'Jesus, this fellow's really trying. The bastard's in earnest - he's after my bum.' However, the soldier desisted before hitting the target and moved away.
'Shit! He gave me a scare,' stated Sandy breathlessly. 'I thought I was going to get six inches of steel
right up the arse.'
'He most probably fancied you, Sandy,' laughed Bolland, 'and he was measuring you up. You notice he didn't bother with me, but with you. I suppose he realised that I'm not one of those. All these bloody Germans are homosexuals, so you'd better be careful.'
Finally, the roll count began, but when completed the prisoners weren't dismissed.
'Bloody hell!' grumbled Danzey. 'We've been here a couple of hours and my feet and hands are
freezing. That easterly wind cuts you like a knife. It's alright for you bastards with greatcoats, you
couldn't give a shit for the poor people.'
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'Bugger you, Jack, I'm alright,' laughed Welling’s, 'I'm in the boat so you can shove off now. However,
I'm like an iceberg myself. But don't panic, if we're not dismissed in half an hour you can borrow my
coat for five minutes or so.'
'What about me borrowing yours, Dave Griffin?' asked Slater. 'You look pretty, bloody cozy.'
'My whole body's blue,' replied Dave, 'and this bloody wind is numbing my hands and feet.'
'Ah, well! Welling’s is a generous bastard and is giving his to Danzey for five minutes, so I guess I can
give mine for half that time and still be a good fellow.' Then added seriously, 'Hang on for another ten minutes and then you can have it. Jesus, Slater, you demand a lot from your mates.'
The day dragged on slowly and still the prisoners were made to stand in rows and no dismissal order
was given. Twice during the day each group was conducted to the nearby toilet to relieve themselves and then smartly returned to their positions.
'If I'd had something to drink for breakfast, I'd have pissed myself by now,' claimed Slater. 'The bloodycold goes right through you and plays hell with the bladder. I'll certainly remember today. It's been a bastard.'
'You wait till you get back to the hut, there will be a roast dinner a la Gestapo just waiting to be eaten.' stated Dave.
'That's why they're keeping us out here so that we have big appetites and do justice to the meal. These Gestapo blokes are full of surprises.'
At about three o'clock the camp commandant arrived, accompanied by the British Man-of-Confidence. The prisoners were called to attention, and then the commandant delivered his sermon. Afterwards, Joe Cresswell read the English transcript stating that the British in the North African campaign had taken prisoner the same number of troops as existed in the prison camp. These prisoners hadn't been provided with sleeping accommodation for several weeks, being forced to sleep in the sand. Consequently, the German High Command was taking reprisals and the palliasses had been confiscated.
The news stunned the kriegies. The palliasse was the only luxury left, and the Germans were expecting a violent reaction for they had reinforced the guard by bringing to the parade ground all the soldiers who had daylong been involved in the confiscation of the palliasses. These ringed the ground with bayonets fixed. There was no sound of protest for about ten seconds, and then someone started to clap and the applause grew in volume, reaching a crescendo. The noise was deafening and so unexpected. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
'Three cheers for the Germans!' someone yelled. 'Hip-hip -hooray Hip-hip - hooray! Hip-hip hooray!'
Then the roll call was over. The guards must have thought that the inmates had either gone around the bend or had a perverted sense of humour.
The hut was in a mess and it seemed as if the Gestapo had not only the palliasses, but had been
searching for something. The belongings of everyone were strewn all over the place and in some cases personal possessions had disappeared. The scene looked bare and uninviting without the bedding.
'I'm off to see if I can get some string,' Slater told Dave. 'You can't sleep on bare boards, they'll slide
all over the place and need holding in place. Tonight you'll think you're on a slippery dip.'
'Get some for me, too?' asked Dave hopefully, although he knew Slater didn't have a cat-in-hell's
chance of success, for where would there be any string, especially when thousands of prisoners all had the same idea? The six bed boards had originally been about eight inches wide, but these had gradually been pared away when 'brewing-up' operations had demanded fuel. You had to heat the water for tea making, and the only source of heat was the boards, which progressively grew thinner and thinner. Dave tidied up, and then it was soup up, the watery swede which should have been eaten at midday,
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and the sixth of a loaf of bread. It was like nectar, being the first meal of the day, but the hunger pangs were still very much in evidence. That night Dave, like all the prisoners, went to bed fully clothed, excepting his boots. He also wore his greatcoat and wrapped the blankets around him. It was as uncomfortable as hell, especially with the bed boards constantly sliding and needing rearrangement every so often. You had to lie still or movement would disrupt things. It hurt too much to lie on the side as the hips, no longer rounded, had to bear the weight of the body with nothing to cushion it except the hard board. I’ll finish up like a bloody snake if I have to put up with this for long,' proclaimed Mackie. 'My arse is almost touching the ground, while a few boards are under my shoulders and the rest under my legs, with nothing in between except fresh air.'
'Don't worry, Mackie, old son!' consoled Bolland. 'Next summer you'll be back in Australia parading
your bronzed, snakelike body to all the sheilas, and this will be just a memory. You won't dream
anymore about bloody cakes as it will be a thing of the past.'
'Bullshit' retorted Mackie. 'I've told you, Bolland, I don't dream about gateaux.'
'Gateaux, for Christ sake! Who's she?' laughingly questioned Bolland. 'Some Australian sex symbol
that you've slept with. Why haven't you told us about her before? I bet she's full of cream, very sweet, and has chocolate on top. Eh, Mackie?'
'I knew a girl like that in Cairo', chimed in Sandy Smith. 'She was an Arab and brown all over. Was
she wonderful? I'd give a year's pay to have her lying here beside me. The bed boards wouldn't count then as she'd be so soft it would be like lying on a feather bed. She'd keep me warm and would be better than all the bloody cakes.'
'Talking about warmth and enjoyment,' joined in Mackie, 'I found my pleasure either on the beach or
at the Sydney Cricket Ground. I used to watch Bradman belt hell out of bowlers like Larwood, Voce,
Bowes and Co. and at the same time drink beer in the hot sun. Those were the days! Then after the
day's play I'd have a swim in the sea. Hell, it's a far cry from this dump!'
'You bloody exaggerate, Mackie, when you say Bradman mastered Larwood and Voce, 'stated
Tennant. 'You Aussies squealed like hell during the 'Bodyline' series and didn't know how to deal with the thunderbolts. We killed you in 1932-33.'
'I like that!' responded Mackie. 'You bastards only thought of that way of bowling to keep Bradman
quiet. He was too good for everybody.'
'He was good,' admitted Tennant, 'but I think the pace men had his measure.'
Bull!' exploded Mackie. 'I'll never wear that.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' queried Bolland. 'Who the hell are Bradman, Garwood, Voce et cetera? Ice hockey or baseball players or something?'
'Something like that,' came Tennant's terse reply.
Thus the conversation petered out, and it was a cold, sleepless and uncomfortable night for the whole camp. The next morning word spread around that two handcarts, ladened with the loot that the Gestapo had filched from the kriegies, had been parked overnight in one of the buildings and was now being pushed towards the main gates of the camp. Within minutes every prisoner had lined the proposed route and were hurling advice and abuse at the four guards that manned each cart. Two were pulling, while there was one on either side. The Gestapo had departed taking with them the soldiers with the bayonets and leaving the spoils of war to be conveyed to the outer lager. The articles weren't worth anything really, but to the prisoners it was a matter of honour. The things on the handcarts belonged to them and they weren't going to give up without a fight. As the cavalcade moved ponderously forward, the multitude closed in slowly, until progress had almost come to a halt. Then some brave kriegie
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grabbed something off the cart and away he went for his life, vainly followed by the guard on that side of the cart, thus exposing its flank. It was enough, the crowd closed and with a heave, over went the cart scattering the trophies in all directions. It was a free for all and anything and everything was
grabbed in a matter of seconds. It didn't matter what, as long as the Germans didn't have it. The guards on the second cart drew their lugers and moved in support of their comrades, only to be lost in the milling throng. Over went the second cart and the articles disappeared with the fleet-footed fugitives. The guards were powerless to shoot, and the prisoners' honour had been satisfied. The regained spoils would never be returned to their rightful owners, for in a camp of thousands it would never be known to whom they belonged, Admittedly, the prisoners had won the battle of the carts, but lost the war of the palliasses. This had been the knockout blow, for they were still suffering from sleepless nights, severe discomfort and cold.
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CHAPTER XVIII
Dave viewed his handiwork and was well pleased. He had formed sacks from his two blankets by
darning together, lengthwise, the two ends and then stitching the bottom. He then placed the one inside the other, ensuring that open ends coincided. The finished product would, he hoped, keep him a little warmer at nights, for the cold was intolerable without the palliasse, and the continuous pilgrimages to relieve himself kept him out of bed for half the night. He placed the blankets on the equidistantly placed boards and noticed the sag produced by the gaps. Already the sack, so formed, was looking as if it were on a rippling wave. He then took off his boots, put on and buttoned his greatcoat, and tried to fit himself within the sack. It was impossible for the sack was not wide enough, and started to split at the seams.
'You'll never get in there!' stated Slater. 'It's like trying to squeeze an elephant through the eye of a
needle -- an impossibility.'
'I'm going to be bloody warm,' responded Dave. 'I’ve had sleepless nights where you shiver and piss
all the time. It's making me a bloody wreck.'
'Take your coat off!' commanded Welling’s. 'You'll probably fit in then. Or better still,' he added
laughingly, 'strip off and then you'll have room to manoeuvre.'
'Freeze to death, you mean. Welling’s, you're a real bastard, and don't give a shit for your friends. Here am I allowing you to witness a revolutionary step in bed design and that's all you do is scoff. I suppose you'll be making it next and claiming it's your idea. When you get out of here and patent it, you could make a fortune. It will halve the number of blankets in use as you'll have the same number under and above you. You'll be a millionaire riding around in a Rolls Royce.'
'What a lot of bullshit you spray around, Griffin. You're a real crapper of the first order. It wouldn't be much good if you had to share it with a tart, there'd be no room to perform.'
'Like hell! You'd be like two peas in a pod, and wouldn't you be cosy? You could advertise it as a
'Lovers' Dream' or 'Snug as a Bug in a Sack' or 'Two Can Live as Cheaply as One in a Welling’s'
Comfy Bed'. It has tremendous possibilities.'
Dave then divested himself of the greatcoat and slid into the sack. 'It's bloody good,' then added, 'a bit tight though. The bloody Russians should make their blankets a bit wider. Now place the greatcoat over me, Slater!'
Slater did just that - - - -throwing it over Dave's head.
'You bloody bastard! called out Dave's muffled voice. 'The sack's so narrow that I can't get my arms
out.'
Slater removed the coat, replacing it properly around Dave's body. 'I hope I don't have a nightmare
when in here.' Dave stated. 'I suffer from claustrophobia. Still, take the warmth and to hell with the
confinement.'
'How bloody warm do you think you'll be?' demanded Slater. 'You've still only got two blankets. It's
the palliasse that makes the difference.'
'Anyway, I'm trying!' retorted Dave. 'I bet both you industrial pimps pinch my revolutionary idea and
claim it as a product of your fertile imaginations.'
Because of the lack of fuel for heating, showers now occurred once every six weeks and were a
hurried affair. The inmates of the hut were conducted, under guard, to the outer lager where they
stripped, raced under the shower, and endeavoured to make the most of every drop of water. The
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showers were operated by Russian prisoners, who stuck strictly to their orders of everything being
short and sweet, and it was in and out. The skin craved to be soaped, properly lathered and caressed by hot water, and the few minutes’ duration every six weeks did little to alleviate the problem.
Admittedly, the body felt a hundred per cent better afterwards, but within a week the flesh would feel like it needed revitalising and a good soaking, and after three weeks one felt as if the body was
crawling and the scalp itching and alive. There were no bugs around as it was too cold, but only a
long, hot bath or shower could rectify the situation. The talk at night was centred on feeling lousy and the overriding desire for a long, hot soak, but this was impossible. The position was aggravated by sleeping and living in the same clothes, as it was too cold to undress at night, especially without the palliasse.
Dave felt lousy and his flesh as though it were creeping and crawling under his clothes, but what was
the remedy? Very occasionally some hardy would dash into the small hut, soap and douche himself
under the cold water tap, and then beat a hasty retreat. Dave had contemplated this course of action, but the coldness of the whole operation deterred him. However, one morning he decided that he could stand it no longer, and would perform the ritual when the sun was at its zenith and the day a few degrees warmer.
At about 1 p.m. he stripped and viewed his emaciated body for the first time in over a month or so.
Then he put on his greatcoat, slipped on his boots without lacing them, and then ran helter-skelter for the hut. He left the coat and boots outside so they wouldn't get wet. Then sat under the tap, his bum in the wet, sloppy mud, and turned on the tap. The freezing water cascaded over his head and body, forcing him to abandon the position. He rubbed soap in his hair, into his skin, under the armpits, into the crevices and then it was again under the tap. The water swished through the hair numbing the pate, and he gyrated this way and that so that the water could cleanse the vital parts. He was freezing and his flesh was mottled with red and blue patches, but he had to rid himself of the crawling feeling. Again he soaped himself all over and then it was under the tap, the breath coming in gasps as he completed the ablution. After drying himself as best he could, he flew into the greatcoat, buttoning it right up. His feet were still muddy, so he washed one at a time, slipping them, without drying, into the boots. Then he bee-lined for the hut as if a scalded cat and into bed to shiver and shudder.
Half an hour later, Bolland came over for a yarn.
'Jesus! What's wrong with you, Griffin?' demanded the Canadian. 'Sick or something? Your hair's all
wet and your face's like a beetroot.'
'I've had a shower in the little hut', was Dave's quiet reply. 'I felt my flesh had turned into Gorgonzola cheese, so I thought I'd give my backside a good scrub. '
'Good God! You must be crazy. I bet you'll never be able to have sex again, for your balls will remain
ice-cubes forever. You know you must have hot testicles if you want to be bed worthy,' he wisely
proclaimed before walking away.
Mackie, Bolland and Dave were on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the great man, McLeod's hut, so that
they could sit once again at the feet of the master and listen to his teachings and have a good laugh.
They had lost touch with McLeod for several months, so it would be good to renew acquaintance.
However, the hut, which was usually crowded with disciples, was strangely empty and McLeod sat in
his pit, a forlorn figure.
'How goes it then, Mac?' enquired Dave. 'What news have you to make our miserable lives happy? A
modicum of sex with a soupcon of brothel flavouring would be much appreciated.'
The old soldier just sat there saying nothing and looked surly at the intruders.
'Come on, McLeod!' encouraged Mackie. 'Give us a hot episode from your sex life and then we might
feel warmer and get some of the chill out of the bones.'
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'Sex! Sex! That's all you airmen think about,' was the unexpected reply. 'Who wants to talk about
sordid and unnecessary things? It's food we want to keep us warm and alive, not something that's
short-lasting and not worth a crumpet.'
'Not worth a crumpet?' laughed Bolland. 'Jesus, you're a fine one to talk. That's all you've been
interested in for the past fifty years is 'crumpet', and now you don't want it. Shit! What's happened to you? Gone religious or something?'
'He's over the bloody hill,' volunteered Mackie. 'Too much sex gets you in the end. Doesn't it, Mac?'
'I'm bloody hungry,' explained McLeod, 'and I'm dying for a bloody good feed. I dream about cakes
and more cakes, and lick the chocolate icing off the top. All I want is a good feed and to hell with
women’ You’re in a bad way, Mac!' commiserated Dave. 'You ought to see the doctor. He might
prescribe a large cake with a soft centre for what ails you. It would be a sort of shock therapy. I've
heard of blokes like you who get the call and go all queer.' Both Mackie and Bolland burst out
laughing at this innuendo, but were silenced by McLeod's direct question.
'Don't tell me that you young bastards don't want a square meal? I bet you dream about cakes all the time, and they haven't got soft centres either,' he added meaningly. 'The trouble with you young 'uns is that you're not prepared to face the truth, and that is we've all lost the sex urge. It's survival now, and the hunger pangs have taken over.'
McLeod just sat as if tired of the world and all it had to offer. He had tasted its fruits and now its
delights palled him. He must have been nearly sixty and looked eighty. He was too old for the rigours
of prisoner of war life, and seemingly had succumbed.
The airmen took their leave for McLeod was no longer entertaining and amusing, but just an old man
who wanted food, rest and quiet.
'If McLeod's dreaming about gateaux,' said Bolland loftily, 'then every bastard must have lost the sex
urge. The camp's buggered.'
'Speak for yourself!' exclaimed Mackie. 'This is one kriegie that has his sights fixed on the opposite
sex and to hell with the cakes. And that's no bullshit!'
The February cold was biting and although the kriegies were in their pits and between blankets, its
grabbing fingers seemed to reach their very marrows.
'Thank God the Allies are again on the move,' announced Danzey, 'I thought they'd never make any
progress after the Ardennes setback.'
'The Ardennes offensive, according to yesterday's news, cost the Germans a quarter of a million men
and sixteen hundred aeroplanes,' stated Sandy Smith authoritatively. 'So it was a blessing in disguise.
They'll be through them like a dose of salts now.'
'They've reached the Rhine at last, so they'll only have to cross and then they'll wrap up the war,'
prophesied Tennant.
'What's this 'they' business?' demanded Bolland. 'It wasn't 'they' at all, but the Canadian First Army.
They're the boys who have reached the Rhine, and no-one else. It takes a Canuck to show them. Where were the Australians, Mackie? Have they got an army?'
'Too right, mates They're doing all the fighting in South-East Asia against the Japs, and were the shock troops in Montgomery's North African campaign. Without them we'd lost Asia and would still be battling against the Afrika Corps.'
'Christ, you're a line shooter!' interjected Dave. 'I've got a brother fighting in the jungles of Burma, and he's no Aussie.'
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'Well, I suppose there has to be a few troops from the British Isles around,' said Mackie
condescendingly, 'for we Australians can't fight everybody, although we'll give it a go.'
'What would they do without us, Mackie?' boasted Bolland. 'We win the air war for them, the
Canadians are the first to reach the Rhine, and your mob are doing all the fighting in South-East Asia.
The Limeys just sit on their arses and wait for us to win the bloody war for them. Just like them.'
'What bullshit!' interjected Welling’s. 'Seventy per cent of the kriegies in this camp come from the
British Isles. We do our share. So get stuffed both of you!'
'It's 16th February now, so I'll give it another month,' declared Blackston optimistically. 'They'll be
over the Rhine in a few days and then watch them go. Charlie Haynes's prediction about 3rd March
could be right, but he's mistaken the Russians for the Allies.'
'Who the hell cares, as long as someone arrives to free us?' questioned Slater. 'I wouldn't care if it were Santa Claus as long as he gets us out of this bloody place.'
