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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1519/30375/BGambleATGambleATv1.2.pdf
2657924e2f12afbc9e2eaea6afe49c54
Dublin Core
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Title
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620 Squadron
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-23
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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
620 Squadron
Description
An account of the resource
Twenty-three items. The collection concerns 620 Squadron and contains photographic slides or aircraft and places, an autobiography of Alan T Gamble, wireless operator training school documents, a memoir of operations on D-Day by Noel Chaffey and a short biography of him as well as noted of crews lost on 620 Squadron during Arnhem operation.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Darren Sladden and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE [/underlined]
By
ALAN T. GAMBLE
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART ONE [/underlined]
[underlined] “BY THE SEAT OF HIS PANTS” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART TWO [/underlined]
[underlined] “NO PROBLEM SPORT” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[page break]
TO THE MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[line of O’s]
[page break]
THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
OLD….BOLD PILOTS
Anon.
[page break]
[underlined] FORWARD [/underlined]
Like most impressionable youngsters I had ambitions; notwithstanding the fact that ambition is one thing and the chance of achieving it is something quite different.
In those early days I was not aware that there were so many factors involved. The only one that seemed obvious to me then was opportunity, or the lack of it, but on reflection it is obvious that both ability and motivation were most certainly lacking.
With the most important ingredients that one needed to guide one's path in life missing. I was stuck in a rut which seemed to be the normal lot of an average child from an average working family, although there may well have been a spark of a Walter Mitty trying to get out.
I had developed an interest in all things mechanical from bicycles to motor bikes then cars and aeroplanes. As far as aeroplanes were concerned I could not get enough of them. I read everything I could lay my hands on. I made models. I went to air shows to be thrilled by Alan Cobhams Flying Circus at Shoreham and to Tangmere for Air Days. On one occasion my hand built bicycle took me as far as Hendon for the Air Pageant and more thrills.
I once watched one of the giant German airships, the Hindenburg, cruise in from the Channel between Worthing and Lancing on it's way to Cardington, never suspecting that in a few years time there would be more lethal visitors following the same path.
Those early days were full of the exploits of aviators. Scott and Black and the original Comet. Amy Johnstone and Jim Mollison. The Schneider Trophy attempts and new records being made all the time by intrepid aviators on transatlantic and round the world flights from places like Hendon and other mysterious outposts of civilisation such as Mildenhall!.
For me to ever come into close contact with aeroplanes looked like remaining a schoolboy dream forever.
My schooling was not spectacular. I reached no academic heights. I could not even qualify for High School. I don't think I ever
[page break]
had a school leaving certificate but if there was one perhaps the kindest comment that could ever have been made on it would have been "goodbye"!.
On leaving school I had taken up an apprenticeship as a cabinet maker/polisher and the years passed by as the world lurched from one crisis to another until the prospect of another war loomed on the horizon.
Eventually the day came when ultimatums were given and promises were broken which resulted in the Prime Minister broadcasting the declaration of war against the German Nazi State over the radio on 3rd September 1939.
I had already made tentative enquiries about joining the RAF which attracted me like a magnet. Perhaps that is when I should have joined but I didn't; and the story that unfolds is the result.
[line of stars]
[page break]
It is difficult to describe one's feelings at the time of a declaration of full scale war in the knowledge that is was likely to be a very messy business.
For myself I could only recall all the stories that my father and my uncles had related of all the horrors that they had experienced or that they knew of and it was only 21 years since the last terrible conflict had ended with all of the human debris and suffering still evident in everyday life.
Even the Sunday walks along the prom. at Worthing were not without their reminders, with the war wounded from a nearby base being taken out in their basket chairs. They were the blinded and the limbless and those with such disfiguring injuries that they had so be covered with netting to avoid upsetting the kids or the sensibilities of some people whose war had only meant a few shortages and would rather that such unfortunates were kept out of sight.
There seemed hardly a family that had not lost a loved one, some having disappeared from the face of the earth with no resting place, and it looked as if we were going to have to go through it all again.
I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I made my way to the front garden gate with my friends after we had heard the broadcast by the Prime Minister; “....we are at war with Germany .....”. We were very quiet for a while as we contemplated what it was going to mean to us all and were each busy with our own thoughts when the wailing of the air raid siren jolted us back to reality.
As is turned out it was a false alarm but it certainly go things moving. Almost before the siren whined down an Air Raid Warden dashed by on his bike frantically ringing his hand bell and shouting to us to take cover which made very little impression on us except to shout back and tell him what to do with his bell. After that initial jolt the conversation turned to what we were going to do about it as there was little doubt to our minds, at our age, we were bound to be involved and would be likely to join a lot of our other friends who had already joined the services.
[page break]
I had made up my mind that it was going to be the Air Force for me but it was a long time before it was possible to get anything near what I wanted.
Every time I went to the recruiting office I found that their priorities did not coincide with mine and in the end I left it in the lap of the Gods.
Shortly before my 20th birthday I was called up!.
A great deal had already happened. Norway and Denmark had been lost to German domination and most of the continent of Europe was under the NAZI jackboot.
We had suffered serious setbacks all over the world and our resources were stretched to the limit. We had fought the Battle of Britian [sic] and only won it by the skin of our teeth. The threat of invasion of our shores still hung over us, which I and a good many others, as civilians, had been prepared to defend in the uniform of the LDV. (Local Defence Volunteers), later to be renamed 'The Home Guard' or more affectionately known later as 'Dads Army'.
I still wanted to change my kharki [sic] uniform for a blue one so when the time came it was 'in for a penny-in for a pound', I volunteered for aircrew; and much to my surprise, was accepted. There were still hurdles to be overcome like the medical examination and that was a tough one but when it case to deciding the aircrew category that I wanted the selection board and I had a little problem.
With so many young men joining, mostly with ambitions to become a pilot like myself, there was little chance for me with my educational qualifications; or lack of them!
They said No to pilot, No to Navigator, and No to Flight Engineer, which was actually my second choice, but they finally agreed that I might make the grade as a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner. That was good enough for me, especially as there were a lot of other things that I did not want to be!.
That was it, and I still had a chance of getting into the air but it took a long time. Nearly two years; and not without a few ups and downs along the way and a lot of hard work to make up for my mis-spent youth.
[page break]
With a great deal of excitement I followed the instructions that I had been given and found my way to Cardington in February 1941 for 'induction', which seemed to me to be a new word for a monstrous machine that devoured humans but had none of the glamour that I had expected of the place that I had previously known from news reels and books. The home of the airship.
Anyone that went through that routine will recall that as soon as the gates were behind you and you got a number that is all you were.
Most areas were out of bounds and we were confined to camp. No longer was our life our own so I suppose it is not surprising that I only saw the airship sheds close up on one occasion whilst I was there.
I saw more of a highly polished floor under my nose, and of the plumbing of the latrines, and the mess kitchens on fatigue detail and of uniform beds and uniform lockers and contents until I was utterly sick of the sight and smell of boot polish, floor polish, metal polish, stained porcelain and disinfectant and stacks of greasy tins.
It did not take long to learn that everything was best done by numbers if I was going to survive without getting into too much trouble.
There was the one time that I made the mistake of allowing myself some original thought when I forget that airman were not supposed to think and that the order of the day was still "yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and die". The very backbone of blind discipline, in that terrible place.
One wet day the hut sprung a leak allowing a steady drip of water to splash onto our brightly polished stove in it's immaculately whitened surround next to a highly burnished coal bin which contained a load of rubbish under a carefully placed top layer of dusted and polished coal.
I would go as far as to suggest that the coal was kept just for inspection time and was otherwise locked away, whilst we did our best to burn the rubbish and the dust. With very little success of course.
The net result was that the leak was threatening to destroy all of our hard work just before an inspection by an officer was due.
[page break]
It seemed that the easiest thing to do was just to place a fire bucket on the stove until the last moment but the Sergeant in charge had different ideas when he came in for his final look around.
I was left speechless after a good dressing down for mis-use of fire fighting equipment when the offending bucket had been removed from the hot stove and the guilty person identified.
He roared; as only Sergeants can, "you, can't put out a fire with 'ot water you stupid airman: what are you?". By that time I had also learned in a very short space of time that the safest thing to do was agree with anyone with stripes on his arm, and admit sheepishly,to the accusation.
After that it was just a case of keeping the head down and only doing what I was told to do in that soul destroying place and hope that my turn would come later.
Most of my off duty time; and there was not such of that, was spent resting or sleeping. I was too damn tired to do such else after being on the go for about 14 hours a day.
It was obviously more than some people could take and it was not unusual at night to hear a little weeping going on in the darkness by someone who was finding it particularly hard going. Our civilian clothes and most of our personal posessions [sic] were sent home in a cardboard box at the RAF's expense and then we belonged to the Air Force body and soul. After that it was just a matter of settling down and running around like headless chickens.
We learned all the basic things that were expected of us. Who and who not to salute and how. Great chunks of Air Force Law and the Air Force Act were thrust down our throats, including the riot act; to leave us in no doubt what-so-ever as to the very meaning of the word 'discipline' as applied to the forces of the Crown.
It was definitely "yours is not to reason why" etc,...and after three weeks of agony, having been confined to camp all of that time, we were considered fit to go out in public with our bright new uniforms and partially shaven heads.
[line of stars]
[page break]
Going out in public did not mean that we were free. We went in a large party by train, more or less under escort of several NCO's and were delivered to a unit at Skegness for more 'square bashing'.
After being herded and marched about we eventually finished up being allocated billets in what had previously been holiday boarding houses, but there was a difference. Air Force beds and the three 'biscuit' sections of mattress had taken the place of the more comfortable Slumberlands that pre-war paying guests had enjoyed, and as many as possible had been packed into each room.
We were rounded up every morning and marched about and drilled first without rifles and than with, and drilled some more, and then some more until at times I wondered if my feet still belonged to me. They finished up a mass of blisters on top of blisters until a visit to the MO determined that synthetic soled boots did not agree with me and the inflamation [sic] subsided after changing to leather. How glad I was that I had not gone into the Army. I wondered if they would have been as sympathetic?.
At last we were moulded by our drill instructors into regimented lumps of humanity and with the passing out parade in sight there was considerable competition to be the best flight on parade.
Well; among the instructors anyway.
My efforts made sure that we were not!.
It was still common practice in those days to wear such things as sock suspenders as socks were not made to stay up on their own any more than trousers were, so it was not unusual for me to be wearing them.
Unfortunately one of mine came adrift on the march as we pounded our way towards the saluting base with rifles and fixed bayonets. It was causing a bit of a problem as the chap behind me kept crashing his No.9's down on the trailing bit and although it was a bit of a lurching job as it twanged it's way back I am sure we could have got away with it.
Nevertheless, a young officer on the flank worked his way across and came alongside me as I was in the outside file, and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "step out of line and fix that quickly", so I did.
I stepped smartly out of line by half a pace and bent down to
[page break]
rip off the offending article but half a pace was not enough. Four others tumbled over the top of me in a tangle of arms legs and rifles.
We managed to recover sufficiently, minus a sock suspender, to get back in line before we marched past the saluting base but it goes without saying that there were some very red faces. I was of course carpeted by the flight commander and threatened with all sorts of punishments and it was the first time that I had been on a charge of any sort. I'm not sure what the charge was though but I was beginning to get the hang of things by that time. I do remember that with tongue in cheek I stated in my defence that I had only done what I had been told to do like a good airman and the fact that it went wrong was hardly my fault……there were a lot more red faces and a great deal of spluttering. The case was dismissed and I was told that I should go a long way in the Air Force. The further the better…..like TIMBUKTOO!.
As far as postings were concerned I kept my fingers crossed for a few days and was agreeably suprised [sic] to find that I was going to Mildenhall in Suffolk, instead of some isolated outpost, to continue the process of turning me into aircrew.
Sometimes I have thought that Mildenhall might have been better off without me!.
[line of stars]
[page break]
At Mildenhall my 'on the job training' started off in 'A flight office of 149 Squadron and there I started, to familiarise myself with the workings of a flying unit and aeroplanes.
I sort of bumbled along quite happily as the work of the unit grew on me.
It was one big thrill to be soaking up the atmosphere of this very famous RAF station that had been the scene of numerous departures of record breaking flights before the war and had at one time even been inspected by representatives of the German Air Force High Command.
Currently it was flying almost nightly operations against targets in Germany and German occupied territory, particularly ports and invasion barge concentrations.
I was moved out to the flights after a certain incident which was the result of been asked for assistance by the flight commander. It seemed that he had mis-laid his safe key and as he was 'ops' that night "could I help by getting his pistol out of the safe”?.
It was yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. That request was as good as an order from such an exalted person and it certainly never occurred to me to refer the matter to the Flight Sergeant in charge.
Many years later I was to find out the correct procedure to achieve access to a safe when the key had been mislaid, but then; if the officer did not seem to know what to do why should a 'bloggs' with only a few months in the service be any better informed!.
'Sir' was quite happy to find his pistol, all oiled and cleaned, with ammunition, laying on his desk when be returned from briefing and with many other things on his mind he did not have time to ask questions.
It was two days later when the subject came up again as he still could not get into his safe so I was obliged to show him how. All I had to do was pull it away from the wall diclosing [sic] the hole in the back created by a circle of holes done with the aid of a Wolf electric drill. He seemed very upset and reckoned with a bit of luck that he would become a casualty before anyone found out. I must confess that…………………
[page break]
in my ignorance I could not understand his concern.
People and aircraft were being lost and damaged right left and centre but 'slight' damage to a safe seemed to be a much more serious problem.
I am not too sure of it but I do believe, that he was the great P.C.Pickard and that somehow he overcome the case of his damaged safe.
As for me, I was dispatched to the flight line and actually let loose with a tractor and refuellers. I don’t remember anyone asking me if I could drive but as it happened the only thing that I had been behind the wheel of before had been a Bren gun carrier,(in the Home Guard-days), when training with local regular units; but no-one seemed unduly concerned and I was soon charging about happily with petrol and oil refuellers as well as towing aircraft about.
It did not take long for the administration to find out that I did not hold a driving licence for my various sorties onto the public highway when I thought it was about time I tried to qualify for a full service licence. Not only was no-one interested but I found myself restricted to camp boundries [sic] only. No harm in trying anyway!.
In due course I found myself having to undertake a different sort of training.
Everyone was required to do a short local course of field training to ensure that they were proficient in the use of certain basic weapons, and as a relatively new arrival I was detailed to report.
I had handled enough weaponry in the Home Guard to know my way around most of what the RAF could produce and I had been awarded a marksmans proficiency in basic training apart from handling all sorts of non-standard stuff.
We had been issued with Canadian Ross .300 rifles of 1916 vintage that had never seen the light of day since they had been manufactured. They had hastily been taken out of storage as the result of an appeal made by Churchill for assistance after Dunkirk,and had been shipped to us urgently with millions of rounds of ammunition in a special convoy. Along the other items were more hand grenades, some Browning automatic .303 rifles and perhaps the most potent of all; the Boys .5ins anti-tank
[page break]
rifle which looked like a king sized rifle which fired armour piercing shot.
This latter item was looked at very suspiciously by the 1914/1918 veterans who were 90% of our ranks and when it had arrived and been degreased along with everything else there had been a lot of dicussion [sic] as to who was going to do the test firing of the thing. The net result was that they; and that included my father, encouraged me to do it, so off we trooped to the range up in the Downs to try and prove something.
Having given the Brownings a satifactory [sic] work-out the time case for the Big-one!
Despite the fact that it was on a bipod and it's heavily padded butt was pulled tightly into my shoulder, and I was in the classical prone position; when it went off I thought the heavens had fallen in. I was forced back several inches but despite the painful process the shot went where it was intended and everyone was satisfied. I promtly [sic] became No.1. on the gun.
The idea was to have a crew of four but it was questionable whether I would have the rest of the crew with me to spot and load when we were confronted by an enemy vehicle, despite the fact that in those desperate days we were expected to stand and fight to the last.
What we lacked in experience then we made up for by our determination to defend our homeland. The order of the day when things were at their worst was 'take one with you' which spelled out some very nasty goings on both for our unit and any Germans that got further than the units manning the beach defences.
Among the assortment of weapons were the 'Molotov Cocktails';bottles of mixed petrol, oil, and parafin [sic] to back up the lavish use of hand grenades.
Part of our defensive plan was to throw then all out of the upper windows to saturate the road junctions with splinters and flame; so my attitude towards that course was one of mild amusement. And a certain amount of smuggness [sic] .
[page break]
It therefore presented no problem when, at a certain part of the course we were in the weapons pit and the Flight Sergeant was calling us in one at a time and going through the procedure of throwing a hand grenade. After a series of bangs I was next in line, so it was "next one, step forward" etc and it was my turn to turn the corner into the active part of the pit.
I think that the Flight Sergeant had probably had one or two nasty experiences with the highly sensitive and nervous types as he seemed very tense when I arrived on the scene.
We had all done a dry run in practice so the rest was done in time honoured fashion as I was handed the grenade.
It was "by numbers-one, pull the grenade off of the safety pin, holding down the lever" ...."Two, throw the grenade overarm...and get down". The lever would fly off as it was thrown and then it would go off in either four or seven seconds from the time of throwing according to the fuse that had been inserted, and I doubt if many people hung about after the pin was out.
In the Home Guard we had practiced a short count after releasing the lever so that an air burst would result but what we were doing was not quite as sophisticated so I thought I would show off a bit. After pulling the pin and holding down the lever I enquired of the F/Sgt "now?".
He went a strange puce colour and kept shouting "now, now, now" as I continued to hold down the lever in the throwing position. Then he changed his cry to "everyone out" which was followed by a mad scramble as the trench was cleared in record time.
I contemplated putting the pin back in and handing it back to him but figured that was pushing my luck so I lobbed it down range where it went off with a satisfying bang.
I soon found myself facing a very irate 'chiefy' who suprisingly [sic] enough just sent me back to my place of work instead of escorting me to the Guard Room on a charge of some sort. But not without my ears burning.
He hurled several unkind remarks after me as I departed about "clever s...." and expressed the hope that the nest time I tried anything like that I would blow my f…… head off!!. Charming!.
[page break]
I soon found that there were plenty of other explosive articles about the place that one had to be very suspicious of in the absence of adequate instruction.
On my introduction to the innards of a Wellington I was told that the 'magic box' with a loose red cover on it in the navigators compartment had a demolition charge inside it and could make a nasty mess of things if interfered with. The same applied to the red cover over the firing switch on the table.
Other nasty devices were the explosive cable cutters set in the leading edges of the wings. It was good bye fingers if they were accidentally triggered and a short 12 bore type cartridge fired a chisel head into a plate.
A job that I did not particularly care for was towing a fully fuelled and armed Wellington about when repositioning was necessary.
It was a very rare job which I did very gently in case anything fell off despite being assured by many people that it was perfectly safe. After all; it was argued, the pilots had to taxy then around and fly them in that condition.
So they might have done but that did not make me feel any happier about the task.
Too many things just seemed to be taken for granted such as the incident out near 'A' Flight dispersals, no more than 100 yards from the 'Bird in Hand' and less than that from a fuel dump.
I came across an armourer sitting astride one of the new 4000lb. 'cookie' bombs on a bomb trolley. He was carefully chipping away a groove around it's middle with a hammer and a cold chisel as they had a tendency to slip out of the bomb hoist sling when arming up!.
The expression on my face must have been one of absolute horror if it reflected what was in my heart but once again I was assured that it was perfectly safe. Nevertheless, I took off at a high rate of knots to the other side of the airfield until he had finished.
I was to learn later that activities such as that really were quite safe. It was just a question of learning about what made things tick but I always remained a little suspicious ever since the occasion when a Cpl fitter had climbed into a Wellington
[page break]
undercarriage wheel wall to investigate the malfunction of an indicator micro switch. I had been shown such things when the safety locks had been in but on this occasion he had said "perfectly safe"…….but it wasn't. The undercarriage collapsed and he was crushed into a very small space and that, unfortunately was the end of his waiting for a pilots course to come through. It was a very unpleasant and messy business for everyone involved.
I generally tried to steer clear of trouble but it was not easy. I once got a loaded petrol bowser stuck in the sand on the way out to 'B' Flight. The Flight Sergeant was called to sort everything out, and me!.
Everyone stood around making various suggestions and I foolishly put in my pennyworth but got told to "belt up” for my suggestion so I just stood back and watched the fun. But I had a feeling that attaching a tow [underlined] above [/underlined] the tractor axle was not a good idea. There were lots of strong words when the tractor and the F/Sgt finished up on their backs but it eventually came out, I finished refuelling. and the aircraft went on ops. despite my efforts.
I still remained on towing and refuelling, even after I was left to refuel a Wellington on my own but I did not secure the filler caps correctly; mainly because as far as I can recall no-one had ever shown us how they should have been done.
It was a very alarmed pilot who landed immediately after take-off with petrol pouring from his wings, and the aircraft was unserviceable for some time whilst drying out. Even then I only had a dressing down and some belated instruction but perhaps the final effort was when I tried to put 'F' Freddie into dispersal on my own.
I had marshalled it in onto the taxyway opposite the dispersal pan and the Sgt. pilot airily told me to put it away; so I tried, but not very successfully.
Although I was fairly adept at hitching up the tow bar and operating the air brakes from the cockpit and I got nicely lined up going into the dispersal I had overlooked the fact that it was a bit of a down hill gradient and the brakes of a Fordson agricultural were not designed to hold a ten ton aircraft in such circumstances....and neither did it!.
Not only did the brakes not hold but the aircraft pushed the
[page break]
tractor, and me, through the hedge sideways resulting in a bent tractor and bent rear guns as well.
Eventually someone realised that perhaps a lot of responsibility was being placed upon 'Bloggs' from time to time, inexperienced as he was, and however willing he might be. From then on, although I still towed things about the fitters and mechanics, who were after all the responsible tradesmen, did the jobs that they were qualified and paid for....and more importantly, signed the Form.700 accordingly.
There were still some dirty and unpleasant jobs to be done from time to time; such as cleaning out the remains of a rear gunner from a battle damaged Wellington. A very unpleasant memory to carry with me when I subsequently set off for aircrew training. Despite the banishment to the more mundane jobs I did some-how get dragged in as an 'extra' in the film 'Target for Tonight', by being allowed on the mainplane and going through the motions of refuelling.
It was a great dissapointment [sic] when I saw the film after the editors had been at it. I appeared in a two second flash out of what I recall was at least a two minute take.
There is always the possibility that when they saw the proofs and noticed this leering airman on the wing trying to look like Errol Flynn they were obliged to do more drastic cutting rather than re-take it. We will never know as the film was also darkened by filters to give a night effect although it was taken in daylight!
[page break]
Piece by piece the vast programme of aircrew training which involved thousands of people was inexorably sucking me, and others, into it's system as it churned out the crews to man the thousands of aircraft that were pouring off of the production lines. My name came up to the top of the list and I was off on my travels again.
This time it was to Blackpool for the beginning of Wireless Operator training; which turned out to be just another production line although it was not nuts and bolts coming off of the end. Blackpool by that time was a sea of blue. Even Reginald Dixon the well known organist at the Tower Ballroom was in uniform as a Corporal drill instructor and his duties seemed to leave him a lot of time to continue to play the organ.
It was a welcome break to go along to the ballroom to enjoy his recitals. 'Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside' always seemed to be booming out some time of the day, but it was no holiday for us.
The boarding houses had been taken over in the same way as they had been at Skegness and they had crammed even more double bunks in so that there were about ten times the number of "guests" that would have normally have been accommodated in peace time.
It was a new experience to eat in our billets which was a change from the mass catering that I had been getting used to but although the landladies did their best with the ration allowances they did seem to dish up some strange things at times. Nevertheless, my taste buds had already undergone a change and I recall that I was eating a lot of dishes that I would have previously turned up my nose at. It was either that or go hungry!.
Our days were divided between morse training and drill with weekly visits to the swimming pool for our bath. The bath arrangement killed two birds with one stone as all the boarding house bathrooms were either locked up or otherwise out of bounds to us. We used the bedroom washbasins. The alternative to a [underlined] real [/underlined] bath was to partially heat a swimming pool.
The tram-car sheds had been converted for signals training and had been fitted with long tables equipped with headsets and morse keys, and stony faced civilian instructors seated at the
[page break]
end of each table.
Half the day was taken up in this environment getting used to the incessant dit,dit,dit,dah,dah,dah, at increasing speeds until the bell went to give us a break or when someone cracked up under the pressure and had to be carried away screaming or crying. It was not only the WAAFS that were affected that way!. No-one who ever went out that way ever came back but there were other ways of being withdrawn from training. It very nearly happened to me when I got 'stuck' at one speed and it was only after pleading with the chief instructor that I finally made the breakthrough.
Then one reached the stage where there was a progress test undertaken in the most nerve racking place. It was in the upper floor cutting rooms of Burtons, 'The Fifty Shilling Tailors', which had also been requisitioned.
The room was set out in a semi circle of tables facing a raised dais upon which there was one table with an elaborate brass morse sending key and a headset. All of the other tables just had headsets.
As we progressed through the course we were tested at an appropriate speed with no re-test if we could not meet the requirements, until the final test came up.
If anyone failed at that point they were washed out, finished, ceased training, call it what you like; and were sent off somewhere else to be something else.
The tension started to mount when the Warrant Officer who was conducting the test, appeared in his white dust coat and issued a dire warning about cheating. After that he set a metronome going to monitor the speed, and by the time he made his first signals check to ensure that everyone was hearing satisfactorily every nerve in the body was jangling.
By the time the opening dit,dit,dit,dah,dit, had come across some people had already gone to pieces but the remainder squared up their papers, checked that their half a dozen pencils were at the ready in case of breakages, and with one more deep breath just ploughed on hoping to get the test piece down with no more than the permitted number of mistakes.
It was inevitable that a good many people 'went for a Burton' in that place. 'Going for a Burton' was a phrase among aircrew
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when referring to those who for obvious reasons had disappeared from active service. That was the signals side of Blackpool apart from the fact that we even tried to read everything in dots and dashes. The paper, the hoardings, even our letters from home. The locals must have thought we were all daft but as in most skills it was a case of practice making things perfect or at least proficient, but I recall that we used to get some strange looks.
A lot of our time was spent in Stanley Park, the Tower Ballroom, and the public baths where we had our weekly bath; (unless one was rich enough to bribe a landlady). and that weekly bath in our case was combined with dinghy drill.
It is indellibly [sic] imprinted on my mind.
Stanley Park was bad enough with incessant marching up and down doing rifle and bayonet drill with a crazy old F/Sgt who worked us up to a pitch where we could have quite cheerfully put one through him. I'm sure old Freddie Fox knew that too.
The baths were something quite different.
Few people had swimwear and in fact it was considered 'cissy' to wear it anyway so several hundred blokes in their birthday suit's were quite a sight and there was a great deal of speculation as to the sight when they were replaced by WAAFS in the same state of undress. The mind boggled!.
To my knowledge no-one ever found out although there were a few bets taken. but security was very strict and WAAF Police replaced RAF Police when the switch was made and a roll call confirmed before the actual change over was made.
Despite the fact that I had been brought up by the seaside I was not a good swimmer, probably due to the fact that I had been pushed in at the deep end at an early learning stage. Being a slow learner I had swallowed a lot of water before being dragged out and pumped dry. It is hardly surprising that thereafter I was not attracted to deep water. Especially the cold variety.
Nevertheless, I did manage to swim the required width across the deep end to qualify as proficient but it was only the preliminary to the so called 'dinghy drill'.
I always seemed to go straight into a state of shock when it came to donning an icy cold, wet and heavy Sidcot
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flying suit, plus parachute harness and 'Mae West' life jacket which was inflated by the mouth after being thrown in. In practice the inflation was done by operating a pressure cylinder toggle but we had to do it the hard way.
There was an awful lot of floundering around after entering the water without swallowing too much especially with all the weight one was carrying, and suffering from the others making waves and generally simulating heavy seas before getting into the dinghy. It made things very difficult and I did not even enjoy doing the aggravation bit to others either.
There were times I could have cheerfully packed it in and remustered to a less demanding ground job but somehow I stuck it out.
[line of stars]
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The day finally dawned when the agony was over and with others I was off to Yatesbury in Wiltshire to learn all about procedures and equipment.
At last I was doing something tangible and I sailed through the course to be awarded the 'sparks' badge at the end plus a few more pennies in my pocket.
I certainly needed the latter as at Mildenhall I had for some reason been overpaid to the extent of being some £5 in the red at one time so deductions had been savagely made until the debt had been paid off. I could have settled it in cash at the time but I was told that the accounts section did not have a procedure for it so for a long time I had only been receiving 5/- five shillings, (25p) every two weeks and in a place like Blackpool my cash balance did not last long. It was no fun at all.
I was very glad when it had been finally settled and I no longer had to rely on the kindness of others for the odd cigarette, cups of tea and buns as well as the odd postal order from home. I'm sure a lot of others were pleased about it too.
I did manage to make up for the lack of certain 'home comforts', namely food, on one occasion though.
On a physical training run at Yatesbury one afternoon I decided that I had had enough and dodged the column by peeling off between some huts followed by a shout from a Cpl. who had seen me go. With that I put on a spurt with the intention of rejoining the party further down the route but did not reckon on the ability of the PTI.(Physical Training Instructor). He caught up with me first and that was me on a charge.
Later, when asked by the officer why I had not stopped when told to do so I simply told the truth and said that I thought that I could run faster than the PTI and that I had hoped to beat him back to the group. My award for failing to do so was three days C.C. (confined to camp), full marching kit parades twice a day at the guard room and kitchen fatigues to go with it. I didn't mind one bit!. I had nowhere to go anyway and I finished up being one of the few people in that place who was getting [underlined] four [/underlined] meals a day for a while.
It was worth peeling buckets of spuds and cleaning a mountain of dirty dishes and pans. The cooks were sympathetic and served up generous helpings as they would for themselves. I do not
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ever recall seeing a skinny cook!.
Someone had got hold of the idea that if you were particularly good at morse beyond the basic standard required then there would be a chance of being earmarked for Coastal Command so with others I put in the extra effort and time and achieved the extra speed almost up to Navy Telegraphist standard.
In principal it seemed a good idea when Bomber Command losses were reaching somewhat frightening proportions but it did not do me or anyone else any good at all as far as I can recall.
As soon as the course was over we were dispersed all over the place; mainly in Bomber Command, to consolidate the training doing all the things that Wireless Operators did and still wondering if it was all worth while.
I went to Marham in Norfolk.
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Photo
YATESBURY 1941
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I covered a lot of ground whilst I was at Marham but I still had to get airborne and there was a long way to go.
I suppose that being aircrew under training had a lot to do with the fact that I was given a wide experience of different jobs in a very short space of time. That is what I thought at the time anyway!.
I started out on the flight line doing daily inspections and ground tests on Wellington and Stirling radio equipments and was later transferred to what was then called Flying Control; as the R/T (Radio Telephone) operator.
Theoretically my job was to relay the controllers instructions to aircraft but everything seemed so incredibly slap-happy during daylight hours that I often found myself doing the actual control whilst the controller kept an ear open in the background.
I found myself particularly attracted to the two Thompson machine guns that were kept in boxes in the control tower. So much so that I was permitted to clean and polish then regularly; provided that I did not put the magazines on!. One particular controller seemed pleased to have someone around that was familiar with then as he certainly was not. My Hone Guard experience again. We only had one in the platoon but everyone knew how to use it!.
On one occasion during a quiet lunchtime with no movements notified I was on my own in the control tower when a Stirling arrived in the circuit and the pilot asked for landing instructions, but the pilot would not circle whilst I got in touch with the controller so I finally gave landing permission. Having given taxying and parking instructions I dashed out of the tower to marshall [sic] it in next to the tower. I was amazed to find that the pilot was a very small lady of the ATA. (Air Transport Auxillary [sic] ) and her only crew was a flight engineer.
I did not have such choice after that but to sign for the aircraft and then had another surprise when an Anson landed and taxied in without any warning at all. The pilot was non other than Jim Mollison who was doing the taxi driving to take the Stirling crew out.
The controller who had seen the activity from the Mess soon came dashing along after he had seen the aircraft in the.......
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circuit and were very surprised to find a brand new Stirling neatly parked but I got a hell of a rollicking for my efforts.
Things got tightened up eventually when another aircraft arrived that no-one seemed to know about. As R/T operator I also performed the duties of 'airmen of the watch' and although I had registered the notification signal in the log and written the details on the movements board it would appear that the controller had not placed a great deal of importance on the movement. As a result he was unaware of the visit of a VIP, (Very Important Person). None other than the Under secretary of State for Air!. Phew!, that caused a stir when he did realise what the score was. The Station Commander was not too pleased either!.
I suppose someone's head had to roll and it was possibly mine as I started a series of detachments to widen my scope of knowledge; unless it was to keep me out of the way!.
I did the rounds of Honington and East Wretham and numerous jobs and being of an inquisitive nature soon found out how things ticked.
At one time I was surprised to find that elements of the Czeck [sic] . Air Force were making a great deal of fuss over what they considered to be their low pay (they were paid RAF rates, Sgt's about £4.50 a week) then the unit moved and things went quiet.
Although I was expecting to be recalled to Marham it was still a shock when it happened. Even more so when I was required to draw flying clothing and prepare to go back to Yatesbury for the air training course. After that everything happened so fast that I wondered what had hit me. It was already mid 1942 and as our activities increased so were our aircraft losses increasing. It was with some apprehension that I embarked on this part of my training. My feelings were not improved when on the morning of departure; waiting for transport at the Guard Room. I was detailed off by the SWO (Station Warrant Officer), to help collect a coffin from the morgue and load it on the transport where it was draped with the Union flag.
I don't know if the SWO had remembered me from another incident which surely should have stuck in his mind, but whether he did or not I have reason to remember it as I was taught another lesson.
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It so happened that I snored; even in those days, which was not a good thing in amongst a crowd of people. In the barracks where we were jammed in with hardly room to move between the beds it was a considerable source of annoyance to my neighbours; if not the whole room although I was not the only one with the problem. It was just worse when I had put a few pints under the belt.
It was not unusual to wake up in the morning to find myself surrounded by a selection of footwear that had been hurled in my direction during the night. Whether any found it's target I would not know. I was usually too far gone.
There was one night that the others in the room could no longer put up with it even when well aimed No. 9's did not do the job and suffice to say that when the SWO marched onto the parade ground is the morning for the colour hoisting parade there I was, still fast asleep in my bed at the foot of the flag pole.
It was a hell of a situation as I struggled back to the billet with my bed and bedding with the SWO hurling dire threats after me. Good job I wore singlet and PT shorts in bed!.
However. it had not resulted in direct punishment. I was still on the mat of course but in my defence I stated that as I had known absolutely nothing about it by virtue of being asleep throughout the whole episode I could not be held responsible.
You can't tell SWO's things like that and get away with it even if the case was dismissed. It was not surprising that after the incident I found myself on guard duty every other night for two weeks, and that included the evening parade as well as the morning colour hoisting parade that the duty people did. It was very uncomfortable being under the eagle eye of the SWO all the time so my turnout and drill had to be impeccable to avoid further punishment. Somehow I got away with it. When detailed off for the loading up I was foolish enough to ask what had happened to the poor chap in the box; only to be told by the man, with a glint in his eye, that it was a Sgt. Air Gunner who had 'copped a packet' a few night [sic] previously. After that I was only too glad to see the coffin subsequently placed in the guards van and draped with the union flag in the care.....
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of the escorts whilst I took off to another part of the train and tried to forget about it.
Back at Yatesbury there were some familiar faces among the entry and we were in a different part of the camp; more or less segregated from the 'sprog' wireless operators, but otherwise there was little difference.
It was not long before many of us were sporting Leading Aircraftsman 'props', and a few more pennies came in useful as well. There was no such thing as a flying pay supplement in those days.
As usual the day was split between job training and other activities, and I was looking forward to the air experience part of it. At last I was going to get airborne and I was all set to enjoy it. It was the beginning of many occasions when I was to feel somewhat disillusioned about taking to the air.
Our initial flying was done in the De.Haviland Dominie as the RAF called them. Many were in fact ex. civilian Rapide's that had been requisitioned and as a result had had a name change and were flown by a mixture of civilian and service pilots.
They were fitted out with several radio positions at which we carried out exercises under the supervision of a Cpl. Instructor with a similar set-up on the ground where we also worked in rotation.
There was of course no toilet compartment, and not even the paper bag that is standard in today's aircraft. There was just an open square biscuit tin of the type that the ancient 'hard tack' biscuit came in, (circa 1917), and there were plenty of those.
That type of biscuit was being substituted for bread several times a week in most units as a great deal of our flour was being sent to the bottom of the Atlantic by the U.Boats, and the civilian population had preference when what limited flour supplies were being distributed. Hence the endless supply of tins. We were obliged to use them instead of paper bags but it was all very crude. It was loose on the floor for anyone to use as necessary. Ugh!!!.
It was a most nauseating experience as most of us were getting airborne for the first time so we were a bit queasy, and more!. It was all part of the elimination process. Anyone who spent
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more time at the 'throw-up' tin was threatened with withdrawal from training and remustered to ground wireless operator.
It was very difficult to force one's self to overcome the discomfort sufficiently to get back to work but the process was motivated by the fact that the rule was that the last one to use the tin was the one that had to dispose of it after landing. Yuk!. I made sure that it was not me.
I was not sorry to progress from that stage to the single engined Proctor for solo exercises. Then I only had myself to worry about…….and the pilot!.
By that time I was getting increasingly aware of the varying abilities of pilots. Not that I had had any alarming experiences, but the seat of my pants was always a very sensitive indicator of how a machine was handled.
It is difficult to explain but I had always had the same sensitivity either in a car or on the back of a motor-bike and that feeling was beginning to develops in respect of pilots. I had come to the conclusion that there were pilots and 'drivers airframe' to use a stores nomenclature description of an item, and it was always to be the same. I knew whether I was comfortable or not.
THEN I MET A PILOT WITH A REPUTATION…………..!!!!!!!!!!!!
[line of stars]
Photo
YATESBURY 1942
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On completion of the course the next move was to an Advanced Flying Unit at Penrhos, North Wales, on the Lleyn peninsular.
I fell in love with that area right from the start and still have a soft spot for it. The years have changed it very little. It was only a small airfield operating Ansons in which Wireless Operators and Navigators carried out more advanced exercises which covered a lot more countryside and took us almost up to the level where oxygen was needed. Just one more thing to contend with.
The pilots were all service types doing a stint as taxy driver to get more hours and experience as they progressed in their training but I had hardly settled in when I picked up a 'buzz' that was going around concerning a certain pilot who apparently was putting the wind up a lot of people.
He had gained a reputation for doing some crazy things and until quite recently had made a habit of flying under the Menai bridge which is the magnificent old bridge built by Thomas Telford across the straits between the mainland and Anglesey.
The practice had just been strictly forbidden under threat of the most severe punishment because someone else had tried it but had killed himself and a few others in the process.
Most people seemed to be keeping their fingers crossed hoping that they could avoid flying with him so I faced the future with some apprehension when I found myself on a flight detail with him as pilot.
My first impression of Sergeant. Francis, Cadell, Macdonald was that he did not look the sort that could put the wind up anyone. I had expected a 'jolly hockey stick' type such as the Pilot Officer Prune, (the accident prone cartoon twit), who featured in an Air Force Magazine, but as he did not fit that category I was forced to the conclusion that he must be downright ham-fisted.
It was a surprise to find that he was a little older than the average pilot, certainly on the wrong side of thirty, and it was many, many years before I was to find out exactly how old he was.
First impressions were of a strangely rugged character with rusty fuze wire type of hair with a heavy drooping moustache to match who seemed strangely out of proportion.
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It took a second look to find the real reason for that impression. His torso was that of a six footer, with well developed chest, arms like the branches of a tree but he had short stocky legs giving him an overall height of no more than 5ft 7ins.
In standard battledress which was designed to be purely functional he looked as if he was suffering from a severe case of 'ducks disease'.
We climbed aboard the aircraft after a briefing that was brief and to the point. "If we get into trouble I will tell you what to do, whether you jump or not, and you only jump when I tell you to. Got that?”. Then he started up, taxied out and took off and although I had my eyes shut during the first part of the routine I opened when there were no unusual sensations and wondered what all the fuss had been about. My sensitive parts had given out no alert signals and it all seemed pretty normal to me.
As the exercise progressed I virtually forgot that I was in an aeroplane despite what he was doing with the machine although it was impossible not to notice that he seemed to be trying to turn it inside out in the gentlest possible way.
The main issue was that I did feel any discomfort at all although a few hill sheep might have done so as we steamed up one side of Snowdon and down the other and we seemed to balanced on one wingtip as we went around the Great Orme on Anglesey with Puffins and other sea birds getting somewhat agitated by the disturbance. My insides took no longer to settle down after that flight than they normally did so I decided that I could cope with that sort of treatment at any time and it certainly made life interesting. My companions still had different ideas though as the stories of his various escapades became more and more exagerated [sic].
Before I left Penrhos I learned a little more about him whilst he was still scaring the daylights out of others.
He was reputed to have previously been Chief Engineer to Gar Wood the racing driver of pre-war years and although I have never found the need to verify the story I have never had reason
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to doubt it either.
As far as I was concerned he certainly knew what he was doing and that was good enough for me.
The operator training became more and more demanding as time went on and I had reached a point where there was a great deal of satisfaction in being able to transmit and receive messages in morse, juggle with frequencies and identify my control station through a cacophany [sic] of background noise. It was gratifying to be able to code and encode messages efficiently but as usual it was not all work and no play. I think we would have gone daft under the pressure if it had been. The pattern was the same as before with the days split between training and exercising.
There were invariably some high jinks in Pwllheli where the Royal Navy had taken over the nearby Butlins as a training establishment and in the traditional Navy way had named it HMS something or other.
There were all sorts of derisive remarks about Nary terminoligy [sic] as they called the bus the 'liberty boat' and they had to salute the 'quarter deck' on leaving and boarding their 'ship'. We called it the main gate!.
Of course we countered with suitable remarks about our 'wizard prangs', 'bombs away' and 'chocks away', but some they resented their 'ship' being called HMS Bullshit, all of which resulted in some good nattered rowdy exchanges in the local pubs.
There was a lot of ale sloshed around. and a great many fried eggs consumed in the basement kitchen of a sea front hotel after chuckout time at 6d, (2 1/2 new pence) each.
The 'end of course' party was a great success and I recall putting in a great deal of effort into assisting one member of the course with some conjuring tricks. He was a member of the Magic Circle and why he picked me I haven't the slightest idea. Little did he know what that did for my confidence which was being somewhat undermined by the realisation that I seemed to be accident prone. As it happened, the, programme went without a hitch and that little exercise did me a great deal of good.
I only vaguely remember the return to camp after that party. It was somewhat hilarious as we came back via the beach where several of us had to be rescued from the sand dunes where we
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had capsised [sic] and ploughed up a lot of sand.
I finally collected my flying log book that recorded the entry of the flight with one Sgt.F.C.Macdonald and normally it would have been just one more entry without much significance as I continued on my travels once more.
[underlined] Fate decreed that we would meet up again!!. [/underlined]
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Photo
PENRHOS 1942
Page 30 And there’s more!
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I continued the process of going up and down the countryside like a yo-yo which was quite an experience for someone like me who had never ventured very far from the home town before the war and I was certainly getting to know my way around.
My next journey was to a gunnery school on Walney Island just off Barrow-in-Furness, flying old hacks such as Blackburn Botha's and Bolton Paul Defiants which seemed to be a very chancy business.
Most of the time the direction of take-off was straight towards a hill and if that was not bad enough the Botha was a death trap on one engine. If there was an engine failure it could not maintain height on one and the emergency exit was straight into the propellor. Turning or not it was dicey.
The Defiant was not so bad although it had a nasty habit of flopping onto it's side in the air if the gunner failed to inform the pilot that he was rotating and firing on the beam. The pilot needed that information so that he could counteract his controls and it was not all that easy to get out of either if in trouble. I have the greatest admiration for the chaps that went into battle in those things.
Somehow I struggled through that period in the depths of winter and at one stage I was very close to being put back in training when I went down with a severe cold and only just avoided going sick, especially as we had strict orders about flying whilst suffering from a cold which resulted in bunged up nose and ears. I felt so bad one evening that I doped myself with whisky and asprin and retired to bed early after a hot shower even though it meant going to and from the ablutions through several inches of snow.
By the time the others came back to the hut later in the evening my condition had them so worried that they woke me up.
There was a considerable cloud of steam rising from me but once they were assured that I was not on fire the threw more blankets on me to continue sweating it out.
Despite the fact that I was a bit wobbly in the morning I still managed to fly my last detail and in fact even get a good score but the rest of the time there is a blurr [sic] .
I have vague recollections of Northen [sic] ale which appeared to be a lot stronger than average and of an hilarious evening at
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a vaudeville in Borrow where most of the course occupied the front row of the stalls, booing and cheering the acts as seemed appropriate.
There were often rowdy exchanges with the conciencious [sic] objectors who were formed into non-combatant pioneer units to man things like smoke generators to mask the docks from air raids, and some energetic clashes with strong minded and well muscled WAAFS who manned a lot of the searchlights and barrage balloons. All good clean fun!.
Eventually, in the end came the passing out parade and the award of the cherished Air Gunners brevet with promotion to Sergeant, and although that was only the outward sign of qualified aircrew it did at least take the place of what had by that time a very grubby white cap flash.
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There was still a lot of training to do, and more travelling as well.
The travelling was not so easy by that time as most of us had gathered more flying kit so everywhere we went it meant struggling with two kit bags.
The next port of call was a Wellington Operational Training Unit at Turweston, which was a satelight [sic] unit of No.12 OUT Chipping Warden, both near Banbury. Oxford. 'A' and 'B' Flights were at Chipping Warden and 'C' and 'D' Flights were at Turweston.
It was there that crews were put together more or less by mutual agreement.
In the first 24 hours everyone just browsed around gathering more paperwork, dealing with arrival procedures and generally making one's self known.
I had hardly settled in when the 'jungle telegraph' was sending out the news that a certain Scotsmen had also turned up. The notorious F.C. Macdonald!.
There were frantic efforts being made by people to find themselves another pilot of their choice. Anyone but him!.
I was not fussy, or for that matter as quick off the mark as some. I had met a Navigator who had also been at Penrhos and had not yet found himself a pilot and although he could not remember Macdonald he found him and introduced himself.
By the next day Macdonald had made up his mind and the crew lists went up on the notice board.
I was looking them over when he came up with a group and announced rather ungraciously, “so we have got you have we?".
A remark that was not designed to inspire confidence although I must confess that I felt a lot happier with someone of known qualities so I was not unduly concerned.
That was the way that the crew came together. I don't think any of us were very special.
Macdonalds background was still vague and was always remain so although I gathered that he was married but separated.
Peter Hobbs, the navigator, was an ex Cpl. accounts clerk who
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had been in the Voluntary Reserve. Both he and Macdonald were a little older than the average and were newly commissioned Pilot Officers.
We actually started with a commissioned Observer/Bomb Aimer but he did not last long.
It transpired that he had already flunked a pilots course, and a navigators coarse so they made him a Bomb/Aimer before they found out that he was too tall for the front turret so off he went to retrain once more.
He might well have been doing courses later on in the war to qualify for some-thing although it is just as likely that he may well have distinguished himself somehow.
He had certainly been been [sic] determined to be aircrew anyway but I must admit that his case was the result of a policy that I was never able to come to terms with.
To commission someone first and then go to considerable lengths to see if he was any good at anything was odd to say the least. However, that is another story!.
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In the place of 'mastermind' we got 'Hoppy’ Hill, so named because he bounced and rolled on the balls of his feet when he walked around invariably with a novel of some sort tucked under his arm. I never did find out what he had been doing before he joined the RAF.
Then we had another Mac. McIlroy, a Canadian Rear Gunner who had been at Walney Island at the same time as myself although I could not recall him. He had been with the Canadian Pacific Railway in some capacity although in his own words he had spent most of his time doing trying to do nothing.
Then there was me. A cabinet maker/polisher who had finished up doing almost anything to remain employed; and I mean anything. My last civilian employment had bees as a milk roundsman!.
Nevertheless, whatever we had been doing we were all in the same boat (or aeroplane) and we all had one thing to common. That was to get on with it and hope to come out of it is one piece.
We were a fairly wild bunch in our off duty periods but I would not think that we were any worse than any other crew.
It was from that point onward that living, working and playing as a crew started. It was for me anyway. Almost to the exclusion of everything else.
Suddenly it seemed that my youthful ambitions had been fullfilled [sic] although it was a pity it had come about under such circumstances.
The most important thing was that we got on well together and we concentrated on getting moulded into a crew which involved an airborne discipline that few people could understand considering our peculiar life style.
Although our crew seemed to be the ideal balance of officers and NCO's with commissioned Pilot and Navigator some crews had formed up with some very odd mixtures with Sgt. pilots and commissioned gunners but which ever way they were mixed the pilot was always the captain is the air.
This arrangement was incomprehensible to some Army and Navy types and even the USAAF. It did not seem compatable [sic] with the normal chain of command yet it worked satisfactorily within the RAF.
Mac, as he was always to be knows, still looked as lumpy in
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his new uniform as he did when we had first met despite a change of rank insignia and a fancy cap but there were more important things to concern ourselves with than how people looked.
We had far more serious things on our minds.
Flying had become a very serious business and if we were going to be together for any length of time we would be relying on each other a great deal for survival and it was to that end that Mac went about his part of the programme as if he had been born with wings.
As far as I was concerned he was an absolute natural and on more than one occasion I was asked by wireless operators in other crews how I got on with him.
I think some of then may well have been regretting their choice of pilot and were looking for a way out but I usually pointed out that I was in no way considering a change. Particularly as no-one saw us overshooting from missed approaches to the runway or had seen us swinging about all over the place on landing or take-off as I had often seen others doing, so what more could I ask?.
On more then one occasion I was told that I would be sorry, (as if I had made the choice): But I never was....Not once!.
I got the distinct impression that for some reason Mac was not very impressed with wireless operators, although from his occasional remark he seemed more interested in having a spare gunner aboard, and I was beginning to feel very spare until one night I had the opportunity to exercise some of my training. We were flying is the local area of Chipping Warden one night when the voltage regulator down by my left foot went haywire and burst into flames.
The voltage shot up and batteries started to cook immediately so I had to work very fast to tell Mac what I was going to do before switching the Ground/Flight switch to ground which cut us off of the engine driven generators, then go rapidly through the fire drill whilst Mac called control for an emergency landing on what little internal battery power we had left.
He did happen to mention afterwards that perhaps a wireless op. might have some use in a crew after all. Only perhaps!.
As time went on we did get to know him a little better although he was one of those chaps you could never get really close to.
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He was not actually unsociable but uncommunicative. More often then not when asked a question on a subject which was not directly related to what we were currently doing his answer would be a knowing wink, a tap on the side of his nose with his forfinger [sic] which could be taken to mean anything; like, "I don't know", or, " leave it to me” or," mind your own bloody business!".
No doubt some people would call it the attitude of a dour, canny Scot but I did get a satisfactory answer on one occasion when I asked him about flying under the Menie [sic] Bridge. His words for once were encouraging.
"Only a bloody fool would attempt that without the wind on the nose, at low tide and through the widest span'", and then I knew that he was not as crazy as some people would like to think.
That in my book added up to a calculated risk, and there were some more to come.
As we ploughed on through the course a great deal of time was spent in the 'Harwell Box' which was a compartmented type of simulator in which we practiced all of the airborne procedures for a bombing sortie, [underlined] only at twice normal speed!. [/underlined]
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All the clock faces had been altered to achieve the time factor and we had to work frantically to keep up with all of the information that was being fed to us from umpteen different sources: It certainly kept us on the ball, particularly the navigator.
That was not the only simulation. For the first time our operating heights were soon to be up in the rarified [sic] air above 10,000ft for lengthy periods. Above that height the use of oxygen was essential and mandatory, and just to wake sure that no-one treated the matter lightly we were introduced to the decompression chamber.
Eight at a time with a medical orderly, we entered the tank which was fitted with inter-comm and after it was sealed the pumps started to reduce the pressure as one would experience in flight.
When 10,000ft was reached on the internal altimeter we fitted our oxygen masks and then the pressure was progressivly [sic] reduced until the altimeter read first 15,000ft, then 20,000 and finally 25,000ft by which time various parts of our internal plumbing were beginning to respond to the pressure change.
We had been provided with note pads and pencils and were than told to start writing our names on the pads as the oxygen supply was turned off.
I was no different from the others when the voice on the inter comm said that the oxygen was back on and we were called by our names and asked to describe any sensations that we had experienced and the answer was unanimous. Nothing!. But the shock came when we were told to look at our pads.
Our signatures had tailed off into an unintellible [sic] scribble and then re-appeared at the bottom of the page.
The realisation hit us all. Although most of us had experienced some light headedness as the pressure lowered we had not been aware that that was the warning that could lead to oblivion and possible death. It was frightening to think that the process was so insidious that it was possible to be unaware of it.
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After that little demonstration no-one needed any further warning on how to recognise the early effects of the lack of oxygen and I was later to find that my tolerance was quite low and I usually needed oxygen at 8,000ft, and that if I needed to move about I had to be fairly quick when going from a main point to a portable bottle especially later on when I was often sitting next to a damned great hole at the back end of the aircraft where there was no main outlet.
The training got more and more realistic both in the air and on the ground. We had got used to the parachute harness and packs by that time and the short briefing on it's use such as "after you have jumped, count ten and pull that", but suddenly it got serious now that we were going to have to face all sorts of unknown difficulties whilst we were defying the laws of gravity.
We started more intensive training off a rig. First without 'chutes just jumping off of a 12ft platform onto coco mats and then right up in the eaves of a hanger with harness and weighted cable system.
The landings were the same spine jarring thump either way as we made contact with the ground with feet together, knees slightly bent, slight angle to the direction of landing to roll over shoulder and hip on contact.
That was the classical way of doing it if you had the opportunity!. A very good friend was not so lucky when his turn came. He had already received a smashed arm when the aircraft was hit but although some of the crew put his 'chute on and threw him out he lost consciousness on the way down and busted a leg is several places on landing. But he fared better than the others. They all went down with the aeroplane!
Perhaps I was fortunate in my approach to the training and found no great difficulty but others were not so lucky and were required to do it again and again until they had improved their technique but not without a few sprains and bruises as one ploughed on through the course.
We finally completed it with a better than average crew assessment and then we were all on our travels again, but for the first time as a crew.
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Our next destination was to a Stirling Conversion Unit at Stradishall, near Bury St Edmunds. Back in-Bomber country again!. We had known that we were destined for "heavies' long before we left OTU. In fact, I had known before I left gunnery school as I had only done the short course for wireless operators and bomb-aimers, and my log book had been annotated accordingly.
Nevertheless, I had hoped that I would finish up on Lancasters or Halifax's as I already knew enough about Stirlings to be very wary of them.
When I had marshalled in a new one on delivery to Mareham [sic] I had been amazed that the pilot of the monster had been a very small lady of the ATA.
The Stirling was impressive. Although it looked very big it’s dimensions were not much more than the other 'heavies'. It was just that it looked so incredibly bulky.
It stood high on an undercarriage that looked more like some scaffolding around a building, placing the pilot's eye some 22 1/2 ft above the ground which was very high for those days and did not make the assessment of the distance between the wheels and the runway any easier whom landing the thing.
I was also well aware that they had been causing all sorts of problems when the Marham Squadrons were converting to them resulting in all sorts of hair raising incidents and bent aeroplanes.
At least I was familiar with it, and the radio compartment but the fact that I was going to finish up as a crew member on one was a thought that I had not entertained.
Soon after arrival the crew was made up to seven by the addition of a Flight Engineer and a Mid-Upper Gunner.
'Paddy', the flight engineer was of course from the emerald isle and was no stranger to the Stirling having been a ground engineer on them at Waterbeach until he had remustered. He was several weeks into his conversion training and it was a long time afterwards that I learned that he had never flown before he got airborne with us. He must have wondered what he had let himself in for.
Certainly he had a nasty shock when instead of finding his pilot to be another fresh faced youngster he got this 'gnarled old man' as someone described his.
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It was suggested that his main task would be to help the poor old bloke in and out of the driving seat!.
It did not take him long to find out that Mac was something different.
The mid-upper was at the other end of the age scale. Ralph was a fresh faced youngster who had just about changed his Air Cadets uniform for RAF uniform although of course he had done the gunners course since joining and had been at Stradishall for a few weeks on a familaristion [sic] course. But he had not long been out of school.
The crew was now complete. although for a while there was a little doubt about us staying together as Mac found out that he was not exactly built for the Stirling; or visa versa.
The lady ATA pilot had been small but she had seemed to cope but I suppose it was a matter of proportion, and Mac's proportions were somewhat different.
With the controls and the seat adjusted to their limits he still needed some special padding made up to improve things. and the seat of his pants took a terrific beating as he wrestled, wriggled and sqirmed [sic] to handle the thing.
The take-off and landing characteristics of the machine did not help such either. An uncontrollable swing to starboard could develop very easily and the tall undercarriage would be incapable of standing the strain and 'crunch', another one would bite the dust adding to the numbers that ended up damaged by that sort of accident which was already in excess of the numbers lost by enemy action.
It usually depended on how fast you were going at the time whether you walked away or were carried away from the wreckage. Not a pleasant prospect!.
In theory the idea was that the engines were opened up on a staggered basis having due regard to any cross wind. until a speed was reached when the rudder would give effective control, then all engines could be taken to full power.
The snag was that with a full load there was never a lot of runway to spare so it was usually a choice of two evils. You either took a chance of running out of runway if you did not get the power on soon enough or you slammed it on at the beginning of the take off run and took your chance with a
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swinger'.
Mac seemed to have it down to a fine art.
Whatever the length of the runway. Whatever the load, the strength and direction of the wind. Whether the runway was uphill, downhill, or both, with bump or a hollow in the middle, his computer brain had it worked out. Whatever the circumstances and however tired he was we always seemed to make a perfect take-off and landing. So far I had not experienced a bad one with his at the controls.
Nevertheless, he was wearing out his pants at an alarming rate in the process.
So much so that the instructors were having serious doubts as to whether Mac and the Stirling were quite right for each other.
Then something happened that removed all the doubts.
On the night of 13th June 1943 we were doing night circuits and bumps in preparation for his first night solo.
After several circuits the check pilot gave Mac the thumbs up after another satisfactory landing and vacated the aircraft the aircraft in the vicinity of the control tower before we taxied around again for the next take-off.
After the usual pause for the routine cockpit check we entered the runway and were soon thundering along gathering speed; when it happened.
At the most critical point, almost half way down the runway, with about 90mph. on the clock, the port outer seized with a crunch that could be felt throughout the aircraft despite all the other sensations, and 30 tons of Stirling started to swing to port.
It was a wonder that the prop did not sheer off which would have been normal but the reflex action that went on in the cockpit was fast and furious. It had to be to prevent us from becoming another statistic.
Paddy closed down the dead engine by stabbing buttons and switches that cut the ignition to the engine, cut off the fuel, operated the bulkhead fire extinguishers and 'feathered' the propellor as Mac called for maximum power on the inboard engines as obviously his hands were very busy with the controls.
As Paddy took over the throttles and the propeller pitch controls the power came on with a bellow as he shoved the inboard
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We were just at the 'unstick' point and almost at take-off speed as the swing to port became more pronounced with Mac struggling desperately.
At least we were almost airborne which was better than being splattered all over the airfield and his efforts were being rewarded as we then started to go slowly into a starboard turn with only just enough speed on to keep us flying.
Standard procedures dictated that we had to go into a right hand circuit as it was invariably neccessary [sic] to turn away from the dead engine. There was so little margin of control if you went the other way that a nasty mess was the likely result.
Still close to the ground with wheels and flaps still down Mac was straining every muscle to maintain control but slowly and surely we increased our speed still swinging to starboard.
From my position in the astro dome I could see the hangars and the control tower dead ahead!.
If that wasn't out of the frying pan and into the fire!.
It looked as if it was going to be decidedly messy and certainly it was going to do me no good at all if I dived for my crash position…...and then we started to climb and bank as the speed had built up sufficiently.
With wings almost vertical we went between No's. 1 and 2 hangers, taking a telephone line with us. I had a very unusual view of the water tower as we went around it straight into a very low level emergency right hand circuit for a landing that was just like all the others. As smooth as silk. Even under those circumstances.
It was shortly after we had landed that I became aware of the fact that I seemed to have been holding my breath for a very long time and I had been very close to ceasing to breath altogether.
We taxied around to the control tower to pick up the instuctor [sic] pilot and when he came aboard he was still very much out of breath as like most of the staff in the tower, he had abandoned it rapidly as we headed straight for it.
He just managed to gasp "you'll' do" before we taxied back to dispersal.
There was so doubt in our minds anyway. He had tamed the beast and there congratulations all round.
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Mac's reaction was normal. A wink and a tap on the side of his nose. No comment!.
After that there was very little let up as the training including flying intensified. Mac continued to wear out his trousers in his efforts to maintain control and that’s what it was all about as far as he was concerned. Total perfection, and he never, ever, let the machine take over. We had absolute confidence in him.
The only other incident of any note throughout the course occurred shortly after we had landed one night and had got back to the billet. A Ju.88 intruder who had followed someone in tried to shoot him up on the runway without success. He sprayed lead all over the place and I think the most damage was done to a window above my bed in the barrack block. I was under it!. There was no one hurt although my bed was showered with glass.
That sort of effort did not impress us very much if that was the best they could do. It all seemed a bit panic stricken and I had seen plenty of similar activity on the South Coast where air raids on Worthing had been mainly of the hit and run type.
I had been close to several attacks as they came blasting along the railway line and the shunting yards but they never hit the gas works which was opposite the hospital; which was just as well as my father was invariably fire watching on top during a raid.
Not one bomb fell on the railway line or the signal boxes in the local area but there was a fair amount of damage to civilian property and loss of life. The flat in which I had spent the first few years of my life was one that collected a direct hit although mostly the bombs fell in open ground.
There is still evidence to this day of the occasion when an Me.110 straffed [sic] along the line. The metal footbridge between East Worthing and Worthing Central still has the canon shell holes in it and my wife remembers it well.
She was walking along the road parallel to the railway when this chap came blasting in firing both front and rear guns and she was obliged to make a hasty dive over a low wall into someone's garden for safety.
Even then I thought it was a bit panic stricken and not very effective.
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It was whilst I was at Stradishall that I saw the half scale Stirling in one of the hangars. A very interesting little machine. It was about the size of a Wellington with a cockpit just big enough for two in tandem, and four little two blade props on Pobjoy engines. It had been built for test purposes early on, whilst the full size machine was still in the design stage. Even then it was-fall of snags but they pressed on.
No-one sees to know what happened to it eventually. It had been pranged and was not airworthy but it just seems to have dissapeared [sic] . Perhaps it will turn up at the back of a barn one days!.
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[underlined] THE SHORT BROS. S.29."STIRLING" [/underlined]
Built by Short Brothers, Rochester & Belfast and Austins, Longbridge.
First flight (Mk.I) 14th May 1939. Followed by Mk's II, III, IV & V.
Began with daylight operations in 1941 before switching to night operations until the end of 1943. Later used as glider tugs. paratroop and supply dropping and finally transports.
2,374 of all types manufactured but none remained in flying service after the early 1950's.
[line of stars]
[underlined] Model B.Mklll [/underlined]
Span...................99ft 1in.
Length………………87ft 3in.
Max. all-up weight…………70,000lb.
Max. speed…………270 mph. (Economical cruising 180mph. fully loaded)
Range……………….Max. 2010mls. (According to load).
Service ceiling………17,000ft.(14-15,000ft with max. load)
Engines………Four 1,650bhp. Bristol Hercules Mk.XVl
2 stage, supercharged, sleeve valve, 14 cylinder radials.
Defensive armament…….8 .303in. Browning m/g. 2 in dorsal and front turrets. 4 in rear turret. All power operated.