'I feel lousy,' grumbled Sandy Smith. 'I hope Father Christmas remembers to bring some fuel with him so that I can have a shower. I'd give a fortune for a hot bath.'
'You're too lousy, Sandy,' punned Slater, 'to give anybody anything.'
'I reckon that after a good meal the most important things in life are warmth, a toothbrush, shower and clean sheets. Jesus, you miss most the things that you accept as commonplace in civvy life,'
philosophised Blackston. 'When I get out of here, I'll know true values. That's one thing I've learned as a kriegie.'
'Me too,' chorused Bolland. 'Still, I wish the Allied Air Forces wouldn't shoot up the trains, for I want
a Red Cross parcel badly.'
'Eh, Welling’s!' called Blackston. 'I hear you've been converted. What's old Taylor shooting the shit
about now? They tell me he gets 'gen' from the Bible.'
'I suppose the Bible's as good a place as any,' defended Welling’s. 'Old Taylor's not like Charlie Haynes who only wants to make a name for himself. Haynes is off beat, while Taylor is sincere. I'd prefer to listen to old Taylor than Haynes any day '
'Why listen to any of the bastards?' demanded Bolland. 'They should all be down the shithouse and
then there'd be no-one to raise our hopes. We're up and down like yo-yos, and we get browned off
when nothing happens. They're a menace to society.'
'I'm as cold as hell!' blurted Tennant. 'If those palliasses came back I'd feel like a millionaire. The
boards are getting harder and harder. I thought I'd get used to them.'
'The trouble,' volunteered Danzey, 'is that you're getting thinner and thinner, and the bones can't stand the cold and the wear and tear.'
'Then I'll eat more,' retorted Tennant facetiously, 'and that'll solve all my problems, so to hell with the palliasse.'
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CHAPTER XIX
The cold continued and the prisoners either stayed indoors or bashed the circuit. However, there was little comfort offered by going to bed so the alternative was to get out, especially as the ground was hard, firm and there was no moisture,
Dave, Welling’s and Slater walked nearly every morning, but this time Slater's chilblains were giving
him hell, so he'd decided to give it a miss. Both Dave and Welling’s were disconsolate, for the food
situation was grim. With no Red Cross parcels having arrived at the camp for months, the prisoners
relying solely on German rations. Further, cigarettes had disappeared and both were dying for a
smoke. And the mail situation had come to a full stop. Little was said for both were immersed in their own thoughts.
Dave felt tired, hungry and lacking in strength. The walk was taxing him, but he didn't want to divulge this. He knew Welling’s was buggered, too, but what was the point in complaining - no-one listened or wanted to know, for you were only expressing the obvious. One had to hang in there and hope the war would finish soon. The cold weather had to be endured and the hope was that there'd be a very early warm spring, but this was at least two months away. Then there was no news from either Joan or his mother and this uncertainty troubled him. A letter would have lifted his morale and made everything right again, but it seemed all had gone wrong. Dave knew that Welling’s was also concerned, but neither made mention of their innermost problems. The prisoners poked and made fun of almost everything, but personal problems were taboo.
'If this bloody war doesn't finish soon,' stated Welling’s, breaking the silence unexpectedly, 'I'll be a
bag of bloody bones. A good feed wouldn't do me any harm.' Then he added ruefully, 'If I don't get a
chance of putting on a bit of weight before getting out of here Mary won't even recognise me.' It was the first time he had mentioned the girlfriend's name for weeks, but it revealed where his thoughts were.
'Of course, she'll remember a good looking bloke like you,' jollied Dave. 'She's just waiting for your
return and then you'll be peaches.'
'I hope so,' was Welling's quiet reply, 'I could do with a bit of an uplift.'
'How are your bloody feet?' asked Dave, changing the subject. 'Your chilblains giving you hell?'
'They're not too bad. Thank God the ground's hard and dry I couldn't stand wet boots, wet socks and
cold feet. They kill me.
When we went collecting wood about ten days ago, I was shagged.'
'Me, too,' responded Dave. 'Just picking it up off the ground was tough enough, but when you had to
load yourself like a pack horse it knocked shit out of you.'
'Yes, I kept adding to my load for I didn't want the bastards in the hut to say, 'Pull your bloody finger
out; What the hell you've been doing out there?’ et cetera. We brought between us as big a load as any, and yet they still grumbled. I suppose if we'd taken an elephant, they'd been disappointed if we hadn't stuffed fuel up his arsehole. The kriegie has an insatiable appetite!'
'I suppose it's a mentality that we develop,' explained Dave. 'We're deprived of everything and so
become acquisitive. We can never get enough of anything and we're always hoping to hoard
something for the future.'
'I hope we're out of here before it's our turn again. The very thought of it gives me nightmares. It's too tough, and next time,' he added with a laugh, 'we won't be in such fine shape. Will we?'
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'Speak for yourself,' came Dave's reply, 'I've never felt fitter. The diet suits me.'
They continued on, a silence between them. Although the weather was icy, Dave felt the need for a hot soak in a bath. To lie for an hour or so in warm water would be …, he was stumped for a word, and then remembered the caption on the cigarette pack of a popular brand he used to smoke: 'the perfection of luxury, the product of mastermind'. He liked that, but now his thoughts and cravings were on tobacco. A long, hard drag would do him the world of good, especially after a big feed. A cooked dinner and three or four chocolate cakes would go down well. It would be like nectar from the gods to have a bath, a meal, a smoke and then a comfortable warm bed.
'Shit! It would be bloody marvellous!' muttered Dave.
'What would be?' questioned Welling’s. 'Come on, Dave, let's have it!'
'I was thinking about a bath, a meal, a cigarette and a warm bed,' explained Dave. 'How does that grab you?'
'I'm already salivating,' was Welling's reply. 'It would be like being in heaven without having the
angels worrying you.,
As they reached the northern end of the camp, they witnessed something running like hell towards
them with what seemed like a tent as a covering.
'Christ! It looks like a bloody cow with an overcoat on!' explained Welling’s, and then after a few
moments, 'It's a galloping four poster.'
'Like hell it is. It's a kriegie and he's got a palliasse', cried Dave excitedly. 'Where did he get that?'
'Look! Look! commanded Welling’s. 'There are six of the bastards. They've all got palliasses and
they're running as if their bums are on fire. Come on, Dave, we've got to be in this. Cosy, warm nights are my idea of bliss.'
They ran towards the source of comfort, passing scores of 'fugitives', weighted down with newly acquired bedding. Aladdin's cave was a large hut in which about 30 kriegies were all scrambling for a
palliasse. Here indeed was a treasure house for it represented the epitome of comfort. Dave and
Welling’s grabbed theirs, balanced them partly on back and head, and then, bent low, made their
retreat, brushing as they went the multitude on its way in. It was like the beginning of the January
sales in the city stores with everyone trying to get in for the bargain hunt.
The two of them ran towards their hut, panting and breathing hard as they went, their new possessions bobbing up and down on their backs like moving staircases. They kept going, although giddy and weak from the exertion, for no-one was going to take the prized mattresses from them. Eventually they stopped for a breather and viewed the scene. There were prisoners going in all directions, just like ants scattering when danger threatens. The whole compound seemed alive with running kriegies and bobbing palliasses.
'What a bloody sight! chuckled Dave. 'I wish I had a camera. This would be some photo.'
'Bugger the photo!' reminded Welling’s, 'Let's get going or we'll lose the bedding. You can't sleep on a memory.'
So the burdens were re-adjusted and away they went, their legs like lead weights and the breath
coming in gasps, but the mission was to deliver the palliasses safe and sound to the awaiting bed
boards. On arrival, the hut was empty, as everyone was out looking for bedding. Dave laid his mattress on the boards and then curled up on it. He was exhausted, the exertion had knocked hell out of him. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
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That night was a joyous occasion. Everyone in the hut had a palliasse for the hunting had been good.
Apparently, the hut containing the confiscated bedding had been guarded day and night, but some
enterprising prisoner had lured the guard to his hut and plied him with chocolate and cigarettes, while his mates were out looting. Where the chocolate and smokes came from no-one seemed to know, but that was the yarn circulating.
'God help the poor bloody guard,' commiserated Sandy Smith.
'I bet he'll be sent to the Russian front where his balls will freeze.'
'Bugger him! called out Blackston. 'We've got 'em now and I feel like a millionaire who’s bedded
down in the best hotel in London. I'm warm and comfortable for the first time in months.'
'I don't know about warm,' interrupted Bolland, 'for the cold is still in my bones and I want a piss
badly. Still, it's better to have a mattress, even if it's only a straw one. Sleeping on those boards turns
the body into bloody big ripples.'
'Now that I've got something to sleep on,' stated Danzey enthusiastically, 'I could stay here forever,
especially if they gave me three square meals a day and I didn't have to get up to cook them. I'd just
clap my hands and James, the butler, would appear and fulfil my every desire.'
There were roars of laughter at this for Danzey had committed an unintentional faux pas and Bolland seized on the implication.
'Fulfil your every desire, for Christ sake',' repeated the Canadian. 'What, are you and James having an affair or something? I always thought you were one of those, Danzey, for you're always eyeing me up and down. Eh, Mackie! You'd better be careful now when you strip off to go to bed, for Danzey will be waiting to spear you.'
Again there were roars of laughter, and when they subsided Mackie took up the running.
'This is the first time I've had my trousers, shirt and socks off for a bloody long time, so poor old
Danzey's been missing out. It’s a bloody luxury to be out of them—I feel a new man.
'I've never seen such a funny sight as when the palliasses were pinched today. Kriegies like ants
swarming in all directions,' someone commented.
'We've got them back!' exclaimed Dave triumphantly, 'and the bastards will never collect them up
again for it would be too much like hard work. Besides they'd have to get the Gestapo and troops back to carry out the operation.'
'We've got them now,' added Sandy Smith, 'and let's enjoy the luxury. Good sleeping, fellows!'
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CHAPTER XX
For the last fortnight the war news had been good, for all sectors. The Allied armies had reached the
west bank of the Rhine, the last barrier protecting Hitler's Germany. Luck had also been with them, for the U.S. 9th. armoured division had captured intact at Remagen the only remaining bridge spanning the river, the others having been destroyed by the retreating enemy. Montgomery's British divisions were hovering around Wesel, poised for the kill, and the BBC news had been harping about the massive smoke screen which floated over this section of the river. The hungry prisoners were eagerly awaiting the crossing and the deliverance, but as day followed day and the news kept mentioning the smoke haze and the massing of Allied troops for the assault, the kriegies became browned off and highly critical of the operation.
'That Montgomery wants to pull his finger out,' declared Danzey. 'The bastard's like a tortoise. He
pushes his head out, advances two inches, then withdraws into his shell. I wish he'd get on with it.'
'I was with Monty in the desert,' boasted Sandy Smith, 'and he always made sure that all was right
before making a move. He used to say to me, 'Sandy, my boy, you've got to keep making every post a winner. A general can't afford a mistake or he's retired and forgotten'.'
'Sandy, my boy,' mimicked Slater. 'Who the hell you're kidding, Smith, you line-shooter? Monty
wouldn't have known you existed. If you were so close, he'd be in more of a hurry to get you out of
here, so that you could renew your supposed close acquaintance. Jesus, you shoot the shit!'
'I'm not so sure,' explained Mackie laughingly. 'Smith strikes me as a bloke with lots of class. He and
the general would get on well together. Over cigars and port, Sandy would be the life and soul of the
party, especially with his 'blue' jokes. When you meet him again you'll be able to put in a good word
for old McLeod and ensure his promotion to sergeant.'
'McLeod's gone queer,' informed Dave. 'He's not interested in anything except food. Sex is taboo. He
goes off his head if you mention it.'
'Me, too!' added Tennant. All I want is something to eat. I reckon you could play a tune on my ribcage. It's like a bloody harp.'
'Talk about skeletons,' interrupted Bolland, 'have you seen Jack McDonald?'
'Where did you see him?' enquired Dave eagerly. 'He left us years ago when he and the cookhouse
staff moved out with A Lager in East Prussia, and we went to Poland.'
'Well, he arrived yesterday,' answered Bolland. 'Apparently, he was in a camp near the Rhine and they evacuated. About eighty of them turned up here, and he's in a hut down the road.'
'I'd like to see McDonald again,' stated Dave. He and you, Bolland, were the first two kriegies I met.
Remember the bloody Dutch gaol and when we were nearly lynched on the railway platform? Christ,
we were nearly goners.'
'That bastard with a hammer put the breeze up me,' answered Bolland, 'I thought he'd wrap it around my head as part of the welcoming ceremony. By the way, you'll have a shock when you see
McDonald. He's so bloody thin that I didn't recognise him. Yet he had the cheek to say I looked
buggered. Everybody knows me, for I don't change,' boasted Bolland.
'You've changed!' ripped in Mackie. 'You look like a scarecrow, but we've been with you all the time
and the change has been gradual. I bet McDonald thought you were a bit of a wreck.'
'He might have done, too,' agreed Bolland, 'but, Jesus, I haven't been through what he's had to put up with. When A Lager left East Prussia they were taken to the Lithuanian port of Memel and stuffed in
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the hold of a ship like sardines in a tin. They were on that boat 12 days, and were sick as hell as the old tub wallowed this way and that. The piss buckets overflowed and slopped all over the place. It was tough going. Then they were disembarked, herded into cattle trucks where they spent another five days.'
'Poor bastards!' sympathised Blackston. 'Thank God I went to Poland.'
'Finally, they reached a railway siding,' continued Bolland, ignoring the interruption, 'and the reception committee was the SS.
'Shit! I'm glad I wasn't with them,' interrupted Welling’s, the further away I am from those sods the
better.'
'Shut up!' commanded Bolland, 'and let me tell you the rest of it. Well they line up the A Lager mob
and force them to run to the prison camp about three kilometres away. They have these Alsatian dogs on chains to ginger them up and the stragglers were given playful pricks with the bayonets. They ran like buggery for the SS weren't playing games. All this after a bloody Baltic sea voyage and five days in a cattle truck. The poor bastards! Well apparently the camp was shithouse - little food, overcrowded and bugger all there. Then the camp was evacuated and McDonald and about eighty others do a grand cattle truck tour of Germany, looking for a place to live - finishing up here. He looks rooted.'
'And we thought we had it tough!' exclaimed Smith. 'I'll go around and see him tomorrow and cheer
him up.'
'I'll come with you,' volunteered Dave. 'Pity we haven't got something to give him as a welcoming
present.'
'She'll be right, mate,' asserted Mackie. 'Monty will be over that river tomorrow and then we'll all get a feed. It's been one hell of a war, and I'll be glad to get back to Sydney town. This Europe gives me the shits. I'll take the beach, the surf, the pub and the Sydney Cricket Ground from now on, and that's all I'll do is fight and wrestle with sheilas. For me it's going to be, 'our 'Arbour, our Bridge, and our Bradman', and to hell with everything else.'
'Give you a month to recover, Mackie, and you'll be in the Pacific fighting Japs,' said Tennant. 'A
classy pilot like you couldn't bear to be out of it. Think of the 'gongs' you'd get shooting down Japs.
It'd be a piece of cake. Then you'd return to Bondi with your tunic loaded with 'fruit salad' and the
women would be crazy for you.'
'How would three years in a Jap POW camp grab you?' asked Bolland humorously. 'They tell me they
give you sheets there. We must try and make that our next stop. What about it, Mackie?'
'Like bloody hell! A Jap camp and you for three years! I just couldn't take it. Perhaps I could stand the
camp part of it, but not you as well. That's just not on. I'm off back to Aussie.
'Monty and his boys will be here in the morning,' stated someone optimistically, 'and then we'll be
back in Blighty.
'Shut up, you crazy bastard!' came the quick retort. 'You must be around the bloody bend. I suppose
you've been listening to Maxie Clarke's prophecies. They'll have to lock him up when he gets out of
here.'
'Have you heard the latest?' asked Blackston. 'Charlie Haynes has revised his forecast of the Russians' arrival,' and then there were roars of laughter.
The weather was icy cold and, although Dave was wrapped in his greatcoat, the eastern wind seemed to bite to the very bone.
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'Shit! It's cold,' mumbled Sandy Smith. 'I'm glad I've got something to wrap myself in or I'd bloody
die.'
'I nearly threw mine away when we left East Prussia,' volunteered Dave, 'for it was so hot that I
thought there was no need for it anymore. What made you hang on to yours, Sandy?'
'I was two years in the North African desert and I learnt a thing or two. Sometimes the days were so
hot that the sand would burn right through the leather of the boot and the glare would almost blind
you. Then the sun would go down and you'd bloody freeze. If you didn't have blankets you'd shudder
to death.'
'I reckon I would have liked to have been posted to North Africa,' remarked Dave. 'Flying over the
desert would have been my cup of tea. You were bombing soldiers, tanks, trucks et cetera and not
towns, and a lynching party didn't await you if shot down.'
'It was clean alright, Dave. There was nothing there except troop concentrations, truck convoys and
debris of burnt out vehicles and crashed aircraft. It was a hard war with nothing to impede swift
advances or rapid retreats. The men of Montgomery's Eighth Army were something special. They
were the corps elite who first made the Germans run. Boy, was their morale high!'
Both men turned into the hut which housed McDonald. The place was like a morgue, the inmates
being either out or in bed trying to keep warm.
Sandy yelled 'McDonald, you old bastard, where are you?'
'Shut up!' someone replied. 'Your yelling is causing wind draughts, and we can do without them and
the bloody cold they create.'
'Who wants me?' came a Canadian voice from beneath a blanket at the top end of the hut, and the
visitors knew they had found their man.
'How's the great Canadian?' enquired Dave, although he knew that the question was superfluous.
McDonald looked like he'd been through a mangle and all the juice had been squeezed out of him.
He'd had a rough time.
'I'm pretty good, Dave. Admittedly, I'm not at my best fighting weight, but things will pick up when I
get back into training. They say you sons-of-bitches have had your moments over the last eight months or so, but you'll survive.'
'They must have put you blokes through the mincer,' commiserated Dave. 'We've had it easy in
comparison
McDonald then told them of his wanderings since leaving East Prussia, elaborating on what Bolland
had said - the voyage by boat, the endless cattle truck journeys in search of a camp and a resting-place. It had all been a nightmare.
'Never mind', sympathised Dave, 'you're safe now and your old oppos are with you. By the way,
Bolland missed you.'
McDonald smiled at the mention of the big Canuck, and drawled, 'Like hell he did,' and they all burst
out laughing at the thought of Bolland missing anyone.
As the war dragged on, all the prophets, seers and visionaries extraordinaire started to fade into the
background. Charlie Haynes, in order to gain some credibility, had revised his forecast of the arrival of the Russians, but no-one cared anymore. They were all phoneys. However, Welling’s still believed that old Taylor had the answers, and Dave would have heated discussions with his friend over this.
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'You're bloody crazy, Welling’s, to believe that bullshit! Dave would explode. 'I believe you've gone
religious or something. When you get back to Liverpool you'll join a monastery and preach
'Revelations'.'
'It's all in 'Revelations', according to Taylor', would be Welling's reply. 'It's the last book in the Bible
and sums up everything that's happened or will happen - we'll have peace when this is over.'
'You believe in that crap! So we are all going to be sweet and cosy to each other once this is over are
we? Bullshit! We'll be at it again in 20 years’ time and your Taylors will still say it’s all in
Revelations. I think you're wire happy and around the bend.'
So the argument would continue, but for all that Dave had to admit that Welling’s was a good bloke
who'd he like to have in his corner when the chips were down. If Welling’s had a couple of square
meals under his belt and started to think about women and sex, then all this 'Revelations' bunkum
would disappear.
'I'd like to take you to a good restaurant, Welling’s,' declared Dave. 'Feed you up, then put you in bed with a buxom lass with big tits, and I'd bet you'd soon forget all this Revelations rubbish.'
'I suppose I would,' replied Welling’s with a chuckle. 'Give us a meal and let's see what happens. It
could be a revelation to both of us.'
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CHAPTER XXI
On 23rd March, 1945, Montgomery's armies crossed the Rhine near Wesel, and soon afterwards the
evacuation of the camp began. Already two separate batches of a thousand each had been marched out, and on the morrow a further 1,000 would leave. Dave, Welling’s and the rest of the gang were in the next day's exodus, and already they'd been given their farewell gift - a loaf of bread between two. It had been explained that there would be little likelihood of a further supply, as the Germans couldn't possibly conjure up thousands of loaves and transport them to those on the long, cold walk. The British Man-of-Confidence had urged frugality upon the kriegies concerning their eating habits, and warned them not to become separated from the person who had the loaf or someone would go hungry. Admittedly, the bread could be halved, but the loaf represented a common bond between two people, who would not only eat together, but help the other in sickness or distress.
The camp administration and discipline seemed to go haywire with the announcement of the big pull
out. The guards withdrew to the outer lager, not bothering to enter except in the morning, when the
daily batch was removed from the camp confines and another lot counted out, given their bread ration and departure orders for the following day. One food store had been broken into, but the contents weren't very exciting. There were literally sacks of dried peas and dehydrated vegetables and one could help oneself. Dave and Bill Welling’s filled their greatcoat pockets with dried peas and also a small quantity of vegetables, then beetled back to the hut.
The fire in the stove was burning merrily for it was piled high with bed boards.
'Come on, Dave!' urged Welling’s, 'Let's have a bloody feed of peas. Plenty of peas, plus water, will
make a soup. I used to have it when a kid. Terrific stuff to build you up.' So Dave put water in the pan
or billy and in went the peas.
'What's this bloody stuff?' asked Danzey about the dried vegetables. 'It looks like a greenish brown
wad of chewing tobacco.'
Very few had seen it before for the dehydration of vegetables in 1945 was a new experience.
'It looks like a hard piece of shit,' quipped Tennant, 'that's gone green with age. Something like the
ones you leave in the piss-bin overnight. Eh, Mackie!'
'I wouldn't eat it,' warned Smith. 'It has to be soaked in water for about twenty-four hours and then
boiled, otherwise it will swell in the stomach and give you hell. We had it in North Africa as a
substitute for fresh vegetables.'
'Then it's on with the pea soup,' quipped Welling’s, 'I can't wait that long. I'm bloody starving.'
The fire roared away, and the water in everybody's billy boiled, bubbled and disappeared and had to be topped up.
'I've never seen so much steam,' said Dave excitedly, 'and for once I feel warm. I'm almost cooking in
this greatcoat. I'm not taking it off for it's like a summer's day'
'Keep piling those boards on, we've got to get the peas soft,' ordered Slater, 'they're like bloody bullets. The bastards won't get soft.'
'The heat will do the trick,' stated Welling’s. 'It's the best softener I know. It'd be bloody funny if the
Germans changed their mind about tomorrow and we didn't go. We'd all be sleeping on the floor.'
'We've got the palliasses. I wouldn't mind taking mine with me on the march,' expressed Mackie.
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'You'd look bloody stupid humping that all over Germany,' remarked Bolland. 'They'd think you're a
camel or something. Besides, where the hell are we going? It's going to be a bastard out there. I'm not looking forward to it.'
'I heard,' stated Sandy Smith authoritatively, 'that they are marching 10 000 of us to Berchtesgaden and we'll be used by Hitler as hostages. His life for ours. I wonder if Churchill would trade? Do you
reckon we are worth it?'
'What do you mean, worth it? We are the cream of the British Empire', someone said. ‘They told us
that when we went for selection interview for aircrew training. The Squadron Leader on the panel said they wanted men of intelligence, integrity, super fit and all that sort of crap.’
'Shit! Look at us now!' exclaimed Smith. 'That Squadron Leader would change his mind in a hurry if
he paid us a visit. I suppose he's still shovelling out the same shit to intending aircrew.'
'These peas are so bloody hard that they almost crack my teeth, and they've been boiling two hours,'
grumbled Welling’s. 'I suppose they should have been soaked first.'
'Pile the boards on, mates!' commanded Mackie. 'We'll keep the fire roaring all night and for once I'll
be warm even if I have to sleep on top of it. Jesus, this heat makes you feel good. It's almost like being on Bondi. I might even strip off and get a tan for the top of the stove is red hot and it'll really brown or redden me up.'
'You'll have a burnt arse if you're not careful,' laughed Tennant.
'Okay, Dave, let's eat! I can't wait any longer,' ordered Welling’s. 'The bloody peas will never get any
softer and they've been boiling for at least three hours.'
So the feast commenced, but the peas were like rocks and not enjoyable. A spoonful was taken out, the water drained off, the residue blown on to cool, then placed in the mouth. This continued until they felt they wanted no more. Not that they felt full, but the fare was so indigestible.
'My bloody stomach,' complained Dave, 'it feels like a football.'
'Me, too,' replied Welling’s. 'I'm buggered if I know what's wrong. I'm going to lie on the palliasse – the bed boards are gone, so it'll have to be the floor.'
So Dave and Welling’s rested, while their stomachs seemed inflated and airborne and the farts and
flatulence whistled freely. 'Jesus! I've never felt so bad,' complained Welling’s, ' I think I'm going to
explode.'
'I feel the same,' agreed Dave. 'When I feel a little better I'm going to the shithouse to get rid of this
lot.'
In the afternoon things subsided sufficiently for the convalescents to walk around the camp for the last time.
'Don't forgot to stick close to me tomorrow, Dave,' Welling’s instructed, 'for on the march we could
easily become separated and then you'll be bloody hungry. Don't forget I've got the bread.'
'You've got no chance of getting rid of me, Billy Boy.' Dave confidently replied. 'That loaf's our
insurance policy and we'll go easy so it lasts.'
'The way my stomach feels, I don't want to eat anything. I'm still full and bloated. Do you think the
peas could be a cure for hunger? Pop a dozen or so in your mouth and you don't want any food.'
'Not bloody likely,' was Dave's reply. 'I'll never eat another pea as long as I live. They knock hell out
of you. I'd rather have the hunger.'
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The camp seemed like a town that had seen better days and gone seedy. The inhabitants either having moved away or those left not caring what happened. The whole German Reich was crumbling and grinding to a halt and the POW's were just so much human flotsam. The Russians were advancing rapidly from the east, while the Allied armies were across the Rhine in force and the kriegies were in the middle with nowhere to go. It was a bastard of a life and the following day would be full of surprises. Admittedly, it was freezing and the frost remained on the ground all day, but this ensured that the soil was like concrete and there would be no slushing through mud with wet socks and feet. The food situation was grim, and the sleeping accommodation from now on would be just as bad. It was a question of survival. Still Monty and his boys would soon be along and then everything would be over and back to normal.
The last night in the hut was a memorable affair. Everyone was lying on his palliasse on the cobbled
floor, while the top of the stove glowed red from the burning, crackling bed boards.
'This is the life!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Eh, Dave! How about a slice of bread each? I'm hungry.'
'We'll keep it for tomorrow on the march,' answered Dave, 'for by noon we'll both be buggered. How
about some peas instead? You reckon it fixes hunger.' So the loaf was left intact, and the conversation rolled around the hut.
'I hope we don't sleep in a field tomorrow night,' stated Slater hopefully. 'The frost would be bloody
hell.'
'Do you remember when we came here?' questioned Mackie. 'How they told us that there'd be no more moves, no more cattle trucks and no enemy of the Third Reich would tread on German soil. How wrong they were!'
'They're only right in one respect,' quipped Tennant. 'there'll be no cattle trucks from now on. We'll
foot slog it everywhere. Good for the health.'
'Like bloody hell,' grumbled Slater, 'I'd rather stay in the pit with the blankets around me. Bugger
being healthy. I haven't a greatcoat and it'll be murder out there.'
'Not to worry,' commiserated Mackie, 'I haven't one either, so that makes two of us. Still, Bollard’s a
good sort of a bastard so he'll lend me his. Won't you, Bolland - for after all, what are mates for?'
'I'll think about it,' replied Bolland wisely. 'It depends on how cold it is.'
'I'll put some more boards on the fire,' volunteered Smith, 'for tonight we might as well be warm and
cosy.'
'My stomach feels a hell of a lot better now,' stated Welling’s. 'I thought I was going to die this
morning.'
'Talking about stomachs and dying,' proclaimed Smith, 'I heard some poor bastard kicked the bucket
today from eating those dried vegetables. Apparently, he ate them raw and they blew up in him,
rupturing his stomach.'
'Fair dinkum!' exclaimed Mackie. 'He really snuffed it?'
'That's what I heard,' answered Smith, 'and I wouldn't be surprised if it's true. That dehydrated stuff is murder and blows you up just like green pasture bloats cattle and they just heel over. Still this bloody place is full of rumours. It gives you the shits!'
'I think it would be true,' confirmed Welling’s. 'Dave and I boiled those peas for three hours and they
nearly killed us. Christ, I'd hate to eat them raw!'
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'Slater and I have oodles of that dehydrated vegetable stuff left and we'll be taking it with us
tomorrow,' declared Danzey, 'but I'll make certain we soak it overnight. I don't want my guts strewn all over the countryside.'
'Whose turn is it to put more wood on the fire?' demanded Mackie.
'Eh, Bolland, you do bugger all except enjoy the heat! Get out and do something!'
But there was no answer from the big Canuck, for the palliasse and the warmth of the room had had its effect and he was fast asleep.
[page break]
CHAPTER XXII
It was midday and the 1000 prisoners were scattered about a field close to the road eating their lunch. Welling’s had cut two equal slices off their most treasured possession, the loaf of bread, and now they were slowly chewing and savouring every crumb of it. 'Enjoy every fibre,' had been Welling’s' advice, 'and then it'll seem more and fill you up.' So as they sat there, wrapped in greatcoats as protection against the cold winds, each bite of food was explored thoroughly with the tongue and teeth and wasn't allowed to be swallowed until it had been fully examined.
That morning they had left the camp at about eight o'clock, so they had been on the road about four
hours. At first they had been lined up military fashion, in threes, and expected to walk briskly, but this had soon been abandoned as the kriegies tired. The marchers were flanked on either side by German guards with rifles, and there were some Alsatian dogs on leads. Further, there were two or three motor cyclists who careered up and down to ensure all was correct. After about fifteen minutes the main road had been forsaken, and the POWs had been led along the by-ways and lanes. It was obvious that the kriegies were being shunted out of the way, for if they remained on the autobahns then the flow of war traffic would be impeded. Consequently, the urgency of pace receded and the tempo of the marchers slowed down to suit the rural surroundings, resulting in the column becoming very spread out over a long distance and the marchers clustered together in twos, threes or fours. The guards urged them to keep closer together with shouts, threats, and the fixing of bayonets, but realising that the prisoners didn't have energy or the inclination to comply soon gave up. The march hadn't been too bad so far as the dirt roads were hard from the frost and progress had been fairly leisurely, contrasting sharply with the pace set in the first quarter of an hour or so. At ten a.m. a halt had been called, and the prisoners had rested on either side of the road. Dave and Welling’s had resisted the temptation to eat, keeping the loaf intact, although no food had been consumed by them that day.
'How do you feel, Billy Boy?' enquired Dave. 'Don't tell me you're buggered already. You should be in
great shape after all the circuit bashing we've done together.'
'My leg muscles don't feel tired at all. I suppose we haven't travelled too far - - - - about seven
kilometres at the most. The pace is fairly leisurely.'
'I'm bloody hungry,' complained Dave, 'this one piece of bread at a time nonsense knocks hell out of
you.'
'We'll have two pieces each tonight for dinner,' stated Welling’s, 'but Christ knows where we'll be when that comes around.'
'As long as we don't sleep in a field, I don't give a shit where it is, but I must have a roof over my
head.'
'The bastards wouldn't be that lousy,' criticised Welling’s. 'sleeping in a field with the type of frosts
we've been getting would really be something.'
The prisoners were roused to their feet by the shouting of the guards and the afternoon march
commenced. The members of the gang: Bolland, Mackie, Tennant, Smith, Slater et cetera had paired
into twos and were now distributed throughout the column. It was impossible to stick together for
there was no allotted hut to return to at the end of the day where notes and yarns could be exchanged, and where the usual camaraderie was so much in evidence. This was now a thing of the past.
Dave and Welling’s pushed on with the rest of the 'lost tribe', going one knew not where. It was just on and on, an aimless exercise in futility and direction. The rumours, as usual, were rife, but the one that gained most credence was that they were heading for the Bavarian Alps where they would be traded as hostages. How this rumour had come about, no-one knew, but it was the most colourful so the kriegies accepted it as 'pukka gen'. How Hitler would feed 10,000 extra mouths in his mountainous redoubt was difficult to comprehend, for the loaf of bread between two people couldn't last forever. The food
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situation was the biggest problem, for altogether there would be ten different batches of 1000 each
when they were all on the march, and the Germans couldn't possibly feed the lot. In addition, the
advantage was held by the first batch of marchers for if there was any food to be gleaned then they
would swallow it all up, leaving nothing for those coming behind.
The wind still whistled coldly and although it was still early afternoon, the previous night's frost still
lay on the banks which skirted the sides of the road, Dave felt grateful that his greatcoat still graced his body for if he'd discarded it in the warm days of the previous summer then things would be a bit
rugged now. He shrank within the warm, protective covering and released himself from the immediate situation by thinking of other things. Letters from Joan and his mother had been non-existent for quite a while, but so had everything else. A letter from either of them would have done his morale a heap of good, but it wasn't to be. He hoped that Joan still cared for him for he would be severely shaken if she'd changed her mind. However, this had happened to so many prisoners of war: wives had forsaken husbands, girlfriend their fiancés, and loved ones had found other consoling arms. One couldn't expect a girl to wait forever, for time dims the memory and the new replaces the old. He believed in her though and felt that all would end well, but when that would be was difficult to judge. His mother had had a rough war. The three males in the family, his father, brother and he all serving in one branch or other of the Fighting Services and being scattered, at the moment, all over the world. He knew, with certainty, that she'd be there when all was over, but the punishment, worry and uncertainty that had been meted out to her would have surely taken its toll. If the three of them arrived back in the U.K. all in one piece, then he felt that someone up there had kept a friendly eye on the Griffins.
The sun was now starting to lower and the column had really begun to spread out. From first to last,
the marchers must have occupied well over a kilometre of road. The guards tried to hurry the
stragglers and make the column more cohesive, but it was impossible, for familiarity now meant
contempt, and the prisoners were indifferent and too tired to care. They had been on the road now for about eight hours and had had enough for the first day. It would be dark within an hour, so where were they to be bedded down?
Within twenty minutes they were led into their haven, a large farm with what seemed oodles of barns or outhouses. The kriegies were told that they would sleep in the barns, and roll call and departure time would be 7.30 a.m. the next morning. Further, the perimeter of the farm would be guarded by soldiers and dogs, and anyone attempting escape would be shot. So the prisoners were left to their own devices - to find a bed for the night, to prepare a meal of bread, and then to sleep and recover for the next day's journey.
The barn that Dave and Welling’s entered was very large, being open-ended. There was a pathway
down the middle with hay piled on either side. They found a place to dump their belongings and so
staked a claim to the night's resting place. Dave stretched himself out on the soft, inviting hay.
'This will do me!' he exclaimed. 'It'll be warm here, especially if I burrow a little. Don't wake me early, Bill, for I need a long rest after today's trek.'
'Let's get that bread out,' ordered Welling’s, 'and eat! I'm starving. I've only had one slice of bread all
day.'
So the loaf was produced, and Dave was just about to start cutting when Sandy Smith and Tennant
joined them.
'Listen!' Sandy whispered confidentially, 'I've found a goldmine. I was lying on the hay when I found a potato. So I burrow deep down and discover millions of the bastards. The farmer must have clamped his spud crop in these barns, just like we clamp them in earthen pits at home. Let's get a stack of them, light a fire, and boil enough for the four of us.'
They needed no second bidding and were soon outside. However, they'd been beaten to the punch, for already there were prisoners, loaded with potatoes with the same idea.
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'I thought the gen you gave us was confidential,' laughed Dave. 'Everybody's into it and have the same idea.'
'I bet I'm sleeping on a potato bed, too,' stated Welling’s. 'I'll be digging when I return.'
So the fire was lit, two billies filled with water and spuds and, once the fire was blazing strongly,
potatoes were also placed amongst the burning embers. It was going to be a big spud bust for
everyone.
It was dark now, but the red glow from hundreds of fires gave the place a carnival atmosphere.
Everyone was happy for this would be a feed to remember - as many potatoes as one could eat, plus
bread.
'I can hardly wait,' laughed Smith excitedly. 'I'll get one out of the fire and try it. Jesus, it's bloody hot!' Then he spluttered, 'It's not only hot, but hard as a rock. I reckon I can wait another twenty minutes and then really enjoy it.'
'Have you seen any of the gang?' asked Dave. 'I bet Bolland and Mackie will be taking a sackful with
them tomorrow. They'll hump them all over Germany.'
'You bet they will,' answered Tennant, 'but I haven't seen any of the boys. They'll be here somewhere though. We'll most probably bump into some of them tomorrow, or the next day or some time,' concluded Tennant.
When all the potatoes were ready, the boiled and the baked, the fire was doused and the four moved into the barn.
'Let's have bread, too,' declared Dave extravagantly. 'A couple of slices each will make my stomach
think it's Christmas.'
'How about one slice,' cautioned Welling’s. 'We'll eat the spuds and bread and see how we go. Eh,
Dave!' So the four got stuck into it. The boiled potatoes were attacked first, and then the baked ones
for their jackets had cooled sufficiently by the time the first course was over.
'Shit! This is the best meal I've ever had. I could stay here for the rest of my life,' claimed Smith
euphorically, 'and just eat spuds. It would be bloody marvellous! Tennant, are there any left for
breakfast?'