Max. bomb load………..14,000lb. (Max. bomb size 2000lb.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 44 [/deleted]
[underlined] FOR NORMAL BOMBER OPERATIONS THE CREW CONSISTED OF:- [/underlined]
Pilot………………………..………..who was always the captain.
Navigator……………………..…..who was also trained as a bomb aimer.
Observer/bomb aimer…..….who was also trained in navigation and was front gunner.
Flight Engineer………..………...was responsible for monitoring the engines and other systems. Often acted as co-pilot.
Wireless operator/gunner….communications, radio direction finding and trained reserve gunner.
Mid-upper gunner……………..)were interchangable [sic] between positions
Rear Gunner……………….…….)but generally preferred one position.
Note:- On occasions another pilot was allocated to the basic crew for operational familiarisation and became the co-pilot.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 45 [/deleted]
It was the middle of June when we left Stradishall and it was a pleasant change not to have to travel too far to our new unit. We moved by truck just a few miles up the road to Chedburgh, a satelite [sic] station of Stradishall.
Most Stirling units were concentrated in East Anglia and we were to join a new Squadron being formed on the day we arrived. The Squadron had been numbered 620 and we would be the partner to 214 Squadron which had been in residence for some time. It had been formed by the standard procedure of hiving off 'C' flights from established Squadrons. In this case 'C' flights from both 214 Squadron and 149 from Mildenhall; by coincidence the same Squadron that I had been with at Mildenhall previously. To assist the rapid build-up new crews direct from training were being added so with virtually a snap of the fingers the new Squadron was born on the 17th June 1943.
Chedburgh was just another war-time airfield that like so many had just mushroomed all over the countryside by the hundred. A tremendous achievement both in planning and engineering considering the enormous amount of material and man-power each one absorbed. It was not surprising that Britian [sic] was often referred to as an unsinkable aircraft carrier. There were over 100 airfields in East Anglia alone!.
They were all built to the same basic pattern with Nissen huts all over the place with dispersed accomodation [sic] tucked away in woods and down country lanes that ensured that everyone had plenty of exercise in the process of getting to and from their place of work.
The airfield was situated alongside the A143 Bury St Edmunds to Haverhill road and the set up was much the same as any other unit.
The Station support services comprised an Administrative Wing, a Technical Wing and a Flying Wing and within the latter were the flying units, the Squadrons, which were independant [sic] units.
Altogether the station was manned by between 1800 and 2000 people including Squadron personnel, with an establishment of 16 air-craft per Squadron. plus 4 reserves. Theorhetically [sic] that should have given the station a total of 40 aircraft but we were rarely up to even the basic strength and then not for very
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All the arrival formalities that we had done so often were soon completed with introductions to the Squadron and Flight Commander as well as the specialist leaders, in my case the Signals Leader, who was an operational Wireless Operator filling the position by virtue of his previous experience and seniority.
With all that attended to Mac had received his instructions from 'B' Flight Commander and we boarded the bus that continually circled the outer edge of the airfield where the aircraft were dispersed.
On the way we passed many Stirlings poised like great vultures, except for the odd one that looked as if the vultures had been at them and had gangs of men working on them.
When we stopped at one dispersal pan Mac said "this is it". 'This' was a pleasant surprise. We had become so used to flying old hacks that had seen better days that to be looking at what appeared to be a new one was unique. Even more of a surprise was to be told that this one was 'ours'.
This particular Stirling was serial No.EF433, built by Shorts at Belfast, and was still new enough to have a new smell about it.
The Squadron identification letters of QS and aircraft letter 'W' had been freshly painted on it's sides over some other lettering that turned out to have been 214 Squadron's identification, with whom it had apparently done three operations before being transferred on the formation of the Squadron.
We were concerned with getting to know that piece of machinery more intimately than anything else we had had dealings with in the past.
We spent hours going over it with the ground crew; testing and adjusting until we had it ticking over like a well oiled sewing machine. We air tested it and put it through it's paces again and again. The gunners tested their guns over the sea. Pete checked his box of tricks. Hoppy put the bomb release mechanism through it's sequences and tested the front guns. I tuned my radio and made contact with the control stations as well as testing the radio direction finding system. Mac and Paddy did everything they could to ensure that the engines and controls gave the right responses by throwing it around at height including a landing procedure with first one then two engines
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feathered and everything throttled back just to see how she stalled as well as a maximum height climb until they were at last satisfied that if anything went wrong with it it [sic] would not be our fault.
When all that was done we were ready for anything and both crew and aeroplane were in a partnership which we hoped would be for some time. As it turned out it was longer than than [sic] the average!.
We were soon to find out what we had let ourselves in for on a series of night operations that were not without a little excitement.
[line of stars]
Four days after leaving Stradishall we found ourselves on the Battle Order for the night of the 22nd June and from the moment the order went on the board everything started clicking into place as we started a procedure that hundreds of other crews were doing up and down the country in order to deliver thousands of tons of bombs and incendiaries to the enemy.
Mac had already been through it the night before, flying as second pilot with a crew to Krefeld, but the only thing he would say about it was that we would find out soon enough, accompanied of course by that tap on the nose.
I was naturally apprehensive at the prospect of flying over enemy territory now that we were finally committed and not unaware of the losses that had already occurred in 214 Squadron in the short time we had been on the base. Fortunately there was plenty to do to take our minds off of the inevitable as the procedure had become standard for major exercises and operations and we knew precicely [sic] what to do.
The first thing was to ground test and then air test the aeroplane and with [deleted] that [/deleted] over to try and get some sleep before the briefing and all the other business whilst the ground crew prepared it for the flight with bombs, fuel, flares, ammunition, oxygen, first aid packs and safety equipment such as the dinghy, inclusive of the distress radio and a multitude of other individual items to be checked over or stowed.
Our next step was to change into clean underwear of the aircrew type. The pure wool and silk mixture. Not only for warmth in the sub zero conditions we were likely to
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encounter at altitude but just as important to reduce the risk of infection if injured. That was the general idea anyway, but at the rate we were soon to be flying we very often had to wear underclothes a week or more before the laundry caught up with us.
'Night Flying supper' was always something to look forward to at whatever time it was scheduled. The rare operational egg and bacon special. That meal was not just a 'perk' but possibly the last one that one would get for some time depending on the circumstances, and then we were off to the operations block.
Once we got there we were cut off from the outside world. All the outside telephone lines had either been disconnected or were at least monitored and even the local telephone boxes had been disconnected or secured as soon as the teleprinters had started clacking away earlier to advise that the operations order was following.
Within that environment there was a lot of activity and the amount of stuff we had to get together was quite extraordinary.
There was basic stuff such as parachute harness and pack. Life jacket, (the Mae West), helmet complete with earphones, microphone and oxygen mask, all to be tested on the rig in the safety equipment section. Then to change into sea boot socks and flying boots. Then to empty pockets into the locker and don the heavy fishermans roll neck sweater. The next step was to draw rations and escape and evasion packs that all had to be stowed into the numerous pockets of the life jacket and as if that was not enough we then gathered up our specialist equipment.
The navigator and wireless operator carried the most and it was quite a pile of stuff. Maps, charts, rulers, pencils, computer, (of the Dalton circlar type for wind calculations etc) , sextant, star tables, code books, lists of call-signs, frequencies, identification beacons. colours of the day information etc. Some of the secret stuff was typed on rice paper for the purpose of disposing of it by eating it if if [sic] the need arose.
It was hardly surprising that we needed large canvas flight bags for all of the odds and ends apart from having to carry all of the other gear.
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After assembling all that there was a short briefing by the specialist leaders before the main briefing took place, and it was at this point that the pilot, navigator and bomb-aimer were given advance knowledge of the target so that they could make their special studies of route, and target photographs before everyone else trooped into the main briefing room where the whole thing was put together so that everyone knew what was going on.
The teleprinters had been spewing out stuff for a long time after the planners at Command and Group HQ had held their planning meetings and sometimes the Operations Order was yards long. The operations order contained details of take-off times, route, turning points, target data, ack-ack defences, possible fighter activities, heights to fly and speeds, winds and weather en-route and return, fuel and bomb loads, pathfinder marking, alternative and emergency airfields, radio procedures, radio beacons, frequencies and callsigns, etc, etc. and even details of any POW camps if they were near the target.
The complex mass of stuff had been sorted out and the whole station was in top gear as we at last struggled into the main hall to assemble around our own table where there was a great deal of chat with clouds of tobacco smoke floating about by the time the whole assembly was called to order by the senior briefing officer. That was always a dramatic moment and the climax of all the activity that invariably seemed to be a race against the clock. Heaven help a crew that was late!.
The windows had been shuttered as soon as preparations had commenced and the 'fug' must have been murder for non-smokers.
As soon as everyone was in and accounted for the main doors were closed and two RAF Policemen took up position outside. Everyone settled down within the chaos of equipment all strewn around the floor and on the tables as the briefing got under way as soon as the big wall map was uncovered.
The briefing officers included the Flying Control and Met.Officers. The Armament and Engineering Officers, The Wing and the Squadron and Flight Commanders, and very often the Station Commander
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who took no part in the proceedings although he occasional took part in the operation with a 'scratch' crew but he invariably had a few words of encouragement at the end of the briefing.
When the curtains were drawn back from the wall map there was a bit of a gasp as eyes followed the coloured tapes across to the target..Mulheim, and then with such waving about of an old billiard cue that had been 'liberated' from one of the messes the show got under way.
It was a source of relief to find that we were not part of the main force. Our detail was 'Gardening'. The code name for mining, which we would be doing by flying part of the route with the main force and then dropping out to sow our 'veg' as we approached the Frisian Islands. I was glad of that and would not have cared for a trip to Mulheim first time out.
Mac would still say nothing about his trip to Krefeld. In fact very few people would. When asked, the usual answer was, "you will find out soon enough", and as far as Mulheim was concerned Mac would only say that we should think ourselves lucky that we were not going there. No-one argued with that!.
As soon as briefing was over there was a mad scramble for the crew bus to take us out to dispersal and to load all the gear into the aeroplane.
Having stowed everything where it should be there was time for a tour around the outside to make sure that all protective covers and control locks had been removed.
When all was ready it was just a matter of waiting for start up time with a few minutes quiet contemplation, a pee on a wheel, and a cigarette.
Any chatter there was at that stage was about anything other then the operation ahead of us.
Although the start up and taxy times had been given at briefing there was usually a signal from the control tower as back up bearing in mind that radio silence was strictly imposed from the time that the operation had been notified.
The signals were yellow/green verey flare for start up or a double red for cancellation so when the yellow/green went up the game was on. Some game!. Suddenly it was all deadly serious.
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My only consolation was that it was my own choice. I could have been blown to bits in the infantry, or roasted in a tank, or faced several different ways of drowning in the navy so it seemed as good a way as any of taking my chance.
With the start up everything in the aircraft seemed accentuated. The smell of paint, leather and fuel brat was all mixed up to create the odour that was peculiar to an aeroplane.
There was the additional smell of the rubber oxygen mask that was attached to the now sticky leather helmet and would be stuck to my head for the next few hours.
There was no way around that as the earphones and microphone were an integral part of the helmet.
Then there were the atmospherics on the otherwise silent radio receivers that mingled with all the other muffled noises as the aeroplane case to life in the hands of Mac and Paddy.
Starter motors whined. Engines coughed and spluttered and the airframe vibrated from end to end with the initial rough running in rich mixture. Flaps were operated, bomb doors were closed and brakes released with hissing air and sighing hydraulic systems after the wheel chocks were waived away, followed by the rolling motion of the heavily laden aircraft as we taxied to the marshalling point near the runway threshold. Depending where the dispersal was in relation to the runway in use determined the length of time taxying, and the order of take off, but normally by the time we reached the threshold the oil temperatures and pressures, and cylinder head temperatures had risen sufficiently for the engines to be run at near full power against the brakes to test the magnetoes [sic] .
As was usual in aero engines there were two magneto's to each engine, each serving one of the two sets of plugs per cylinder. That added up to 112 spark plugs altogether and it was neccessary [sic] that every one was doing it's bit when full power was called for. Then the superchargers were tested, and the variable pitch propellors, with the aircraft shaking and rattling until all four engines had been tested after which they were throttled back to a nice healthy tick over.
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That was the decision point of 'go,no-go'. The engines had to give power within certain tolerances before a full load take-off could be attempted, and a decision that we would have to 'abort' if all was not well would here been an anti climax at that stage.
It would have meant entering the runway at the allotted time, rolling down and turning off at the intersection or the end, and then justifying it to the engineering officer and the flight commander. It was not a decision to be taken lightly.
That first time, with a live load and everything checked out satisfactorily, a green aldis lamp signal flashed from the caravan in acknowledgement of the aircraft's letter signalled on the downward identification light and we were ready to go.
We entered the runway with the one hundred and one checks complete and the adrenelin [sic] started to flow as we went through the familiar procedure.
Line up, brakes on, one third flap, engine cooling gills set, superchargers in low gear, props in fine pitch, mixture rich, engines wound up, a momentary pause for a final check of revs and boost with the aircraft straining against the brakes....brakes off; and a surge of acceleration as we started down the runway. Then the continuing acceleration and the tail coming up followed by a final bellow from the engines as the throttles were shoved to the stops.
The runway lights flashed by at ever increasing speed. The aircraft gave a little sideways fidget as the line was corrected and we were soon approaching the critical speed.
Very mindful of several tons of high explosive and a great deal of high octane fuel surrounding us we continued to thunder down the runway until those of us not in the cockpit knew by all the familiar sounds and sensations that all was well up front. The flight engineer who had followed the pilots hand on the throttles up to the stops had now taken them over and applied the friction locks as Mac devoted all his attention to controlling the aircraft as at the same time the engineer was calling out the increasing air speed.
The rumbling stopped; the attitude changed and we knew we were airborne. The next call was "undercarriage up" and as soon as they were showing up the next call was "flaps in" and another
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change of attitude as the aircraft was 'cleaned up' before there was a final change of engine note as they were throttled back after reaching a safe height and speed.
At that point we all started to breath [sic] a little easier.
All the time the intercom between the pilot and enginneer [sic] was lively as the action and subsequent indicator response was called out and acknowledged.
With so such to do and so such depending on it being done correctly it was a rigid discipline, and very soon we were climbing on the first heading to the rendezvous position before climbing further to our operating height.
On that first occasion we set off at medium level under cover of the main force and once more we were on our way. This time with a difference……it was for real!..
[line of stars]
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As soon as we got clear of the coast the gunners tested their guns with a couple of bursts and the smell of cordite drifted around for a while, after which they settled down to their long spell of sky searching.
It was a lonely and demanding job but very neccessary [sic] as they methodically scanned up and down and left and right with the turrets following their search.
You could not see them out there but there were a lot of aircraft milling about with between 600 and 700 hundred converging on the main rendezvous position from East Anglia, Lincolnshire and Yorkshire to make up a solid stream. Even in good night conditions you were lucky to be able to see further than 700 yards so that if anything did show up there was not a lot of time to take action.
Some separation was provided by the various waves being at predetermined heights, and by time separation between the waves going through a check point or turning position, but nevertheless there were still a large number of aircraft packed into a relatively small area of sky at any one time.
When I was not in the radio compartment my position was in the Astro dome. That was the clear vision dome on top where the navigator took his star shots from and where I could assist in the search.
From there I could still remain plugged into the communication system and listen for routine broadcasts from the Group control station every half hour. These included up-dated forcasts [sic] of the weather in the target area and a common barometric pressure setting for the altimeter to ensure that we were all flying on the same datum.
Any message received was rapidly de-coded and passed to the navigator or the pilot although it was more common that only the station identification would be transmitted, (no message). It did not do to miss anything like a recall though, and to find that you were the only one over the target and getting a great deal of attention.
On occasions I would be required to release a flare over the sea for assessment of the wind drift. It was released down the flare chute and ignited after entering the water and then the rear gunner kept his sights on it to read off the drift angle.
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whilst the navigator did the timing and his sums which was very crude by modern standards but the results were a very useful check against the Met. forecast which with the best will in the world was often well out and navigators needed everything they could get to keep us on track. Pete was forever beavering away with his rulers, dividers and computer to cross check everything and did not rely on any one specific facility. The best I could do for his were radio bearings from the UK using the direction finder equipment.
Unfortunately that became suspect as we got deeper and deeper into enemy airspace. The Germans sent out false signals on the same frequency to confuse things and the continental broadcasting stations were suspect as well due to them being made on linked geographically located transmitters. [underlined] The same as we did for UK broadcasts. [/underlined] It was impossible to get bearings on that network. One equipment that they found difficult to interfere with was 'GEE', which was our most important navigational aid up to a certain distance imposed by range and height. That was the 'Magic Box' which used Information from a number of special high frequency transmissions which were received and displayed on an oscillascope [sic] . When the information had been transcribed to some special lattice charts positions could be fixed with considerable accuracy, and from running fixes it was possible to assess wind speed and direction for the purpose of correcting headings. It did not do to stray far off track.
The flight engineer continually monitored the engines, and all the vital functions that kept us going including fuel flow and fuel remaining as well as transferring fuel from the smaller tanks to keep the main one's topped up. There was very close co-operation between Mac and Paddy as Mac was meticulous in his handling of the engines.
The bomb-aimer/observer whose main function occupied very little time often spent time as co-pilot or assisted in map reading when conditions were favourable, so everyone had their job to do and a little bit more. It was team work all the way.
Positioning for mine dropping was meticulous. The Navy provided the charts and told us where they wanted them dropped, and the charts went back to the Navy.
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The mines went down in their specified area on their parachutes which softened the blow of them entering the water after which they submerged to do their evil business at a later date.
I was glad to see those go. Their explosive content of Torpex was far more devastating than that in our bombs; not that the outcome would be any different if we had a direct hit in the bomb bay!.
It all seemed too easy. We saw a little sparkling flak in the distance that someone had stirred up, possibly a flak ship.
Those were the blighters that could crop up anywhere so every sighted had to be logged so that some might be done about them later; if only to give instructions to avoid the area. The trouble was that it was easy for them to more from one anchorage to another before the next day!.
As we droned back to base I found it difficult to reconcile the fact that it really was me going through it all. It all seemed so unreal like a dream.
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I had moved on.
Someone else now had the refuelling job.
If ever I needed to call the W/T (morse) fixer service I knew what was at the other end of the facility and how they could help us.
I had worked in one of Bomber Command's transmitting stations at Honington, (mainly polishing the wretched floor), but as a qualified wireless operator I had often been allowed to plug into the transmitter side-tone as it squawked away and take down the transmission for practice.
Mostly of course at that time it was incomprehensible as it was in code, but now I had found out what it was all about being one of the recipients within a collective call sign.
There were facilities available on the shorter range R/T (radio telephone) service usually need directly by the pilot and although I had means of using it from my compartment it was very rarely necessary [sic] .
Apart from air to air and normal air to ground control there were some very useful services to be obtained such as the D/F (direction finder) cabins which I had also spent time in.
These were the strange tepee like wooden cabins stuck out in some field near the airfield with their double walls filled with fine shingle for protection against shot and shell and an aerial array sticking out of the top. I [sic] was from there that a highly experienced operator was able to give pilots a course to steer for base, or a bearing, and in dire emergency, assistance with a descent through cloud procedure.
I had spent more time in the teleprinter communication cabins and had done duty as the R/T operator in what was then called Flying Control as well as doing daily inspections on aircraft radio equipments.
I had time to reflect on what it all added up to as we droned steadily towards base. There was little else to do except listen out on the control frequency, load the colours of the day into the verey pistol and switch an the IFF (radar identification signal), make up the log etc as we approached the coast, descended and identified the flashing beacons that pin-pointed airfields and other geographical locations by their code. (I had even
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been part of the operating team on one of those at one time); until we identified Chedburgh's among the dozens that were winking through the night.
With navigation lights on and gunners still keeping a good look out for intruders we called the tower and got our joining instructions; joined the circuit, landed and taxied around to our dispersal.
The ground crew were waiting and marshalled us into position and finally when the chocks were in place everything was shut off and at last the dull roar that had been going on in our ears for hours finally subsided.
It took some time to adjust and we found that we still shouting at each other for a long time afterwards.
Apart from that and to get the tacky helmet off perhaps the most relief was gained by being able to slacken the lower straps of the parachute harness that if properly adjusted made life very uncomfortable, and then to have a good pee on a wheel and light a cigarette. What a blessed relief that was!. It became almost a ceremony!.
There were a few minutes to wait whilst the skipper had a few words with the crew chief to pass on any information relative to defects or malfunctions and then finally the crew bus arrived and we boarded on route to operations still drawing hungrily on our cigarettes, that as I recall, tasted pretty horrible at the time.
On arrival at the ops. room for debriefing there were excited exchanges with other crews all milling about after we checked in our parachutes. The room was still thick with tobacco smoke as the windows had remained closed since the briefing and would remain so until until [sic] the end of the de-briefing or to the time when all was quiet. The time when all aircraft had landed back at base or had been notified as landing elsewhere or endurance times had been reached. After that time aircraft that had failed to turn up were chalked up on the state board as FTR. (Failed to return).
We then spent a little more time answering questions put by the Intelligence Officers and their assistants as they probed for information, and completed combat reports as appropriate as they pushed more cigarette across the table.
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Finally came the specialist debrief when we handed in our logs and code books. Returning all equipment. Changing out of our flying clothing and at last making our way to the mess hall for our eggs and bacon, and to top it all off, a nice long walk back to our tin hut where others were already asleep or just tumbling into bed.
That is when it hit. When you were winding down. When it was all over and you felt completely drained. I know I did. Apart from anything else I was never very good at being up half of the night.
It might have been a routine trip for us but later as we found that [underlined] Eleven [/underlined] out [sic] 96 Stirlings had failed to return from the Mulheim raid and one of them had been from our Squadron. The casualty procedure was already under way and we had not even been there long enough to know the unfortunates concerned!.
That was the pattern of our lives. We usually reported to the flight office at 1400 hours the next afternoon whatever time we had landed, to see what was in store for us and a special effort was made for more than one reason.
If we had slept late and had to make a dash for it it [sic] was easy to miss lunch and we would have to go through to tea time before eating again. There was no other way of finding something edible unless one happened to find a mobile NAAFI wagon doing it's rounds. Even the so called 'sausage rolls' or the inevitable currant bun was welcome then. We very soon got around to keeping a tuck box of some sort to tide us over by hoarding some of our flying rations.
If there was no flying there was a serious attempt to be the first in the queue for supper. We always seemed to be hungry in those days. Or perhaps it was just me!
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On the 25th we were detailed for another mining job. This time in the Bay of Biscay, off the estuary the Geronde [sic] and in the approaches to the Atlantic U.boat bases.
Again it was hours of concentrated low flying over moonlit waters that could be so very, very deceptive. It placed a great deal of strain on Mac but that is where he seemed to be in his element and we were glad to get home again after a flight of 5 hours 45 minutes.
The mines had been placed with the same meticulous care as before and everyone seemed of the opinion that mining was 'a piece of cake' although not everyone was happy about spending so much time near the wave tops, especially as on one occasion Mac was close enough to cause the rear gunner to complain about the spray drenching his turret!.
There was some speculation about whether Mac was volunteering for mining but we never found out. What went on in the confines of the Flight Commanders office only ever translated itself into what went on the Battle Order and the Flight Authorisation Book.
That night others were not so lucky and another aircraft and crew from the Squadron failed to return.
We were all beginning to feel a little jaded by that time and we were hoping for some free time, if only to catch up on some sleep; but we had to wait for that.
[line of stars]
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We dragged ourselves down to the flight office in the afternoon hoping to hear the magic words "stand down", only to find that we were on the Battle Order again for another operation that night, and later on, in the briefing room, I was to experience a very strange feeling in my innards, somewhere between my heart and my stomach when the target was announced as Gelsenkirchen, in the Ruhr, or 'Happy Valley' as it was commonly dubbed by aircrew. It had to happen sometime!.
For Mac, it was already his fourth operation in five nights so it was not surprising that he was tight lipped about it. He knew what we were in for!.
For the rest of us it was to be our first time over the enemy coast to face all the perils that went with it. Since no-one would talk about it it [sic] had to be imagined although it not do to dwell on it.
I do know that as we approached the target that I was glad that I was not a pilot after all. How I would have reacted in those circumstances I am really not sure. Perhaps I would have coped but since my responsibilities towards the crew at that moment in time were limited I decided that on looking at that scene as we approached I would rather not know. I promptly retired to the protection of my armour plated seat. As if that made any difference!.
It did not seem possible that anything could fly through that unscathed. There were a lot of explosions and steel splinters out there but it soon occurred to me that the armour plating was only psychological protection. The others had a lot less protection so I went back to keeping a look-out and to hell with it.
As we started the bombing run the sight of the destruction being wrought upon a town by hundreds of tons of high explosive and incendiaries was bad enough but there was also evidence of life or death struggles going on around us as there had been on the run in. The searchlights probed and flak peppered the sky and through it all, flying more or less straight and level, Hoppy guided Mac to the aiming point chanting his left's, steadie's . and right a bit as the target slid up the sight wires.
In the initial stages of the approach the flak had been scattered as the guns went for individual aircraft but as the 'stream'
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Mac had laid down his own ground rules about what was expected of us when we were away from home shores.
In any case he strictly limited the use of the IFF. This was the device that sent out an identification signal to our radar stations, but which some people were known to use over enemy territory in an attempt to confuse the enemy radar. We most certainly did not!, and On/Off entries were made in both the signals and the nav. logs accordingly.
He would not permit the use of the infra-red rear facing fighter warning system which was just as well as we were to find out later that their fighter A.I. (airborne intercept) radar could home on it.
He was insistant [sic] that there should be the absolute minimum use of any radio equipment, and if it was not needed it was to be switched off. (He even used to switch off his R/T set unless there was a very good reason for having it on!.)
The ban even included navigational equipment if there was any chance of an emmission [sic] from it.
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Perhaps he knew something that we didn't but he was never one for explanations and since he was the boss what he said was never questioned. Not openly anyway!.
Like most pilots he carried a mini route map to help him keep orientated and the navigator was kept hard at it to keep us on track and on time as well as keeping in the middle of the stream rather than being a sitting duck waffling around on the fringe where we could be picked off by a roaming night fighter.
My duties had become very restricted by the limitations imposed by Mac. I could not even use the main transmitter without his permission and he was even reluctant to have it switched into the stand-by position which kept it warm and ready for use.
Only the main receiver plus it's associated direction finding equipment were available to me so I was not able to do much to assist in the navigation although there were plenty of other jobs to keep me occupied.
The results of people straying off track had already been obvious when sparkling exchanges of fire between aircraft were seen, or a sudden concentration of ack-ack and the probing fingers of a cone of searchlights and occasionally an orange ball of fire in the sky that would fall to earth and disintregate [sic] . Having no wish to be part of that scene it was 'softly softly catchee monkey'.
One job I often did was chucking leaflets out of the lower rear escape hatch but generally in the final stages of the bombing run I had another job that was another of Mac's specific requirements.
In order to take a photograph of the bomb strike a photo flash was released automatically down the flare chute and a barometric capsule activated it's 'chute and ignited it. Some photo flash!. It contained about 25lbs of magnesium mixture that produced a 3,000,000 candle power flash but the release mechanism of this thing had been known to fail with disastrous results. If it went off inside the chute or failed to clear the aircraft if it malfunctioned the results were as spectacular as getting a direct hit with an ack-ack shell.
It was usually assisted on it's way by a shove from me when I was not otherwise engaged. Just another safety measure that Mac had very quickly picked up from somewhere,
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and I imagine that the rest of the crew were somewhat relieved to hear the call "flash away---chute clear" call on the intercom before I went back to my other duties.
Once more we had run the gauntlet without problems and although the homeward journey was tedious we were eventually back over base and once more flopping into our beds an hour later when it was all over. Even then sleep did not come easily.
There were some more mines to be dropped in the Bay of Biscay on the 25th; again in the approaches to the Atlantic ports and U.boat bases and once more they went down bang on the button.
There was a special technique for accurate positioning but as usual Mac had his own variation. The brief was to transit at medium height and then down to the dropping height after a 'GEE' fix. Our way was to go down to the wave tops after the fix and then climb to dropping height after which we went down to the wave tops again to avoid being picked up by the Coastal radar stations.
It was not only the position in which they were dropped that was important but [underlined] how [/underlined] they were dropped. Too high and they could be out of position and possibly break up on impact. Too low and they were still likely to go up on impact by hitting the water before the 'chute deployed. Either of those results made the effort a waste of time....and there is no fun being blown up by your own mines!.
As soon as they were gone we were racing home again with the taps wide open to avoid the attentions of any prowling Ju.88's in the area….and then we climbed back up to above 2000ft. On that occasion our flight time was 5hrs 35mins.
By that time I was finding it difficult to reconcile our efforts with all the experiences that I had had on operational stations and of other lurid stories told by others of combats, fires, crashes, injuries and deaths. I knew it was not a myth and that it could and did happen so perhaps some people were just unlucky as the BBC news bulletins were regularly giving out that "XXXXX of our aircraft are missing". Just a cold statement of fact but often they were crewed by people we knew. The figure was frighteningly high on occasions, especially among the Stirling force, and there were not only operational losses. On the 2nd July two of the Squadron's aircraft collided in the Chedburgh
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circuit and crashed nearby with the loss of 15 lives. There was only one survivor from that tragic accident which included some ground crew getting some air experience.
We had a few days break before the next operation and like the I others I managed to catch up on some sleep and letter writing as well as sinking a few jars in the Mess but it was not all fun and games.
Hoppy and I took time off to go to Ely for a look around the Cathedral which we had so often seen from the air or the train and of course there were other activities laid on if there was no flying.
There was the often repeated talk about our conduct should we be unfortunate enough to become POW's and it was sometimes made all the more interesting when the talks were from people who had already escaped or evaded to make a home run. There talks on first aid and sea survival and how to make the most of all the equipment that was available to us if we got into trouble. There were not many idle moments but on those days we achieved some sort of normality. One could not be in the front line all the time, and it was too good to last. On the 3rd July we were on the Battle Order again to find that at briefing targets at Cologne were detailed so off we went again.
The defences were even more lively than I had ever seen before. There was evidence of a lot of fighter activity around the City and some very nasty sights as aircraft were hit in their vitals. There must have been some desperate situations as people fought for their lives if they had not already been blasted into eternity. How we went through that inferno I will never know and we were very relieved when we came out into the clear again and were heading for home, still keeping a good look-out for a long time.
It took time after slipping between the sheets before that scene finally faded from the mind. The brain needed time to wind down allowing the need for sleep to take over.
There were [underlined] seven [/underlined] Stirlings lost that time, again about 10% of the Stirling force among the total losses for the operation. It did not bear thinking about for too long and it was rarely the subject of conversation. At that rate according to the law of averages it would not be long before our number came up but
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people normally kept such thoughts to themselves, or shared their fears with their Chaplains.
For me, I soon gave up the struggle of concience [sic] . If people were getting killed or maimed on both side fighting for God and country then any rational person was bound to have doubts at some time. Possibly most people, like me, tried to push such thoughts to the back of the mind and just concentrated on eliminating the enemy, trusting that a forgiving God would understand.
I suppose it was a sort of psychological con. trick that one played on one's self.
It couldn't happen to us!!!!!
[line of stars]
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On one break between operations and sleeping there was flying practice of the kind that I found the most-enjoyable.
Fighter affiliation was the one exercise that involved us all except the navigator. He could get his head out of the 'office' and enjoy the fun. It allowed Mac to demonstrate his skill by causing more than a few Thunderbolt, Hurricane and Spitfire pilots to have to work very hard to get a bead on us, with a very good chance of getting them in our sights first, which Mac insisted was the object of the exercise.
It required complete team work between gunners and pilot and they had a fine old time giving their running commentaries and instructions which were interpreted by Mac into evasive action. The inter-comm was alive. A team of acrobats could not have put a routine together any better as we skidded and banked and slithered this way and that way to the frustration of the fighter pilots.
My place was in the Astro-dome as usual looking for any attacks that the gunners were not concentrating on....just in case!. I never had the opportunity to get into the turrets. The only way that I was ever going to do that was if one of the gunners became a casualty and although I was not over anxious for that experience I still had to keep in practice.
It was inevitable that Mac would get the opportunity to show off to our American friends one day.
We had recently had a liaison visit from USAAF crews and we had shown off our aeroplane only to be left smarting from some tactless remarks about our 'pop-guns' and the lack of them in certain parts, and "where did we stow the pool table", etc, etc. Certainly the fusulage [sic] of the Stirling was big enough for one, but they were more subdued when we told them that we could carry some three times the weight of bombs that they could!. We kept quiet about the fact that they could fly more than twice as high as we could, and very often did.
On one particular occasion we had just completed our exercise and the fighter was orbitting [sic] out of range somewhere when a B.17. (Flying Fortress), came stooging in looking for all the world like a porcupine with guns sticking out of everywhere.
We were a little above him so Mac shoved the nose down, piled on the power to build up the speed quickly, then stopped and
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'feathered'; (turned the propellor blades edge on to the slip stream) both outboard engines before coming up alongside him. After a little hand waving came the big surprise. We then slid up, over the top of him, came down the other side, then underneath and back into the original position before waiving [sic] goodbye to the astonished, and possibly alarmed B.17. pilot and then peeling off like a fighter. All that on two engines!!!!. Very good for morale!.
It has to be said that although the Stirling could not get to a decent altitude it could be thrown about in a very lively fashion and Mac's handling of it had to be experienced to be believed. We might have done some strange things at times and he threatened on several occasions that he would loop it but one thing I do not ever remember him doing was a heavy landing of the sort that some people seemed to make a habit of.
One measure of the quality of successive landings could always be taken from what was known as 'creep' marks on the tyres and wheels.
When a tyre was fitted on one of those enormous wheels a line was painted across wheel rim and tyre so that after a number of landings with the wheel being jerked into motion by the impact with the runway it was possible to see how far the tyre was creeping around the rim. It was only allowed to go so far otherwise the inner tube could distort and fail.
In most cases tyres needed re-fitting about every seven landings but I do know that our aircraft did not have a refitting as often as that.
As for looping, we never did, although we were never very far from it on the occasion when he did attempt it. He had several tries but the result was the same every time. We started running out of air-speed long before we got up to the top and he was obliged to roll out of it with dust, fluff and debris of all sorts floating about loosely in a brief spell of weightlessness. He gave it up after a while having calculated that he needed at least 300mph on the clock before the pull up to make sure of getting over the top but one thing he would not do was to push 'Willie' to that extent,
Someone else's aircraft maybe, but not ours!.
It goes without saying that such fun and games were never
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attempted without a lot of airspace under us. At least 7000ft. of it to make sure that to make sure of recovery if anything did go wrong, and I loved every minute of it.
On the 9th we were back to mining in the Frisian [sic] Islands this time, in the approaches to Wilhelmshaven and Bremerhaven. There was a lot of flak going up from the islands or ships but we had gone in on track fairly low and as soon as the mines had gone down we went again, skimming the wave tops and once more we skirted all the defences finally arriving back at base with no more problems other than just feeling tired even if it was one of the shorter trips.
Someone did mention to Mac that he was likely to slam into the side of a flak ship one night but he reckoned he would always jink around it before they could bring any guns to bear.
[line of stars]
Among the odd jobs that cropped up between operations were trips to pick up a crew or part of one that had diverted or pranged somewhere, or taking a crew to pick up an aeroplane after it had been repaired. Every day it was something different, and some nights as well with a mass exercise to test some procedure or just to keep the enemy guessing. Spoof exercises were boring but very worthwhile as it put the German defences on the alert only to find that the force had turned away half way across the North Sea.
Mac still went out of his way to practice low flying and I recall with shame the number of sailing boats all over the Broads that we capsized with our slipstream as we steamed along with about 200mph on the clock.
It seemed funny at the time anyway. Especially the poor bloke on a bike who was wobbling all over the place as he was looking over his shoulder at a massive Stirling at about 30ft bearing down on him, to be finally flung, bike and all, into the dyke.
None of it was authorised of course but Mac always used to say that if the flight authorisation book was annotated 'local flying' it looked suprisingly [sic] like 'low flying' and that is what he would be doing for as long as he could get away with it.
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On the 24th we were briefed for a raid on the docks and the U.Boat construction plants at Hamburg with a maximum effort being called for.
Every available aircraft was put on; many with 'scratch' crews drawn from the operations staff. This was one with a difference!. The briefing was long and detailed as we were going to drop 'Window' for the first time.
'Window' was the code name for the bundles of foil strips that were to be discharged from aircraft at a steady rate from a given position en route and as every aircraft in the force was contributing it was expected to cause such a smother of signals on the enemy radar that it would be quite impossible to track individual aircraft. It sounded like a good idea to me and I was quite content to spend a lot of time shoving that stuff down the flare chute if it was going to keep us out of trouble.
It did work and losses were cut considerably despite the fact that three of the Stirling force failed to return out of a total of 791 aircraft dispatched. Nine others were also missing.
It was a fairly long flight of 6 hours 55 mins. but was without incident until we were over base on return. Someone ahead of us had done a 'swinger' and blocked the runway so we were diverted to Mildenhall and it was a strange bed for the night for us. The arrangements for diverted crews were a bit rough and ready. After debriefing we were given bedding and then had to hump it, with all of our other gear, around the camp, through the main gate to the pre-war airmens married quarters which were being used as barracks, and we finally flopped into hastily made beds in the kitchen of one of them, dead beat. I'm sure we could have slept the clock around but it was not to be.
We were hauled out of our beds at mid-day by the RAF Police as there was a panic to get back to base. We had no time to have a drink or a meal or clean our teeth or wash or shave. It was a mad scramble to get out to the aircraft as quickly as possible after returning the bedding. That basically is what caused my problem. It was not until we had got airborne that I realised that in the 'flap' I had left my flight bag in the billet and that was
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serious. Among the contents of that bag were secret code books but Mac was adament [sic] when I asked for a turn round. His comment was simply "hard luck". so when I reported the loss on return to base the cat really was among the pigeons.
It was a long time before the enquiry was concluded.
I could have shortened the period, and certainly Mac was soon wishing he had turned-back but he would not take me over later in his car, or lend it to me (not that I had a driving licence), so we had to put up with a Squadron Leader chasing us all around for statements. It must have been time consuming and frustrating for him when we kept disappearing into the protection of the briefing room which were 'off-limits' to him.
The bag was eventually recovered from where I said it was. It was in one of the cupboards in the kitchen where we spent the night. (I had put it there for safety!), and later I got a formal reprimand for my sins. It did not make a lot of difference in the long run.
[line of stars]
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Nevertheless, I was feeling very apprehensive about the outcome of the oversight as we set course for base, air testing the aircraft on the way, and once the loss was reported I was issued with a new kit before we dashed off to try and get a few hours more sleep and a clean up. There was not much time to spare as we were on the Battle Order again. Hence the panic to get us back!.
Even then none of us felt particularly wide awake as we dragged ourselves into the briefing room once more. This time to be briefed for a raid on the Krupps complex at Essen.
Essen was considered to be one of the hottest targets in the Ruhr, being right in the middle with some fairly formidable defences to work our way through.
It was a case of running the gauntlet for a long time with a big of a wiggle here and there to dodge the ack-ack and the searchlights that someone else had stirred up but nevertheless, around Essen itself it was pretty fearsome.
Somehow we got through it and were homeward bound just wanting our beds but it was not to be. Routine W/T (Wireless Telegraphy-morse) broadcasts from Group HQ confirmed that the weather had indeed taken a turn for the worse, as we had been warned about at briefing.
Fog was forming all over East Anglia and we did not have a lot of reserve fuel. We had carried a maximum bomb load instead so someone at Group HQ planning must have been keeping his fingers crossed. The problem was that there were a lot of pilots wanting to get on the ground quickly as the low swirling fog was thickening up rapidly.
The countryside was covered in almost 100% cotton wool with church spires and masts sticking up through it and it did not make it easy to find a runway underneath it.
Our diversion was to Waterbeach and by the time we arrived on the scene it was going full blast. Aircraft were milling around over the top burning up precious fuel and others who had been called in had made missed approaches and rejoined those circling so when we were called in without too much delay Mac pulled out all the stops and made it first time on the BABS (Blind Approach Beam System), much to the relief of all concerned.
There was a lot of nail biting and it did not improve matters
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when we actually passed over one flaming wreck on the final approach. We had made it but some others holding off near the coast ran out of fuel and had to abandon with the inevitable loss of life due to parachute failures, crash landings and drownings.
At least we were home and dry once more even if it was going to be another cold and somewhat damp bed for the night, which was more than could be said for some poor blokes. Nothing at all was heard from another six Stirlings, Three of then from our Squadron. There was another large gap in the ranks that would need filling!.
The weather had cleared up by mid-morning and we were hauled out of our beds again feeling more dead than alive, with another panic to get back to base as we were on the Battle Order yet again!.
I must confess that at the time I felt that we were really pushing our luck.
"Willie' did not come up to scratch as we airtested it on the way back. We had actually taken off with what would normally have been an unacceptable 'mag' drop being unladen but it really did not make a lot of difference so we handed it over to the ground crew to sort out and once again we went through the same procedure as before. Grabbing some sleep, cleaning ourselves up etc. but when it came to briefing time 'W' still had not become serviceable despite Mac's rantings and ravings. He and Paddy had spent quite a lot of time out at the dispersal with their sleeves rolled up. We were allocated EF492 which someone else had air tested.
It finally resolved itself as the operation was cancelled almost immediately after the briefing. That was one time I was very relieved when the 'op. scrubbed' message came through considering the diabolical weather that had been forecast.
Despite the extra time that was available 'W' still failed to give satisfactory engine responses even after they changed all the plugs, ignition leads and magneto's on the troublesome engine so we were still down for EF492 when we were briefed on the following day for Hamburg yet again.
'Windowing' was the routine once more starting long before we entered the flak and fighter belt.
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The only break in that routine was when the flare was loaded as we once again approached the target in the midst of the docklands complex.
There was a lot of chatter and excitement from those up front as we got nearer. I went forward to join Pete who had virtually abandoned his charts about fifty miles from the city. There was absolutely no doubt where the target was. No spoof target fire could have possibly looked like that.
There was a damn great fire up ahead that, obliterated any aiming point so we jostled ourselves into the stream and Hoppy aimed for the middle.
The scene was almost beyond description, with a carpet of fires delineated by the waterways and streets with bursting bombs and other erupting areas of fire with photo flashes and flak tracers climbing lazily into the sky. Probing fingers of searchlights and cascading chandeliers of red and green Pyrotechnic markers.
It was an obsolutely [sic] apalling [sic] inferno down below us. It was sea of flame with smoke reaching up almost to our height to even penetrate the aircraft which bounced and bucked in the updraft.
I had never seen anything like it before and it was a long time before the flames faded into the distance as we left it all behind us. The rear gunner reckoned that he could still see them nearly 100 miles away and everyone was wondering what could have caused such a conflagration. We were to find out later that a combination of freak conditions had caused what was to be known as the 'firestorm’ but it was with some relief that we eventually arrived back at Chedburgh, into a hut now full of new people and to flop into our own untidy beds ready to sleep for a week.
[line of stars]
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We had another free day before the next operation was scheduled.
A day of rest and an opportunity to write to my parents, who, although they never showed their feelings in their letters about the family must have dreaded each day for what news it might bring them, knowing what I was doing. But the following day we were on the Battle Order once again.
We had a shock when we found that the target was Hamburg once more, and there seemed something sinister in going for the place so soon after the last attack that surely must have torn the heart out of the place.
EF433 was back in business as they had sorted it out at last and we had a rough time weaving in and out of a multi searchlight cone and concentrations of flak as we approached the target area. Once again it was a combination of Mac's skill in weaving about and a fair slice of luck. It was not surprising that our gunners were getting a bit 'twitchy' by this time, and so would I have been in their situation. One moment of slackening concentration on their part and we could easily be one of the 'flamers' we saw all too often so when Ralph blasted away at a shadow that swept across the top of us without warning the very fact that he identified it as a Halifax almost immediately was taken for granted. We learned later that Ralph's fire had been accurate enough to have wounded the Halifax engineer in the foot!. It was unfortunate but it really was a case of shoot first and ask questions afterwards. A split second hesitation and there was no second chance if it had been a roaming night fighter trying to drop something nasty on us. We had been warned about that possibility.
Worst things could happen in the 'stream' with hundreds of aircraft converging on one spot with a night visibility of 500 to 600 yds. at best. Collisions were always a possibilty [sic] despite the attempts to achieve separation in the planning, but if someone was out is his timing, and at the wrong height that was it. What the Halifax was doing at our height and mixed up with the Stirlings is anyone's guess. Pete was adament [sic] that we were on time but a total of six Stirlings were lost that night despite the protection of 'Window' and other methods that were being used to give us some cover.
The Special Duties Force had all sorts of tricks up their sleeve
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to confuse and jamb the German fighter control system including German speaking operators on board to imitate their controllers and transmit spurious instructions.
They played merry hell with the system causing Luftwaffe pilots to continuously change channels and in the general confusion they were soon forced to make some drastic changes and then the main force joined in as soon as they entered the fighter belt. Every aircraft transmitted noise on a selection of frequencies which overlapped and were manipulated in such a way as to produce a solid spread of noise across their operating band.
It caused a buzz of excitement when this was detailed at briefing but was Mac was still reluctant to have our main transmitter in use. It produced a typical comment, "It's all very well these clever sods deciding that we will do this and that and the other, but I'm not having a fighter home on our transmissions right up our chuff".
Nevertheless, I had my orders and I could appreciate the value of it. He was finally convinced when I asked him try to listen into the din that was going out on the airways. There was a solid spread of noise from hundreds of aircraft using a microphone in an engine housing feeding to the transmitter. It blotted out everything else so I was allowed to add my bit. Operation 'Tinsel' was good value as far as I was concerned.
Once more the journey was made over the North Sea which always looked so angry and inhospitable when there was sight of it. The very thought of finishing up in the 'oggin' filled me with dread but that was the way so many went following an emergency signal going out at frantic speed to the fixer service. If the sender was lucky it would be followed by a long transmission when the key was clamped down before he dived for his crash position and the transmission ceased when the inevitable occurred.
Everyone who heard those transmissions logged whatever they heard and a D/F bearing if they managed to get one although the transmission would be acknowledged smartly by the base operator for the benefit of all those that might be listening.
The sender would no longer be listening. He would have far more important things to occupy his mind; if he had been lucky!.
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It was not always easy to ditch copy-book style, with the tail down, along the bottom of the swell, exactly at the right speed, at night, and with the aircraft flying like a brick lavatory. Maybe without even a qualified pilot at the controls. But some made it just the same and the rescue services did the rest.
For us once more there were the dulcet tones of the WRAF in the control tower when Mac called for landing instructions, and eventually after all the paraphinalia [sic] had been attended to; to climb into a cold and untidy bed, for most of us, in the same state as we had got out of it!.
The next night we were off to Remchiede [sic] in the Ruhr and marking was carried out to the ultimate. Something different was being tried. There were route markers, turning point markers, target markers, back up markers and shifters, but it was not to Mac's liking. It might have helped to place more bombs in the right place but it also seemed to be an invitation to the night fighters to concentrate their efforts in a nicely defined corridor.
That was the night I did something that I only ever did the once. We were carrying a second pilot on his first operational trip. Paddy spent most of his time in the astro dome, the flare was loaded and there was no window to throw out so I was virtually 'spare'. I retired to my armour plated seat, receiver volume turned right up so that I would be alerted at the first signs of a transmission; and then I dozed off!. At that point in time I decided that if I was going to get killed I did not want to know about it.
It is not possible to go right off in such circumstances so I was still conscious of thumps, bounces and weaving sensations but we still sailed right through it all although eight other Stirling were not so lucky. Two of them from our Squadron!.
[line of stars]
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There was hardly time to get our breath back before we were at it again. We went through the old familiar routine and there were a few gasps when we found that the target was Hamburg once more.
In the meantime a story had gone around in respect of an NCO crew who had turned up for a briefing in their best uniforms, having told their commissioned captain in advance that they were refusing to go, but when they announced that fact to all and sundry that they really had had enough after their last rough trip there was one hell of a commotion. They had all been placed under close arrest and were stripped of their rank and aircrew insignia after which they finished up in the ‘glasshouse'. Subsequently, when they had completed their term they were employed in the Sgt's Mess of another operational station with the glaring signs of removed badges for all to see………and lesson to everyone!.
How much truth there was in that story is anyone's guess but it did show up the anomaly in the aircrew set up that everyone was well aware of.
Despite the fact that all aircrew were volunteers once you were in that was it. There was no going back and staying that you did not like it or you did not want to do it, on moral or any other grounds. You were stuck with it.
Failure or refusal to carry out your duty in the air was classified as LMF. (Lack of Moral Fibre) and led immediately to a Courts Martial. The action was swift although there was a subtle difference between that charge and 'cowardice in the face of the enemy'.
I am sure that a lot of people who were justifiably scared out of their wits still pressed on rather than give way and be labelled with that stigma. In many cases the condition was recognised by other crew members and the individual often 'rested' on medical. grounds which eventually sorted the chap out one way or the other.
In this particular case where there was more than one person involved it was much more serious and no doubt could have been construed as mutiny rather than LMF. It begs the question of how a similar problem would have been dealt with in either of the other services. I have a fairly good idea...but this was
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the Air Force way!!!!!!!.
The briefing was well under way and everyone did their little bit until it finally came to the Met. man's turn.
He commenced to put up a chart such as I had never seen before; or since.
It was smothered in the usual blue and-red symbols of high and low pressure systems. Warm fronts. Cold fronts. Occluded fronts, and the craziest pattern of isobars that looked as if they had been put on by a demented spider.
There was a buzz of anticipation as he finished pinning up his chart, then he turned around, coughed nervously and confessed that he had not got a clue.
What a brave chap!.
The announcement was greeted with good natured hoots, howls, and whistles accompanied by the stamping of feet until, he had an opportunity to explain that the situation was very complex and that it was impossible to draw up really accurate forecast. This was the best that he could do.
His forecast was absolutely grim. We were to expect anything and everything. There were no soft options.
He probably did not realise at the time that all the noise we had made was little more than a cover for the twinges we nearly all had in our guts.
His chart may have been a joke but the weather was not. There were umpteen layers of cloud with heaped up cumulous and dirty great Cumulo [sic] Nimbus embedded in the layers with the most incredible wind sheers in them that was a navigators nightmare quite apart from the fact that if you did happen to be unfortunate enough to blunder into the worst of that it was enough to tear your wings off with updrafts and downdrafts of around 100mph adjacent to each other!.
We encountered ice, snow, hail, rain, thunder and lightning and even that rare phenomenae [sic] 'St Elmo's fire' that lit up the aircraft with a silvery blue glow of discharged static electricity around all of it's extremeties [sic] including the propellors that were turned into enormous catherine wheels.
Mac fought the elements and that aeroplane for hours as it bucked, bounced, and groaned with every lurch. We couldn't get above it so there was only one way....onward!
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Hail about the size of marbles hammered us until we thought that every piece of perspex must give way under the onslaught but somehow we got through although we had to bomb under the parachute sky markers that the Pathfinders had been forced to drop above the diffused glow of the doomed city below us.
It must have been too much for some. It was a shocking night all round. For us as well as Hamburg. We lost thirty aircraft altogether and another 50 were badly damaged, without a doubt as much by the elements than by enemy action and on the whole it is not suprising [sic] that the bombing was scattered all over the place.
We were all utterly exhausted after that. None more so than Mac, and were very relieved to get back to base and flop into our beds again. We were very lucky. A lot of good blokes went to a more permanent resting place that night without achieving a lot on that ill fated mission.
There were some angry mutterings directed at the commanders who had made the decision to go out an such a night.
There is a story told of one Aussie pilot who was so incensed at the debriefing he insisted on phoning Group HQ and when he was connected fired a real Aussie broadside down the line. The story goes that when he had finished the person at the other end said "do you know who you are talking to?", "No" said our Aussie. "This is the C in C, Air Chief Marshall Harris" (short pause), the next question was from our Aussie friend, "do you knew who this is?" to which the C in C said "No". "Thank Christ far that" was the answer to that before the phone was promptly replaced!.
[underlined] Noel [/underlined]
Happy reading
[line]
and there are another 70 pages to ‘Water under the Bridge’ Part 1
[underlined] Alan [/underlined]
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On the lighter side there were a few evenings out together in Bury St Edmunds where someone had found a pub that was just right for us.
It was a back street 'spit and sawdust' place with the very apt name of 'The King William', and give us a common meeting place that we were otherwise denied as we were split between two Messes.
Mac used to get a small recreational petrol allowance for his car but it didn't go far. One or two sorties had proved fruitless as everywhere we went we seemed to be up to our armpits in aircrew and allied troops of all nations, and despite various reports about a certain pub having some beer we would be lucky to get in the door before they sold out. In others it was not unusual to get a watered pint. With war-time beer being limited to 2 1/2% alcohol to start with who wanted a watered pint! We most certainly didn't so once we found the 'King Willie' we kept very quiet about it.
The landlord and his wife had recently heard of a service bereavement in the family and when we turned up they virtually adopted us. We were treated like family and we could not have asked for more. In those days such a place that never ran out of beer, eggs and bacon, or time was the nearest thing to home. We probably spent more time in the private rooms than in the bar.
After 50 years that old `pub` no longer dispenses jars of ale. It has been converted into a private dwelling but the old pub sign boarding across the front that used to bear the name has been painted over, but it will always be the 'King Willie' as far as I am concerned.
I will always have a soft spot for that place and 'mine hosts'. There must have been times when Mac's elderly but mechanically perfect Triumph Dolomite was on auto pilot when we were on our way back from Bury after an excursion but it always did it without fuss even if it was grossly overloaded. Anyway, Mac was quite used to nursing a grossly overloaded machine and under the circumstances I never had any worries.
There was the consolation that of course if anything did go wrong; and one day it did when I was not with then, we would not have far to fall, and on occasions we were past caring.
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After a short break we were on the Battle Order again on the 10th August and that night we had a very close shave.
The targets were at Nuremburg, and everything was as normal as it could have been under such circumstances until we were in the final stages of the bombing run when Ralph suddenly snapped out "go port--go-go-go", and Mac threw the aircraft over without hesitation.
I searched around frantically to see what it was all about because I was as usual looking in the opposite direction to where Ralphs turret was pointing.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw a Lancaster no move than 100 feet above us, sliding diagonaly [sic] across, with a 'cookie'. 4000lb blast bomb just leaving it's bomb bay!.
That instant `jink' undoubtedly saved us as we actually felt the displacement of air buffet us as it passed within a few feet of us between the mainplane and tailplane....and then it was gone. So was the Lanc!
Whether we were late on target or the Lanc. was early, or why the Lanc. was at our height, or why the bomb aimer had not seen us goodness only knows. There were lots of theories put forward and Mac had a lot to say about it for a change.
Our own theory was that a new Lanc. crew had done a panic stricken dive to the target and were more intent on getting rid of their load and out of it, and we were well aware that such things did happen from the whispers that did the rounds.
Hoppy was more concerned that the manoeuvre had spoiled his bombing run and he had lost his initial aiming paint so all he could do was to dump the bombs into the inferno that was Nuremberg below us but we were still sweating over that incident for some time afterwards.
It certainly had the affect of increasing our vigilance in the future and we were not going to be caught out like that again if we could avoid it. Things were dangerous enough as it was without being 'bombed' by our own aircraft.
Sixteen aircraft failed to return that night and three of them were Stirlings out of the 119 Stirlings sent out!.
Despite the savage losses within the Stirling force we were
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off again on the 12th but from all around the briefing room there were sharp intakes of breath when we saw just how far the tapes stretched across the wall map, right down to Turin, Italy, and everyone knew immediately that it was going to be a 'hairy' one. Mainly because every Stirling crew member was only too well aware of just how high a Stirling would go. Even the Wellington and some of the 'oldies' could do better than us so we knew that there was no way we would be flying over the Alps...it had to be through them!. As the plan unfolded we soon learned that that was exactly what we were going to do. The bolt hole if in trouble was North Africa!. Our Stirlings were a standing joke in Bomber Command. Even WWI aircraft could get to greater altitudes. We were lucky in normal circumstances to get above 15,000ft fully loaded despite the fact that the Operations Order often called for heights that were unobtainable. There were occasions when we managed to 'claw' a bit more at the expense of high fuel consumption by using more revs and boost and with a bit of luck, climbing at a ridiculous 200 feet per minute with 5deg. of flap when it was possible to gain another 1000 to 1500ft before starting the run in to the target but it was not always a good idea as it reduced the airspeed at the most vulnerable time. It did of course produce an increase in airspeed in a nose down approach to the target but it was a 'swings and roundabout' situation. It was certainly a waste of time gaining height that way for any other reason as having achieved it it [sic] could not be held in level flight and would slowly sink back to it's own level like a waterlogged hippo. The net result was that we got the full treatment from both the medium and the heavy flak as well as being bombed by our own aircraft!. The die was cast and we were stuck with it and it seems appropriate to relate an incident as I recall it.
A New Zealand pilot of 214 Squadron received a replacement rebuilt machine and to his delight he found that it out-performed any other Stirling that he had ever flown and kept singing it's praises until the news got around and an investigation was started to try and find out all about this 'Super' Stirling.
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All sorts of people flew it and sure enough it went up to around 20,000ft feet just like a Lanc. and there was much scratching of heads. Then they brought the jigs in from the repair depot, (SEBRO), at Cambridge and the matter was solved. They found out that the tailplane was out of incidence, so they promptly put it back to the 'correct' specification and 'presto', it was back to what a Stirling should be.
It might have solved the technical problem but it did not help the pilot much. He was so peeved about that he refused to fly it until it was changed back and he was threatened with disciplinary action but it was overcome by allocating him another 'normal' aircraft so he had to fly that or face the consequences. My recollection of the final verdict is that the powers that be decided that an incorrectly rigged tailplane could cause a structural failure in flight and that was the last word as far as I am aware. Stirlings continued to be produced to the same specification and displayed the same problem right to the end of it's days, even when many were converted or built as Mk.lV and Mk.V transports that were subsequently to be found littered around airfields all over the world.
I think most of us at that time would have been prepared to have taken a chance if there had been a choice of the two evils and Mac summed it up in his own inimitable way. "Bloody stupid sods", but since there was no choice through the Alps it was.
At the other end of the spectrum there was another `rogue' aircraft that arrived on the Squadron after a rebuild but it must have had a very limited test flight prior to delivery. Rogue is hardly the word that it's crew called it after air testing It. It creaked and groaned. The wing tips fluttered and it could not be trimmed from a lop-sided attitude in flight. Despite the most careful handling it showed great reluctance to exceed 9,000ft and was finally landed very delicately as it seemed that it was about to fall apart. It still took another independent short air test to confirm it's condition before it was promptly grounded and handed back to engineering!.
Despite the problems with the aircraft and the conditions encountered in flying right down to the South of France, skirting around Switzerland and heading through the mountains the Fiat factory......
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in Turin received our calling card but Mac was not at all happy with the return journey.
We had used a lot of fuel as a result of the engine settings that he had insisted on as we had weaved in and out of the mountain tops and to make matters worse it seemed to be getting light much earlier than anticipated.
The planned route was given up in favour of a straight line course for home shores and in the improving light Mac went down to deck level to get under radar cover and to make sure that no-one could get underneath us.
There was little I could do. Radio communication was out of the question even if it had been needed. We were far to low for reeling out the trailing aerial without loosing it so I went into the front turret as all of the others up front concentrated on map reading and safety look-out.
We were scudding along and were about 30 to 40 miles South of Paris when Mac let out a yell, "all gunners stand-by.....open bomb doors". He had spotted something that looked like a good place to jettison the incendiary containers. That 'something' appeared to be a German troops early morning parade forming up in a barrack square and we blasted into the parade ground leaving a very nasty mess behind us from front and rear guns as well as the containers.
That got rid of a bit of weight and we continued to steam along until we came to the shores of the Normandy coast where we spotted what looked like another troop assembly for morning bathing which we blasted into as well leaving that area rather messed up as well.
It did seem as if Mac's apptitude [sic] for low level flying was paying off as we had no-one chasing us so we stayed down low until half way across the Channel by which time I had vacated the front turret then it was back up to height, IFF on for radar identification, and on to base.
Mac had his own reasons for imposing a discreet silence about that episode despite what might have been a considerable contribution to the war effort. As far as anyone else was concerned we had dumped the containers and fired off the ammunition in the Channel to lose weight but having run for home more or less in in a straight line we got it........
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in the neck for arriving home early, a little earlier than others. There was even an accusation that we might not have even been to Turin and Pete's charts were impounded, but the target photo proved that we had. What they thought we had been doing for 7hrs 25mins. I really do not know but it was not very pleasant until we were proved to be in the clear but our unauthorised activities were [underlined] never [/underlined] reported.
The relief of crossing home shores again on the return journey was always an anti-climax as there were many hidden dangers on the home run with most of the crew drained by the physical and mental concentration of picking a safe pasage [sic] through enemy defences.
It was too easy to relax too soon with the gunners fighting the overwhelming desire to close their eyes, and even up front it was just as easy to be lulled by the steady throb of carefully synchronised engines with the aircraft flying itself on auto-pilot, particularly during the dark hours.
It was not unknown for the occasional Luftwaffe fighter bomber to infiltrate the home going bomber screen [sic] with a chance of shooting one down or following it through the radar screen to his base to shoot him down when he was most vulnerable during the landing and to give the base a plastering as well.
There was one occasion that I thought Mac had gone barmy when we were homeward bound over the sea and he called me up to take over his seat whilst he went down the rear. The night was as black as a coal cellar otherwise I am quite sure that I would never have had that opportunity but I dread to think of what might have happened if we had been bounced.
Of course, Paddy, in the right hand seat was quite capable of flying the aircraft within certain limits should an emergency arise, that was part of the job. So could Hoppy and although I had done several hours in the Link trainer (Flight simulator) my own efforts were very limited. My best effort was when I had an outside horizon but I was not very good on instruments alone and with the hood down. Under those circumstances I invariably 'pranged' it by losing control so when on that occasion I sat there gingerly making adjustments to the controls; as I thought, Paddy said after a few minutes "easy isn't it?", and when I nodded he added, "especially on auto-pilot"!. Rotten
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swine, and I thought that I had been doing so well to keep it straight and level.
After that I just sat there until it was time to return to my radio compartment to take a routine broadcast. Then I knew why I had been afforded the privilege of a front seat.
There was Mac, comfortably seated on the Elsan toilet down the back end, smoking a cigar, seemingly without a care in the world. Skippers privilege; no-one else was allowed to smoke!.
After the last operation we learned that three Stirlings had failed to return and one of them was from our Squadron.
The briefing on the 16th was for the long haul down to Turin again but we had an engine pack up 1 1/2 hours out and we were forced to return. With obstacles like the Alps to contend with it was no time to invite trouble but it seemed a terrible thing to do to jettison about 1000 gallons of precious fuel over the bombing range at Thetford followed by the bombs. It all had to go to get the aircraft down to landing weight but not all of the bombs went down safe. They never did. If the arming links did not release from their clips the pins were pulled and they went down live.
I remember only too well the occasions when as an airman on the very range, looking after the flashing beacon that there were some hair raising incidents. I have always maintained that the safest place was the target area. Being 2000 yards from it was no guarantee that you would not get earth thrown in your face,.....even when the Lufwaffe [sic] had a go at knocking out the light. At least on those occasions it gave me a bit of fun then with the Bren gun!.
We were certainly more rested than those who had done the full round trip when we found out that there was another operation planned for the 17th.
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Excitement mounted when the Battle Order was posted calling for a maximum effort and every available aircraft and crew was on the board to start with although it was whittled down for various reasons as time went on. We were allocated a 2nd pilot as EF433 was still undergoing an engine change so we were down for EE945 but it seemed a struggle to get many serviceable.
There were gasps and whistles as the wall map was uncovered. The tapes went right out across Demark and jinked about all over the place before they ultimately took up a course for Berlin from a turning point on the German Baltic coast very close to the Polish border. That was the crafty bit. We had been going on that route with variations for some time but that time we were not going to Berlin but to some place by the name of PEENEMUNDE.