'Why didn't we think of that?' Dave demanded of Welling’s. 'Cold spuds would go well about seven
a.m., and it would save the bread ration. I've only had the potatoes and one slice of bread and I'm full as a tick.'
'Me, too,' agreed Welling’s. 'We've done well, Dave. Only two slices out of the loaf each. All the more for tomorrow. By the way, you can wash the cooking utensils and I'll do it tomorrow. Okay?'
Afterwards, Dave and Welling’s retired to their reserved sleeping accommodation and Dave stretched and nestled into the hay.
'Bloody marvellous)' he sighed. 'This is better than the palliasse. Our luck's changed. Let's hope the
open road is always like this and there are spuds wherever we go. What the bloody hell are you doing, Welling’s?'
'I'm burrowing for potatoes. You don't think I could go to sleep when there's a gold mine below me. I'd have nightmares if I missed out on this strike.'
So Welling’s worked like a rabbit, and finally surfaced with a nugget.
'Look at the size of this bastard!' he shouted. 'What do you think of it?'
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'How the hell do you expect me to see it in this light?' demanded Dave. 'It's bloody dark or didn't you
realise it?'
'Feel it then!' he commanded, thrusting it into Dave's hands. 'We'll load up tomorrow, Davey Boy, and never be hungry again.'
Welling’s plopped down in the hay and started to slap his bare stomach beneath the shirt.
'What the hell are you doing now?' Dave asked angrily. 'You're making a racket. I want to sleep.'
'I'm just feeling good. This is the first time my belly has felt loaded for years. It's a marvellous feeling.
Don't forget to remind me about the spuds in the morning. I'd cut my throat if I left without them.'
'We'll get 'em,’ assured Dave, 'so don't worry! Now go to sleep, for we'll be up at 6.30 a.m. and it'll be a long, cold march tomorrow. Goodnight, Bill! This bloody hay is not only soft, but warm. It'll do me.'
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CHAPTER XXIII
The day so far had been long and tiring, and the journey endless. It was the fifth day of the long, long
trek and the prisoners were footsore and browned off. No-one seemed to know where they were going and, apart from the usual rumours, the whole exercise seemed futile. The marchers felt that it would have been far better if they had been left in the camp, which would have been finally overrun by the advancing Allied armies, rather than fleeing aimlessly and eventually being overtaken and liberated. What was the difference? They felt that both plans of action would conclude in the same way.
Dave's feet were giving him hell. His socks, which had been darned and darned again, had now given
way under the constant friction of sock rubbing boot and large holes had appeared in each. Now the
heels of his feet, no longer padded by a cushion of wool, were bearing the full brunt of each step
forward and the blisters formed had burst and were sore and inflamed.
When the midday rest had been taken, Dave and Welling’s had finished off the loaf with a slice each,
and a cold potato.
'There goes the last of the Mohicans!' exclaimed Bill. 'It'll be shit or bust from now on, spuds only.'
'God, help us if the spuds run out,' was Dave's reply, 'we'll really cop out then.'
'We've always found them so far,' was Welling’s confident reply, 'so they'll be there in the barn when we bed down tonight.' Christ, I'll turn into a bloody rabbit by the time this caper's over. That's all I do is burrow and scratch my way through hay.'
'Then we're prepared for a rainy day for if we don't strike gold tonight, we've still got this,' Dave
stated, tapping a small sack-like container on the ground. 'It's bloody heavy lugging it around, but it's
insurance against hunger. We'll have spuds tonight, rain or shine, and cold ones for tomorrow's
breakfast and midday break.' There was a lull in the conversation and then Dave continued, 'My
bloody feet are killing me. What we want is a day's rest from this marching and then I could soak them in a stream or something.'
'Your feet would freeze. I'm afraid you'll have to stick it out. Anyway, you'll get better. You're not
going to die on me? You're too bloody lousy to do that for you wouldn't leave the spuds behind. You'd be turning in your grave at the thought of me scoffing the lot.'
The prisoners were roused to their feet by the guards and it was on with the afternoon stint: the long straggling column plodding its way into the heart of nowhere. The kriegies, the packhorses of the scenario and bent low by the burden of their worldly possessions, divorced themselves from the
proceedings by thinking of the past when things had been green, shining, wonderful and seemingly
forever.
The afternoon monotony was suddenly broken by the scream of approaching low flying aircraft, and
within seconds the way had been cleared. Everybody, including the guards, ducked for cover.
It was every man for himself, preservation being uppermost. Welling’s threw himself into a ditch and
Dave landed almost on top of him. The aircraft were so low that it seemed that they would land on the road or brush the prostrate prisoners. It was frightening. The high pitch roar of the engines was
deafening and reverberated throughout the surrounding countryside. Then they were gone, and things got back to normal as the marchers extricated themselves from their positions.
'I thought we were gone that time,' stated Dave. 'That sort of treatment shakes the shit out of you. I
thought the bullets were going to fly at any moment.'
'They were Typhoons, and ours,' claimed Welling’s. ‘Why they didn't open up is beyond me. We must have looked like German troop concentrations.'
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'Most probably they didn't have any ammo left or they would have blasted us all over the place. Thank God for small mercies!' breathed Dave.
The trek resumed, but everyone had been shaken out of their lethargy for the Allied planes had come too close for comfort. There were aircraft almost constantly in the sky, but they had always passed within a kilometre or so. Never had they been so low and directly overhead as if they were searching for something to destroy. The Allied command couldn't possibly know that 10 000 POWs were on the march, and would conclude that they were German troop movements.
Then the roar was heard again and everyone scattered, Dave running to the base of a tree and kneeling down as if in prayer. The thunderous roar seemed so close, but actually the planes passed within about 200 metres to the right and then were gone.
Again there was a reassembling and the usual derogatory remarks, such as: 'The lousy bastards!' 'Why don't they go looking for real targets?' 'Shit! We have enough troubles without having to take cover from our own planes!' 'They'll kill us all if they go on like this - some crazy pilot will report enemy troop concentrations and then we'll be blown off the road and on our way to Kingdom Come'. So the long walk continued and it was with a sigh of relief that they arrived at a farm for the night's rest.
So far they had been fortunate, for a roof always awaited them at the journey's end and also plenty of spuds. However, this time there were none. The usual sleeping accommodation in the hay was
available, but there were two big barns with a sentry posted on each, and it was there that the potatoes had to be. Dave and Welling’s had spuds, but they were thinking of the future: tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. They, like all the kriegies, had no bread left so stocks had to be replenished. They conferred about a plan of action and after a reconnaissance, decided which barn should be raided. Welling’s would approach the solitary sentry and offer him Dave's Parker fountain pen with the gold nib for spuds, while Dave was to sneak in at the side, where the corrugated sheeting didn't quite reach to the ground, and do his smash-and-grab act.
Welling’s did his stuff, but the guard wouldn't have any of it, and when he persisted with his sales
patter was ushered away by a menacing bayonet. Meanwhile, Dave was inside the barn discovering
that the wall of hay was about two feet from the corrugated iron side. He scrambled up and started to burrow. It was relatively easy and soon his small, sack-like container was full, so it was time to retreat. Treading warily, he arrived back at the entrance, but now had to descend the six-foot hay wall in order to crawl under the tin. It was difficult with the potatoes, so he dropped them towards the escape hatch, but hashed it when the sack hit the iron sheeting, making what seemed an almighty din. There was no time to waste now for the sentry must have heard. Dave jumped, and his boots and hands came into contact with the noise-reverberating sheeting. Grabbing the potato sack, he scrambled under the tin, catching his clothing on a jagged edge. He was caught, half in-half out, and then saw the guard, bayonet fixed, turn the corner and run towards him. He pushed outwards, tearing himself loose, and then was running like hell, the sentry barely ten feet behind. The pursuer seemed crazy and was yelling for Dave to stop, but there were two incentives to keep going: firstly, the potatoes were now his and he wasn't going to give them up; and, secondly, the guard was in such a rage that he'd give Dave a taste of his steel, so there was no advantage in stopping. Dave ran, his lungs almost bursting, but the German wasn't giving up, being intent on running him down. He ran into and through barns, in and out of groups of prisoners busy lighting fires for the evening meal, and through a morass of soft, moist dung or manure.
Dave was buggered when he staggered into a large, empty dairy and the sound of his feet on the
flagstone floor and the pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate from every corner of the whitewashed walls. He ran its length, pushed his way through the half open door at the end, and slammed it hard behind him. As he went, he could hear the rattling and thumping on the door which had obviously jammed and wouldn't open. He'd escaped and still had the spuds. Reaching the barn where Welling’s and he had dumped their gear, he lay on the hay, a lather of perspiration, his breath coming in hard, hurtful gasps and then closed his eyes. He was completely and utterly buggered.
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A few minutes later, Welling’s joined him. 'I saw that bastard chasing you and thought you were a
goner. You ought to give the Olympics a try,' he joked, 'when the war's over. You'd go well in the
obstacle race.'
'Bugger the obstacle race,' was Dave's reply, 'I've had enough hurdles for a lifetime. It's alright for you to joke, but it'd been different sort of setup if you'd had the bayonet up your arse.'
'Not to worry! He didn't get you, and we've got the spuds. I'll show you what a good bloke I am. I'll
light the fire, cook the potatoes and wash up. How does that grab you? You rest and the head cook and bottle washer will do all the work! You're a lucky bastard, Dave, to have an oppos like me. By the
way, if there were a bakery around,' he added facetiously, 'I'd send you out on another raiding mission. You've got to keep your hand in, you know.'
After a meal of spuds and more spuds, they discussed the day's happenings. The monotony of the
march, the state of the blistered feet, the low flying Allied aircraft and the spud situation.
'Strange!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'For four days no-one stopped us from getting as many potatoes as we liked, but when we arrived here they got tough and placed guards on the bloody things. I think the policy's changed and things are going to get rough. We could become very hungry.'
'The way that mad sentry chased me, I think that spuds will get scarcer and scarcer from now on.
Anyone would have thought I'd broken into the Bank of England,' Dave concluded with a laugh.
'I'll tell you what, ' volunteered Welling’s, 'we're sitting ducks for Allied aircraft. We must be mistaken sooner or later for German troops on the march, and then we'll get hurry-up. I don't think the column's all that safe.'
'It's not only the aeroplanes, but this walking without food.
It's not so bad as long as we've got the spuds, but if they go, then God help us! Have you noticed how the column gets spread out?'
'It's spread out all day, and it'll get worse as the days drag on. Everybody's getting tired and fed up,'
replied Welling’s.
'But towards the end of the day the column becomes an almighty mess', persisted Dave, 'we spread out over a long distance and the guards can't police the lot. There's not enough of them. We could piss-off together and link up with the advancing Allied armies. They must be getting close. It would be a piece of cake.'
'A piece of cake? Like bloody hell! I think it wouldn't be hard to leave the column, but how the hell do we stay alive until rescued. Before leaving the camp they told us that column meant security and if anyone left they'd be shot.'
'That's what worries me,' confided Dave, 'this shooting business. I'd like to go, but quite frankly I'm
scared stiff. Where do we go when we make the break, and what do we do for food? I know we've got the spuds, but they won't last forever.'
'If we go then,' said Welling’s, 'it'll be late in the day and we go together. Things must get rougher if we stick with the marchers, but if we're on our own, then surely we'll be able to scrounge food from
somewhere. We won't get any help from the civilians, for this is Germany, not Holland. There'll be no Underground to help us, and they'll all be out to see that we get the chop.'
'I want to go,' affirmed Dave, 'but I'll have to pluck up courage between then and now. It's dicey and
I'm too young to die.'
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'Me, too! I want to get back to Liverpool in one piece, settle down and have a few kids. I'm fed up with this bloody mad world where you're nothing but a pack horse and you rest and walk when ordered. Bugger this for a life!'
'Anyway, we don't have to go tomorrow,' procrastinated Dave, 'we can see how things go and play it
according to Hoyle or whoever. We'll get there, Bill, so no worries.'
'I know how you feel, Dave, but I suppose we'll do it when the time comes.'
'Let's take one day at a time, and tomorrow can look after itself. Goodnight,’
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CHAPTER XXIV
Two days later Dave and Welling’s left the security of the column for the uncertainty of the great
unknown. At about 3 p.m. the marchers had spread themselves out over about two kilometres of road - the weary and the sick very much to the rear. The guards had almost given up remonstrating with their charges to keep together, for it was an impossible and thankless task. Welling’s and Dave had deliberately placed themselves in a position where there was a dearth of supervision, and from where escape could be most easily effected. Nearly all that day their conversation had centred on the proposed getaway, but this had also happened during the previous 24 hours with no result. Both men were becoming a little testy, for their planning and resolve had not been put into practice and each felt, within himself, that the necessary courage was lacking. They both wanted to go, but the enormity of the act and the probable repercussions acted as a deterrent.
The road now was curving to the right and threading its way through fairly heavily wooded country,
thus screening the marchers from those behind and in front. If the moment for escape was opportune, this was it. Suddenly, Dave bolted, ran down the side of the bank supporting the road, reached the trees, and then threw himself down in an undulation on the ground. He was concealed from the road by the stout butt of a large tree and the springtime undergrowth.
He lay there his heart pounding, for he could see the passing column. Then someone threw himself
down beside him. It was Welling’s.
'You've buggered it now!’ hissed Dave. 'The guard must have seen you. We'll both be bloody shot.
You silly bastard.'
Welling’s said nothing, both of them lying as flat as possible on their stomachs and eyes to the ground. Every so often Dave would squint towards the road and witness the passing of the column. It seemed to take ages for the road to empty and for the escapees to feel that they were alone. However, they didn't move from their position for at least half an hour, as if where they were represented security from the dangers that lay ahead.
'We can't stay here forever,' muttered Dave, breaking the silence. 'What do we do now?'
'We'll go and get those spuds,' replied Welling’s, 'so let's get cracking!'
Dave didn't have to ask what he meant, for about a kilometre or so back they had witnessed some tired and overburdened prisoner throw to the side of the road a small quantity of potatoes wrapped in a makeshift bag, and their recovery was given number one priority. Keeping about 30 metres from the road, they followed its direction and found their objective. The spuds, 11 in number, were counted out twice to ensure the value of the treasure.
'We're loaded!' Welling’s laughed quietly. 'now let's get some cover and have something to eat. It'll be dark in half an hour so the sooner we get organised the better.'
In a small copse they took refuge, and the spuds, cooked the previous evening, were doled out two to a person and slowly eaten.
'Let's have one more each? I'm bloody hungry,' grumbled Dave, 'and to hell with the expense.'
So the food supply was dealt a body-blow and the two munched contentedly.
'How about some more?' queried Dave. 'We can afford it. After all, those eleven potatoes are a bonus.'
'Like hell!' retorted Welling’s. ‘What about tomorrow, you hungry bastard?'
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So the party was over, and it being dark they decided to push on. 'Which way is it?' demanded
Welling’s. 'We're going towards the Allied lines, aren't we? So where's that?'
'How the hell should I know,' replied Dave, 'I'm not a bloody magician.
'You're the navigator, aren't you?’ retorted Welling’s. 'So pull your finger out, and let's weave out of
this bloody place.'
They pushed on, Dave endeavouring to keep the Pole star on his right, ensuring that his direction was
westward. However, progress was slow and impeded by small trees, protruding roots which stubbed
the boots hard and unmercifully, and deep indentations and rocks.
'Shit! This is hard work,' complained Welling’s, 'we'll reach the Allied armies in about ten years’ time
at this rate.'
'Talk about the babes in the wood,' wryly remarked Dave, 'we're giving a pretty good pantomime
performance, but not charging admission.'
On they went and although it was bitterly cold, both felt warm and sweated profusely. Perhaps it was fear that generated the heat and also the exertion expended. For they both knew that if they met someone they would be challenged and death could result. It was a ticklish position. They kept going and gradually the darkness was replaced by the lengthening light and so it was time to call a halt and rest in a thicket, which offered concealment and protection from the winds.
During the morning of the next day they remained hidden and conversed in whispers. Their fear was
that someone would discover them both asleep and, being afraid, might dispatch them to Kingdom
Come with some blunt instrument or rifle bullet.
'We made bugger all progress last night,' stated Dave bluntly, 'and we'll make less tonight if we stick
to the woods and fields. I reckon we'd be safer if we walked during the day along a lane or bye-way. If we see someone, we'll just walk straight past and brazen it out. How about it?'
So the plan was adopted, and that afternoon away they went. They felt more secure this way for
daylight meant safety. They reasoned that no-one committed dastardly deeds during the hours of light, but darkness and crime were synonymous. As they went, they realised that Germany housed nearly every European nationality. The Germans had Russians, Yugoslavs, Poles, French, the lot, working as slave labour on the land and in the factories, while the German male was away fighting at the front. Thus no-one took any notice of the two fliers, believing them to be slave workers, too, from some part of German Occupied Europe. It was the dogs that were a nuisance, as they always welcomed them with barks and sometimes bared fangs as they approached what they thought was their territory or domain.
They walked all that day and, being unchallenged, were emboldened to stay the night in a farm shed. They reasoned that it was unlikely that they would be disturbed and were far safer than lying in a forest thicket. They ate the remaining cooked potatoes brought from the camp and still felt hungry. However, they didn't hoe into the eleven raw spuds which had been rescued from the side of the road.
‘Keep those for tomorrow,' explained Welling’s, 'for they'll keep the wolf from the door. I wish the hell we had some way of cooking them. Raw spuds don't exactly turn me on.'
'Cooking them? You're the supreme optimist, Welling’s, if you think we can light a fire and hang
around until they boil. You must be around the bend.'
'I reckon walking by day is the shot. No-one's bailed us up or taken much notice,' stated Welling’s. 'The only people you see are Russians, Yugoslavs, French et cetera, and some old Germans and young children. We haven't seen a soldier yet, so let's hope our luck continues.'
'I suppose all the soldiers are at the front, but where the hell that is, God only knows?'
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'We'll get there,' laughed Welling’s, 'for you're a bloody good navigator, Dave,' and then added, for
good measure, 'I suppose you were going the wrong way when you were shot down.'
'Something like that,' replied Dave, 'so let's go to sleep for we have a long way to walk tomorrow,
especially if we get lost a few times.'
They made a late start the next day, having overslept. They upbraided themselves for their tardiness,
little realising that their strength and energy had been severely taxed over the last year and their
reserves were at a low ebb. They kept to the bye-ways and lanes and saw little motor traffic, only the horse-drawn, slow-moving, creaking carts or wagons. The slave labour, recruited from the four corners of German occupied Europe, tilled the fields, milked the cows and performed the hundred and one jobs necessary to ensure that the German nation didn't starve and the war effort on all fronts was maintained. It was a strange and weird world, the manhood of Germany was being slaughtered on the peripheries of the Greater Reich, while those they had subjugated were now keeping the home fires burning.