The briefing was lengthy and very detailed. We were going in at medium height in bright moonlight to attack an experimental radar establishment (so we were told) and there was an order of the day from the man himself, 'Bomber Harris' to the effect that we were expected to press home the attack with the utmost vigour, and that if we did not knock the place out the first time we would be going back again the next night to finish it off.
Apparently Peenemunde was very special and I did not like the sound of that any more than the rest of our brief.
The aiming point for our wave was the quarters of the technical staff with the intention of killing as many as possible and the other waves would deal with the research and manufacturing plant. There was a lot of quiet whistling through clenched teeth at that announcement. It had a particularly dirty feeling about it to set out to deliberately kill people although we were not so naive not to be aware that the type of bombing that we were engaged in invariably took it's toll of innocent civilians including women and children. Somehow this felt different.
The Pathfinder technique was something new too. We had a 'Master of Ceremony's', who would be flying around the target broadcasting target and marker information to keep the bombing concentrated in the right place. A very dodgy process at low level and under a lot of falling bombs so Mac had to keep his R/T set on whether he liked the idea or not.
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Despite the maximum effort called for all the Squadron could muster was four serviceable aircraft and in fact only a total of 54 Stirlings were committed so we were not the only unit having difficulty in keeping aircraft flying but we got off and were under way without any trouble.
It was a long trip taking a Northerly route across the North Sea with many feint turns to keep the enemy guessing until we eventually turned South to cross the Island of Rugen with the head of the stream pointing to Berlin but in that case using the island as a final navigational check point to line us up with Peenemunde.
In such a bright moonlight night dozens of aircraft could be seen lining up but the rear gunner spotted one that seemed to be lining Itself up on us and it was not one of ours!. He kept an eye on it until he was sure of it's intentions and then there was a sharp warning, "fighter low, corscrew [sic] starboard, go" and opened fire as he spoke.
There was a lot of firing from both gunners as banked and dived followed by a yell from the rear gunner "got him" as the would be attacker went diving earthwards with smoke and flame pouring from him.
We soon levelled out again with the target area now clearly lit up ahead by markers, exploding bombs and fires. The Flak was very light and the target stuck out like a 'sore thumb' although there was a little confusion about the precise aiming point. The MC had been a bit late in giving corrections to bomb upwind and to one side of the markers but Hoppy had already locked on to his target and it was too late to do anything about it once the button was pressed, He always maintained that he went for the correct target anyway as it was obvious that the markers were out of place but there was a lot happening around us and there was more excitement to come.
The bomb bay doors had just closed when Mac suddenly ordered "guns stand-by-fighter dead ahead" and I swung around in the astro-dome to see an Me.110 about 200 yds ahead going from left to right with the crew plainly silhouetted in the cockpit by the light of the moon.
In the time that it had taken me to turn around Mac had already
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rammed on full power, banking right and Hoppy was scrambling into his turret. Ralph was rapidly rotating forward but it was a forlorn hope that we might do something effective. There was no way a thirty tonner was going to produce the sort of urge [sic] that was necessary and we soon lost him as he went into the dark side. I don't suppose the German crew even saw us.
The intercom was a bit lively after that as we cleared the target area and finally headed for home. The fighters were showing signs of getting very busy and there was evidence of combats all around us so it was not surprising that Mac did his usual and to hell with orders to climb away from the target. I heard him explaining to our co-pilot that he did not think it was a good idea to reduce his airspeed to about 150mph in those conditions and our co-pilot was learning a few things too. It must have paid off for him anyway. He stayed with the Squadron to the end advancing from Sgt to Sqdn.Ldr. and with a DFC.!.
Mac did the very opposite to the briefed instructions by shoving the throttles right forward with the nose down and 'high-tailed' it out of there like a scalded cat and kept it going until we were down to about 2000ft which we maintained over Denmark before climbing again.
We got home without any more trouble. The rear gunner had his claim of a `kill' of a Do.217 confirmed by other sightings although it was never acknowledged in the record books and fortunately we didn't have to go there again. We had well and truly put the place out of business and the Yanks made sure that it was unlikely to recover.
It was long afterwards that we learned that the so called 'radar delelopements [sic] ' at Peenemunde were in fact the V1 and V2 rocket research and developement [sic] that had received top priority, but at a terrible cost.
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The raid had cost us 41 aircraft including one Mosquito over Berlin where a diversionary attack was-going in. Of the two Stirlings lost one was from our Squadron and we lost not only the 'A' Flight Commander and another 'freshman' pilot who was down as second pilot.
Altogether there were nearly 300 casualties of which 131 had a been consigned to watery graves; never to be found!.
Later on some more interesting facts emerged. Apparently the Luftwaffe had dispatched their night fighters to Berlin at first due to the Mosquito's stirring things up and in the excitement they had a fine old time shooting each other up; and down, before it became obvious that the main raid was-somewhere else. Then the fighters were diverted to the Peenemunde area and other units were alerted.
The net result was that when the whole flock descended to land, very short of fuel, on diversionary airfields it was every man for himself and quite a number were lost in mid-air collisions and taxying accidents.
One significant loss that could be attributed to that episode was that the senior General of the Peenemunde production staff was among the many casualties and production was put back sufficiently to gain time for the introduction of countermeasures when they did finally launch them.
[line of stars]
I was not sorry when we found ourselves free for a few days as we waited for the nights to get darker and for nearly 300 air-crew and 40 aircraft to be replaced; but it was only a few days.
On the 23rd August EF433 was back in business again and we were off once more. The target was Berlin; the 'Big City' as it was known to aircrew. It no longer gave us any cause for concern when the target was announced....we had been well and truly blooded, so off we went again although it was not without a spot of bother.
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It seemed that there were battles going on all around us with intense activity for a long time. There were 'flamers' going down in all directions and we were all keeping a very sharp look-out whilst Mac weaved about so that at times we could see below us but we were lucky again even when Mac had to take some very lively action to duck out of a searchlight cone that definitely had our number.
The pale blue high intensity radar controlled master light locked onto us first and then a number of others joined in and chased us around all around the sky.
We had seen that situation often enough to know that once you were trapped in that lot there would be a fighter not far away waiting to finish us off if the concentration of flak did not get us first; and the flak got [underlined] very [/underlined] concentrated.
That was no time to just 'corkscrew'. Throttles forward, fine pitch, nose down to increase speed and then Mac more or less played tag with them as they chased us but he used some very rapid changes of direction before they could reverse.
That night was perhaps the most desperate searchlight situation we had ever been in. On occasions the whole interior of the aircraft was illuminated as plain as day and it was like being a fly caught in a spiders web but eventually Mac's tactics paid off as we broke free. We were very glad to get home again after that.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that the relatively quiet earlier missions were a stroke of luck as we were now having to fight our way through almost every time. The odds in favour of us completing a tour were shortening considerably, and to make matters worse the flying time was getting longer. The last three ops. had all been over seven hours and Berlin was nearer eight, and 56 aircraft had been lost on that raid, 16 of them Stirlings!. The beds in our hut were getting new occupants before we even got to know the previous one's!.
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No-one seemed to be getting posted away or 'tour expired'. There was always someone from the 'committee of adjustment' gathering up the possessions of those who would have no further use for them unless they had been particularly lucky.
As far as we were concerned it was still not a subject of conversation although we were a little superstitious about the situation. Despite the fact that our beds were scattered about the hut none of us ever moved from the beds that we first flopped into so that we could be grouped together, although it would have got some of us away from draughty doors and windows.
We just stayed put as the occupants of the others changed regularly and I learned later that Mac and Pete had adopted exactly the same procedure!. Among the most recent casualties that brought things rather sharply into focus was the loss of another McDonald, (slightly different spelling), ex 214 Squadron, on the last operation. We had got to know him and his crew quite well as they were the most experienced, and we had wished them 'Good Luck' as they left the briefing room.
It was his 30th and final operation before being rested and it was a long time later that I learned that only his W/Op. had survived as a POW. Apparently, at the last moment, on leaving the briefing room, he had been offered the chance to stand down and finish his tour there and then but the crew voted to turn it down!. It did not help to reflect on the fact that when the Squadron had been formed there was a McDonald, a MacDonald and a Macdonald. One, Sgt MacDonald had already goes missing on the 25th July, so we were the only one left!.
As usual, despite the long trip the night before, we reported to the flight office in the early afternoon where we learned of the Squadron's loss, hoping as usual, that we would be 'stood down'. Some were but for Mac and I it was a different story.
For us there was a flight detail with some S/Ldr Staff Officer from Group HQ who for some reason wanted to demonstrate the 'corkscrew'.
I don't know why it was us. Perhaps Mac had volunteered again
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as we suspected he did an occasions, but as it only required a minimum crew of three for such details the others were sent off. There was no Battle Order on the board so they did not need a second telling. They were off like scalded cats!.
It was no real problem with two pilots up front so I was down as 'gunner' for the flight and there was a chance that we might learn something new although we had certainly done our share of 'corkscrewing'; and a bit more the previous night when Mac had got into an energetic but still smooth manoeuvre in such a way that it did not communicate the extent of the motion to the back-side. The evidence of that was that Pete, sitting in his darkened 'office' doing his sums, was only half aware of what was going on apart from the occasional interior illumination, came on the intercomm [sic] and nervously suggested to Mac that he "chuck it about a bit"!. That was a bit of a surprise to the rest of the crew. I knew that we were being 'chucked about,' quite a lot. How else was it that I was in my seat and often getting glimpses of the ground through the the [sic] Astro dome on [inserted] the [/inserted] [underlined] top [/inserted] of the aircraft.
When we got out to EF433 I was more concerned with the pre-flight checks of both mid-upper and rear gun turrets in case I had to make a dive for one of them in the event of an intruder chancing his luck, and then basically I was a passenger.
I was a little surprised to see Mac in the right hand seat as I took up my position on the flight deck between the two pilots as we started up and taxied out…..even then I was getting alarm signals in my sensitive parts as I was subjected to an G experience that was rare since flying with Mac.
The brakes squeeled [sic] and shrieked and the aircraft rocked and a lurched about until finally it was heaved off of the runway in about the clumsiest take-off I could ever remember and into a climbing turn that seemed to strain every rivet. And that was before we corkscrewed!.
After climbing to about 5000ft with the engines bellowing I was listening to this chap explaining to Mac how it should be done but it still caught me by suprise [sic] when he went into the most violent, wildest manoeuvre that I had ever thought possible. The wing tips must have flexed by about 6ft although I did not know for sure as I was brought to my knees by the 'G' forces
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one minute and was floating to the roof the next desperately trying to hang onto something to avoid being thrown around the cockpit and possibly finishing up in someone's laps. Even so I could not avoid noticing a purple tinge developing around Mac's neck that had nothing to do with 'G' forces. As it went on he was obviously getting very angry and not learning a lot!.
Eventually he got very emotional as he turned to the other pilot and the intercom [deleted] n [/deleted] fairly sizzled with an outburst that contained phrases like, "how dare you treat my aeroplane like this" and "what the bloody hell do you think we were doing over Berlin last night" and "what the bloody hell do you think the gunners are supposed to be doing whilst all this is going on" and a lot more besides which is unprintable. An argument ensued, the outcome of which was that Mac finished by telling the other pilot to relinquish control by his "I have control....now sit back and you might bloody well learn something". I crept away somewhat embarrassed and took up my position in the mid-upper turret reporting in when I was established and I soon knew how Ralph felt as Mac put us through the same manoeuvres as we had done the night before, (and he was driving from the right hand seat), with no further comment from the visitor.
At least, being in a gunner situation for a change I learned the value of keeping my eyeballs in their sockets which is more than I would have done if the other chap had been driving!.
Having got that off of his chest we headed straight back to base and landed with the Squadron Leader still fuming at the indignity of being lambasted by a Flying Officer, so he stamped away from the aircraft with a flea in his ear!.
Mac left him to his own arrangements to get back to the flight office whilst we spent a long time looking around the aircraft for signs of sprung rivets and other signs of over stressing like wrinkled skin.
Mac was muttering darkly all the time about "ham fisted buggers" and other uncomplementary [sic] remarks that are unprintable.
He was more vocal than I had ever heard him and definitely not impressed that 'Sir' had not done as many ops as we had!.
No doubt the demonstration was well intentioned even if it was a case of 'teaching grandma to suck eggs'.
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On the 27th we were in the briefing room again to find that targets in Nurnburg [sic] were to receive our attention so off we went in the company of another 673 aircraft.
My recollections are that the flak was the worst I had ever seen so far. There seemed to be a solid wall of shell bursts in front of us as we closed in on the city, and 'flamers' were going down right left and centre.
At briefing it had been mentioned that the night fighters were likely to be repeating some new tactics that had already had some success; as far as they were concerned anyway.
It confirmed our suspicions that something different was going on.
Previously the fighters had kept clear of the ack-ack and waited until they saw someone in trouble before going in for the kill but they had started getting in among us and having a go at anything they saw regardless of the possibility of being hit by their own stuff. Between those operating those tactics and others using AI (Airborne Interception Radar) they were beginning to knock us down like clay pigeons.
The searchlight/flak/fighter combination was lethal under those conditions and between them accounted for the loss of 33 aircraft, 11 of them Stirlings from a force of 104. [underlined] Three [/underlined] of them were from our Squadron detail of seven that had ultimately got under way. The loss of nearly 50% really knocked the stuffing out of us. None of them had been with us for more than a few weeks and one of the pilots had flown with us as co-pilot recently.
At this point I was hoping that a spot of leave would help to prolong things but it was not be.
After a brief rest the next place to receive our attention was Munchen-Gladbach [sic] on the 30th and this one started off on the wrong foot.
All was well until start-up when the starboard outer starter motor stripped when engaged.
It was not unnatural that most of the crew immediately started planning the evenings entertainment to occupy a bonus night off as we knew that there was no spare aircraft. I must confess that I had no knowledge of the starting handle!.
There was no reason why a wireless operator should I suppose
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although it was in our own interests of survival that we should know quite a lot about everyone else's [inserted] job [/inserted] . But that was some starting handle!.
Nearly 20 feet long, shoved through a hole in the engine casing to engage it, and with a large double. crank at the bottom designed for two people to turn it.
With Paddy in the cockpit juggling with throttles and mixture controls, and Mac jumping up and down shouting unprintable words of encouragement to the owners of [underlined] four [/underlined] pairs of arms, mine included, we cranked that engine until at last it spluttered into life and then we all piled aboard and got under way.
We soon made up for lost time by taking a few short cuts to catch up the force as there was no way that we were going to be a loner over enemy territory but I doubt it very much if many aircraft had been started that way to go on ops.
We had a bit of a skirmish later as we approached the target. The rear end Mac hollered and fired as we jinked away from an Me.109 which spun away pouring smoke and flame although we did not see what finally happened to him. We were far to busy searching for others as it was obvious that the fighters were very active all around us. McIlroy was only credited with a possible for that engagement.
There was no doubt that our two gunners were really on the ball as once again they had fired first but others were not so lucky and for one reason or another six Stirlings failed to return.
[line of stars]
We were briefed for Berlin on the 31st although there was some doubt about W becoming serviceable although they were half way through the starter motor change. In the event it was not rectified in time and at the last minute we were allocated EF117, but Mac was very peeved about it. It had not even been air tested!.
We did not get very far in it before we found that the rear guns would not fire and then the intercom went dead on us.
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Mac was fuming and we pressed on for a while desperately trying to rectify the faults without any success but he decided that we would not waste the trip or the bombs as we turned away from the enemy coast and diverted to overfly a place that most people tried to keep clear of; Texel, in the Frisian Islands. They started firing as we approached so it was taps open, speed up with a bit of a weave on and Hoppy planted the bombs as close as he could to the batteries and the searchlights. Their effort was certainly reduced as we turned away so perhaps we had done a bit of damage in the process. It was counted as an operation as we had been over enemy territory but there was one a hell of a row as the brief was to dump the bombs in the sea or jettison them on the Thetford range.
In addition there were even accusations of possible sabotage and collusion from higher up until the faults were proven to have been electrical malfunctions that could not have been fixed in the air. Mac was furious about the whole business but it did not help. One can only speculate on what the outcome might have been if we had not been forced to 'abort' the mission. There were 16 Stirlings lost that night out of the 57 dispatched. One of them from our Squadron!.
The gaps around the mess tables were getting noticeable again and if the absence of any entries in my log book is anything to go by we were sent on leave whilst the Stirling Force was being put together again.
I do vaguely remember one leave that started with a fair old session at the King Willie and I must have forgotten where I was as we pulled out of Bury. St. Edmunds station. Apparently I had to be restrained from dispensing leaflets out of the window!. Despite my indiscretion I still managed to retain some of them.
There were a few mining operations undertaken by new crews whilst we were away and on our return we were to find that one new crew had arrived and had already been lost in that short period. It was not long before we were back in the briefing room again to find that the target was the Dunlop factory at Montlucon, Italy, but it was another washout. We never even left home shores.
An engine seized shortly after getting airborne and we were
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obliged to jettison bombs and fuel on the range before landing. We were in 'W' and it had only done a few hours local flying whilst we had been away but sleeve valve Hercules engines really made a thorough job of it when they seized, so of course Mac was hopping mad.
We ail got blamed for the various things that had gone wrong and a lot of accusations were flung around in the heat of the moment. The frustration was understandable as we all knew that he was driving himself, and us, as hard as he could to get the tour over as quickly as possible but eventually he calmed down and we renewed our efforts.
[line of stars]
It was during our last leave that Mcllroy spent a few days with me and the family as we had a welcome break from the East Anglian scene.
We walked miles over the Downs at the back of Worthing where I had spent all my earlier days, and past the spot where in 1940 I had gazed in awe at a shot down Heinkel 111. although it was an area now that was not so regularly visited by the German Air Force.
It had been different then, when the invasion was imminent although they had been forced by their losses and other commitments to limit their efforts in our direction.
I can still recall vividly the occasion when I found myself right under a scrap over Worthing, between three Spitfires and a Heinkel 111. that had dared to venture in the direction of London.
The Air raid siren had sounded and I had seen him going over very high, leaving vapour trails but he had obviously been forced to turn tail and he was in a shallow glide going very fast as he came over the hospital and the gas works. Then those Spits gave him a real hammering.
With hot empty cartridge cases and links cascading down all around me I had watched mesmerised as the top gunner had winged two of them, one going off East towards Shoreham staggering a bit and the other in the direction of Ford and Tangmere trailing smoke. Then the third one went in for the kill if the
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way that the guns suddenly went askew was anything to go by. That was it. He continued out to sea and plunged in about a mile off of the pier. He had put up a good fight but it had not done him much good.
Now the skies were relatively clear but that did not mean that the area was safe. There were elements of the Canadian Army en-camped in the area and they often imposed a threat to life and limb.
I was glad of McIlroy's company in a bar one evening when some of his countrymen who were somewhat 'tanked' up started making derisive remarks about Brylcream boys and a scrap was imminent.
It all looked very ugly for a while and of course those chaps had been trained to the peak of fighting efficiency and no doubt still had a bee in their bonnet about the Dieppe affair.
Just in time Mac defused the situation. He pushed me out of the way, took of his raincoat to reveal his Canada shoulder flashes, gunners brevet and stripes, and drawing himself up to his full height of 6ft plus asked who was going to be first. There were no takers and we moved to another bar to continue drinking in peace.
No doubt that lot had more than their share of fighting later on, on 'D' Day and after.
[line of stars]
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That was all behind us as we finished our leave and got back to the task of taking the fight to the enemy.
On the 16th we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation that turned out to be a very dodgy one.
There were the usual mutterings, quiet whistling through clenched teeth plus a few caustic comments from the assembly when we found that we were off to do some damage to a railway station and tunnel at Modane, a mountain pass between France and Italy. What caused most of the comment was the unusual method of attack. Modane was at the Northen [sic] end of the Tunnel-de-frejus, deep in the Alps!.
As it was in a valley, the floor of which was 3,467ft above sea level, with the tops of the valley at about 11.000ft and only three miles across the tops it was impossible (so they said), to approach the tunnel mouth direct due to the sheer rock face above it.
The plan was to approach from a valley at 90° to the tunnel mouth, plant the bombs in the valley wall to bring down a large amount of debris before doing a smart left hand turn into the main valley.
The task was a risky one, bearing in mind that it was at night. Anyone who failed to get it in one was to initiate the left turn and take the station and yards at Modane as the secondary target.
One way or the other it would make it difficult for the German military traffic that was plying between France and Italy through the remote pass.
Fortunately the Met got it right that time. The weather was perfect. It was beautiful moonlit night and we entered the mountain region between the peaks bang on track and worked our way through until the target area loomed up ahead. We rushed towards the rock face at around 200mph and Hoppy did his lefts and rights and steadies and then he goofed it!. !
What happened next caused my heart to miss a beat. Calm as you like as if he was on the bombing range Hoppy said "missed it-round again"!.
I think that is what upset Mac more than anything else as we banked over into the valley expecting him to give Hoppy some verbal about the secondary target but what came next caused
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my heart to miss a few more beats.
We were all alarmed to hear Mac say, 'that is just what we will do too, and get it right this time or you go out next, we are going back to the tunnel"!.
By now we had got to know Mac well enough to know that when he had set his mind on something there was very little that we could do about it. I got the distinct impression that I was riding a runaway roller-coaster as I braced myself in the isle [sic] between the pilots positions.
The horizon went haywire as we banked over into the initial turn and started to descend. We had not quite got to the station yards when we went into a tight 180deg. turn to head back underneath the rest of the force that was still hurling bombs all the way down the railway line.
I don't know how serious Mac was about chucking Hoppy out but he gave it to him straight, "no more messing about" as we charged at the tunnel mouth and when the "bombs away" call came we did not hang around to see the results although I don't see how we could have avoided hitting something. Our greatest concern was getting out of the situation.
All I could see was a kalidascope [sic] of nasty looking rocks as there was only seconds to make the turn, no room to turn back, no chance to climb with aircraft still coming in over the top of us. All we could do was wriggle and twist along the valley floor hoping to God we would not go the wrong way and find ourselves in a cul-de-sac.
It was very uncomfortable for a while as Pete and Hoppy had consulted their maps and assured Mac that all was well. And so it was as suddenly we came out into a wider valley and were able to climb.
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Obviously we had not done the exact reciprocal of our inbound route and it did not matter a lot as we all breathed a little easier until Mac let out a whoop with an "all gunners stand by" and we were all on the alert again. Then he told us what it was all about as the gunners reported "ready".
He throttled back and in rich mixture we were soon whispering along without even a flicker of flame from the exhausts, and then we all saw clearly what he had seen as we went into a turn. We were able to pick out dim convoy lights on a road halfway up the mountainside, so it seemed likely that it was the Southern end of the tunnel that we had just bombed. Mac said "if that is not a military convoy I will eat my socks" and followed it up almost immediately with a gentle turn onto a Northerly heading to within a few hundred yards of the mountainside. All gunners blazed away in turn and there was all hell let loose before we turned away.
The results were spectacular and certainly not quite what we had expected.
There were explosions, scattering lights, and liquid fire pouring down the mountainside with more explosions in the waterfall of fire and after about 20secs. we turned about and repeated the performance.
It was an appalling sight as obviously vehicles including fuel and ammunition trucks had been hit but turning away with most of our ammunition gone and somewhat shocked, we made our way home, low down across the tip of Switzerland and across France just as fast as we could.
Mac's orders were specific. Not a word about it, and he swore each one of us to absolute secrecy as we had not been ordered to do it, or whether we had done the right thing even though we might have contributed considerably to the war effort.
It was never reported and has remained under wraps until Mac can no longer answer for whatever damage was done. With more operations still to do if we were lucky it was best to forget the episode although some explanations were called for as our target photo showed a very messy tunnel mouth and the expenditure of several thousand rounds of ammunition was explained as an attempt to supress some ground fire in the valley. [underlined] And a ticking off for attacking in the wrong direction [/underlined] !!.
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I did not do another operation until the 3rd October as I went on the sick list for a few days.
I received an injury not from enemy action but from one of my own crew, although the outcome showed the sort of crew spirit that there was even if I had to be the 'dogs-body' to prove the point in respect of my own particular crew.
Macdonald and I had been into Bury St Edmunds to the King Willie for a couple of quiet drinks and on return we went to the Sgt's Mess where there was a dance in progress.
As soon as we entered the Mess we found ourselves in the middle of a group of people, Station Commander included, who were being treated to a drunken comedy act by Paddy who seemed to be doing his damndest [sic] to climb a wall by making repeated runs at it.
He must have been in the bar as soon as it had opened and obviously had had far more than his share.
The affair had just reached the stage where the Group Captain had already ordered the RAF Police to be brought in so Mac stepped in to sort things out his way. Exercising his right as 'Skipper' he ordered me to get Paddy out of the Mess and out of trouble. I wish he hadn't!.
With the assistance of another Flight Engineer from the Squadron Paddy was talked out of the building but we had not got very far when the other chap slipped and went down and a very confused Paddy decided that I was responsible.
I was still trying to hold him up but he turned on me and belted me one!, and I tumbled into an open trench.
I could have coped with that but grabbing a large paint drum half filled with solidified paint he heaved it at me and I remember nothing after it bounced off of my head.
I woke up in the sick bay the next morning with the great grandaddy of all headaches and adorned by large pieces of sticky plaster.
In the meantime wheels had been in motion as it had been decided that disciplinary action would be taken against Paddy for the rumpus that he had caused in the Mess. As far as my condition was concerned it was a different case so it looked as if Mac was going to have to do without his favourite engineer for a while if that reached it's logical conclusion…..until Mac did a deal with someone. That is, in addition to me!.
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He came to see me in the sick bay with a proposal that he said would satisfy all concerned.
The deal was that I would be charged with being responsible for the whole affair and as I was hardly in a state to argue I went along with it. The net result was-that Paddy was in the clear, I was fined five shillings (25p) for being 'drunk and disorderly', a scar on my forehead, and an entry on my documents as well as a few days off; but I had an opportunity to even the score sometime later.
Whilst I was on the sick list and grounded the crew did another two operations with a relief W/Op, going to Hanover on the 22nd and Mannheim on the 24th without incident. and each of those two nights I spent in the control tower biting my nails until they were back. One of our Squadron failed to return from the Hannover raid…..and it was nearly a turning point for me.
There was a limit on how long you could remain out of a crew without being, permanently replaced and the relief W/Op was sufficiently impressed with the rest of the crew to ask if he could stay with them. Mac must have pulled a few more strings and the MO signed me off despite the sticky plaster so I was back in the crew instead of becoming spare man.
The other chap had previous been spare because his crew had gone missing whilst he was sick so he went back to being spare.
Unfortunately, when he did get crewed up again the following month he was killed in a flying accident. That's fate! and it was being tempted far too often for my liking.
Eventually Mac did get around to thanking me in an embarrassed sort of way for my involvement but I think that when I weighed up the final outcome I was the one that was most thankful, so despite a sore head and some red ink remarks in the records, we just pressed on as if nothing had ever happened.
[line of stars]
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The operation we were briefed for on the 3rd October was for aircraft factory targets at Kassel and as 'W' had been unserviceable on air test we were allocated EE971. After air-testing that one Mac and Paddy agreed that 'it would do'. Not quite like our 'W' but they could accept it.
A few things had changed by that time. The Luftwaffe hit and run raids were almost a thing of the past as they were well and truly on the defensive and East Anglia now bristled with AA sites which very rarely permitted a raider to get very far.
We had got bold enough to assemble all the aircraft for the night's operation on the runway in front of the main camp area and in sight of the main road, and on this occasion there must have been as many as 28, possibly 30 aircraft lined up, and very impressive it looked too.
I have always thought that one lone raider bold enough (and lucky enough) to have got through the defences to shoot up that line would have done an awful lot of damage, but fortunately no-one ever did. The resultant mess would have wiped out half the camp and the Marquis of Cornwallis pub at the same time.
Nevertheless it was a great morale booster for the locals who were crowding up to the other side of the fence to watch procedings [sic] , many with pints of ale held aloft in salute. It did restrict activities a bit when many crew members were saying goodnight to their favourite WRAF under the mainplane, but the less said about that the better.
Off went both Squadrons in grand style and we were just approaching the coast outbound when the port outer packed up with a great deal of spluttering and backfiring so it didn't look as if we were going to get very far.
Mac and Paddy juggled with the engine controls but the engine steadfastly refused to do much more than 1000revs without protesting so they shut it down and feathered the prop.
By that time Mac was keen to get another op. under the belt and apart from calling me a 'jinx' he decided to 'press on'. We were not keen but he didn't ask us so we went all the way on three engines, bombed the target and headed home with Paddy biting his nails with concern at the high fuel consumption and the strain of the extra power being extracted from the other
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three engines. I do not think he would have put 'W' under so much strain but this one was not ours and that was that.
As soon as we cleared the enemy coast wee started to economise on fuel with a change of engine settings, firing off ammunition into the sea. Flares, incendiary containers and all sorts of stuff being dumped to lighten the load with Paddy getting more and more agitated as he endeavoured to work out our fuel state which was not made any easier by Mac's persistent nagging.
My request to make an emergency call was refused as was a further request to call the emergency services for the state of Tangmere, although we did change course in that direction. I was further refused permission to switch the IFF to the emergency code, in fact he was downright bloody minded.
Nevertheless, I was all ready to go straight into all my emergency procedures with IFF, radio and verey [sic] signals if the need arose, without permission, as we approached home shores.
We were just about overflying Tangmere when Paddy and Pete come up with the results of their combined calculations.
When I heard that on the intercomm [sic] I thought immediately, 'Tangmere, here we come', with one hour to base and one hour five minutes fuel, so we were not amused when Mac said, "what the hell are you worrying about then. Navigator, a direct course to base please".
A direct course for Chedburgh was made in defiance of standing orders that forbade us to overfly London and hoped to God that we would not lose too much height and find ourselves tangled up in the London balloon barrage.
It was bad enough when the banshee wailing of the balloon barrage warning came in on the radio. That in itself was a bit unnerving but we were all in Mac's hands and I was hoping that he would be prudent enough to settle for any airfield whilst we still had a limited reserve of fuel. And it was limited. Paddy had made it quite clear that he had calculated to the last drop of [underlined] usable [/underlined] fuel on the evidence of gauges that he was doubtful of. He could not do more other than protest further to Mac as we cleared the London area, in fact everyone protested that what we were doing was unnecessary, although perhaps not in such mild terms.
His only answer was to request that I open all of the fuel tank
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cocks on the bulkhead behind me and he started to rack the aircraft from side to side to drain every last drop into the main tanks.
That was enough for me. On went my 'chute and it would not have taken much more for me to be heading for the rear hatch which I had left open after jettisoning equipment over the sea earlier. It was just at that time that Paddy decided that he had definitely had enough. As far as he was concerned Mac had gone 'bonkers' and he was getting out whilst he still had a chance. He struggled out of his seat, clipped on his 'chute and had just got by Pete, and I was seriously. contemplating joining him when I received an order from Mac to "restrain him".
That upset any plans, so he was 'restrained', if that is what you would call tripping him up and sitting on him, although it was not for long as Mac had decided that we were serious and he agreed to go for the nearest airfield if Paddy would go back to his seat.
No sooner had he done so the port outer spluttered and died so they started up the port inner for the first time in hours and although it would not run at any speed without backfiring it was kept going as we desperately searched around for an airfield.
Mac was very busy struggling with the controls when one was sighted and we immediately headed for it. I fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could load and fire and when they were gone I fired off all the reds and then everything else in the rack, greens, yellows, star shells and even smoke puffs in the hope that the control staff would be suitably alerted to an emergency. Mac was far too busy to even use his radio and it was all very tense in the cockpit. I was half hoping that Mac would still give the order to abandon, and I was still ready, but instead he instructed Paddy to select wheels and flaps only when he asked for them and that's when the starboard outer spluttered and died. It was in those desperate moments that Paddy 'goofed' and we lost about five thousand feet rapidly after he feathered the starboard inner by mistake, and although he promptly rectified the error we were by that time descending like the proverbial brick lavatory. Not surprising as we were for a time flying; if you could call it that, on between one
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and one and a half engines.
I was back in the astro dome by that time as we aimed at the threshold of the runway at an alarming angle to keep the speed up. My legs and fingers were crossed as I looked hypnotically at where I was quite sure that we were going to make a large sized hole and then the nose came up …….."full flap" was Mac's breathless request over the intercomm [sic] and we were flaring out above the runway with the speed falling off as all power was taken off with another almost whispered request ...."wheels down" and then we floated whilst Mac held her off, to kiss the runway within seconds of the undercarriage 'green lights' coming on with warning horns blasting our ears.
Another perfect landing!!!! even if the approach had been a bit abnormal.
Mac established contact with the control tower to find that we were at Wratting Common, another Stirling base and we managed to stagger to the end of the runway and turn off before everything stopped with a splutter as we ran completely out of fuel!. We subsequently had to be towed away but not before we had managed to compose ourselves.
It was really an amazing piece of flying that had made the best out of a very bad decision that so easily could have ended in disaster…..and we all knew it.
Why else would Paddy come rushing past me towards the rear door, ashen faced, then jump out and spend a lot of time throwing up and kissing mother earth!
As for me. I stayed in the semi-darkness of the doorway until my colour came back and my knees stopped knocking before I ventured out...and I needed the ladder!. I don't think the others were much better.
After a few hours sleep we were back out to the aircraft which had been repaired and refuelled. The problem had only been burned out ignition leads which was something that Hercules engines quite often suffered from and we were soon on our way back to base still feeling as if we had experienced a very dream [sic] but we were still better off than some. Another five Stirlings failed to return that night.
Not another word was said about the incident. No apologies....nothing! Perhaps it was best left that way if we
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expected to continue as a crew…..and we did, although Mac was somewhat subdued afterwards -and was suffering from strained back and shoulder muscles for several days.
[line of stars]
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We had a few days break before we were detailed for another operation on the 8th. It was my birthday on the 9th so I planned a celebration if all went well but that night, as the 8th turned into the 9th we got the sort of party I could have done without. The main target was Hannover although-we were part of the secondary force within the main force with everyone heading for Bremen and at a certain position the main force turned towards Hannover leaving us virtually as decoys.
The fighters had been scrambled to intercept the track to Bremen and I was half way through a large bale of leaflets that I was dispensing out of the rear escape hatch when the rear gunner suddenly yelled "fighter--port quarter--corkscrew port--go" and over we went straight into evasive action as the fighter opened up. The rear gunner opened up at the same time and the interior of the aircraft was lit up by flashes as we were hit and bits and pieces were flying around in all directions. There was not a lot that I could do although I instinctively started to throw out leaflets as fast as I could without bothering to cut the string on some as I came up to the standing position to kick some bundles out. As I was to find out later, a good move. Mac was throwing the aircraft around all over the sky and the firing seemed to go on for a long time with smoke, flashes and a great deal of noise as something stung me in the face, and then it stopped as quickly as it had started. Immediately the rear gunner was back on intercom to report that his rear turret was damaged and had jammed solid when he had resorted to turning it manually.
He also reported a hell of a lot of debris from us had smothered the attacker before he had broken away suggesting that we had lost a few bits of aeroplane.
It was later on when we were piecing together details of the attack that we figured that it must have been my leaflets in the slip-stream, and he also reported that the fighter appeared to have two glowing tails; which is what I had also seen in a brief moment through the hatch.
There was a hell of a lot to do. We were in no doubt that we had collected a considerable amount of damage yet everyone checked in OK and unharmed which was a relief.
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I made my way back to the radio compartment to find Paddy curled up behind the armour plating of my seat which he had dived for after seeing me hopping about in the illumination of tracer that was flying about.
I asked him to check me over as there was a lot of wet and warm stuff running down my face and producing his torch very soon re-assured me that "it's hydraulic oil you bloody twit" before he was off down the back end to make some repairs.
Everyone was checking around thoroughly at that time but there were no fires or fuel leaks and all engines were turning without fuss. All other indications were normal….and we were still flying, complete with bomb load so we pressed on somewhat gingerly at that point in time.
There was another very good reason why I had dashed up front so rapidly after the action. Despite the fact that I had been standing on the edge of quite a large hole to dispense the leaflets, my 'chute had still been in it's stowage a long way from me; and I never ever did that again that's for sure!.
Everyone eased their parachutes in the stowages. Paddy put his on as he had to negotiate the open hatch which we had decided to leave open under the circumstances and as we continued to Bremen we checked and re-checked all our vital functions.
Paddy used a fire axe to clear the rear bulkhead and turret doors before the turret became operational again with a healthy short burst. But Mcllroy was in a very draughty situation as most of his perspex had gone and there were holes all around him, after which he made some first aid repairs to the hydraulic piping in the area of the position where the ventral turret would have been; if it had been fitted. First aid was the operative word; he used the medical first aid kit!. More to stop slippery oil sloshing about than anything else.
The intercomm [sic] was lively and as we had a freshman second pilot with us he was learning very fast. For a change Mac was not telling anyone to quit the chatter as he usually did so bit by bit everything was satisfactorily cross checked and it was reassuring to find that all the essentials were working despite the fact that there was a lot of internal damage: There were holes in the main bulkhead up front near my position and
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even some of the instruments in the cockpit had lost their glass. With everything giving the right responses it was no time to pull out of the stream and becoming a sitting duck for another enterprising night fighter so we stayed with it, bombed and stuck to the route for the return journey still regularly checking and cross checking.
I really thought that that was the one time Mac was going to have to use his "angle of dangle" equipment as he called it; to help him fly the aeroplane. It was in fact a weighted Scots doll suspended by a cord in line with his nose that he always set up for use. He always said that he could fly on that if all else failed but fortunately it was not needed and stayed up on the scuttle.
Eventually Paddy and I replaced the rear hatch and things returned to near normal but I could not help reflecting that I could have been a lot more effective with a pair of .303's sticking out of the bottom instead of dispensing a pile of paper which no doubt the German population used for the same purpose as we would have done in those days of paper shortage.
As it was, we had nothing protecting the underside and the Luftwaffe knew it well enough. After all, they had a fair sized scrap business going in recovering crashed Allied aircraft and re-cycling them into fighters for the defence of the Fatherland, and it was costing us dearly.
Although the attack on us had been from the rear so many losses of the period were being caused by something that for some reason or other our intelligence people did not know about, or if they did it was not made common knowledge.
It could have been that the Luftwaffe system was so effective that few, if any, aircrews ever got back to tell the tail [sic] .
They had developed a weapon along the lines of a British invention of WW1, the COW (Coventry Ordinance Works) gun, originally intended for shooting down airships.
They had put together a pair of 20mm cannon with periscope sights on an upward firing mounting in several types of aircraft, including the Me.110. and codenamed it 'Schrage Music' as part of their 'Battle Opera' control system.
With or without radar they were getting into the bomber stream, picking a target and positioning themselves underneath in the
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blind spot out of sight of the gunners, even to the point of following through a 'corkscrew' so that the gunners never got contact, or the Wireless Operator through his infra-red 'Fishpond' equipment, (if he had got it on) for that matter.
All they had to do was to keep up the shadowing until they got their aiming point 'spot on' then hit the button.
The aiming point was usually the starboard wing root where there was a concentration of fuel lines, fuel tanks, control lines and crew. It was very adjacent to the bombs, one engine, flares, oxygen bottles and other things that go bang in the night.
One short burst in that vital area was usually enough and the aircraft invariably exploded within seconds of the strike giving the occupants very little chance to escape. No wonder that we had seen-so many aircraft just explode and dissapear [sic] in a fireball.
It is on record that one of their night fighters fitted with the system was credited with [underlined] Five [/underlined] Lancasters in a 30 minute sortie so it was hardly suprising [sic] that there was very little feed back of intelligence information.
As we got nearer home we were very careful how we prepared the aircraft for landing. Fortunately the bomb doors had operated satisfactorily and Hoppy had made sure that there were no hangups. That was the last thing we wanted as a primed hang-up was a very sensitive beast.
Finally there was more to do before joining the circuit. Air pressures, hydraulic pressures and electrics were all normal. Mac did a mock landing procedure at height to test the responses at landing speed. There was no way that he was going to have the aircraft fall out of his hands at same vital stage of our final approach, but flaps, undercarriage and control services all gave the right reaction so it was on to base for a landing. Even then he was not entirely satisfied. Our first touchdown as a bumper to see if the green lights stayed an indicating that the undercarriage has locked down and to check that the tyres were not perforated.
Only then did we make an approach for a normal landing which was, as ever, as smooth as silk.
We gave ourselves a bit more time that morning to look around the aircraft after we had parked in dispersal and what we saw
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in the morning half-light made us gasp.
It did not seem possible that nothing had been seriously damaged yet there was hardly a square foot without a hole in it.
There were holes in the undercarriage doors, the flaps, bomb doors, control surfaces, engine cowlings and nicks out of the propellor blades. The rear turret had suffered most of all with 80% of the perspex gone and there were dozens of holes around the foot well.
A count showed that there were 96 groups of damage altogether but what brought me out in a cold sweat was to find a nice group of five holes through the rear step of the bomb bay where I had been sitting when the attack started. It was just as well that I had jumped up when I did or I would never have subsequently raised a family!.
I would not have been surprised if McIlroy had not been in a similar sweat. Not only was his turret a mess but his flying suit was nicked all over and ruined. There were tufts of fur sticking out under his arms and around his waist and even his flying boots had been chipped.
His turret doors had been ripped open like a tin can and the bulkhead doors had been badly holed as well. His parachute in it's stowage between the doors was later found to have quite a lot of lead embedded in it. When they opened it up it was like a colander and it is doubtful if it would have been much use if he had been forced to use its but he had not got a scratch on him!. I will never understand it.
As far as EF433 was concerned, although she had served us well she was done for. She just sort of sat there drooping and creaking so it was just as well that Mac had treated her gently. She was taken apart and sent to Cambridge for repair.
We learned later that when they stripped her down further and further they were still uncovering signs of damage including a cracked main spar, so she was very close to falling apart.
I have often wandered whether all that internal damage was battle damage or the result of the terrible handling she got on the corkscrew demonstration. I am incline [inserted] d [/inserted] to think the latter and it would not surprise me if that particular pilot had not ultimately torn the wings off of something.
However, the repair depot did their remarkable jig-saw puzzle
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repair job with so big an aircraft and there must here been sufficient of EF433 left for it to retain it's identity as it later went back to the Squadron after it had moved to Fairford. Eventually it was transferred to 1665 CU as OG-N until the following February when a mishap with a 'swinger' wrote her off at the end of the month.
In the meantime EF189 had been produced and painted up as the new 'W' so within the period of quiet that seemed to have descended on us that also received the attention that we had previous lavished on EF433. Stirling operations were slowing down a bit and few operations were undertaken. Rumours regarding our future were rife and Mac was very busy checking out new pilots as they came in to bring us up to strength. Several operations were scheduled but cancelled although there was still a bit of mining to do from time to time.
We did not mind a bit. The Bremen affair was not easy to forget and although our last flight in EF433 may not have been all that significant we had get quite attached to her. Some poor chaps had never got any further than their first trip and we had always considered ourselves very lucky that the attack on us had been made with small calibre ammunition. If we had been hit by cannon fire it would have been an entirely different matter.
[underlined] Thirteen years later I found out why there had been no cannon. [/underlined]
As an Air Traffic Controller at Amman in Jordan I was swapping yarns with an ex Luftwaffe pilot, then senior captain of the resident airline, Air Jordan, and an honourary [sic] member of our Mess, when the incident was recalled.
We had got so far with reconstructing the episode that we both went for our log books as the whole thing had reached the proportions of a gigantic 'line-shoot', Nevertheless, there were the details of date, time. and place to match those in my log book.
Apparently he had been a test pilot on jets and had been called in to try out the aircraft in operational conditions.
I don't know who was the most surprised but he had claimed us so badly damaged that we most likely finished up in the sea, and even if we hadn't then we must have had casualties on board. The burning question was "why only small calibre ammunition?",
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It transpired that he had used up all of his cannon ammunition in knocking down two other Stirlings already, so he would have been responsible for two of the three Stirlings lost an that raid. His name is not important in this narrative but it is significant that our combat report of the episode (which has never come to light) had put special emphasis an the aircraft with the fiery tails and it may well have been one of the first reports that identified jet night fighters to the intelligence people. Nothing: was ever mentioned about it so it may well have been kept quiet for good reasons.
Nevertheless, the Messerschmitt aircraft factories continued to be pounded regularly.
[line of stars]
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It was the 3rd of November before we had the opportunity to take our new 'W' on ops. We were briefed for mining in the Kattegat between occupied Denmark and neutral Sweden.
It should have been a 'doddle'. It was a lovely moonlit night and we had to overfly Denmark at medium height before going low level to the dropping area.
All went smoothly until just after the drop when we were engaged by a flak ship with a stream of sparkling tracers squirting at us which started Mac wriggling around all over the place with the taps wide open and down to the wave tops until we put him behind us. We were just beginning to breath easy again when there was a yell from the rear gunner as he spotted an Me.109 on our tail. We must have come in for some very special treatment as a loner crossing Denmark and it was as well that Mac had kept us as low as possible until the drop. Once we got back down there again that's just where we stayed as the intercom between the gunners and pilot got very lively.
It was the fighter affiliation stuff all over again as we slithered and twisted and turned, only this chap was not using a camera.
He sent several bursts after us but they all went wide as the gunners assessed the point at which he was coming into the right position for a deflection shot and then we side slipped and banked out of his sights once more.
We never fired a single shot as Mac had said only to let him have it when the gunners were absolutely sure of a hit so we played tag for a long time.
In the later stages we came to a rugged shore line and still the 109 could not get at us.
In and out and round and round we went across country where the landscape showed up in great detail. We could see people in gardens and lights blinked from friendly windows and open doors. We went around chimney stacks, over power lines and we must have given that enemy pilot a real run for his money until eventually he broke off and disappeared. He either did not care for the low level stuff or he was getting low on fuel but we were glad to see him go after a very hectic 30 minutes. We continued to stay low just in case he had a partner somewhere
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and we were still skudding along weaving about for some time before it was considered safe to gain some height and sort out the navigation.
It was hardly surprising that Pete had lost track of where we were. The number of tight 360° turns had been sufficient to upset both the magnetic and gyro compass's. We were too low for 'Gee' to be effective and I was still refused permission to break radio silence for a D/F fix so we staggered around somewhat blindly for a while trying to sort ourselves out.
At one time we saw an illuminated coastline some miles ahead which puzzled us a bit until the penny dropped...whoops..Sweden!. That gave us a clue as to which way we were going...the wrong way, so it was a smart about turn and back to low level again trying to stabilise the compasses as we picked up the Danish coastline again and crossed the country as quickly as possible before finding some higher cloud to hide in and set a rough course for home.
Pete still could not make a lot of his plot. 'G' was not helping a lot. D/F bearings that I was able to obtain from UK beacons only seemed to confuse the issue and when I looked over his shoulder at his chart it was a mass of hastily pencilled in headings and speeds until it looked like one of those kids dot puzzles that produced a picture when the dots were joined up. Only his picture looked like a bundle of loose knitting wool!.
All we could do was press on in a rough direction, picking our way in and out of convenient clouds whilst Pete gathered as much information as he could. It did not help much that Mac would not fly a steady course but even when he had satisfied himself that we were just off the Dutch coast Mac still had his doubts until Hoppy reckoned he had got a good visual pin-point. He estimated that we were over the Zuider Zee and would be able to confirm it when the Western side came into sight. Sure enough it did, but it was not the sort of confirmation he had been looking for!.
Just as we crossed the coastline, in and out of cloud at about 7,000ft, a number of searchlights switched on as one, in a perfect cone, smack on us, and it seemed several dozen ack-ack guns let loose at the same time.
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The salvo must have gone off about 50ft below us with the sound of gravel being sprayed all over us and we bounced up with Mac piling on the power, banking and balling [sic] "that's Dover you bloody fools".
There was all hell let loose as we wound into a corkscrew followed by the lights and a lot more flak. Mac was hollering "Darkie-Darkie" on the R/T to identify ourselves. I slammed on the IFF (radar identification) switch and fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could fire and reload the pistol and then as if by magic it all fizzled out.
The guns stopped firing, the lights wavered and flickered out and the violent evasive action slowed as Mac asked if everyone was OK. By the grace of God we were and then we immediately started checking around the aircraft which seemed to have taken a bit of a battering.
Despite the presence of several shrapnel holes everything seemed to be working satisfactorily so we set course for base with a lot of discussion as to how we had found ourselves over Dover.
The general opinion was that we must have done a zig-zag course right down the Danish, Dutch, Belgium and French coasts without interception. Perhaps our course had been so erratic that the German fighter controllers had just held back waiting for us to make a navigational error that would have put us within their grasp, or some other problem we had on board manifested itself and did the job for them.
As it was the Dover defences had done us far more damage and we were very thankful for either a slight error in the guns predictor or perhaps a little aiming off just in case we were a friendly aircraft with a spot of bother.
We would not have been the first RAF aircraft that the Dover guns had put on their score board though. They had to be very wary of unidentified aircraft. The Luftwaffe's equivilent [sic] of Farnborough; Rechlin, was known to have quite a comprehensive selection of airworthy Allied aircraft that they played all sorts of tricks with. In such circumstances it was more often a case of shooting first and asking questions afterwards and a risk we had to take if there was any doubt about the position at which the IFF was switched on.
During the final part of the flight back to base we had to go
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over the aircraft with a fine tooth comb to test everything before attempting a landing in the same way as we had done for our previous operation and it was a relief to find that everything worked and ended with a perfect final landing.
I have often wondered how many of the others felt as I did as we prepared for that final landing. Legs, fingers and toes crossed as we took up our crash positions, until we were safely on terra firma again.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we could keep up that sort of escapade without coming unstuck somewhere.
After we had taxied into dispersal and shut down, the ground crew seemed somewhat concerned as we clambered out. I distinctly remember one of them saying "oh no, not again. You chaps must have a guardian angel somewhere". I could appreciate the sentiment when we looked around the aircraft with them.
The underside was like a pepperpot with slivers of metal hanging loosely from everywhere yet nothing vital had been hit.
We did not fly it again as it was withdrawn for repair and subsequently relegated to the training role' as yet another 'W' was prepared for service.
We were very lucky that night. [underlined] Four other mine laying Stirlings failed to return. [/underlined] Mining was no milk run!.
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[underlined] Picture page. [/underlined]
Macdonalds crew
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We were reprieved after a decision was finally made to withdraw Stirlings from the main Bomber Force and start preparing them for another task.
620 was once of the first to go and crews that were close to the end of their tour were not being retained. That meant us...and it was a great relief when we were told. There was only one other crew made 'tour expired' with fewer operations than ourselves although they had originaly [sic] come from 214 Squadron when the Squadron had been formed.
Certainly it was a relief not to have to fly the two ops that I was short of for the full tour. I had already seen what happened to 'spare' people but it placed our crew in a unique position. We were the [underlined] only [/underlined] crew to have actually started and finished a 'tour' on the Squadron since it had come into being.
The credit really belongs to Mac of course but in that short time we had lost 17 aircraft on ops and 9 in accidents. [underlined] More than the whole Squadron establishment strength, plus six!. [/underlined]
Our gunners had accounted for two enemy fighters. We had carried seven 'freshmen' pilots to introduce them to ops and two of them had not survived Chedburgh.
We had lost 147 aircrew killed or missing of which 47 were known to have become POW's. It was a sad tally.
In the same period of time the Command had lost nearly 1000 bombers with their crews in an air war that showed little sign of abating.
The Squadron distinquished [sic] itself later by towing gliders and dropping parachute troops and supplies into the invasion of Europe, Arnham [sic] and the Rhine crossing, as well as numerous SAS and SOE operations into enemy occupied territory with some very severe casualties.
[line of stars]
We were more concerned with the present at that time. We celebrated with a wild night at the King Willie and a few more nights in the Mess as the strain began to fall away with the added bonus of some special leave.
On our return there were, a lot of new faces but we were more concerned with clearing the station and preparing for our next posting. There was trouble of a different sort on the horizon!.
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As soon as we had returned from leave, refreshed, we found ourselves; that is, the five NCO's lined up outside the flight office with Mac demanding an answer to a very delicate question. It was not very delicately put.
Apparently a certain WAAF who had been fairly liberal with her favours; to say the least, was beginning to show signs of motherhood, and since [underlined] some [/underlined] of us were known to have been in her company at times we were all suspect. Of course, it did not help her case a lot when she was only able to claim that it was one of the Macdonald crew!, and why that did not include Mac and Pete the two commissioned officers I do not know, but Mac's question was blunt and straight to the point. "Which one of you buggers was it", which rather stunned us and for a moment we just shuffled our feet as we studied each other.
I forget who stepped out first followed by another until all five of us had stepped forward. I know for certain that we had not all sampled those favours but a crew is a crew through thick and thin. 'All for one and one for all' and all that stuff. There was not much that could be done under those circumstances so whilst they were trying to pin it on someone else (and there were plenty of others), we were only too pleased to pack our bags and sneak off quietly to our new unit.
[line of stars]
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We had been posted to No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell as a complete crew, for instructional duties as strange as it may seem. The unit was just setting up to convert the Stirling Squadrons that were not moving out of the Command and Mac and Paddy went off to a Lancaster OTU in Yorkshire for a couple of weeks whilst the rest of us just familiarised ourselves with the Lancaster. The ground school was just getting going so we soon learned our way around. Apart from the Pilot and Engineer's speciality it was not difficult as most of the equipment was the same or similar and a nice little challenge to convert to a different type.
As soon as Mac and Paddy returned we flew intensively as a crew and within a matter of weeks we were into the training programme and open for business.
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Actually the unit was a bit of a hybrid. Part Operational Training Unit, part Conversion Unit and part Holding Unit for despite the savage losses the Command was still building up it's strength as fewer demands were being made in other theatres of the war, and the station was soon packed to the gills.
Crews started to come in from all over. The Stirling Conversion Units were still in the business of converting people from Wellingtons and then they came to us for changing to the Lancaster until the Stirling CU's were run down. After that they came direct from the Wellington OTU's as well as those Stirling Squadrons that sent detachments for conversion as their aircraft were being replaced by Lancasters.
We became very busy with the flow of people through the unit. Some of them knew the Lancaster better than we did as they were refreshing for their second tour, and very rarely for their a third. They had come off all manner of aircraft and had been 'resting' as we were now doing. There was a great deal of experience to draw on which I was only too willing to put to practical use. There did not appear to be any 'instructors' courses as such. You just threw yourself into it and you just turned out to be good, bad or indifferent at it. In all modesty, I seemed to cope satisfactorily.
After a few months Paddy got fed up with it and eventually got himself crewed up with a pilot of 115 Squadron that was converting and went back on ops. with him. Pete found himself in a spot of bother as a reult [sic] of a little over exuberance at a party and was given an option that he could not refuse....so he went off to a Mosquito Squadron at Downham Market, but not until most of the old crew, with the exception of Hoppy and Mac, attended my wedding in the March.
The bells of St.Mary's Broadwater, Worthing, were rung for the first time since the threat of invasion had silenced them in 1940. That was a traffic stopper if ever there was one and in the ensueing [sic] celebrations the rest of Macdonald's crew left it's mark on the local area. [underlined] I think the marks are still there!!. [/underlined]
I don't mind admitting that for the first time in my life I was smitten with the uncontrollable shakes when standing before the alter [sic] . Call it what you like, fear……………..
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apprehension, whatever, it got hold of me and I shook. My eldest brother, in navy uniform, survivor of numerous sea actions and two lost ships and my best man, came in close and propped me up. All that happened was that I transmitted my shakes to him and we both stood there like jellies and did not settle down until the ceremony was nearly over. Not a pretty sight!. Nevertheless, I married my childhood sweetheart despite the circumstances; something I never thought I would ever have the opportunity to do, and the marriage has stood the test of time.
Eventually Feltwell became so busy that we opened a non-flying ground school at Methwold a few miles away and having already been promoted to Flight Sergeant I got the job of setting up that part of the school for Wireless Operators.
Rather than lose my comfortable room in the pre-war Mess at Feltwell I cycled to and fro' daily and I am sure that it did me a lot of good as far as keeping fit was concerned. I enjoyed cycling anyway having been a founder member of the 'Worthing Wheelers' cycling club and a regular cyclist...even in my job.
To have to peddle a loaded tricycle from one end of Worthing to the other twice a day was quite an accomplishment which I had done for nearly two years and prior to that I had had a job with a builder and cycled 16 miles each way daily; so what was 5 miles.
Getting my bike out from the shed in Worthing where it had been tied up in the roof was no easy task. I have vague recollections of peddling half the distance from Worthing to Feltwell, including across London to save a few pence when some station staffs insisted on there being a ticket for the bike when it was placed in the guards van..to finally arrive in the rain.
The time passed and I only flew occasionaly [sic] to keep my hand in as momentous events occurred on the battle fronts that we, or at least I, felt at times that we were missing out on. I didn't push things though....I wasn't that daft!. There was enough going on at Feltwell and Methwold to keep me busy.
Even the odd operation turned up and that is how we lost a crew and our Chief Flying Instructor. He had opted for a mining job, got together a crew and it did not present any problem in arming up and self briefing. I'm glad he didn't pick me as his Wireless Operator. He took off at the appointed time and was seen clearing
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the immediate area, climbing, and shortly after he disappeared from view there was an almighty explosion as his load blew up and the aircraft disintregrated [sic] , scattering the landscape with a thousand pieces of man and machine. What a hell of a useless way to go for another seven young people. It was a sobering thought that it could have been any one of us that might have drawn the short straw for the privilege of making up the crew.
Life was anything but dull. When the Tannoy started blaring out one evening calling all sorts of people to report here there and everywhere a few of us went up to the airfield to see what it was all about.
It was quite a circus when three B.24's, (Liberators) charged in one after the other.
Apparently these three had not only lost their formation but had also lost their way to such an extent that they had been as much as 100 miles off track and an hour late in getting back to their base arriving at the time it was getting dark.
Just as they were getting into the circuit in a bit of a panic as they were not very experienced at night flying Flying Control yelled 'bandits' as there were Luftwaffe intruders suspected to be in the area, and promptly snuffed out the airfield lights.
[underlined] Panic stations!! [/underlined]
They had been given a course and distance to fly to Feltwell but bandits or no bandits they set off with all their navigation and anti-collision and formation lights on. The bandit scare was obviously false as they arrived in the Feltwell circuit looking like Christmas trees and firing verey signals all over the place. No self respecting Luftwaffe intruder would have passed up that invitation to do a bit of damage. As it happened, they did it to themselves.
The Feltwell controller told them to spread themselves out a bit for landing but they were not having any of that as it was dark by that time. There was no way they were going to lose each other having get that far so in they came, landing lights on. No. 1 got down and was told to go to the end of the runway and follow the 'follow me' illuminated van but got disorientated so slammed on the brakes to come to a juddering halt on the runway. No.2 piled right up the back of him, his props chewing at the……………………
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fusulage [sic] , and No.3, seeing what had happened flung his aircraft into a turn and belly flopped when the undercarriage collapsed. What a mess!, but they were lucky. There was not a single casualty although it took a lot of cleaning up.
We entertained the NCO's in our Mess afterwards and it was a source of amazement at the attitude those blokes had to the whole business. They were not in the least concerned that they had written off three aircraft but it was the manner in which they entertained us to a show that was straight off a Hollywood film set.
They were mostly unshaven, cigar chewing, gum chewing, with side arms and knives slung all around them who seemed hell bent on emulating the six gun cowboys of the wild west films and on the whole it was a lot of fun listening, to their wildly exagerated [sic] stories of 'combat over Germany' totally ignoring the fact that many of us had already done complete tours of night operations over enemy territory. They were not interested but it was better than going to the cinema. Most of them had been in the UK long enough to have sampled 'Limey' beer and were not slow in telling us what rubbish it was so we plied them with it until it was running out of their ears. In the end they weren't so tough. Most of than had to be put to bed!.
As time went by and crews continued to pour through the unit it was obvious to me that my time for moving on could be getting close so I started making the appropriate noises to ensure that I would get something different next time and would not have been surprised at anything that turned up. Nevertheless, there was one big surprise; my appointment to a commission which I had been quite convinced would have been turned down somewhere along the line.
When the appointment was promulgated I did not tell Dorothy but took a few days off having arranged to meet her in Oxted in Surrey, and on the way stopped off at Moss.Bros. in Covent Garden to get fitted out. It felt good. I went in as a Flt.Sgt. and came out an hour later as sprog Pilot Officer, no doubt looking like a tailors dummy, all bright and shining, including my cap, hot foot for Oxted.
Dorothy was not at the station so I set off across the field to meet her half way.
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When we did meet there were expressions of surprise and elation and in the excitement I threw my new, expensive cap into the air. That's how it became 'operational'. It landed in a cow cake and took a hell of a lot of cleaning; in between the laughter.
Later on we continued our journey to Worthing and I was suitably 'shown off' by my proud parents but it was a very odd situation when I met one of my old school pals who was a ground wireless operator.
He was one of those who I had always kept in touch with and had been one of the group at the garden gate on the day war had been declared. He had been totally brainwashed!. The poor bloke kept calling me 'Sir' and the only way I could break him of the habit was to get out of uniform to have a drink together without embarrassment on both sides.
Shortly after leave I found myself detailed for a short course at Fighter Command HQ, Bentley Priory, Stanmore.
There was about a dozen of us and we were told that the course was to train Wireless Operators in the use of R/T broadcasts and relay work of the type that the Pathfinder Force was developing. There was also a suggestion that after the training which was part of the Fighter Controllers course we would be assessed for our suitability for broadcasting airborne fighter control as well.
The first day was spent being shown all the fighter control systems as well as seeing them in practice in the famous fighter control/plotting operations rooms and then we were in business.
The next three days were highly amusing as we worked 'aircraft' from a mock control room with the plotters moving radar plots around the table to set up interceptions as the information from the filter room created the picture. It was the 'aircraft' that caused most of the fun. They were in fact Wall's ice cream tricycles with radar reflectors stuck to a pole on the side with low power battery operated transmitter/receivers in the body of the thing. The 'pilots' of the ice cream carts provided the motive power of course and wore the usual headset plus the restrictive..................
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headgear that pilots wore when they were practicing instrument flying.
As a result we could only see a compass and our feet whilst we were in a world of our own either peddling like the 'clappers' and making turns, or in the control room.
It was a highly amusing sight to see a couple of dozen demented ice cream carts cavorting blindly about a strangely marked out rugby pitch, and the occasional crunch as hunter and hunted came together in a perfect interception. Such crude simulation did not have the advantage of vertical seperation!!!!!. It was enlightening, interesting; and amusing but nothing ever came of it.
[line of stars]
It was getting increasingly difficult to get down to the South coast at that time. It was only by virtue of wearing uniform that I got through the security screen whether it was to Worthing or Oxted. There were troops jam-packed in every nook and cranny and there was hardly a bed to spare in any house or hotel. The streets and wooded areas were gigantic vehicle parks with acres of camouflage netting in some open areas disguising the enormous build up. Both my parents and my in-laws were billeting Commando's and the nights were filled with the rumbling of tanks, guns and other vehicles.
Once or twice whilst I was down that way the Luftwaffe had a go at night reconnaissance of the area but got a hot reception every time. During the day there were standing patrols of fighters that discouraged their attentions and I remember one that tried it one night that found himself facing a daunting barrage of fire that I would not like to have faced. Everything and the kitchen sink was thrown at him as he came through East to West at about 2000ft. Every piece of ack-ack, light and heavy, and hundreds of machine guns let loose from the hills, street corners and vehicle parks with a tremendous racket. It was just too dangerous to stay out in with shrapnel and spent rounds falling like rain. If that intruder got his picture and got back home that night then I reckon he was a very lucky chap.
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As we got towards the end of May it was impossible to meet my wife or get in touch with her. She was in the depths of Montgomer's [sic] HQ scheduling convoys down from the North into the Southern assembly areas although I did not know precicely [sic] what she was doing at the time. It was not until after the HQ had been disbanded that I learned about the restrictions that had been imposed. It was little wonder that I had not been able to get in touch when 'Q' Movements staff were under guard for days and were ever escorted to the toilet!.