As they pushed on, the way was blocked by a large group of Polish POWs marching towards them,
accompanied by German guards. However, the experiences of the last few years ensured that the
escapees were prepared for all eventualities and just kept going, threading their way through the oncoming 'traffic'. No-one seemed to take any notice of them except an RAF flyer whom they knew from their camp days and whose blue uniform contrasted sharply with the khaki of the Poles. He touched his head in salute and said, 'Good afternoon, gentlemen. It's a splendid day to be on the road', and then continued his progress.
They got through the horde without being challenged, and then Welling’s laughingly asked, 'What the bloody hell is he doing with a lot of Poles, and going the wrong way into the bargain?'
'It could be the right way,' replied Dave, 'for all we know, and we could be arse-about-face.'
'We must be right,' confirmed Welling’s, 'for the Germans would be leading the Poles away from the
advancing armies, not towards them. Anyway, you're the navigator, so keep working!'
They continued on and, within an hour, were confronted by a large contingent of French POWs
blocking the way. Again they threaded and brushed their way through, no-one taking any notice. It
seemed that the whole prisoner population was on the march towards some unspecified place of safety. However, in a rapidly shrinking Germany, whose extremities were being pummelled and battered by the Russians in the East and the Allied armies in the West, where was this Shangri-La?
At about 2 p.m. they stopped at the side of the road to break their fast and ate three raw potatoes each. It was both unpalatable and indigestible, but hunger knew no bounds and every morsel was devoured. Then it was up and away towards the elusive front and deliverance.
It was getting towards dusk when they heard two almighty bangs and the screaming of missiles.
'It's a bloody bazooka!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Shit! I hope we don't run into anything like that. Bugger
the front. It sounds rough.'
However, they heard nothing further and started looking for somewhere to bed down.
'We'd better stop this walking caper,' counselled Dave, 'or we might run into the military, who'll bail us up or shoot us.'
'Not to worry!' advised Welling’s. 'No-one knows what the hell's going on and it's simple as A.B.C. We haven't been challenged so far. Everyone must think we're slave workers. Germany is brimming over with the bastards. Let's go on!'
The journey continued without a sleeping place revealing itself.
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'Another ten minutes,' coaxed Welling’s, 'and if we don't find somewhere, then we'll sleep under a bush or something. Right?' So on they went, only to be confronted with a bridge. But what was a bridge? Their confidence was overbrimming, and then Lady Luck deserted them.
'Stop or I'll shoot!' the order rang out in German, hard and metallic. 'Come here!'
They had almost made the crossing, but what to do now? If they bolted, there would be a fusillade of shots followed, in all probability, by their total eclipse. They had come this far only to disappear into total oblivion and no-one would ever know what had happened to them. They would be classed as two among the millions of missing war dead, who disappeared without trace and found an unsung grave.
It was only a second or two since the command had been given, yet it seemed like eternity. Both of
them, realising that discretion was the better part of valour, turned simultaneously and walked towards the sentry, who had now been joined by four other soldiers. They were prisoners again.
In a farmhouse close to the bridge, they were interrogated by a German officer who ascertained they were British POWs. They were given some bread and coffee and then conducted to what seemed a long, low roofed stable with a cobbled stone floor. Being locked in, they unrolled their blankets and, still in greatcoats, curled up on the hard floor and were asleep within minutes.
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CHAPTER XXV
Dave woke heavy-lidded and out of sorts, for he was tired and felt that he could have slept forever.
However, it was the noise that had disturbed him for he was surrounded by a ring of laughing German soldiers, who kept pointing at a completely blanketed figure next to him. The laughter and good humoured banter continued, forcing Dave to a sitting position and the realisation that the stoned floor was mighty hard for the bum. Fatigue and exhaustion had, the previous night, nullified all hardships and he had slept like a babe.
'Shit!' he muttered. 'These stupid Hun bastards laugh at anything. They must be bloody crazy.'
He felt disgruntled and browned off. Not only was he a prisoner again, but he felt lousy, and needed a bath, a shave, and a square meal to put things right.
The laughter and the finger pointing continued with urgings for Dave to remove the blankets, but to no avail. Dave wasn’t a bit curious, for he'd had his share of happenings and surprises over the last
eighteen months and, besides, he was too buggered to lift a finger to find out the source of amusement. It would have to be the five card trick to raise a smile from him. Finally, one of the soldiers stepped forward and, like a magician, swept away the covering cloth to reveal a fully-dressed, uniformed figure, whose pallor was deathly white.
'So what?' was Dave's immediate reaction. 'Can't a soldier have a sleep without the world making a
fuss about it?'
But the song and dance act continued, forcing him to look again at the motionless body. Then it
dawned what all the commotion was about: the German soldier was dead and had been placed next to him during the night. However, the discovery made little or no impact for he no longer cared - --
nothing was new to him, it was all part of living. The word 'schnapps' was mentioned several times,
and Dave deduced that the dead soldier had imbibed too freely of a wood alcohol brew which had
proven his undoing.
Finally, the soldiers departed, leaving Welling’s, Dave and the dead soldier alone.
'Tough luck on him!' exclaimed Welling’s, roughly covering the corpse with the blanket. 'How did you
sleep, Davey Boy? Was the cobbled mattress a bit severe on the old rump?'
'I didn't feel it. I was so tired I reckon I could have slept on a pin cushion. I'm hungry though. I hope
the bastards feed us!'
And almost immediately the wish was granted for a soldier entered with some bread and margarine.
So they ate away, completely ignoring the dead one at their side, for this world, they had learned, was for the quick only. The dead had to fend for themselves.
Within twenty minutes, escorted by two guards, they were on their travels, but this time on foot. They were passed by several troops of soldiers going in the opposite direction, but nothing untoward occurred until the road, which was raised from the surrounding countryside, passed a railway siding.
'Christ! What the hell is the Chain Gang doing here?' demanded Bill, in a voice of disbelief. 'I thought
their activities were confined to Georgia and the Southern states.'
Dave took a long, hard look at the emaciated, ghoulish figures still being unloaded from the cattle
trucks and also those who had already arrived on the road in their ones, twos and threes. They looked peculiar and out of place in their striped pyjama-looking clothes, and it was obvious that death was hovering close as they stumbled, fell, rose and moved painfully slowly towards extinction. Their final eclipse being hastened by the brutality of their captors who flogged them unmercifully. The whips
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were really cracking, and two of the pyjamaed figures were driven, by the fury of the onslaught, to the roadside where they collapsed and rolled down the incline.
'Jesus Christ! What have we walked into,' queried Dave incredulously, 'a horror movie or something?'
'Those two who went over the side were as dead as door-nails, and that big, bloody, German ape over there will get a taste of this,' replied Welling’s, clenching both his fists, 'and if that's not enough, I'll give him a rock in the kisser.'
The guard, accompanying them, sensing his hostility remonstrated with him to refrain by patting his
pistol and urging him forward. So within a minute the macabre sight was behind them and neither
POW wished to look back and be reminded of the bestiality they'd witnessed. They had never
encountered such behaviour or treatment before, for the conduct of the guards within the camp had
always been strict but fair. Little did they know that the Jews and political prisoners of the Third Reich received no mercy and survival was almost an impossibility. The two POWs, unbeknown to them, were within one kilometre of the infamous Belsen concentration camp, which made news headlines when it was overrun by the Allied liberating armies in mid-April, 1945.
Within half an hour, they arrived at the panzer school at Bergen and were taken to the cooler, where
they were duly signed for and locked into a small cell with sufficient space for one person only. They
had asked the gaoler, a feldwebel, to be housed together, for solitary meant loneliness and isolation.
They could put up with the closeness of the confines providing they had someone to talk to.
'The bunk's big enough for one only, so shall I have first go or shall we toss for it?' asked Dave. 'You
can stretch out on the floor.'
'Okay, by me,' replied Bill. 'Let's get some shut-eye.
They slept for a couple of hours and woke feeling really refreshed.
Perhaps it wasn't the rest that had revitalised them, but the sense of security that had been newly acquired. Now that they were prisoners again they hoped that food would be forthcoming at regular
intervals; an untimely end by a bullet was less likely; and their gaoler, the feldwebel, was responsible
for their welfare and safety. Admittedly, they were once again prisoners of the Third Reich,
incarcerated in a narrow cell and doing solitary, but being together made hardship a piece of cake.
Further, they were warm, even if not comfortable.
Their lot was further improved when the door was unlocked and the feldwebel beckoned them outside to a small table situated in the corridor, where there was bread, sausage and two mugs of acorn coffee. It was a feast fit for a king, and they tucked in while their gaoler just sat and watched. The guard seemed to be having a really slack time for all the cells were empty, except one, and they were soon introduced to its inmate, a German soldier of about twenty-five. He, hearing the noise from the 'partygoers', banged on the door claiming he wanted a toilet break and so was let out. On his return, he was allowed to sit with the three of them before being bundled back into his cell. Dave's curiosity was aroused and he discovered that the soldier was a deserter awaiting court martial. When the feldwebel was asked what would eventually be the soldier’s fate, he laughingly drew his fingers across his throat.
That afternoon Welling’s took the bunk, Dave the floor and they discussed the deserter.
'Poor bastard!' sympathised Dave. 'He'll get the chop for sure -a firing squad and a bullet right between the eyes. The military are tough on people who piss-off without permission, especially the Hun.'
'He seems bloody cheerful for a man awaiting court martial, remarked Welling’s. 'I'd be shitting myself if I were in his shoes.'
'Perhaps he thinks the war will be over before they get around to putting him on trial and then he'll get off the hook. So I suppose he's on his knees all day praying for the Allies to beat hell out of his side.'
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'Not him,' stated Welling’s positively, 'he doesn't seem to give a tinker's cuss. I bet he's been in trouble all his life and he's always one step ahead of everyone else.'
'Our guard seems a good bloke,' remarked Dave, changing the subject. 'I enjoyed the meal. This place will do me until the end of the war, especially if we get the red carpet treatment at meal times. We'll put on weight here and go home well-covered and curvaceous.'
'The feldwebel might be a good fellow, but I've never seen things so slack. Every cooler I've been in so far has been a tightly run ship, but this is bloody hopeless. No solitary, meals outside, a deserter joins us - bloody hell, Germany must be falling apart. The war must be just about over, or I don't know these Huns. They’re sticklers for everything being correct and regimented.'
At about 4 p.m. they were let out again and had more coffee. The guard seemed lonely, as if everyone had forgotten about him and he needed company. However, the deserter was soon knocking on the door and demanding to go to the toilet, but once out just sat and talked to them.
'Welling’s was right,' thought Dave, 'Germany had gone to pot. If anyone had knocked on a cell door in the old days and demanded attention, he'd have had a bayonet up his backside and that would have stopped his gallop quick and lively. He wouldn't knock a second time.'
The conversation centred on uniforms and the deserter admired Dave's RAF tunic. Why? Dave
couldn't imagine, for it was filthy, ragged, and looked the worse for wear. However, he kept on about
it, and it became quite embarrassing when he asked if he could try it on. Dave felt like telling him to
get lost, but finally agreed to the temporary exchange. The deserter removed his tunic leaving it for
Dave, and then retired to his cell to try on the RAF tunic. Why he did this, God only knew? After a
few minutes he reappeared, returned the tunic, picked up his own and then went back to his cell,
closing the door. So the dressing-up parade was over and it was back to solitary.
'It's your turn for the floor, Bill,' chuckled Dave, 'and it's me for the luxury suite. Jesus, that bastard
next door's queer! Fancy wanting to try on my bloody tunic when it's just about ready for the dustbin.'
'Have you got your Parker pen?' demanded Welling’s in alarm. '1 just thought he might have nicked it when he cleared off. You never know about these bastards.'
'Bloody hell, it's gone!' cried Dave searching feverishly through the tunic's pockets. 'He's lifted it!'
'Call the feldwebel,' advised Welling’s, 'he'll only have to search the cell and the problem's solved.'
So the plan of action was adhered to, the theft reported and immediate action promised. However, at least 2 hours passed and nothing further eventuated.
'They must be making a new one,' remarked Welling’s facetiously, 'or they've written to the
manufacturers for a replacement. It's taking a long time to find one Parker pen with a gold nib.'
'We've waited long enough,' agreed Dave. 'I'll call the bloody guard and find out what's going on. I
can't afford to lose it as it's been my lucky charm.'
So the cell door was pounded on, and finally opened to reveal the smiling face of the feldwebel. To
their questions he just kept grinning and shrugging his shoulders, as if he knew nothing about it and
couldn't have cared less. Then he locked the door, leaving the two POWs to ruminate on the position.
'It looks like my pen's gone for good,' moaned Dave. 'The deserter really made a sucker out of me.
Fancy falling for a trick like that!'
'I don't think the deserter's got it,' chuckled Welling’s, 'I bet our wonderful feldwebel has it tucked away somewhere. He's no fool, and there's no flies on him. The deserter took it from you and the guard lifted it from him. So let's put it down to experience. We learn something every day. You'd better get some sleep for it'll be time to swap places before long, as this floor becomes pretty hard after a while.’
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CHAPTER XXVI
The large barn and adjoining cobbled yard were empty and devoid of American soldiers, and it was
obvious to all three of them that they had arrived too late. That morning, after spending only one day in the cooler at Bergen, Dave and Welling’s, accompanied by a German soldier, had walked about 2 kilometres to join some American POWs who were working in the neighbourhood. However, the war situation had had its effect on everybody, and it was learned that the entire contingent had been marched out about 2 hours earlier, leaving the orphans of the storm high, dry and stranded.
The guard was in a dilemma concerning his charges. He could either march them back to the cooler
and be upbraided for inefficiency, or return without them and allow the authorities to assume his
mission had been accomplished. Everything was so chaotic that it mattered little. The three of them
just leant against the barn wall, the soldier pulling hard on his cigarette and endeavouring to arrive at a decision. Then he threw the stub on to the cobbled stones, extinguished the glowing end with his boot and walked deliberately away, his charges following as if being towed. On reaching the main gate of the farm, he stopped, turned, faced both of them, shrugged his shoulders and gesticulated with his hands as if to say, what do I do now? The answer wasn't long in coming. He mockingly saluted them farewell and walked away at a brisk gait, leaving the prisoners to their own devices.
So once again they were free. However, freedom was no longer an attraction as it had too many
disadvantages. Where were they to go and what were they to do? Every man's hand would now be
turned against them and an untimely death was the last thing they wanted for the war could be over in a few weeks. They had survived this far and luck had been on their side, so they didn't want to tempt Providence too far. They walked on aimlessly having lost sense of direction and purpose. They had no food and the lethargy of the situation seemed to be typified when a lone Lancaster bomber appeared and stooged overhead at only a few hundred feet. It seemed as if the crew had nowhere to go, no target left to bomb and no enemy aircraft was left to challenge their slow, relentless progress.
An upturn in their fortunes occurred in the afternoon, when they were hailed by a Polish soldier resting at the side of the road. Courtesies were exchanged in English, the soldier possessing a rudimentary knowledge of the language, and then the tale of woe and adventure of the past weeks was related by the airmen. The Pole listened, sympathised, nodded his head several times and then, finally, invited them to come and share his accommodation at the ‘Barn'.
The 'Barn' was situated about a kilometre distant on a large farm and was, indeed, spacious. It had to be, for it housed about 200 Poles of all shapes and sizes. There were the grizzled veterans taken in the first months of the war in distant ‘39, when the German panzer divisions had bulldozed their way into Poland and swept all before them. Then there were the children, orphans of the holocaust, ranging from eight years upwards who had been taken in the Warsaw Insurrection of August, 1944. And, finally, there was a sprinkling of women. All these persons had worked on innumerable German farms as slave labour and had been shifted from pillar to post. Then they had been nearly caught in the jaws of the advancing Allied armies as they crossed the Rhine. However, their masters, the Germans had made them beat a hasty retreat into the heart of Germany - their final resting-place being the 'Barn', where they continued to slave on the local farms.
Living in the 'Barn' was not only interesting, but most relaxing for Dave and Bill. The inmates would
take themselves off to perform their agricultural chores, leaving the airmen and the younger children behind. From the youngsters Dave learnt their story. On 1st August, 1944, the Russians, who had suddenly halted their advance at the gates of Warsaw, urged the Poles to rise up and slay the German garrison. They had responded and the fighting had been waged on a grand scale for nine weeks. The Germans had put down the insurrection by bombardment from the air and artillery fire, and resistance hadn't ceased until 2nd October. All this time the Russian forces had remained passive and inactive, and no help was forthcoming. The insurgents and the civilian population were murdered or deported to concentration camps or to forced labour in the Reich. The entire population of the city was evacuated and the city almost totally gutted by fire. Thus Dave now had the answer to the riddle which had
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plagued him so long: why had the irresistible Russian advance stopped suddenly before the Polish
capital? The answer was obvious - the Polish underground movement had been allowed to be
decimated so that there would be no resistance to a future Communist takeover.
The children in the 'Barn' were parentless. They had witnessed the Warsaw holocaust and seen their
mothers, fathers and relatives slaughtered or deported elsewhere. It was one hell of a mix-up, typical of what prevailed in Europe in the spring of 1945. The children, however, were quite cheerful about it all and made a big fuss of the two 'terror-flyers', as they called them. Perhaps they saw in them something of the knight-in-shining armour who would save them from all this, instead of two
ordinary, very thin, tired prisoners of war.
Dave and Welling’s were given the daily task of collecting the rations from the nearby farmhouse,
which housed the German guards. The commandant, a captain, and his staff were accommodated in
the house, while the soldiers slept in the outhouses. The two airmen, accompanied by four or five
children, would push the clumsy, wooden wheelbarrow down the rutted lane and park in the
farmhouse's cobbled yard. Then the loaves of bread would be stacked neatly in the 'barrow', a seventh of a loaf per person and any other rations that were due, such as margarine once a week. The slave workers had to be fed or, otherwise, there would be agricultural problems and food shortages. The German soldiers, who doled out the rations, took very little interest in Dave and Bill, despite the fact that they were attired in RAF battledress -- the uniforms being so dirty and bedraggled that they fitted in snugly with the surroundings and were accepted. The Barn's inhabitants wore anything that kept them warm and on which they could lay their hands.
The Poles, Dave discovered, were a mercurial people. Their mood could change quickly and become
despondent, unhappy and melancholy. It was little wonder for their race had suffered hardship, torture and privation under successive invaders and conquerors. Further, the inmates of the 'Barn' had been battered and driven to the four corners of the German Reich during the last five years and some had been prisoners since September 1939. Nevertheless, they still regarded the Russians as the real enemies and, in conversation, would state that before the conflict was over the Germans, Poles, British and Americans would unite to drive the Communists back to the Russian steppes. It was impossible for Dave to comprehend, for he believed that Stalin's men were true blue, and what would the Western Allies do without them?