[line of stars]
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Back at Feltwell the training programme slowed down and everyone was crewed up into a reserve Squadron. Orders of the day were published imposing all sorts of restrictions.
Crew members were on a two hour stand-by and not allowed off of the station. I was crewed with the remainder of the old crew as Pete and Paddy had already moved on and two others joined us. We regularly ground tested and air tested aircraft to operational standard although our efforts were not always successful. There were always problems with the wicked little 'Gremlins' that attached themselves to aeroplanes. 'Gremlins' were the imaginary demons that were blamed for the many problems that aircraft suffered from.
One of them had a real go at us one night before Paddy had left us. We had landed from a night flying detail and had hardly settled on the flare-path when Mac started giving Paddy a verbal broadside for not having fixed the slow running on the starboard outer engine as it had just cut out when he throttled back. With some surprise Paddy looked at his instrument panel, borrowed my signal lamp to light up the wing and calmly announced that there was no need to worry, it would not need fixing as it had just fallen off!.
That caused a bit of a stir in Flying Control when they were told on the R/T and then something else went wrong and we could no longer communicate with them. There was a lot of choice language from the whole crew and muttering from Mac about "cheap bloody meccano sets" and "it couldn't happen to a Stirling" and other appropriate caustic things as we taxied in.
Before we got to dispersal we were met by one of the controllers on a motor bike who signalled us to stop and then he climbed aboard to tell us to switch the blasted R/T set off. Then we knew why we could not hear the tower. We were stuck on transmit...and in the meantime they had evacuated all the female staff from the control room!!!. Nevertheless, it was quite a programme to get the maximum number of aircraft fully serviceable and operationally ready.
When the big day dawned....'D' Day, 6th June, I found out at breakfast as the majority of us did. The two hour stand-by was
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changed to a one hour and we waited with our ears glued to the radio for the minute by minute news of the events of that day. There was no doubt in our minds that this was the 'big one' that we had been waiting for.
It was incredible that nothing had leaked out although the aircraft had all been tested the previous day, and had been painted with white bands around the wings and the fusulage [sic] . In addition they had all been fuelled and bombed up the night before plus there were two more bomb loads stock piled in each dispersal. All we had to do was to sit around and wait for the signal to report for briefing and we would be off, so we sat around and waited and waited, with nothing to do except go out to dispersal from time to time to move aircraft a few feet as it was not good for them to be in one position for too long with a full load on.
As it happened we were not required. The Luftwaffe were caught napping and by the time they got themselves organised they were very much on the defence. The Allies committed so many aircraft that thousands and thousands of sorties were flown. Even the Bomber Command effort had to be flown on a race-track pattern in and out of the target area for safety and there was no room for us; fortunately!. After three days we were stood down and we went back to the training programme. The rest is now history.
Bomber losses were still heavy at times as the Command reverted to strategic bombing to disrupt enemy communications, supply and fuel resources and there was always the dread thought of the possibility of a repetition of the losses that we had suffered in the attack on Nuremburg the previous March. That had been an absolute disaster when [underlined] 95 [/underlined] of our aircraft were lost. Many of them were crews that had passed through our hands a short while before. It had been a reminder that we were not out of the woods yet and from time to time the Luftwaffe were still a force to be reckoned with.
With the invasion well under way my wife was posted to Newmarket as a result of her Surrey HQ being run down. That was a very convenient arrangement when a sympathetic C.O. arranged for me to be detached to Newmarket airfield as detachment commander for a couple of weeks. Very cosy…..our messes virtually backed
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on to one another!.
It was about that time that Macdonald got himself Courts Marshalled for unauthorised low flying….it had to happen some time. He was returning from an investiture at another airfield, including I believe for his own DFC, but landed on three engines and one bent propellor as a result of low flying over Thetford Forest, and it had taken a bit of explaining.
I was not with him at the time but I remember enough of the case to know the prosecution was badly prepared and could not produce the prop. or bits of tree or photographic evidence and the case was dismissed. I also recall that although Mac was in the left hand seat it was in fact in the hands of Mcllroy in the right hand seat. A piece of evidence that got overlooked, but he was still sailing close to the wind. It was probably similar doubtfull [sic] factors that caused him to prang his car with some of the others on board somewhere out in the Fens when the road did something unexpected. Only Mac was damaged and wore a patch over one eye for a time making him look like a pirate. What hurt him most of all was that in those days before the National Health Service, even in war-time, his accident was treated as self inflicted and he had to pay hospital fees. Even in the RAF hospital at Ely.
By the end of the year the work of the unit was almost complete. Reserves were being built up and replacements could be made by other conversion units so No.3. LFS. started running down with Methwold being cleared first. That kept me busy for a while dismantling all the systems that I had put in and returning stuff to stores, and in the meantime I was pulling strings to get the sort of posting that I wanted.
By the end of January 1945 nearly everything was cleared up and to my delight my posting came in for No.9 (Special Duties) Squadron, sister Squadron of the famous 617 (Dam Busters) Squadron which was more than I had dared to hope for.
Unfortunately a change in circumstances caused the postings staff at No.3. Group HQ. to have a re-think within 24hours of issuing the posting notice.
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My posting to No.9.Squadron was cancelled before I finished packing!.
Instead, after more days of delay I was crewed with some of the remaining chaps at Feltwell and posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall so it was back on ops. again to fill the gaps that were still decimating units.
'Gaps' was the operative word as in my period of 'rest' at Feltwell the Command had lost a mind boggling figure of around 2000 aircraft.
It would have been nice if the old crew had managed to get back together again but things did not normally work out that way. Pete was already half way through his tour on Mosquito's at Downham Market. Paddy was getting on with his second tour with 115 Squadron. The others had been crewed up and departed. Squadron Leader. F.C.Macdonald.DFC. had been appointed as Flight Commander of 622 Squadron; also at Mildenhall, and it was a whole new ball game.
I only had the opportunity of socialising with Mac once in the very short period that I was there. The hand of fate caught up with me at last.
Our first operation was the last that XV Squadron's new, all officer, all second tour, all ex instructor crew was to do and it was late June before I got back to Mildenhall again, mainly to thank the parachute section for packing my parachute correctly!.
By the most amazing coincidence when the WAAF in the parachute section went through the books to find the serial number of my 'chute it turned out that she had also been the packer!
The poor girl got a sloppy impulsive kiss and a donation to their social fund but when I went to look for Mac I could not find him. There was very little interest; no-one wanted to know as he was away somewhere and although I tried several different ways of communicating with him later I had no direct contact again until 1954.
My search eventually led me to a scruffy motor engineers workshop on the outskirts of Wisbech where he seemed to be both the proprietor and chief mechanic; there was no-one else!.
He was the same old Mac. Uncommicative [sic] and shabby, like the shabby old Triumph Dolomite that stood next to a shabby old
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caravan that appeared to be both his office and his home.
There was not much left of the old sparkle and fire in his eyes although at the time it might have had something to do with the fact that the mid afternoon refreshment served in a dirty cracked cup came from a whisky bottle rather than the tea pot, but he was just as dammed uncommunicative as ever. Never a word when a nod and a wink would do. About the only thing I can remember him saying was "I thought you had got the chop and I was going to write to your wife" but of course, he never had. He did confess to being a bit surprised that I was by that time a Flight Lieutenant and the Operations Wing Adjutant at Mareham but his comment was typical. "I never thought you had it in you". He never was complementary....just a dour Scot.
He really looked as if he could here done with some assistance but there was no way that I could do anything without offending him although I did find out that he had done another 15 ops. and had ditched a damaged Lanc. before his wings had been well and truly clipped.
Shortly after that meeting I was off to foreign parts and on my return to the area about three years later nothing had changed although shortly afterwards he did another disappearing act and it took many years to track him down again. The trail eventually led to Troon and then to Dunoon before it fizzled out once more and it was many more years before he surfaced again with the assistance of the RAF Association and the Mildenhall Register. He was in very poor circumstances in Glasgow where Paddy found him and there was every indication that he would rather not have been found. He was content to be a survivor and the past was over and done with; what he could remember of it at the ripe old age of 82!.
We had not been far out in our estimates in 1943. He must have been one of the oldest Squadron pilots in the Air Force at the time at the age of 38!.
He disappeared again for a short time but following the trail left by Paddy I made a visit to Glasgow and finally tracked him down in a home for the elderly but he was no longer the Macdonald we had known. I don't think he knew who I was. He died six years later!.
I have never regretted my 'choice' of the pilot in which I placed
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my trust and my life and those sentiments are shared by the surviving members of the crew. We look back on those days and wonder how we ever came out of it unscathed considering that in our subsequent flying after the war we nearly all had the experience of climbing out of 'bent' aeroplanes.
Pete flew in a civilian capacity with Freddie Laker as both Navigator and Flight Engineer. They were lucky to walk away from a wrecked aircraft on the Berlin Air Lift. Paddy walked away from a wrecked passenger Mk.V. Stirling in the Middle East and I climbed out of a Proctor upside down on Oakington's runway.
For the record, Mac, Pete, Paddy and Ralph were all awarded DFC's for their efforts, Mac and Pete with bars, but sadly we are no longer a complete crew.
For me, those years were the most traumatic of any life and I will never forget those occasions when we were so close to each other in that short period that seemed like a lifetime.
TO
"THE SKIPPER"
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THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
[underlined] OLD….BOLD PILOTS [/underlined]
Anon.
[page break]
IN MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[row of circles]
[page break]
[underlined] ACKNOWLEDGMENTS [/underlined]
To Michael.J.F.Boyer……. whose research and detail in his excellent books:- [underlined] Action Stations--Part-One [/underlined]
[underlined] and [/underlined]
[underlined] The [/underlined] [underlined] Stirling [/underlined] [underlined] Bomber [/underlined]
were valuable sources of information.
To Martin Middlebrook & Chris Everitt for research details made available in the [underlined] Bomber Command War Diaries [/underlined] .
To Jock Whitehouse & Spencer Adams whose energy and enthusiasm helped to correct the many inacuracies [sic] in my early drafts.
and
TO MY DEAR WIFE DOROTHY who was obliged to tolerate the many years of typing and interuption [sic] of more important matters.
not forgetting
THOSE CREW MEMBERS WHO ARE LONG GONE:
WITHOUT WHOSE SKILLS THIS STORY
[underlined] COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN TOLD!!. [/underlined]
[line of stars]
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[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
On the 3rd February 1945 seven aircrew were posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall, to form the crew of a Lancaster.
The pilot was Australian, the rear gunner was an American in the RAF. The navigator and mid-upper gunner were Scots and the remainder of the crew were from the counties of Sussex, Nottingham and Warwickshire.
They had all completed a previous tour of operations and had been resting for varying periods as instructors at No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell in Norfolk.
The school was closing down and as the staff were being dispersed one pilot had been given the option of forming his own crew prior to posting back to an operational Squadron. That is how we all came together.
Some of the new crew had flown together whilst at the school and the pilot and flight engineer had previously flown together on Manchesters and Lancasters in operational Squadrons.
The time had come for them to get back into the fray as the bombing campaign was being stepped up to an awesome number of aircraft being employed to deliver thousands of tons of bombs to the enemy as the war was rapidly drawing to a close.
The Third Reich was reeling from savage attacks from both East and West. Their Navy was just about bottled up and had lost most of their capital ships. Her Army was being lost in great chunks and the German Air Force was being severely restricted by fuel shortages and although they fought on desperately the final blows were not far off. Anyone with half an eye could see that; except Hitler. If he had not been so crazy he would have given in a long time before we had reached the critical stage, but since he would not, and the Allies would accept nothing but unconditional surrender, Germany and it's long suffering population had to bludgeoned into submission.
I was the Wireless operator/air gunner of the crew and we were part of that final effort although there was an awful lot of killing still going on in all theatres of the war.
At the time it seemed that we had a good chance of being in at the finish so on arrival at Mildenhall we got stuck into refresher training and emergency drills against the stop watch
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until it did not seem possible to trim any more time off of the procedures and the 'Skipper' was satisfied that we were now moulded into a crew and ready for anything.
For me it was quite an experience being back at Mildenhall again having been there as an 'erk' in 1941, and now I was back again as a commissioned officer and experienced crew member although I did not have a lot of time to dwell on the fact.
A lot of water had passed under the bridge and we were perhaps somewhat unique in that we were an all commissioned crew starting a second tour of operations.
That was a very rare combination and as I thought at the time we might make a name for ourselves.
HOW WRONG I WAS !!!!!!
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On the 7th of February we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation and subsequently the old familiar pattern of activity fell into place as we trooped into the briefing room.
The target was detailed as the oil refinery at Wanne Eikel, at the eastern end of the Ruhr industrial complex, which, suprisingly [sic] was still trying to produce something despite the hundreds of tons of bombs that had been dumped on and around it over the years.
Our job, within a force of 100 Lancasters of No.3.Bomber Group, was to try and put it out of business and further disrupt the already desperate fuel situation that was severely limiting the activities of the German War Machine.
As far as I was concerned it was going to be a change to be on a daylight raid. I figured that at last I would be able to see what was going on and that I might even get a chance to assist in doing something really useful from the astro dome. Even the prospect of flying higher and faster than I had done on my previous tour in Stirlings was something I was certainly looking forward to.
I had polished up my gunnery in the various turrets on the firing range including stoppage clearance although inwardly hoping that the occasion would never arise when I would have to put the practice into use as it would mean taking over from one of the other gunners who had become a casualty.
Even so, there was no way that I was going to be caught out in such an emergency----not when the end of my war was in sight!. After briefing and collection of all the usual paraphernalia we all trooped out to the airfield in the crew bus to get on with the pre-flight checks until the time came for us to start up and taxy out for take-off.
With the usual heart stopping lurch Lancaster ME434...coded LS(XV Squadron) D for 'Dog'; the 12th that had carried that identification, (not all Lancasters); took to the air as the end of the runway came into sight with everything straining to get up to a safe height with it's heavy load of bombs and fuel.
The load was around 2000 gallons of petrol with 1 x 4000lb blast bomb and 12 x 500 pounders. Not the maximum that a Lanc. could take but enough to require some delicacy-in handling.
4
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Everything was normal as we gained height and climbed on course following a route that took us over Newmarket where my wife was.
I was wondering what she was thinking as the thunder of up to 100 aircraft filled the air. I had only seen her the night before and had told her that I was going to be busy so she knew that something was going on.
We were soon changing course for a point on the South Coast near Beachy Head and as it came up on track my home town of Worthing was in sight, to the West as we crossed the coast with the sky clear and bright as we continued to climb to our operating height.
The rest of the force closed around us as we formed up into the usual 'gaggle' as we approached another turning point on time.
Unlike the USAAF, we did not fly in a tight defensive formation as the RAF preferred to present any attackers with a loose, weaving, inconsistent mass of aircraft with a less restrictive field of fire. The exception was underneath, which is why some of XV Squadron's aircraft that took up position at the bottom of the pack had been locally fitted with a pair of ventral guns to cover what would normally be a blind spot.
We were not one of those but a 'Gee-H' leader, carrying some special homing and bombing equipment with which to pin-point the target through cloud. The yellow bars on the tail fins identified us as such.
We crossed the French coast which was no longer as hostile as I had last encountered it and in fact it was an inspiring sight to look down from over 20,000ft in such brilliant conditions on an area that only a few months before had been wrested from German domination.
It all looked very peaceful down there but there was always that false impression of things outside the aircraft and one could easily be lulled into a false sense of security by it.
Despite the impression of a bright summers day out there and the warmth of the sun falling on my shoulders in the astro dome it was, nevertheless minus 12° out there.
It was uncomfortably hot for me so I discarded my 'Mae West' life jacket as we changed course once more to head across Belgium
5
[page break]
towards the Ruhr.
It soon became obvious that the bad weather that we had been warned about at briefing was not far ahead. In the distance a huge wall of angry black cloud appeared; from just about deck level right up to the heavens, stretching from North to South as far as-we could see.
It was a typical squall line associated with frontal conditions and the nearer we got to it the more obvious it was that the Met. people had underestimated it's severity.
The formatiom [sic] leaders still did not break radio silence with instructions and as it was obvious there was no way around it we were soon doing what everyone else was doing as the force started spreading out with maximum climbing power until we plunged into it, in an attempt to get out of the top.
At 23,000ft we were still in it and ploughing on yet there were still no instructions to change our plans but with the first of the Ruhr defences ahead of us, and the aircraft icing up to the extent that she was getting very sluggish, Geoff Hammond, the pilot, was getting concerned that we could not possibly go much higher without the risk of losing control plus the chance of carburettor icing as well.
With the sun obscured it had turned very cold inside the aircraft as the heating system was fighting a losing battle and I thought that perhaps it was time that I put my life jacket back on. I thought better of it for the very reason that I would have to take my parachute harness off to do it but with the aircraft waffling around like a drunken duck it perhaps not the best time to do it.
We were all somewhat relieved when Geoff announced that we were turning back and descending to try and find better conditions although it was some time before there was even the slightest improvement.
We could not get out of cloud completely and the ice was still not clearing although it was no longer building up so we set course for our secondary target; Duisburg, from where we could have made a dash for clearer areas. However, Dave Howell, the navigator, although he was able to place us over the target area on radar, was not satisfied that he could pin point a target so we just kept on going and descending as the cloud started
6
[page break]
to thin into layers. As the conditions improved ice started to strip off and clatter about with a great deal of noise although it was no problem and certainly better than being loaded with half a ton of ice in the wrong places.
Even-the Lancaster had very limited de-icing equipment. It was only installed on the leading edges of the wings inboard of the inner engines, and therefore not all that effective. It was policy to increase the-bomb carrying capacity by reducing such [underlined] unneccessary [/underlined] [sic] frills.!!!!!.
It seemed that it was going to be an abortive sortie and that we would be taking our bombs back home and dumping them on the range but after a short conference on the intercomm [sic] Geoff decided that our best bet would be to go back to Krefeld in a final attempt to plant the bombs on the enemy side of the 'bomb line' so we turned around again and headed East for Krefeld.
We were still in and out of cloud at about 8,500ft by the time our new target came up by which time Dave and Jim Murphy the bomb-aimer had decided on a target reference and between them the bombs were dropped in one salvo.
As soon as they had gone we started into a port turn to make for home when Jim reported that the bomb doors would not close, probably due to icing…..; [underlined] when it happened!!!! [/underlined]
The aircraft gave a violent lurch and being in the astro dome I was horrified to see the starboard wing just rear up as if it was going to wrap itself around us.
With my heart in my mouth I went scrambling towards my parachute stowage but before I got there I was brought to my knees alongside the radio compartment as the aircraft rolled right over and the next few moments were rather desperate.
We went into a spin; which way up I shall never know, but to the accompaniment of the sound track from some old aviation film we, were descending at an alarming rate as Geoff yelled "prepare to abandon" on the intercomm [sic] although no-one really needed telling. The trouble was that there was little that we could do about it.
Geoff and Des Cook the flight engineer were fighting the controls together with linked arms as the altimeter unwound rapidly but the spin had locked everyone into their respective positions.
Dave and I were both desperately trying to get to our side by
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side parachute stowages without much success and although our heads were probably only a couple of feet apart I swear that our eyeballs; out on stalks-must have nearly touched.
It has often been said that when one is faced with death one's whole life flashes before you but I do not recall any such images.
The only thing that flashed into my brain-box was "Dear God; this is it-I hope it doesn't hurt too much", and then suddenly the aircraft righted, or at least stopped spinning and we were released from the centrifugal forces that had kept us locked allowing us to get the 'chutes out of the racks as at the same time the order came from Geoff to "abandon...abandon...abandon”. Reaction to that order was automatic after the amount of time that we had spent practising the procedure in the previous three days.
Helmets with oxygen and intercomm [sic] connections were torn off. Dave and I grabbed our parachute packs on the run and slammed them onto our chest clips by the time Jim Murphy had jettisoned the front hatch and had virtually gone out with. Dave went next, feet first and I followed so closely behind, head first, that there could not have been a foot between us.
Archie Macintosh, the mid-upper gunner, was hot on my heels even though he had had to negotiate the main spar to get up front and then the way was clear for Des.
Des had already released Geoff's sutton harness and removed his helmet and connections as well as his own whilst Geoff was still struggling with the controls and he was ready to go the same way as the rest of us.
We had all thumped Geoff's arm as we passed so he got another thump from Des prior to his departure after which Geoff was able to make a dash for the exit before the aircraft went out of control again. As usual, the rear gunner had made his own arrangements by rotating on the beam and jettisoning the turret doors then throwing himself out backwards.
From the word 'go' there was a lot to be done and it says a great deal for a well practiced drill because we figured out afterwards that we were all out in 12 secs. flat, and not suprisingly [sic] , even faster than we had achieved in practice only the day before when Geoff had insisted that we do it again and
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again until he was satisfied.
It was with the same mechanical process that I counted to ten before I pulled the rip cord although I have to confess that I cheated a bit. It was more like 2,4,6,8,10 and after I had done it my heart was in my mouth as nothing seemed to happen.
I had felt some urgency to get the 'chute open as quickly as possible as we had been in cloud all the time and I had no idea of our height at the time of going out. I was just hoping that it would open before I dived into something solid; like the side of a house before it did.
I had made sure that I had put the 'chute pack on with the 'D' ring under my right hand which had been on it from the time I had clipped up. I had heard too many stories of people who had gone out in a panic only to be found later at the bottom of a hole with the right hand side of the pack half torn away by bleeding fingers; yet as sure as I was that I had done everything correctly it seemed like a lifetime before anything happened.
There was a violent jolt and I was swinging under a rustling canopy, still in cloud and preparing rapidly for a heavy landing. For a brief moment there was a tremendous sense of relief as I found myself looking down at the 'D' ring clutched in my right hand. Then the thought struck me that I had better hang onto it as there was a five shilling fine for opening a parachute; but only by mistake. What a bloody silly thought!...so I tossed it away smartly just before I broke cloud.
I estimated that I was about 1500ft and on looking around I found that I was much too close to a turbulent river for my liking, especially as I was a poor swimmer and I had no life jacket on, so I started hauling on the shroud lines to do something about it. With not a lot of time to spare I concentrated on the landing.
I was agreeably suprised [sic] that crossing hands on the lines and pulling them in opposite directions worked like the instructors said it would and with a little more heaving and hauling I soon got a fair idea of where I was going to land in an open field!.
I need not have worried about going into the river as a strong wind was carrying me away from it but if it was not bad enough that landing by parachute was the equivilent [sic] to the rate of
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descent of jumping off of a 12ft wall I seemed to be doing about 30mph on the level so I was not keen to get a busted leg at that stage.
When I was just a few feet above the ground I turned the release buckle to unlock the harness and a fraction of a second before touching terra firma I banged the release buckle and Presto!. I came out of the harness, into a forward roll over the shoulder and hip and immediately up on my feet to grab the lower lines of the canopy and collapse it. It was a classic landing-I was down safely and I could only hope at the time that the others had been as successful.
I had seen no sign of them during the descent but I was to find out all about that later. The most important thing was-where the blazes was I?. The time was 3.30pm and as we had crossed and re-crossed the 'bomb line' there was every chance that I might be on the Allied side.
The terrain gave no indication of where I was and there was not the activity that one would expect of a battlefield area but with those thoughts running around inside my head I gathered up my parachute and shoved it under the base of a tree among some roots as I decided to get away from the immediate area.
[line of stars]
10
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Continuation of “Water under the Bridge – Part II. by A.T.GAMBLE.
I could faintly hear shouts and whistles coming from one area so I scrambled off on my hands and knees in the opposite direction into an area of 4ft nursury [sic] pines towards a road that I had seen on the way down. By the time I got there the shouts and whistles had become considerably louder.
Within a few seconds of reaching the edge of plantation the road was in sight but I stayed under cover until I spotted a Jeep coming along displaying the American white circle with a star in so with great relief I broke cover, stood up and waived [sic] . I immediately regretted it.
The chap standing up front next to the driver let loose with a sub-machine gun so I promptly went to ground again.
I just had time to notice that his uniform, although a sort of blue, was not quite the familiar RAF colour and pattern, Then I knew which side of the line I was on; the wrong side. !!
I was only half aware of the sounds of ZZZtz’s as lead cut into the area around me as I did a reasonable imitation of a rabbit on my hands and knees heading for the middle of the trees wondering how the blazes I was going to get out of this situation, until l was finally forced to stop, exhusted.
I buried my identity card which I should not have been carrying anyway, plus two £1 notes, and drew my pistol which had been tucked in my tunic, cocked it and laid down trying to be very, very small.
A siren was wailing in the distance and the shouts and whistles got even louder with sounds of more local movement that was just audible above the hammering of my heart.
I did not know what to expect but what happened was very sudden. A heavy boot came down on my gun hand. The pistol went off and I was hauled to my feet facing the business end of a nasty looking machine pistol and about half a dozen grinning chaps of my own age; in Luftwaffe blue!.
There were some others behind me and one of them relieved me of my Smith & Wesson .38 and with my hands now free it seemed the most logical thing to do was to put them well above my head. With as cheerful a grin as I could muster I said "good afternoon", to which the bloke behind the pistol said, "gooten abend, fur sie das krieg ist fertig". (good afternoon, for you the war is finished) and although my German was not good enough
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to interpret, the inference in the manner in which it was said was sufficient. I was without any doubt a Prisoner of War!.
In the middle of the group, with a prod and a push I was ushered to a large house, past a battery of heavy looking anti-aircraft guns and the thought struck me that they might have been responsible for my present predicament as there was no doubt in my mind that it was ack-ack that had got us, but I didn't ask. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of an affirmative reply as they already seemed pretty smug about the whole business.
I was led into the house, and up the stairs from the baronial hall of heavy oak panelling and flying staircase and into a room being used as an office.
An officer behind a huge antique desk greeted me with a broad grin, so with very little to lose I gave him a parade ground salute which he smartly returned. So far so good….but what was running around inside my head at the time was the irony that it was just my luck to have come down in the middle of the Luftwaffe flak unit that had shot us down!.
The proceedings that followed were all conducted in German and a lot of sign language apart from one question directed to the single ribbon on my tunic. It was only the 1939/43 star as it was then, but the officer pointed to it and enquired "DFC”?. Well, a DFC was about the equivalent of their Iron Cross, whatever class, and I thought it might influence the treatment so "ja” it was. As it happened it might as well have been a VC for all the difference it made.
Everything was turned out of my pockets. Collar studs were taken from out of my shirt. (They obviously knew that we often had special one's with compasses in them). Then the cufflinks, (they often had the same use). Then all of the buttons from my jacket and trousers. (Again some buttons could be used as a matching pair with one balanced on the other to produce a crude compass). Then the stitching that secured the tops of my flying boots was cut to deprive me of the tops as they were obviously aware that often money and maps were built into the layers of fleece and silk.
A polished metal mirror that I always kept in my left breast pocket was also removed before I was handed a piece of paper
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and pencil, and it was not difficult to understand the next request. Number, Rank, Name, although it was difficult to comply right away until I had secured my trousers with my tie.
Among my possessions now laying on the table was a nearly new pack of 20 cigarettes, so I indicated a request for one but the crafty blighters handed them round first leaving just one in the pack for me. Even then they did not light theirs. They probably pulled them to pieces later to see if there was anything other than tobacco in them. I knew there was not. I had only got them from the Mess bar the night before.
Now those in the escape and evasion pack that had gone down with my life jacket were an entirely different matter but it was no good bemoaning the loss of that stuff.
It seemed that the initial procedures were finished when the officer made a few calls on a field telephone after which I was ushered outside to take my place between two armed escorts on bicycles and with a boot up the backside and "Schnell" off we went with me at the trot.
I found out later that I had come down between Veirson and Alderkirk, about 10mls West of Krefeld but we were soon away from there as was persistently prodded and booted to keep me on the run which was no easy task in sloppy shoes which used to be flying boots, and trousers without adequate support but they seemed in a great hurry and obviously 'I was of no consequence.
There were regular encouraging shouts of "rouse" and "schnell" accompanied by more kicks in the rear so there was no alternative to keeping on the move.
What surprised me was the fact chat the area we went through was devoid of all civilian population. Villages, shops, farms and houses were deserted. There was no sign of life at all. Derelict filling stations had rusty 'Shell' signs hanging lop-sided. Shops with tatty Coca-Cola signs were all boarded up. It was more like a no-man's land that I jogged through with little evidence of all the troops that I expected to see considering how close to the front line that I was. It was even more surprising since in the early hours of the next morning one of the biggest offensive's of the war was launched by the Allies
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on the Northen [sic] battle front in an attempt to break through and reach the Rhine. They must have been known that something big was about to break.
The very fact that we did not achieve immediate success is a matter of history but with great armies lined up and about to be locked in battle less than 30mls to the West I can only assume that if there was any strength of German troops in the rear they were very well hidden. The only traffic that I saw was the occasional military vehicle travelling very slowly hugging the edge of the tracks through wooded areas.
I was just about done in when we finally arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Krefeld around dusk.
I was duly handed over and signed for at the guard room with my two escorts still showing signs of being in a hurry to get back to their relatively isolated unit before the RAF or the USAAF started chucking stuff at what was a prime target.
Perhaps they figured they would have more chance against our ground forces but whatever; they were off as fast as they could go with their hand generating flashlights whirring away.
My first impression of the place was the similarity between their buildings and our pre-war bases at home. It all looked so familiar that they might have been built to the same plans….perhaps they were!. Even the cell block behind the guard room was identical as was the exercise yard behind it, but I was not impressed when I was shown to my room.
In the cell was the same sort of wooden dais that served as a bed, (no comfort for the wrong doers), and of course no pillow or mattress. Just a single thin blanket.
It was not long after I had been locked in and I had taken stock of the situation that I realised that it was some time since I had eaten or had a drink, about eight hours actually, so I started making a fuss to attract the attention of a guard and demanding to be fed.
The sign language conveyed the message alright but the only reaction was a great deal of laughter and sign language from them which simply meant "you have had it mate"!.
I have no doubt it was due to a typical military process which ensured
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that there would be no issue of food to a prisoner until he came on ration strength in the morning!.
Everything that I had been provided with for such emergencies (had I been allowed to keep it) had gone down in my life jacket.
I finally went into an uncomfortable and restless sleep with visions of that egg and bacon that would have been waiting for me back at Mildenhall, and grumblings in the tummy. I was also very concerned at the sort of reaction that there would-be when the inevitable telegrams arrived. There was no way, that anyone back home would know what had happened to us. We would just be 'missing' until something was sorted out.
In the morning the routine was simple. An early visit to the ablutions under guard with no means or opportunity of washing, other than splashing a little water on the face and return to the cell to find that 'breakfast' had been served.
It had been placed on the floor outside the cell door. I could have eaten a horse, harness and all but all that 'breakfast' consisted of was one slice of sticky black bread with a smear of bright yellow grease on it and a mug of some brown stuff that they called coffee.
I did not dare laugh at their reference to "cafe' and brot und butter" as there was no was of knowing when I would get anything else particularly as my insides were already protesting at not being fed for nearly 24 hours. Nevertheless, I nibbled and sipped any way through it having never ever tasted anything quite like it before.
Had I gulped it down I have no doubt that I would not have kept it down for long. It was absolutely ghastly.
There was no activity at all until mid-day and after a visit to the ablutions a meal was provided on a small folding table in the passageway and I had company.
My companion was a young Luftwaffe airman of about 17 who spoke quite good English and although he could have been a plant I very much doubt it.
Over the meal which was about a handful of turnip stew. a tablespoon of sourcraut [sic] and a thin slice of black bread without any scrape, plus a mug of the brown stuff we managed to communicate sufficiently for him to tell me his story.
Apparently he had wanted to be a pilot but his eyes were not
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up to the standard required so he had become ground crew of some sort which he had been a bit peeved about. He was in the cooler for striking an officer and what's more he did not seem too worried.
I found it embarrassing when after he had made enquiries about the various insigna [sic] on my uniform and found that I was an officer. It was he who suggested that the scar on my forehead was a duelling scar so I want along with it. After that disclosure he jumped to his feet, clicking his heels and bobbing up and down in typical German fashion until I suggested that we had better get on with our food, what there was of it, before it got cold. Especially as we were using the same utensils...his!. Then we were locked up again and for my part still hungry.