There were several large barns in the area and all housed slave workers of different nationalities. There were the French contingent, the Russians, Yugoslavs and Poles. They all seemed to dislike each other intensely, and perhaps it was symptomatic of what would happen when the war was over and the old hatreds could then be given free rein. They were all in the same pickle, but there were mutterings of evening up the score if the chance arose. Animosities ran deep and the war's end wouldn't dispel them.
With little to do, Dave and Bill relaxed during the day on their beds of hay. It was wonderful to be
able to eat regularly and rest. They felt that strength was returning to their bodies, but they would still become exhausted after some effort or exertion. Both had become acquisitive and hoarded edibles such as bread crusts, despite their age and hardness. They felt that this wasn't the end of the journey, but the prelude to another move and long walk. There was no final respite for them, only continual and endless motion from place to place.
Dave spruced himself up by having a haircut, short back and sides. He sat on one of the handles of the wheelbarrow, while a Polish prisoner of five odd years or so clipped away at his crowning glory. The right side of the hairdresser's face was badly scarred and the eye seemed to wink and stare from its illshapen socket. The Pole hated the Germans and told the story of his prisoner-of-war life to his
customer. However, Dave couldn't understand for he knew no Polish. Nevertheless, the vehemence of the man's tirade and the occasional word which Dave understood conveyed the drift of the
hairdresser's thoughts. He had received some pretty harsh treatment, especially during the early days of captivity, and the scarred side of his face had been the result of a beating from a Gestapo officer. The haircut finished, Dave arose and thanked the Pole. They shook hands, and then the hairdresser ran his fingers across his throat and mentioned the words, 'German' and 'Russian'. It was a tough old world.
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One night, the two kriegies were invited to dinner by the Yugoslavs, whose barn was situated about
300 metres away. On arrival, a very upright, grizzled, old veteran approached and warmly welcomed
them. He took them to a corner of the barn where they were introduced to five other men who were obviously regarded as leaders. The eight of them sat at a table and beer was poured and toasts to King George and Mihailovich, the particular Yugoslav leader to whom they owed allegiance, were drunk. Then it was on with the dinner - a rich, oily pork stew which made the belly lift and blow. There was a lot of laughter concerning the ingredients, from which Dave inferred that the pig had been stolen from one of the neighbouring farms and all hell would be let loose the next day when its disappearance discovered. It was a wonderful night with lots of backslapping, and oaths and with the name Mihailovich being mentioned often and loud. As the night progressed, the oily fare began to take its toll and Dave's stomach began to feel like a drum. The fatty pig was too much for a stomach which had been accustomed to a meagre bread diet for so long and Dave felt like throwing up. However, the letting off of wind from both ends helped to relieve the situation somewhat.
Finally, the dinner party came to an end and both airmen were relieved to get back to their abode
without disgracing themselves. They lay on their hay beds feeling as if their extended stomachs would burst and the rumblings and noises would never cease. It was as if an earthquake was occurring within their bodies. They hung on, determined not to be sick and so retain the nourishment the Yugoslavs had so generously given them.
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CHAPTER XXVII
The April sun of 1945 shone brightly and it was a treat to be alive. To feel the warmth on the back as it percolated its way through the clothing was luxury. Perhaps this hot flush of spring meant that the
cold, biting winds of winter had been banished for good and it would be plain sailing from here on in. The warm weather seemed to dull the hunger pangs and one wasn't continually craving for something to eat as was the case when the icy winds blew, chilling and freezing the bones.
Despite the weather, things weren't all bright and shiny. Welling’s had woken that morning feeling far from well. In fact, he had stated that he felt that this was his last round-up and he was on his way to the big ranch in the sky. All night he had been groaning, belching and farting and had made frequent trips to relieve himself. On returning, he would state that he now felt a little better, but within a quarter of an hour the status quo would reassert itself and the pains would return. The stomachs of both the airmen had become the delicate parts of the anatomy and would flare up and protest after something had been eaten. The night before, both had hoed into some of the stale, hoarded bread, liberally covered with German margarine. However, Dave's stomach had not protested to any great extent, but Bill's reaction had been violent. Dave had cheered his friend up by saying jocularly that he would ensure a slap-up funeral and invite the Yugoslavs to drink to his departure. Things weren't good, but Dave knew that Bill's health would have improved by the afternoon.
The noise of distant, sporadic gunfire had been heard several times that morning, but Dave didn't seem to think it important as he made his way leisurely towards the farmhouse that housed the guards. He wanted exercise to work off the excess of flatulence caused by the previous night's bread binge. He felt seedy and uncomfortable, and belched several times to relieve the rumblings in the stomach. He pressed on and as he neared the road the activity seemed to increase. Slave workers were running from all directions across the fields towards the road, and something untoward must be occurring. He quickened his step and, as he neared, he could see a crowd surrounding something monstrous and seemingly indestructible. It was a tank, and the two soldiers atop in khaki battledress and black berets signified that it was British. Dave was on the edge of the worshipping throng and the hubbub was so great that he couldn't make himself heard. He edged his way closer and then when the commotion died down sufficiently, yelled out: 'Eh, Tommy! What kept you so long?' There was no response. Dave repeated the greeting, and the sergeant turned and looked in his direction. Dave held his arms aloft and waved them furiously. 'What are you?' demanded the sergeant. 'British and army?'
'No, British and Royal Air Force,' came Dave's reply.
At the sergeant's bidding, the crowd cleaved a path and Dave moved towards the vehicle, being helped atop by the crowd and the sergeant's willing hands. Dave viewed the throng and felt elated, especially when they started to clap excitedly.
'What a way to gain release and freedom,' mused Dave. 'It's a fairy tale.'
Then another tank rolled its way into the village, stopping just short of the first, and so the crowd
gravitated towards the new arrival, allowing Dave and the sergeant to converse.
The tanks were part of a spearhead of the British 11th Armoured Division and were about 50
kilometres ahead of the main force. The sergeant2 had fought in the North African campaign, had
helped liberate Brussels, and was now cracker-jacking about the North German Plain - ideal terrain for armoured warfare. The flying-column had liberated many slave workers, but Dave was the first British POW that the force had encountered. The sergeant produced some bread wrapped in newspaper, and it looked so light and white after the heavy, dark, German fare that it reminded Dave of 'Lux' flakes. It was a wonderful present and reminded him of belching, Welling's stomach and his friend's likely reaction to the gift.
2 Sergeant Bill Woodward, Military Medal, British 11th Armoured Division. As a tank commander he fought in the North African campaign, and also participated in the liberation of Brussels.
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Then it was time to move out. A corporal and a soldier, who had been riding on the back of the vehicle were left behind to take over and administer the newly-acquired territory. Dave accompanied the tanks in their forward thrust to the village's perimeter, for the sergeant had stated that reports had been received that a German Tiger tank had dug itself in somewhere in the vicinity and he wanted to be sure of what was immediately ahead. The tanks stopped, and Dave shook hands with the sergeant and the crew members, wished them good luck, and then Sergeant Woodward, Military Medal, wrote his address on a piece of paper and said he hoped Dave would write some time and let him know how he was coping.
Dave returned to the farmhouse and here things were chaotic. The German guards, who had for so
long lorded it over their slave charges, were now clamouring for protection, they wished to be assured that no harm would come to them now they had surrendered. The cobbled yard resembled an arsenal for there the Germans had dumped their weapons. There was a small mountain of arms from the hand held machine gun to the Luger pistol.
The German guards, having taken refuge in the outhouses, the corporal, the soldier and Dave entered the kitchen of the farmhouse and there were served with tea and cake. The corporal was concerned for the safety of his prisoners, but Dave assured him that they were quite capable of fending for themselves. His argument being based on the fact that Bill, the slave workers and he had survived the vicissitudes of war for years, so the Germans should be able to cope.
The party over, they trooped outside and were greeted by an empty yard.
'Where the hell have all the guns gone?' asked the corporal in disbelief. 'They've bloody disappeared. The lot!'
Dave was shaken, too, but not for long. His prisoner experience should have warned him that they
were inviting trouble by leaving the pile of arms unattended. The kriegies were the most acquisitive
race in the world, whether it be stale bread or guns they had to possess them. However, guns were
dangerous and now Dave wasn't so sure that the German guards were as safe as he'd predicted.
Further, the enmity existing among the various slave nationalities could result in the settling of
grievances with bullets.
When Dave arrived at the 'Barn' Welling’s was up and quite chirpy. 'Well, Davey Boy, we're free at
bloody last,' and then in the same breath, 'Where the bloody hell have you been? They told me that you were part of the welcoming committee and had cleared out with one of the tanks.'
So Dave related what had occurred and concluded with, 'By the way, Bill, are you well enough to dine out tonight?'
'I'm well enough,' was the reply, 'but I'm not going to punish my guts with another dose of Yugoslav
soup or a bread binge. It would kill me.'
'No, none of that. It's at the farmhouse. The 'military governor' of the area, the corporal, has invited
both of us, so polish yourself up and look lively as we want to get there nice and early for pre-dinner
drinks.'
There was silence between them for a while, as if both were pondering upon the day's events and how their lot had changed. That morning they were just part of the mob and that night they were dining at 'government house'. Such were the fickleness and vagaries of fate.
'I'll tell you what!' exclaimed Welling’s suddenly. 'How about taking a few of the kids with us and
giving them a square meal? The poor bastards get very little out of life, and tonight will be a night for
them to remember.'
'You're not a bad sort of a bloke,' was Dave's reply. 'Trust you to think of them. So be it! They'll come
with us. By the way, Bill, I've got a surprise for you,' and with that he produced the newspaper parcel
from behind his back, and removed the wrapping to disclose the white, white bread.
[page break]
'Jesus, bloody white bread! Snow White! Put the lot away and we'll have it for breakfast. How lucky
are we to strike gold’?
That night the corporal, the soldier, four Polish lads, Bill and Dave sat around the kitchen hearth
warming themselves and savouring the aromas arising from the cooking food being prepared by the
frau of the house. They had confined themselves to the kitchen for they liked being near the hub of
activity, and the bustle reminded them of home. The German guards had locked themselves in the
outhouses for safety, but the captain and his lieutenant still occupied the best room. The conversation
centred on the progress of the war and day's events, but this was half-hearted for their thoughts were centred on the cooking food and when they were going to eat.
Finally, they were seated at the table and partook of the first course -- a light, vegetable soup. It tasted like nectar and everyone had second helpings, for it seemed to percolate to every part of the body, and as Bill said, 'One can feel the stuff doing one good.' Then it was potatoes, vegetables and a small piece of meat, which filled one to the gunwales. It was so satisfying that the sweet, consisting of some form of bread pudding, had to be left for stomachs had shrunken and couldn't cope with the new diet. Still, it was a meal fit for a king and would always be remembered by them all.
That night the fireworks started about 7 o'clock in the form of shots being fired. It wasn't continuous
and was difficult to describe. At times there would be a fusillade of shots, followed by a long quiet.
Then a desultory shot would ring out to break the silence. It was as-if the populace were miserly and
determined to conserve ammunition. The corporal suggested that they should go out to preserve law and order. However, the airmen likened the evening's entertainment to the American Fourth of July or the French celebration of the storming of the Bastille, and felt it unwise and unsafe to venture out of the house. One never knew if one would walk straight into a bullet, by chance or otherwise. It was much safer to stay indoors and allow the revellers their fun and games. Dave felt he had survived this far and certainly wasn't going to be buried in some unknown German village just for the sake of seeming to do the right thing.
Later in the night, the shots were accompanied by shouting and singing, as if the party were hotting up and some hidden form of alcohol had been discovered in the shape of a raided wine cellar. So it went on, and no-one left the house that night, preferring to sleep within the safety of the farmhouse than attempt the return journey to the 'Barn'.
[page break]
CHAPTER XXVIII
The morning dawned bright and sunny, and Dave and Welling’s held a summit conference with the
corporal. They were eager to be on their way to link up with the main advancing force and be really
free. The soldier counselled they should commandeer a car or truck, but neither knew how to drive. So it had to be bicycles or a long walk.
Breakfast over and farewells having been exchanged with the soldiers and the Polish lads, it was on
with the motley. The bitumen road seemed unusually quiet and devoid of traffic. Even the fields
surrounding the village were deserted, as if the slave workers had downed tools and declared a public holiday. And why not? Their masters, the German guards, were now prisoners of war themselves so the newly liberated were quite safe to lie abed and sleep off the Bacchanalian revelling of the previous night. Apparently, Dave had learned, that during the night's 'fireworks' a large group of displaced persons had raided a farmer's cellar and so it was hangovers all round.
On they cycled for several kilometres meeting no-one, until they reached a fork in the road. Here their progress was arrested by the hard metallic command 'Halt!'. In German. The suddenness of it almost made the riders fall off, and then two khaki clad soldiers emerged from behind a Bren gun carrier with rifles menacingly pointing at them. They meant business.
'Shit! You're British!' was Dave's opening remark. 'Thank God for that.'
'What the hell are you doing here?' asked one of the surprised soldiers'. 'You could have both been
shot. You stupid bastards!'
They were led to the side of the carrier where a jeep was also parked and here, in the relative safety of the corridor so formed they hastily told their story to the officer and four soldiers.
'You're lucky to have run into us,' stated the officer, 'and still have your hides intact. A number of SS
were fleeing in your direction and they'll shoot anything on sight. If they caught up with you and learnt that you were RAF, it would have been curtains. They're mad at the best of times, but in defeat they just go berserk.'
There was a hurried palaver and the officer decided that one of the soldiers should take the jeep and
drive the airmen down the road so many kilometres to a forwarding area, where about 50 soldiers were regrouping for another forward lunge.
'What happens if we meet the SS on the way?' was Dave's query to the driver.
'I'll go like bloody hell,' was the reply.
Then they were off on the last lap to freedom.
Their sojourn at the staging area was short and brief, but full of incident. Everyone was ensuring the
efficiency of their equipment. The trucks and Bren gun carriers were being serviced and refuelled;
weaponry was being cleaned and reloaded; and supplies were being transferred from the trucks to the carriers. There existed a sense of purpose, energy and direction which forcibly impinged itself on
Dave's consciousness. Perhaps it contrasted so sharply with the purposeless existence and monotony of the life that Dave had savoured during the last eighteen months or so. However, his whole being seemed to respond to the new conditions as if they were the necessary stimulus to living and progression.
There was humour, too, in this far-flung outpost of the Allied empire. The sprinkling of German
civilians around was being searched for weapons, but at the back of a large shed, concealed from
prying eyes, another kind of search was in progress. A corporal had five males lined up, and as it
became their turn to be scrutinised each would drop his trousers. Dave thought that this was taking
[page break]
things a little too far and laughingly enquired what the soldier expected to discover by these tactics,
surely not a revolver?
'The cunning bastards!' replied the corporal. 'They often pin their wristwatches to their shirt tails to
keep them warm and comfy and safe from clutching fingers. But the Hun's not going to fool me. I'm
up to his tricks.'
Then it was into a truck and back to Celle, the most forward town in that sector that the Allied armies had overrun and consolidated. The driver informed the airmen that the place was teeming with displaced persons. He described it as similar to the League of Nations, no-one understanding the other person, each doing his own thing and a real melting-pot. The schloss or castle in Celle was where everyone was fed by the Allies, and recommended that this was where they should go.
There were priorities though. Dave felt a bath was a must, and so the two entered a very large house. The place was beautifully appointed, the carpets being luxurious, exuding a warmth and comfort which had been lacking in their lives for so long. However, a deathly hush pervaded the whole atmosphere and was only disturbed by the slight creaking of the stairs as they ascended.
The bathroom was reached and there ensued a difference of opinion about who should have first use, but this was resolved when Welling’s discovered another bathroom at the end of the corridor.
Dave wallowed in the soapy water which caressed his body and soothed his jangled nerves. It was the first bath he had had since being shot down and so he savoured the luxury of it all. Admittedly, the water wasn't really hot, but who cared as long as one could soak, and soak, and soak? Then to encase oneself in clean, fluffy towels and feel the blood coursing in the veins was a delight which had almost been forgotten.
As he left the bathroom clad in dishevelled gear, he felt miserable. His clean, new body was still in
contact with the dirty grimy past and he resolved to start afresh by entering a bedroom and helping
himself to a change of clothing. Rummaging through the wardrobe, he found everything too large for
his skinny frame.
'Jesus!' he exclaimed. 'The bloke who owns these clothes must be a big bastard. I suppose he's on the Russian front or somewhere.'
However, beggars couldn't be choosers, and he attired himself as best he could. All the shoes were far too large, and as he preened himself in the mirror he could not help but notice the incongruity between his smart get-up and the dirty, mud stained boots he had been forced to retain.
'Shit! You look bloody smart, Dave,' was Bill's opening remark, as he burst into the room. 'Bloody
good idea of yours togging yourself up. I'll have a scrounge around, too, and see what I can come up
with. You're thin, Davey Boy. You're like a walking skeleton.'
'People in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones,' was Dave's retort.
They left the house wondering where the inhabitants had gone, and then made their way towards the schloss which was easily discernible by its massive structure. This was their haven and it literally
teemed with displaced persons from all over Europe. The advancing Allies had earmarked the castle as temporary accommodation for the liberated, and the 'inn' was bursting at the seams with the large inflow of 'guests'.
'Talk about the League of Nations and the tower of Babel,' commented Welling’s, 'one needs an
interpreter to understand all the cackle that's going on.'
'I'm not worried about conversation,' came Dave's reply, ‘It's my stomach I want to fill.'
It was after midday and a field kitchen had been set up in the middle of the grounds where army
personnel, cafeteria style, were feeding the long, never-ending queue. One shuffled along at a snail's
[page break]
pace until arriving at the Mecca. Then one grabbed two plates. The larger of the two, the dinner plate, was piled high as one moved along. Firstly, it was potatoes, then a dollop of swede, followed by carrots, and then the whole was smothered with a thick, meaty gravy, which spilled over on the hands. Balancing the laden plate and ensuring that the gravy didn't run away, the other plate was extended for treatment, receiving a generous slab of some form of bread pudding, followed by a liberal pouring of hot, yellow custard.
Then it was to a secluded spot, and seated on a rug they feasted on the succulent, gluey contents,
savouring each mouthful as if it were their last. Then it was the dessert, but the heavy, pudding like
substance, ladened with custard, was too much for shrunken stomachs and they were both forced to
halt long before the plates had been cleared. They not only felt sated but drowsy and like snakes
gorged with prey, lay on their backs and went off to sleep.
The rest was of short duration for within half an hour they were awake and ready to go. They
recuperated easily, a meal and a catnap and energy was restored. The dirty plates were returned to the kitchen, and then they reported to an area clearly marked by the sign: 'British POWs.' An officer took particulars, while an Airborne sergeant resplendent in uniform and red beret stood idly by. They were instructed to eat and sleep in the castle and report again the next day at noon. The interview over, they left and were followed by sergeant.
'You chaps don't need to eat and sleep here,' he called. 'Why don't you come with me and live well?
You deserve something better.'
So the invitation was accepted, and off the three went.
The commandeered premises were spacious, housing about a dozen Red Devils, whose tough, rugged, healthy appearance exuded bonhomie and comradeship. It was little wonder that they were on top of the world for their division, the Sixth Airborne, had made the successful drop on the east bank of the Rhine and secured Montgomery's crossing at Wesel. They felt that the war was nearing its end and had only one more mission to complete, the crossing of the Elbe, for which they were regrouping. The hospitality was lavish with cigarettes galore and plenty of everything—a far cry from the prisoners' yesterdays.
'What about us all going for a swim?' someone suggested, and then laughingly added, 'we'll be
acclimatised then if we miscue and finish up in the Elbe.'
'Christ!' someone exclaimed. 'I know it's a sunny day, but remember it's still only mid-April. It'll be
bloody chilly.'
So it was decided everyone was going swimming, including the airmen, and they'd be off very shortly
before the heat went out of the sun.
Dave felt tired and lay on a bed. A five minutes' rest he felt would restore him and so be ready for the excursion. He closed his eyes.
It was after 10 the next morning when he awoke.
'Nice to see you awake, Sleeping Beauty!' remarked one of the Airborne boys humorously. 'You've
been asleep about 20 hours—missed the swim and last night's entertainment.'
'You didn't miss much with the swim,' volunteered Welling’s, 'it was bloody cold—your balls froze.
Last night was terrific though, we went out and really enjoyed ourselves.'
'Yes, the entertainment went on when we got back here, too,' continued a sergeant. 'We had a game of indoor rugger, and someone was tackled and brought down right on top of you. You didn't budge.
Must have been really buggered.
'I didn't feel anything, ' muttered Dave. 'I suppose I really needed the sleep.
[page break]
CHAPTER XXIX
At 20 minutes past noon Dave and Welling’s reported to the area in the schloss marked, 'British
POWs', and were promptly reprimanded by the officer-in-charge.
'When I tell you to report at noon, I mean twelve o'clock and not 20 minutes later,' he raved. 'You're
back in the service now good and proper, so pull your finger out! No more dragging the chain and
bouncing the ball around!'
Then he addressed the other five POWs present. 'I'll be back in a few minutes,' and, looking
menacingly at the latecomers, continued, 'Wait here, and no clearing off!'
He then left.
'Officious bastard!' exclaimed one of the men. 'I bet that's all he's done throughout the war is give
orders. His life has been full of 'Yes, sir!', 'No, sir!', 'Three bags full, sir.'’
'He ought to have had a spell in the lager,' stated Welling’s, 'that would have knocked the shit out of
him.'
Within 10 minutes the officer returned with a truck and the seven newly-liberated were bundled
aboard and taken to the airfield where they were placed aboard a Douglas transport. The take-off was quite smooth, but Dave felt the butterflies in the stomach as the plane lunged forward gathering height and momentum. It was the first time he had been airborne since that fatal night and the apprehension was understandable.
'How you're feeling, Davey Boy?' yelled Welling’s above the roar of the engines. 'Remember the last
time?'
'I feel bloody wonderful,' lied Dave, 'It's a piece of cake.'
The plane landed at Brussels, and the seven of them were whisked away by truck to a sort of hostel
where they were plied with Red Cross goodies, such as a safety razor and blades, a shaving brush and fresh underwear. Thus they were able to bath, shave and improve the appearance, then indulge in the luxury of a clean vest and underpants. Re-vitalized, they were ready for a night out on the town. However, the essential ingredient, money, was lacking so they had to settle on a Service canteen.
The night wasn't particularly successful because they felt their German civilian clothes made them the object of attention and comment. Eyes were cast in their direction by the uniformed hordes frequenting the place and the obvious questions that were never asked: what the hell were civilians doing in a place like this, and who let them in et cetera? However, the night passed without incident.
The next day they were flown to England, and, on disembarking, Dave turned to Welling’s and stated: 'Well the experience we've had will stand us in good stead in the future.'
'I don't mind the experience now that it's over,' replied Welling’s, 'but Jesus I wouldn't want to go
through it all again.’ 'Never mind!' responded Dave. 'Think of the yarns you'll be able to tell everyone. You'll be the life and soul of the party.'
'Bullshit!' was Welling’s' reply. 'No-one will want to listen and, if they do, they'll think you're a bloody, big line-shooter.'
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
One man in his time
Description
An account of the resource
Writes of his last operation in a Halifax when his aircraft was shot down and exploded killing all the other members of the crew. Describes journey to camp and being in Frankfurt while it is under bombing attack. Continues with description of life as a prisoner of war in East Prussia and Poland and the people he meets. Writes of forced march back to Germany, escape and recapture near Belsen before linking up with British forces and repatriation. At the beginning are two photographs; first of an airborne Halifax with clouds below, captioned 'Handley-Page Halifax B MkII (RAF*)' . Second a half length portrait of an airman wearing battledress with navigator brevet. Captioned 'Author: Warrant Officer David Griffin (1945)'. On next page are two maps of UK and Northern Europe, captioned 'Referenced Locations' and 'Referenced locations as located within 2017 international borders'.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David A J Griffin
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
102 page printed pages
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BGriffinDAJGriffinDAJv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Lithuania
Lithuania--Šilutė
Belgium
Belgium--Brussels
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Poland
Germany
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Celle
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-09-27
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
aircrew
animal
anti-Semitism
bomb aimer
bombing
crash
displaced person
Dulag Luft
fear
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Holocaust
killed in action
love and romance
military living conditions
missing in action
prisoner of war
sanitation
shot down
sport
Stalag Luft 6
the long march
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1213/15128/MDonaldsonDW70185-150610-070001.1.jpg
20455e30e3112bfc1d095e05dc073cc9
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1213/15128/MDonaldsonDW70185-150610-070002.1.jpg
16db9d35f04b4c5968c25fb3fe51adc9
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1213/15128/MDonaldsonDW70185-150610-070003.1.jpg
0fd91d648b81c14fbaaec97709f7daf8
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Donaldson, David
David Donaldson
D Donaldson
Description
An account of the resource
309 Items and a sub-collection of 51 items. Concerns Royal Air Force career of Wing Commander David Donaldson DSO and bar, DFC. A pilot, he joined the Royal Air Force Reserve in 1934. Mobilized in 1939. he undertook tours on 149, 57 and 156 and 192 Squadrons. He was photographed by Cecil Beaton at RAF Mildenhall in 1941. Collection contains a large number of letters to and from family members, friends as well as Royal Air Force personnel. Also included are personal and service documents, and his logbooks. In addition, there are photographs of family, service personnel and aircraft. After the war he became a solicitor. The collection also contains an oral history interview with Frances Grundy, his daughter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Anna Frances Grundy and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-06-02
2022-10-17
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Donaldson, D
Grundy, AF
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
53, LIMERSTON STREET,
LONDON, SW10 0BL
01-352 4460.
D.W.D.
D.S.O & Bar Awarded 14.5.43 and 17.7.45
D.F.C Awarded 7 February 1941
1939/45 Star
Air Crew Europe Star (With France & Germany clasp)
Defence Medal
War Medal 1939/45
Air Efficiency Award
(DSO, Bar & DFC have year of award engraved on back)
(Air Efficiency Award has name & [indecipherable word] on rim)
J.D. War Medal 1939/45
[page break]
RAF Service
53, LIMERSTON STREET,
LONDON, SW10 0BL
01-352 4460.
D.W.D.
RAFO (A.A OD) 13.8.34 – 31.1.37 ASTLd Hamble etc
RAFVR 1.2.38 – 2.9.39 Avro Cadet, BE2.A.
RAF EVANTON (Scotland) 3.9.39 – 26.4.40. Hanley. (Target Training).
RAF BRIZE NORTON (2 SFTS) 27.4.40 – 9.8.40 Oxford, Flying Training
No15. OUT RAF HARWELL 10.8.40 – 19.9.40 Wellington Training
No149 (B)Sqd RAF MILDENHALL 20.12.40 – 7.3.40[sic] Wellington. 31. Ops
Detailed to Air Ministry & British [indecipherable words] NEW YORK and ATFERO for Ferrying Duties USA Canada Iceland & UK. 8.3.41 – 28.9.41. Hudson and Wellington.
No 57(B) Sqdn. Feltwell & [indecipherable word] 26.9.41 – 20.x11.41 Wellingtons. 5 Ops.
RAF Hospitals Ely and Littleport & Sick leave 20.x11.42[sic] 9.3.42
H.Q 3 Group RAF EXNING 9.3.42 14.7.42 Staff-Group Tactics Offices
No.18. OUT RAF HARWELL & HAMPSTEAD NORRIS 15.3.42 18.1.43 Instructor 1, Op. Wellingtons
RAF WARBOYS (Pathfinders) 18.1.43 21.6.43. Flight Commander (WgCom) Pathfinders 23, Ops.
P.T.O.
[page break]
No 1667 Heavy Conversion Unit. RAF LINDHOLME & FALDINGWORTH. 21.6.43 – 14.12.43 Chief Instructor Lancasters.
HQ 100 Group RAF West Raynham & BYLAUGH Hall 15.12.44[sic] 12.6.44 Staff Air 1 & D.S.A.S.O 2 Ops.
RAF FOULSHAM, No 192 Sqdr. (Spec Duties) 12.6.44 – 6.9.45. CO Air [indecipherable word] & Signals Investigation Halifax. 21, Ops.
H.Q 100 Group RAF BYLAUGH HALL 6.9.45 1.10.45. (W/C. Ops).
Demob [indecipherable word] 1.10.45 – 25.x1.45.
[underlined] JD. [/underlined]
WAAF October 1939 – Feb 1940 Initial Training
RAF Bentley Priory H.Q. Fighter Command Feb 1940 – June 1940 Filter Plotter
Code & Cypher Training at OXFORD June 1940 – August 1940 ASO Code & Cypher Training ASO
RAF MILDENHALL Bomber Command August 1940 – Late Summer 1941 C&C Offices
RAF WYTON Bomber Command Section Offices Summer 1941 – Dec 1941 C&C Offices
H.Q Flying Training [indecipherable word] RAF CAVERSHAM Dec 1941 – April 1941[sic] C&C Duties
April 1941[sic] – [indecipherable word]
([indecipherable words])
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Summary of medals and Royal Air Force Service for David and Joyce Donaldson
Description
An account of the resource
List medals for David Donaldson including Distinguished Service order and bar, Distinguished Flying Cross. Medal for Joyce Donaldson, War Medal 1939-45. Lists RAF Service for David Donaldson from 1934 to demob in November 1945. Lists Joyce Donaldson's wartime service in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force from October 1939 to April 1941.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Donaldson
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Three page handwritten document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Hampshire
England--Hamble-le-Rice
Scotland--Easter Ross
England--Oxfordshire
England--Berkshire
England--Suffolk
England--Norfolk
England--Exning
England--Ely
England--Huntingdonshire
England--London
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Yorkshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1934
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MDonaldsonDW70185-150610-07
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
100 Group
149 Squadron
15 OTU
1667 HCU
18 OTU
192 Squadron
3 Group
57 Squadron
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
ground personnel
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hudson
Lancaster
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
RAF Bentley Priory
RAF Brize Norton
RAF Evanton
RAF Faldingworth
RAF Feltwell
RAF Foulsham
RAF Hampstead Norris
RAF Harwell
RAF Lindholme
RAF Methwold
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Warboys
RAF West Raynham
RAF Wyton
training
Wellington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1217/15048/BStoreyDPStoreyDPv1.1.pdf
fb6b9c6ed776948178bbf42f96b6d756
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Storey, David Philip
D P Storey
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. The collection concerns David Philip Storey DFC (1919 - 2018, 1334123, Royal Air Force) and consists of his log book, a photograph and a memoir. He flew operations as a navigator with 51 Squadron from RAF Snaith and then became an instructor at RAF Kinloss. He was promoted to flight lieutenant in September 1945.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by David Storey and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-01-30
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Storey, DP
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Memoirs of D.P. Storey, Navigator on Halifax Bombers during World War 2
Crew: Pilot: John Morris (Sgt)
Navigator: Dave Storey (Sgt)
Bomb Aimer: Jim Binham (Pilot Officer)
Wireless Operator: Arthur Hebblethwaite (Pilot Officer)
Flight Engineer: Jock Russel (Sgt)
Rear Gunner: Paddy Boyd (Sgt)
Mid Upper Gunner: Paddy Flynn (Sgt)
We arrived at RAF Snaith, 51 Squadron, 4 Group, on 27th May 1943, fresh and green from 4 engine Conversion Unit RAF Rufforth, near York.
We were attached to C Flight, commanded by Squadron Leader Charlie Porter, a Navigator. The Squadron was commanded by Wing Commander Franks. The Station Commander was Group Captain Tiger Jordan.
Much to our surprise, we were immediately granted 14 days leave, although perhaps the reason for this was not very reassuring. A roster system was operated, each crew
taking its turn. Whenever a crew went missing, the crew next on the list took their place on the leave roster. Apparently the losses had been so heavy, that all remaining crews in C Flight having recently had leave, we were immediately placed at the top of the list.
We first flew Operations as a crew on the 22nd June 1943 having first completed 19 hours pre-ops training and Johnny Morris, our Pilot had flown one trip as Second Pilot
on an Operation to Wuppertot. Our first target was Kreffeld in the Rhur Valley, commonly known as Happy Valley.
22-6-43
Operation KREFFELD. Pilot Sgt Morris 5 hours 30 mins, Diverted to Pocklington on return owing to fog at Base. (44 planes lost)
25-6-43
Operation GELSENKIRCHEN. Pilot Sgt Morris 4 hours 40 mins. (30 planes lost)
During the next two days, our Pilot, Johnny Morris developed a large sty on one of his eyes, which completely closed it. Therefore, on the 28th June, when the Squadron was again operating, Johnny was unfit to fly. However, as several other crews were short of men for one reason or another, four of us were detailed to fly with other crews. I was detailed to fly with Johnny Garnham (I cannot quite remember which flight he was in but I believe it was B Flight). Our crews had been on the same course at O.U.T. (Operational Training Unit) Abingdon together, so I Knew Johnny Garnham very well.
He was a grand chap. However, while our crew were enjoying 14 days leave, Johnny Garnham’s crew had been piling up the Ops. By the time we had started our tour they had done about five very tough trips, all on Happy Valley, the Rhur. They had had a really rough introduction, having come back badly shot up from nearly every one of these raids. As a result, Johnny Garnham’s nerves had taken a pounding (not to be wondered at). This proved to be a thoroughly disastrous trip. Shortly after taking off, when testing the guns, the rear guns jammed. A little later, one of the turrets jammed. Not very long after, the Gyros compasses went completely haywire, leaving us with only
the magnetic compass. Later still, one of the engines caught fire and had to be extinguished, leaving us with only 3 engines. However, by this time we had gone too far to turn back. It would have been more dangerous to leave the main stream and try and make it home alone, so we carried on and bombed and somehow got home without further incident. Sad to relate, Johnny Garnham and crew went missing on their next trip (either their 8th or 9th) in the same aircraft, which I think was MH.J. What a terrible baptism they had suffered. The target of the operation I have just described was
Cologne (30 planes lost).
28-6-43
Operation COLOGNE. Pilot Sgt Garnham 4 hours 40 mins.
However plenteous were the blows we suffered that night, the worst was yet to come. Our rear gunner Sgt Paddy Boyd, who had been detailed to fly with a new young crew on their first operation, did not return. It was the crew’s first and last operation. I cannot now remember the name of the pilot, it was too long ago. As Paddy was my closest personal friend, I felt his loss greatly. We were immediately given a replacement
gunner, Sgt Allan Massey, who turned out to be a great gunner.
3-7-43
Operation COLOGNE. Pilot Sgt Morris 5 hours 35 mins. (25 planes lost.)
9-7-43
Operation GELSENKIRCHEN. Pilot Sgt Morris 6 hours 25 mins. (12 planes lost.)
Shortly after this, we again had 14 days leave, because we had reached the top of the list owing to the continuing heavy losses. In a matter of a very few weeks almost all the faces you knew would disappear and be replaced by new and strange ones.
29-7-43
Operation HAMBURG. Pilot Sgt Morris 5 hours 40 mins.
On the way back, we could still see the fires of Hamburg raging 180 miles from the city. (28 planes lost.)
30-7-43
Operation REMSCHIED (abandoned, engine trouble) Pilot Sgt Morris 2 hours 45 mins. (15 planes lost.)
Sometime during this month (July) a large part of the station bomb dumps blew up. It would be sometime between 1:30 and 2:00 pm, because we were all in the mess (Sergeants), having had lunch and standing around and chatting. Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion and the whole building rocked like a boat on the water.
Everybody made a dive for the floor. We thought we were being raided by the Jerrys. However, when we had recovered from the shock, we all rushed outside and saw this huge column of smoke coming from the area of the bomb dump across the other side of the aerodrome.
After the initial confusion had died down, we eventually learned that a 4000lb blockbuster had blown up and 21 men had been blown to bits. The fires raged for a week and bombs kept exploding at intervals throughout the week. Once it was certain
that all bombs in that section of the dump had exploded, volunteers went into collect the bodies, but there were no bodies to collect; only bits of rotting flesh alive with maggots.
It has been a blazing hot week and the flies had got to work with a vengeance. I don’t think anybody was identified, because the pieces found were so small. An odd finger, an odd foot etc. We heard that the smell was beyond description and that many of the volunteers were sick for days after and I could not eat.
Naturally, this posed a big problem to the operational ability of the Squadron. However, this problem was solved by bringing in bombs from other Squadrons, For a week or two these were transported by road, as the main railway line which ran close to the bomb dump was closed during this period and all trains diverted onto other routes.
We had to take off over the blazing dump on some of the trips, when the wind was in that direction. It was not a comfortable feeling.
2-8-43
Operation HAMBURG. Pilot Sgt Morris 5 hours 45 mins. (30 planes lost.)
This raid was somewhat of a disaster owing to the weather. Terrible electric storms were encountered over Hamburg, caused, so I have since read in descriptions of the raid, by the fires caused by this series of raids. I think five in all by the RAF within a week and daytime raids by the US air corps.
The weather was more terrifying than any enemy action. We were literally hurled 30 or
40 feet into the air at frequent intervals by the vast currents of air in the totally solid thunder cloud. Lightning flashed all around us continually and static electricity called St. Elmos fire covered the whole of the plane, making it appear that we were actually on fire. This static blue flame leapt from all the propeller blades covering the wings in blue flame and dancing all around the cockpit and the fuselage.
Just as terrifying as the vast up-currents and the static fire was the bombardment of the fuselage by huge chunks of ice being hurled from the propeller blades, hunks of ice the size of a leg of mutton. We could not get out of this vast cloud. We tried climbing above it but couldn’t because of the ever increasing weight of ice on the wings and props. We also tried to get beneath it but couldn’t; it was too vast in depth.
In desperation we flew in all directions to get free of the cloud and the ice, having dropped our bombs on ETA, which was all we could do, not having the slightest clue of our true position, especially as the magnetic compass was totally useless owing to the huge amounts of electric energy in the cloud.
All this was a total disaster for me, the navigator. I had to make guesses about our position (my experience was repeated in all the other bombers). I assumed a position somewhere to the north east of the target and when we finally got into slightly improved conditions, we set course for home from this assumed position.
The whole force was requesting QDMs (wireless position lines) two or three of which would fix your position. However, the demand was so great that priority was given to only those in dire trouble. SOS cases etc. of which there were many. All others had to
wait their turn. We eventually got a fix and were able to find our way more or less in the
right direction. Once we got within “Gee” range all our troubles were over.
I think without doubt this was our most frightening trip. The force of nature could out do anything man might attempt.
The vast proportion of losses that night (30 in all) were due to the weather and I have no doubt, many collisions in that impenetrable cloud.
It was on this series of Hamburg raids that we first used “Window”, strips of aluminium foil dropped from a special chute by the wireless operator at regular intervals. One or two bundles a minute generally, whilst over enemy territory and two to four bundles a minute in the target area. Each of these strips of foil showed up on the German radar screens as an aircraft creating complete chaos for the Jerry fighter control people. Especially as diversion raids were made on other targets at the same time, also using “Window” to create even more chaos. It would appear to the Germans on the radar screens that there were countless thousands of planes being used and it was impossible to distinguish the difference between the false and the true signals. It made interception impossible except by sheer chance. Altogether a great innovation as far as we were concerned.
9-8-43
Operation MANNHEIM Pilot Sgt Morris 4 hours 10 mins (9 planes lost)
10-8-43
Operation NURENBURG Pilot Sgt Morris 7 hours 45 mins (16 planes lost) Returned of 3 engines.
12-8-43
Operation MILAN Pilot Sgt Morris 8 hours 10 mins (3 planes lost) Returned on 3 engines, landed at Abingdon short of fuel.
17-7-43
Operation PEENEMUNDE Pilot Sgt Morris 7 hours 35 mins (40 planes lost)
This raid on the German rocket development base on the shores of the Baltic was one of the most successful raids of the war; completely destroying all three separate targets at the base, the living quarters, the laboratories and the technical work shops.
This base was where the V weapons were being developed; both the V1 flying bombs and the V2 rockets. The great success of this raid gained us a respite of at least a year to 18 months.
The bombing took place from 6,000 feet, very low for bombers. As a result we could see everything in great detail. The great variety of light and heavy flak, together with tracer, searchlights, explosions on the ground and in the air, the vast fires and chemicals
burning below, all combined together to create the greatest firework display one was ever likely to see. Terrifying but beautiful.
It was a very clear moonlit night and we could see other bombers all around us. The German fighters didn’t show up in any strength until we reached the target area. They had assumed we were going to attack Berlin and had therefore made for the big city, as we called it. They discovered their mistake too late, by which time we were arriving at Peenemunde. However, the return trip was a long running fight in bright moonlight. We were very very lucky and had no trouble, although we could see other bombers being attacked all around us, only a few hundred yards away. The sky was full of tracer and we could see bombers going down at fairly regular intervals.
We lost 40 bombers on this raid.
22-8-43
Operation LEVERKUSEN Pilot Sgt Morris 5 hours 5 mins (5 planes lost)
23-8-43
Operation BERLIN Pilot Sgt Morris 2 hours 15 mins (56 planes lost) Abandoned due to engine failure.
27-8-43
Operation WURENBURG Pilot P.O. Morris 8 hours 10 mins (33 planes lost)
31-8-43
Operation MUNCHEN GLADBACH Pilot P.O. Morris 4 hours 20 mins (25 planes lost)
We took off at 00:08 hours i.e. just after midnight on this trip. On our way to the target over enemy territory, we were attacked by a ME109 fighter, or rather we were about to be attacked, but thanks to our two first class gunners, we shot the fighter down before
he could open fire. Allan Massey, our rear gunner very quietly informed Johnny our pilot that a fighter was closing in on us dead astern and said he would give a count down on the range and advised Johnny to start weaving when he gave the word. Al started counting off the range – 1000 yards, 900, 800, 700, 600, 500, 400 start weaving, which Johnny immediately did, quite violently. Of course, by this time, Bob Kennedy, our mid upper gunner had also spotted the fighter who was closing in to point blank range, thinking he hadn’t been spotted. Both gunners had their guns trained on the fighter and as soon as Johnny started his weave, Al Massey opened up hitting the ME with his first burst. He was closely followed by Bob Kennedy, whose fire was just as accurate and went straight home. Within seconds the Jerry burst into flames, the combined fire from both turrets pouring into his engine. The fire was so bright and by this time, the action
so close, that the two gunners could plainly see the Jerry pilot pull back his canopy and jump, by which time they had stopped firing. The whole action was over in minutes and the Jerry hadn’t fired a shot. A case of smug over confidence on his part; he imaged he had us cold.
The coolness of our two gunners, Al and Bob, and Johnny our pilot during this action
was magnificent and reinforced the confidence we already had in them. Our elation was boundless and we were all cheering like mad, with congratulations coming from all and sundry. We completed the trip in very high spirits.
By 20:17 hours on the same day, we had taken off for Berlin.
Operation BERLIN Pilot P.O. Morris 8 hours 35 mins (47 planes lost)
5-9-43
Operation MANNHEIM Pilot P.O. Morris 7 hours 50 mins (34 planes lost)
On the 11-9-43 I was commissioned to the rank of Pilot Officer. Johnny Morris has been commissioned a week or so ahead of me.
15-9-43
Operation MONTLUCON Pilot P.O. Morris 6 hours 45 mins (3 planes lost)
16-9-43
Operation MODANE Pilot P.O. Morris 6 hours 30 mins (3 planes lost)
We encountered very heavy icing on this trip and one of the engines caught fire. Luckily, we managed to extinguish it.
It was on one of the previous two trips, either Montlucon or Modane, that we were fired on by an enemy aircraft which we did not even see. We suddenly heard bullets spattering the aircraft; it was only a short burst and then nothing more. It sounded like a handful of gravel thrown at a window pane, but much lounder. However, we got back to base without further incident. Next morning when we went down to dispersal to do an
air test, we were shown one of the tyres practically burnt away. The ground crew could not understand how we had landed without it bursting. They reckoned us very lucky to be alive.
22-9-43
Operation HANOVER Pilot Sgt Jackson 6 hours 00 mins (26 planes lost)
23-9-43
Operation MANNHEIM Pilot Sgt Jackson 7 hours 10 mins (32 planes lost)
Sgt Jackson (later Pilot Officer) and crew were without a navigator and at a later date my closest personal friend. Pilot Officer Frank Rohrer was attached to this crew as navigator. They were eventually all lost on a raid on the ball bearing factory at Swienfurt on 24th February 1944. I understand they were all buried in a common grave, owing to the fact that they were burned beyond recognition. Frank Rohrer, like so many others, was not yet 21 years old.
27-9-43
Operation HANOVER Pilot P.O. Morris 5 hours 15 mins (38 planes lost)
Diverted to St Andrews Field, Essex on return, due to fog at base. This was a US Army Air Corps base (near Braintree, Essex) accommodating 4 squadrons of Martin Marauder twin engine bombers. It seemed to us that every G.I. had his own jeep. Nobody walked anywhere. We were there until 29th September with engine trouble. They made us very welcome.
Another 14 days leave in early October.
Operation KASSEL Pilot P.O Morris 6 hours 00 mins (43 planes lost) Returned on 3 engines.
3-11-43
Operation DUSSELDORF Pilot P.O. Morris 5 hours 5 mins (18 planes lost) Exchanged fire with enemy aircraft.
18-11-43
Operation LUDWIGSHAFFEN Pilot P.O Morris 7 hours 20 mins (23 planes lost)
22-11-43
Operation BERLIN Pilot P.O. Morris 7 hours 5 mins (26 planes lost)
25-11-43
Operation FRANKFURT Pilot P.O. Morris 7 hours 10 mins (12 planes lost)
Sqn Ldr Charlie Porter O.C. C Flight screened and left Sqdr. C Flight taken over by Sqn Ldr Nick Simmonds, another navigator. Flight Commander keeping up the tradition of the Flight. Nick Simmonds was an ex Guards Officer and a Devonian of the Drake/Rayleigh stamp i.e. a typical buccaneer type. He used to have a photograph of himself on horseback in full Guard Officers uniform. This photograph always stood on his desk in C Flight Office.
No operations during December for our crew. By this time we were truly a veteran crew and our operations were becoming more and more spread out, this being a deliberate policy, as it was regarded as good for the moral of the younger crews of the Squadron to see it was possible to survive.
A new landing procedure was introduced during this month.
Also during December we took over several Halifax Mark IIs from 158 Squadron at
Lisset, as they were converting to Halifax Mark IIIs. We travelled to Lisset by road on
23rd December and ferried the aircraft back to base at Snaith the following day. We had to land in fog. This proved to be our most hazardous landing. When we finally hit the runway with great suddenness, we bounced the height of a two storey house. Men who were working on the runway were running in all directions!
I flew once during January 1944 with F.O. Love’s crew.
29-1-44
Operation BERLIN Pilot F.O. Love 7 hours 40 mins (46 planes missing)
F.O. Love was an Australian. I was airsick all the way to the target and back, owing to a massive hangover from the previous night, but it turned out to be one of my best trips from the point to view of navigation; spot on all the way. I had to constantly remove my oxygen mask to clear all the vomit. A very uncomfortable trip but it rather disproved the theory that alcohol lowers the efficiency. Although of course I had got all the alcohol out of my system by the time we took off and was merely suffering from the hangover in the stomach.
15-2-44
Operation BERLIN Pilot P.O Morris 2 hours 00 mins (43 planes lost)
This trip was abandoned very early on owing to engine trouble. We came back on 3 engines.
20-2-44
Operation LEIPZIG Pilot P.O Morris 7 hours 10 mins (78 planes lost)
We took our Flight Commander Sqdn Ldr Nick Simmonds with us on this trip as bomb aimer, owing to the fact that our own bomb aimer, Jim Binham, was in sick bay with lung trouble. Jim Binham was one of the coolest, most unflappable customers I ever encountered. One could not have wished for a steadier crewman to fly with. We missed him greatly. He never flew with us again.
However, this proved to be a very eventful trip. Nick Simmonds was one of the greatest characters I ever met. The sort of man one would go to hell and back with and on this trip we did. It was to be a hell of discomfort from the point of view of cold and a nightmare for all navigators.
The events started before take-off. Shortly before this trip all aircrew had been issued with service revolvers and ammunition. Quite a lot of crewmen took their revolvers with them on operations, although this was not officially approved of. Nick, being the man he was took his on this occasion and during the usual hour spent at the dispersal point before take-off, he drew the revolver and said “I wonder whether this bloody thing works?” and without further ado he fired a couple of rounds off through the adjacent hedge, aiming at a vague white blob, it being deep twilight by this time.
The next morning, a very angry and indignant farmer called in at Station Headquarters, demanding to know who had killed one of his sheep. Needless to say, nobody knew a thing about it!
Shortly after we became airborne, we discovered that the aircraft heating system had failed; this was the start of our troubles.
Once we reached our operational height of around 18,000 to 20,000 feet the cold was beyond description. The thermometer read -75 below. Although we were warmly clothed this cold penetrated everything. Unfortunately it is impossible to navigate with thick gloves on. All I was able to wear were my thin silk gloves with fingerless wool mittens on top.
The computers we used were plated steel, as were the dividers. These were so cold it was like handling hot metal. After the trip I discovered all my fingertips were slightly frost bitten also my heels, strangely enough. One would have expected the toes to be affected more than the heels. The skin was hard and shiny just like a mild burn.
We had to keep removing our oxygen masks to bash out the ice caused by condensation of the breath. We all carried thermos flasks of hot coffee, which were
more than welcome of this occasion, however, the cold was so intense that coffee which
I spilt on my navigation chart froze instantly on contact and had to be hacked off with a pen knife before I was able to continue with my plotting.
Nick Simmonds tapped me on the shoulder and shouted “Bloody cold up here Storey. I’ve got one heating pipe shoved down my front and another up my arse and I’m still frozen”, naturally as there was no heat coming through at all.
Shortly after this, I nearly jumped out of my skin to the sound of machine gun fire, virtually at my elbow. It was Nick, firing the front Lewis gun to warm his hands on the barrel.
However, the intense cold was by no means our greatest worry. The met forecast winds were exactly 180º out. Instead of flying into a headwind we had a very strong tailwind in the region of 80 to 100 mph. This meant we were very much ahead of time all the way along the route and had to constantly fly triangular dog leg courses (a manoeuvre to lose time). We flew 3 minute and 6 minute dog legs at frequent intervals, in a desperate attempt to lose time, but no way could we lose enough time with such a tailwind, the complete opposite to the forecast wind, on which the whole timekeeping of the operation had been planned.
The Pathfinder Force, with their more sophisticated navigational equipment, was more able to fix their position and ascertain the actual wind speed and direction. Therefore by this stage of the Bomber Offensive, a new technique had been developed. Each separate bomber of the Pathfinder Force transmitted their calculated winds back to Bomber Command H.Q. All these winds were then averaged out and transmitted back
to Main Force. This was done every 30 minutes over enemy territory, whilst Main Force was out of Gee range. The policy was, that the whole of Main Force should use these broadcast winds to rectify their position, should they find themselves off track and outside the 10 mile wide mainstream. It was a highly successful scheme and of course achieved a greater concentration.
However, on this occasion these broadcast winds appeared to cause more confusion to an already totally confuse Main Force. The vast majority of Main Force totally rejected these broadcast winds as being impossible and absurd, owing to the fact that they were
180º different to the forecast winds. I decided quite early on to use the broadcast winds, on the assumption that the Pathfinder Force with their superior equipment knew what they were doing.
We were flying on a northerly route, with the purpose of misleading the Jerrys into the belief that we were making for Berlin. The final approach to the target was to be made from a point well north of Leipzig. This turning point was to be marked with a red flare marker, dropped by the Pathfinder Force. When we spotted this flare we found ourselves south west of track and accordingly altered course visually for this marker flare and replotted our course for the target using the broadcast wind.
We duly arrived over Leipzig 20 minutes before zero hour despite of all our efforts to lose time and due entirely to these accursed contrary winds. I therefore decide that the only sensible thing to do was to fly a radius of action in the direction of the lightest flak area. This manoeuvre would take us away from the target area and bring us back
exactly on zero hour, a far better alternative to flying around the target area and being found by searchlights and pumped full of flak for 20 minutes.
We arrive back over Leipzig exactly on zero hour and just as the first marker flares went down. We dropped our bombs on the flares and immediately started on the long journey home, against these appalling head winds and still frozen to the marrow.
The vast majority of Main Force dropped their bombs in the Berlin area that night, as a result of rejecting the broadcast winds. The raid was therefore a flop, mainly owing to the met forecast winds being so totally in error.
We lost 78 planes on this raid. Although, touch wood, we did not suffer from enemy action ourselves this night, but we had already suffered enough from the indescribable cold.
1-3-44
Operation STUTTGART Pilot P.O. Morris 8 hours 10 mins (4 planes lost) Landed at Worksop almost completely out of fuel.
9-4-44
Operation LILLE Pilot Flt. Lt. Morris 4 hours 55 mins (1 plane lost)
We were screened after this trip, having finished our tour.
We finished our tour with only two of the original crew, all other members having been replaced for one reason or another, apart from Jock Russell who joined the crew at Conversion Unit. Of the original O.T.U crew there was only Johnny Morris, the pilot, and myself left. We lost Paddy Boyd, our rear gunner, on his third trip (with another crew). Paddy Flynn, the mid upper gunner, who had joined us at Conversion Unit, left our crew sometime during mid-summer 1943 and went to a Wimpy squadron. He was replaced
by Bob Kennedy, a Canadian and a grand chap. Bob has previously been badly shot up earlier in his tour with another crew; he had the top of one finger shot off and about 13 wounds in one leg and 3 in the other. He joined us to complete his tour and was a grand chap to fly with.
I forgot to mention that Paddy Boyd was replaced by Allan Massey, a superb gunner. He and Bob Kennedy made an excellent team in the turrets.
Arthur Hebblethwaite, our wireless operator eventually became Wireless Leader for the squadron and therefore left the crew. He was a first class wireless operator, hence his promotion. Arthur was replaced by W.O. Sparkes, commonly known as Sparky. Sparky was doing his second tour and was very experienced, a worthy replacement for Arthur.
Lastly, we lost Jim Binham, who developed lung trouble and never returned to the crew or flying duties. Jim was a very husky tough individual and nothing ever shook him. I often wonder whether the fact that he often moved about the aircraft whilst we were at operational height without the use of oxygen had anything to do with his eventual
trouble. He could remain without oxygen for quite long periods without it having any obvious effect on him. Most other fellows would have passed out or shown obvious signs of oxygen lack, but not Jim. Nothing ever seemed to shake him or affect him in any way; always calm cool and collected.
One could not have wished to have flown with a finer crew or a finer pilot. Johnny Morris was steady, unflappable and entirely efficient. One of the best pilots 51 Squadron ever had. I count myself lucky to have been a member of such a superb crew.
Johnny eventually became deputy Flight Commander and was promoted to Flight
Lieutenant.
Jock Russell and I kept together when we left 51 Squadron. We were both posted to Kinloss No. 19 O.T.U. Jock was an excellent engineer, always on the ball. I never knew him to be stumped by any problem.
It was with a sad and heavy heart that I left 51 Squadron and Snaith, where I had spent the most momentous and happiest year of my life.
D.P. Storey
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
David Philip Storey's operations
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir of David Storey's service from 27 May 1943 to April 1944. He describes his 32 completed operations as a navigator on Halifaxes and including details of incidents and aircraft losses.
This item was provided, in digital form, by a third-party organisation which used technical specifications and operational protocols that may differ from those used by the IBCC Digital Archive.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Philip Storey
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
11 typewritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BStoreyDPStoreyDPv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
France--Modane
France--Montluçon
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Munich
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Remscheid
Germany--Wuppertal
Italy--Milan
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
1944
158 Squadron
51 Squadron
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Kassel (22/23 October 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
fear
Gee
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Me 109
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
radar
RAF Abingdon
RAF Kinloss
RAF Lissett
RAF Pocklington
RAF Rufforth
RAF Snaith
RAF Worksop
training
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
Window
wireless operator