I have often wondered how that lad got on. After all, striking an officer was, and still is a serious offence, especially on active service. He was probably sent to the Russian front in a penal battalion to fight for his beloved Furher [sic] . They might as well have shot him outright. Whilst I was having visions of egg and bacon I was disappointed when supper turned up. It was a mug of a different shade of brown stuff of indefinable flavour and so to bed. It was the same routine the next day and my insides were still trying to come to terms with the 'snacks' that arrived three times a day and even the Luftwaffe airman had disappeared but things livened up the next day.
There was a terrific rattle of light ack-ack when the airfield was straffed [sic] by USAF P.51's, (Mustangs). They did a hell of a good job from what I could see through a small peep-hole in the top corner of the window, only just accessible .by climbing on the bed stood on it's end.
There were quite a few fires and explosions and a hell of a racket from the defences but I was forced to abandon my grandstand view very quickly when lead started splattering all over the outside of the building. It was too close for comfort and the window finished up with a larger hole in it that it had had before causing a bit of a draught.
Archie Macintosh had been brought in the night before but apart from one brief meeting we had been unable to communicate as
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he had been put in a cell at the other end of the block and we were fed at different times.
I was beginning to get a bit fed up with my own company when on the afternoon of the 10th I had plenty of company.
The entire crew of a B.17. (Flying Fortress) were brought in and distributed among the cells so two of them joined me.
They were a bit suspicious at first but were soon convinced that I was genuine as I was sharing their discomfort. Despite the increase in numbers we were not provided with any more blankets and only a small increase in total food, although we were being fed in the cells at that stage. Fortunately my new cell mates had only recently been well fed back at their UK base and were quite willing to forego the "Kraut junk food" so I had my fill. I am sure they changed their minds about it later on.
At least there was someone to talk to relieve the utter boredom of my four walls and I must confess that I was astonished when I heard their story.
Apparently they had lost an engine and could not keep up with their formation so before the fighters could get at them they had just force landed, fired the aircraft and that was that.
I found it difficult to reconcile such an action with what we might have done in similar circumstances but their orders were not to risk lives at that stage for the sake of an aeroplane. There were plenty of them!. Even so I thought that it would not have been difficult to have done some hedgehopping to our own lines rather than finish up in the situation they now found themselves in.
The next day we were all mustered outside the Guardroom after our morning drink and with one guard per prisoner we set off to Dusseldorf by the process of alternatively walking or hitchhiking on military transport. Archie and I were at last able to compare notes.
He had gone out just behind me but had not been able to execute as neat a landing.
He had landed in some fairly tall pine trees and after he had finished crashing through branches he finished up swinging about 20 feet from the ground somewhat winded.
He had a lot to think about once he had recovered and certainly
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did not fancy getting a busted leg by releasing himself from that height, although that is what the Luftwaffe wanted him to do as soon as they arrived on the scene.
There was a lot of shouting and a few shots to give him encouragement so he eventually got a good swing going until he was able to grab the branch of another tree, release himself and clamber down. The rest was routine so that was two of us that were OK anyway.
As we plodded along we took in all that was revealed by the countryside and the signs of the desperate shortages in Germany were even more obvious.
All the things that made up the daily life back home that we took for granted; the butcher, the baker, people, transport and tradesmen were just not there. The area was desolate apart from the odd military vehicle that picked us up and saved our legs for a few miles.
It took a long time to cover the 16 miles by those means and there was no refreshment at all-not for us prisoners anyway!, but we duly arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Dusseldorf to be handed over and signed for as usual at the guard room.
Then our escorts came up with an extraordinary gesture that took us completely by surprise They came down the line and shook us all very politely by the hand, with of course the inevitable heel clicking, and then we were led away to our cells. There was four in mine, including Archie.
We were not fed or watered. Only water was available when it was possible to visit the toilets although the guards were very reluctant to let us use the wash basins--but we managed.
By that time I was used to being hungry and our American friends were getting aclimatized [sic] --but getting very vocal about it. It was a total waste of time, even when we were ushered outside at 4.30 the next morning.
Naturally we were hoping that we were going to be fed but all we got was a pack of three dry sandwiches, containing some garlic smelling sausage and being told that they had to last several days. Some only lasted a few minutes as about 20 of us were packed into a bus which took us to what was left of Dusseldorf station and whilst we were waiting around for something to happen we found that Jim was among us. That made three of us accounted
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for.
Jim's descent had been perfectly normal. There had been a reception committee waiting for him and he had gone straight to Dusseldorf where he had waited several days for something to happen. At last it had.
We spent all day on that train, and the next as it clanked and groaned it's way across country. It was a painfully slow journey, and sometimes we were shunted into sidings for long periods, and on others we were just held up by the signals.
The guards were touchy and there was one outside each of the compartments all the time. The only time we were allowed out into the corridor was for the occasional visit to the toilet, still under escort, and the facilities were a bit primitive to say the least.
Drinking water was limited and was only made available twice a day from a bucket with a ladle which we all had to use, so it was not surprising that we were getting thirsty, dirty and hungry. Three sandwiches do not go far---mine went on the first day and nothing else had turned up.
Sleeping was another big problem although we dozed quite a lot as there was-nothing else to do, but ten in a compartment brought it's own problems, especially at night. We took turns for a few hours at a time up on the luggage racks but without any heating on the train it did not take long for the body to get chilled right through so it was necessary to get back into the sweaty and rather smelly huddle of bodies to warm up again.
We had to disembark several times as the train went forward slowly on it's own over either weak or hurriedly laid sections of track or where unexploded or delayed action bombs were suspected and it was all very tedious.
The next night we stopped at one station to change the train crew, I think it was Siegen, and it was another of those rare occasions to get out of the compartment.
The German equivalent of the WVS were on the platform and the ladies of the tea urn were approached by our guards with a proposal to dispense some in our direction and with a great show of reluctance they eventually obliged.
Of course, we had to take it in turn to use the tin cups provided as we had nothing and the news was relayed that the hot drink
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was 'chocolate'. I saw some strange expressions from the others that were ahead of me in the queue when they got theirs and I don't suppose mine was any different when I got my measure.
As chocolate it was more like dirty washing up water and that the average German had long forgotten what chocolate really tasted like.
It was more like the sort of brew that you would get if you dissolved a Horlicks tablet in five gallons of hot water!.
It was welcome just the same and we dare not make any disparaging remarks about for fear of being deprived of it.
I was just wondering if I should finish my ration by washing in it when the air raid sirens started wailing and there was immediate panic everywhere as we set off for the shelters.
We were herded down some steps into caves which had been hewn out of the natural rock alongside the station and some of us helped the guards with their packs. Someone else 'accidentally' knocked over the abandoned drinks trolley in the general rush and we eventually finished up in a dimly lit shelter where we were pushed well to the back as bombs started crashing down outside causing the lights to flicker and dust to start filtering from the roof onto everyone. [The raid was short but the bombs were heavy one's and are thought to have been Mosquito's on a 'siren tour'].
The rest of the occupants of the shelter, mostly civilians including children were terrified and apart from one old bloke, stayed huddled up in the corners. He shuffled across to our group and peered at us through the shield of guards for a while until it dawned on him who we were and then he went frantic.
He lunged and spat, yelling "terror fleiger" doing his damnedest to get through to us but the guards closed ranks into a solid wall in front of us and he shoved off when the all clear sounded. The guard commander was taking no chances that any further demonstration might get out of hand and we left last!.
I doubt if they would have been so protective If they had known what we had been up to. It was some time later after we had re-embarked and were clanking along once more when they found out. First one went to his pack and then another, to find the cupboard bare. Even the: wine bottles were empty!.
They got very upset about it and there were all sorts of threats
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of punishment for stealing but we just laughed it off and it came to nothing.
Their rations were not all that good anyway but by that time we were past caring. I do not remember anyone saying that they did not like garlic sausage or black bread but in that situation you soon forget about any fads and fancies you might have had.
We finally arrived at Frankfurt on the morning of the 15th and I was surprised to see so such of the station still standing. It was not until I took a second look that I realised that the broken framework of the roof had no glass and the only solid thing seemed to be the platforms, and there was a lot of those missing.
It was even worse outside!.
The roads were just avenues between piles of rubble that had once been houses, shops and businesses. What a mess. I had seen some of Coventry after they had done some clearing up in the areas that had been devastated, and a great deal of London's East End but this lot was not in any way isolated. It spread as far as the eye could see. We had seen signs of it from the train as we were pulling in but when we were actually in it was obvious that anything still standing was little more than a blackened shell.
It was not surprising that the population were showing signs of hostility as we were herded out of the station and we were surrounded by the guards almost shoulder to shoulder. It was with some relief that we were all shoved into the relative safety of an old electric tram which eventually rattled and whined it's way up the hill in the direction of the infamous interrogation camp; Dulag Luft, at Ober-Orsal, the place that most of us knew about from the talks that we had from either repatriates or escapees. We had a pretty good idea of what to expect, and were prepared for it.
The tram ran out of line after about two miles and then we were on foot again until we reached the camp at about 2pm.
This time the guards did not shake hands when we were handed over. They were probably still sore about their stolen rations and were as anxious as we were to get a meal. Nevertheless, I was glad that it was policy for the Luftwaffe to look after Air Force prisoners. They seemed reasonable enough under the
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circumstances.
Perhaps they were being particularly nice now that the stuffing was being knocked out of them and although they would not have admitted it many of them must have known that the end was near.
We queued for a long time as forms were filled in and cross checked with other papers and then finally it was time to have our photographs taken.
Most of the staff seemed to be Luftwaffe aircrew who were either grounded by the shortage of fuel or were convalescing but either way they were not very good with a camera. They had been clicking away merrily for some time with the lens cap still on and a buzz passed down the line not to tell them until they got near the end. I was only a couple from the end and it gave me great satisfaction to point it out to them. Much to their embarrassment Everyone fell about hooting with laughter and there were a few derisory remarks made in German about the efficiency of the Luftwaffe. It did mean of course that we had to do it all over again which involved getting colder and hungrier but it was all part of the scheme of things that almost everyone was engaged in. Crudely put, it was 'goon baiting', and something that they failed to see the point of.
After hours of standing around and being herded to and fro' I was eventually ushered into a room that might easily have been one of our own flight offices. It was a cleverly laid out stage set that was a perfect replica using RAF furniture, carpets and fittings that had been captured and put to use. In addition there was even one of our own Marconi TR1154/55 radio equipments sitting on top of one of our filing cabinets with an RAF flying helmet, goggles and oxygen mask draped casually over an open drawer, plus a gunners Irvin fur flying jacket on the door hook to create the right effect. In addition there was a wall map with pins and tapes showing routes and other areas exactly the same as the one in our briefing room.
I could not help wondering how many of these stage sets they had got for the various aircrew categories both RAF and USAF but it was so obvious I was immediately on my guard.
When the officer, or the chap that was dressed as one spoke from behind the desk it was in perfect English, without any accent, that it might easily have been an interview by a flight
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commander on posting; except that he was in the wrong sort of uniform!.
He asked all sorts of questions relative to target and route, the call signs, equipment, and frequencies as well as the codes, all of which I refused to answer. I stuck to number, rank, and name.
After a while he pushed over a packet of Players cigarettes and then launched into some searching questions about the Bomber Codes that we used and even showed me some copies that they had obviously recovered from pranged aircraft. Naturally he wanted to know about the sequence of use and although I told him that it was a random sequence and just issued for an operation he really did not believe it, but it was true and so simple that it was unbelievable. As a result he was not convinced and suggested that as an officer I must know more than that (which I did of course), but it seemed that the best way was to act ignorant, and I doubt if they were ever able to decode anything from any one transmission. It was that simple yet very discreet.
He started off again about the target and why we had been around Krefeld but eventually got fed up asking the same questions over and over again, and getting a blank stare for an answer.
All the time he had been questioning me he had been referring to a folder on the desk in front of him and eventually with a sigh he held it up and showed me the front cover. As plain as the nose on your face the wording was '15 Squadron, Mildenhall'.
It had obviously been put together over the years from snippets of information plus a good deal of intelligence gathering through spies and the like and they may have managed to find sufficient evidence from the wreckage of 'D' Dog to tell them where we had come from. After all, 4ft lettering on each side of the fusulage [sic] would be enough. Nevertheless, he displayed a certain amount of smugness at the disclosure and when I said "well, if you know all that why do you persist in asking damn silly questions" he went one better. He said he knew Mildenhall quite well, and that included 'The Bird in Hand', which was a local favoured pub. Then he trotted out some more local knowledge and rounded it all off with the fact that I would be pleased
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to know that all the crew had been captured uninjured which was a great relief, although it was a sprat to catch a mackerel. He started off right away again about Bomber Codes. No way. Two could play that-game so it was back to number, rank, name again.
All the time the interrogation was going on, in addition to the guard by the door there were two electricians in white overalls working on a side wall putting in electrical conduit and I was doing my damndest to show more interest in what they were doing than my interrogator and especially the materials that they were working with.
The conduit seemed to be rolled up paper' tubing with a foil coating and a crimping tool rather like a large pair of pliers was being used to shape the curves and the corners.
The electricians looked at me with puzzled interest and I grinned back at them much to the consternation of the interrogator. It all seemed a bit daft to me. With Allied ground forces approaching the Rhine for the final big blow and their country being blasted to bits and their armies in the East and the West retreating from overwhelming forces. With death and destruction everywhere wasn't it typically German to be putting in electrical modifications?. I suppose they could have been wiring demolition charges just in case but surely they would not have bothered with conduit---or would they?.
I was dragged back from my meditations when asked to complete a small white card with personal details and when he saw my home address he asked how I managed to get across London with the mess that it was in with the VI's and V2's still a pouring down the question took me by surprise The damage from those weapons had been very isolated however devastating it might have been in the precise spot of impact. At the worst we had learned to live with the things even when one had taken the end off of the London hotel in which my wife and I had been staying and another had blown up a cow in a field just across the road from where we had been staying in Surrey but life went on just the same so I told him. "No trouble".
That was not good enough and he still persisted that London was in a terrible mess so I let his have it straight. I told his that I could still cross London any way I wanted. By taxi,
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bus, underground or on foot as I had done only three weeks previously...or stay in the city if it suited, and certainly a lot easier than he could get across Frankfurt from what I had seen of the place. That was it. End of interview! Could it have been that he had heard all that before and he was soon going to have to believe it?.
I was promptly dismissed and escorted to my 'private' room. It was three paces by one and a half most of which was taken up by a bed, and of course, the radiator!.
The window was shuttered and this type of room was commonly known as the sweat-box and considered by many to be the means of extracting information from people.
Although we had been told about this I am still more inclined to think that since the Germans were generally more advanced in their use of central heating systems than we were they were also inclined to overdo it a bit; even in those days.
I had been locked up for about an hour when the rattling of keys alerted me to the possibility of food arriving but no such luck.
When the door opened it was to admit a tubby, faded civilian, in a faded shapeless suit. He looked like something out of 'Scrooge'` in his cock-eyed steel rimmed glasses, and announced himself as a representative of the German Red Cross as he produced a foolscap sized questionnaire. We had been warned about this one too!.
Red Cross he might have been but the requirements of the questionnaire seemed to be bending the rules a bit and he seemed somewhat upset when I only entered the same basic details that had gone on the white card.
We had been warned that anyone who had been careless in their disclosures would be dealt with later and I was taking no chances.
It would not be the first time that 'Lord Haw-Haw' (William Joyce) had made use of such information and mentioned the names of people that had recently become guests of the Third Reich in his propaganda broadcasts.
Another significant factor was that William Joyce knew Worthing well enough to have made the most of it having been in lodgings just around the corner from home before the war. I was very
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careful.
The little grey man got quite angry and made dire threats about not getting any food if I did not co-operate. Big deal...that was nothing new. No food had past my lips for at least 36hours!. Not long after his departure clatterings at the door suggested food again but instead an elderly guard brought in a dirty metal bowl with some lukewarm water in it and a razor with a blade that had definitely seen better days. One thing was for sure, there was no way a desperate POW was likely to cut his throat with it!.
The rest of the equipment was a dirty damp towel and a piece of 'soap' more like pumice stone which had no intention of producing a lather. It made very little impression on my seven days growth of beard or the 'tide marks' on various parts of my anatomy that had not been exposed for the same amount of time.
I felt better for it anyway even though I still had no opportunity to clean my teeth and it was probably just as well that I had not got my steel mirror to assist in those ablutions. I would probably had a fit.
Some time after that the clatter at the door was followed by the same guard with my meal. Not very much and not very nice but even a dollop of turnip stew in a tin bowl was welcome at that time which was probably nearer 48hrs since my last bite of anything.
It did not take long to figure out the routine. There was a lever by the door which when turned allowed a piece of red painted angle iron to drop on the outside indicating that a visit to the toilet was required.
On my first visit I was going down the corridor and was horrified to see an ashen faced Flight Lieutenant, his arm in blood soaked bandages, just painfully stumbling along, using the wall for support, and I instinctively went to give assistance although he feebly protested that I would get into trouble. I did!.
I got a rifle butt smack between the shoulder blades and down I went. When I struggled to my feet the guard was screeching his head off about "sprachen verbotten" and "schnell" as I was prodded along to the ablutions where another chap was able to tell me about the set-up.
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Apparently the Flt.Lt. was the pilot of a Tempest which was a type fairly near to the battle scene and as they wanted information from him they were withholding medical treatment until they did. His arm was already gangrenous and he smelt awful but there was nothing I could do for him when came back out of the toilets. He had just managed to make a little more painful progress down the corridor and that episode most certainly put all of my problems to the background. I was definitely not amused at the procedings [sic] .
I spent the rest of the night doing what everyone else seemed to be doing. Making sure there was a signal bar going down every few minutes of the night just to annoy the guard. It did!.
On one occasion when he got around to me he was very angry and protested to some considerable length in his pigeon English that "alles ist pissen unt shitzen" so it seemed worth while going without sleep. It was too hot for sleeping anyway with the radiators pinging away.
At 5 o'clock they next morning, after a drink, an untidy collection of prisoners were assembled outside with the usual shouting and shoving and then we were marched the five miles down to Frankfurt station to await a train. The weather was cold and miserable, we were cold and hungry as we staggered along in no particular order and then I was thumped on the back by Des which cheered things up a bit. He had already found some of the others are although I did not feel much like walking it certainly helped to swap experiences and pass the time.
Des had a very good story try tell.
Despite the fact that in his haste he had only secured his 'chute by one side clip and had made a very dodgy descent with every chance of the canopy 'candleing' [sic] and dropping him like a stone he still made a reasonable landing without injury. What was more important, his landing was undetected so he made some very positive arrangements to evade capture.
For two days and nights he worked his way Westward and had made considerable progress towards the front line to the point of having to dodge German patrols and guards.
In the early hours of the second morning there was gunfire all around him and he even heard American voices in the distance when he got a bit too bold.
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He had already fooled a guard earlier by grunting "gooten morgan" after the guard had shown his presence by lighting a cigarette, then strolled by him whistling Lillie Marlene but shortly afterwards made a lot of noise by falling in a ditch and was challenged. There was no way that he could bluff his way out of that and he was promptly bundled off to the rear to spend the night in a village hall before being handed over to the Luftwaffe, so here he was after all that.
It was after mid-day before a train was finally shunted in by which time most of us were just about asleep on our feet but were eventually embarked with more pushing, shoving and shouting accompanied by the liberal use of rifle butts.
The guards must have thought we were all daft by the way we kept bursting into song from time to time. We did our best with that fine old marching song 'Colonel Bogey' which cheered us up considerably. The Air Force had it's own words to that particular piece so we managed to tell them just what we thought of them without them knowing it!.
We finally arrived at Wetzlar later in the day having recovered from our earlier exertions but we were very, very hungry.
When we disembarked we were once more jostled about until the whole party, about a hundred, were ready to move off.
Then Dave turned up, although why we had not bumped into him before was a bit puzzling. Des had already met him and lost him again but it appeared that he had been at the other end of the column and this was our first chance to mingle since we had left Frankfurt.
There was a great deal of chat and it seemed that Dave had been picked up even quicker than me. He had come down in the open and the German Air Force was there to welcome him with open arms. He had been a bit concerned that the reception committee gathering below him were going to use him for target practice and was relieved when he finally touched down and rapidly divested himself of his 'chute and harness before doing basically what I had done. There was no other choice!.
We were chatting away as we trugged up the hill away from the station and eventually the boundary wire of a camp came into view looking somewhat ominous on the skyline but before the front of the column got to the main gate there was a flurry
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of activity.
Suddenly there were a couple of shots and the sounds of whistles as half a dozen guards with dogs came rushing out of the gate and we all came to a halt as they broke though our ranks and raced around the perimeter wire.
They raced out of sight and there was a lot of shouting and dogs barking for a few minutes before another shot was heard and shortly afterwards the party came back dragging a body unceremoniously by the legs along the whole length of the column. The body was that of a young American Air Force Sergeant who had a leg and a body wound in addition to a neat hole in his forehead!.
We soon found out what it had all been about when we got into camp but not until we were fed; this time with a difference.
For a start it was a well run POW transit camp run by the Americans and it seemed to have everything. It was a long time since any of us had been in a dining hall like that one. As traumatic as our arrival had been food was still uppermost in the minds of most people.
Surrounded as we had been by drab ugliness for so long to find ourselves in a clean cheery place with larger than life Disney cartoons and other such characters painted everywhere I half expected to see a Coca-Cola dispenser in the corner but what was on the tables was mind boggling.
There was Spam, beans, sausages, potato, bacon, bread, biscuits, butter, cheese, tinned fruit, dried fruit, chocolate, you name it, it was all there. All the things that came in Red Cross parcels. There was real coffee with reconstituted milk with real sugar on tap, or tea, and we hardly needed a second telling to "get stuck in". It was magnificent.
I can't remember how long we sat there just stuffing ourselves like kids at a Christmas party but eventually when we had had enough we were off to the showers, to be told that an issue of clothing would be made when we had cleaned up and for a start there was a new towel and real soap.
We all needed a good scrubbing before we were all pink and glowing once more and all the gear we had been wearing had been well and truly soaped and trampled on before we went on to the clothing store where most of us needed a complete change to
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bring us up to a acceptable standard.
Like most aircrew I had gone into the bag with just the flying gear that was being worn at the time but like any clothing it was bound to suffer from being worn day and night in all conditions for ten days. Gunners were probably better off than most if they had managed to hang on to their furs, but being military equipment most of them had had it taken from them.
There were other things that came out of the Alladins [sic] cave.
In addition to new underclothes, socks, boots, shirt, a greatcoat and a blanket there were cigaretts [sic] , pipe and tobacco, razor, shaving brush and soap. Toothbrush and paste. A comb and what military folk called a ‘hussif’, (housewife or sewing kit) which was very useful for keeping things in repair and of course for putting buttons back on things.
It was nearly all American Red Cross clothing and the like, mostly olive drab kharki [sic] but that did not make it any less welcome.
The camp seemed to have lavish supplies of everything and the fact that there were no guards patrolling the perimeter suggested that the administration had been bribed with goods to keep it that way with only the towers manned. It was certainly not beyond the realms of possibility knowing the capacity of our American friends to organise such things.
We were soon off to the barrack blocks with arms full of 'goodies' and to finish drying off those items of clothing that we wanted to keep and it was there that I finally heard the full story of the lad that had just got himself killed.
Apparently the poor chap had become very depressed since his capture mainly because as a waist gunner in a B.17. (Flying Fortress) when his aircraft had been damaged, he had panicked and failed to help the ball turret gunner out of his position. (Gunners in this very cramped turret needed assistance to both get in and out) but he himself had baled out and his buddy had gone to his death in the crippled aircraft.
It was hardly surprising that it had affected him very badly and he had been threatening to do something drastic which he had eventually done by going over the wire.
He had had the usual shouted warning when he went over the trip wire but kept going and started to climb the fence. On the way
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over he was hit by the first shot but still struggled on until the next shot brought him down outside but still crawling. There was very little doubt about the third shot that we had heard. That had been a pistol.
Whether he had begged the guards or whether they had needed no encouragement no one seemed to know although he must have been in view from the opposite side of the compound. Either way he was very dead and it was very sad to think that another young life had been needlessly thrown away.
We were not all that happy about our introduction to the POW cage but however much we had been shaken by the episode creature comforts were still uppermost in our minds and I spent the rest of the day sorting myself out and puffing away on my new pipe.
It was just as well that we had got away from Wetzlar station when we had.
I had no sooner made up my bed and was contemplating the luxury of spending the night in it when a racket started in the town as it got a pasting from USAF Thunderbolts and we had a grandstand seat as bits of the town and the station went flying in all directions accompanied by shouts and cheers from the 'grandstand'.
Nevertheless, I did get that night's exhausted, dreamless sleep in a real bed and not troubled by hunger pains. It was sheer ecstacy [sic] and I must confess that I was no longer so worried about how my wife and my family must have been feeling about my disappearance. The way things were going I was confident of getting home in the not too distant future so it was just a case of surviving until that day.
After a leisurely and handsome meal the following morning, the 18th, the whole camp apart from the permanent staff assembled with all their personal possessions and with a Red Crass parcel between two prisoners we were herded; (we refused to march), down the hill.
The station was in a bit of a mess but we were packed into a train on a side line and then left there waiting for something to happen.
What we did not want to happen was for a return of the Thunderbolts to finish off the job that they had started the day before. We had noticed that the carriages had got large
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lettering--P O W in white along the top but there was a lot of muttering about the potential dangers from roving Allied train and tank busters.
An impromptu committee was soon formed from some of the more senior prisoners and it was decided to 'encourage' someone to move the train to a relatively safer place. A collection of cigarettes was quickly organised and for the sum of several hundred cigarettes the guards, station staff and train crew were bribed accordingly. We only moved a few hundred yards into another siding, but It was certainly safer than being in the station notwithstanding the fact that we had an anti aircraft flak car at the front and the rear of the train!
Once again we were packed into compartments, twelve at a time and once more we were obliged to adopt the same procedure as before. Up on the luggage racks for a period. Limited visits to the toilet. Limited drinking water and no distribution of food at all. Fortunately we had all fed well and with the contents of our Red Cross parcels we could last several days.
W were still clanking along on the 19th and perhaps it was just as well that the POW had been plastered along the top after all.
We were buzzed several times by Allied aircraft including one cheeky chap in a Thunderbolt who braved the fire from the flak cars to fly parallel to us waggling his wings and waving from his open cockpit. It was very encouraging even if a little foolhardy but it provided for some more light entertainment.
Although we could not open the windows or the doors we crowded as many as we could into the them [sic] all waving as hard as we could go which caused immediate reaction from the guard in the corridor.
In he came and pulled down the blinds and then the game started.
As soon as he left to pull down those in the next compartment up went ours with a clatter and back he came again. It did not last long---he gave up first!.
At one time we passed through some absolutely devastated areas including some marshalling yards that looked as if a giant had trampled through them.
On one occasion we were on one of the few complete through lines, and everywhere else was a mass of bomb craters, smashed rolling
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stock and rails that were twisted into the most fantastic shapes like so much spagetti [sic] .
Repairs of sorts were being carried out by what looked like Russian or Polish women in headscarves, quilted jackets, sacking and string boots and who were wielding long handled shovels. They looked such a sorry dejected bunch that we put up a cheer but the only response were vacant stares.
One of the most incredible sights among all the mess was that of a huge circle of locomotive sheds surrounding a turntable locomotive roundhouse like the spokes of a wheel which had copped a real packet.
There were several 100 ton loco's reared up on their ends and wrapped around each other like so many discarded Hornby model trains. I don't know where it was. It could have been Frankfurt as it was not far away and we could have come back in that direction, or Wurzburg, but the effectiveness of that yard had been reduced to zero, making it even more difficult to move things about, including us. It did not seem logical to take all that trouble with POW's who were a definite liability.
We found out later what it was all about!.
Apparently Hitler had ordered that all POW's were to be brought down into the area surrounding Birchtegarten [sic] to be used as hostages and I would not have given much for our chances with Hitler in residence backed up by his SS fanatics.
Fortunately Hitler did not get out of Berlin anyway and a lot of his Generals were only going through the motions of obeying orders.
It was a dodgy situation all round and several of his Generals had already come to a sticky end in the hands of the SS.
Meanwhile we were being transported with great difficulty and at one time we passed through a hilly wooded area, still deep in snow which made it all look like a Christmas card scene. It was probably in the Steigerwald area; but at the top of one climb, with the locomotive chuffing and clanking we noticed that there were numerous little sidings among the trees with tanker wagons by the dozen stowed in them. We were to remember those later!.
It was about that time when the young guard positioned in the corridor by our compartment got himself into serious trouble
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with his Oberfeldwebel.
He was armed with an old French rifle of 1914/1918 vintage and we had been working on him for some time about his chances of defending himself when our troops caught up with him considering the numerous automatic weapons that our front line troops were armed with.
He eventually took the bait after some disparaging remarks about his antique rifle and proceeded to show us what a good weapon g it was; by taking it to pieces!.
We had got to the point where one of us had the magazine, another had the rounds and the bolt, another the bayonet until his rifle parts had been well distributed among us and with the train going slow enough to make jumping possible, he was within seconds of being clouted when the NCO on his rounds could not see him in the corridor and burst in on us.
He was blue in the face, waiving his pistol about and of course, shouting.
The guard got a great grand-daddy of a dressing down as he stood stiff as a ramrod and then, sheepishly re-assembled his rifle as the bits were handed back.
After some shouting, with the assembled rifle at the high port the NCO, having said his piece stomped away to a fair bit of tittering from us which turned to laughter as the guard had the last word.
As soon as the NCO was out of earshot, he said, out of the corner of his mouth, "oxen scheissen", which needed no interpretation so we finished up having a damn good laugh with him. For him it probably ended alright but little did he know how close he had been to getting his head bashed in.
In the early hours of the 20th we arrived at a suburban station on the outskirts of Nuremberg. ‘Lagerwasser’ was a dreary little wooden platformed affair and immediately the old routine started. Shouting, shoving and pushing to keep us all grouped together in the darkness we eventually walked about three miles to the camp. Then we walked back again as they were not ready for us!. That episode caused a bit of an argument as we did not know how long we were going to have to wait and it was damn cold. In fact it was actually freezing and eventually we were allowed back into the relative warmth of the train but those negotiations
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cost us almost all the remainder of our precious cigarettes.
Eventually detrained again when it was light enough and we moved down the road in small parties, strung out, until we were well away from the station and with a lot more slow, slow, quick, quick, slow stuff we were all inside the camp at full light.
In the dark and confusion I had lost Archie but had picked up Jim again but the most important thing was that we were more or less in the same group, and that was the only satisfaction that we got out of entering a grim looking place that did not get any better as we took stock of our surroundings.
The board over the main gate said Stalag X111d, and what a dump it was after our experience at Wetzlar.
Apparently it had been recently cleared and was filling up again although at that time we had no idea where the previous inmates had gone. Wherever it was they appeared to have stripped the
place before leaving.
We were counted off, 150 to a barrack room which was actually a very largo hut. Barrack Nr.69 was no different from the others. The bunks were triple stacked and by the state of them most of the wooden slats; (no spring beds or mattresses in those places), had been used for fuel which was the only type of fuel available for the two empty stoves.
We found ourselves places to sleep; and that included the floor as very few of the top bunks could be used after the available slats had been re-distributed to make up as many of the lower bunks as possible. There was not much point in having more gaps than slats up top and doing a balancing act all night with good chance of crashing down on the chap below so everyone co-operated without any fuss.
It goes without saying that the floor was favourite at that time although later on the rats made a bit of a nuisance of themselves. We were obliged to secure our rations very carefully in something they had difficulty getting into.
Shortly after 'settling in' we were called to a room at the end of the hut for a check to be made on our identities by some of the permanent POW camp staff and I was amazed at being interrogated by our own people but these boys knew what it was all about.
They had been in the 'bag' a lot longer than us and knew all
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about 'ferrets' and 'moles'.
Some had come from Stalag Luft.3. in Upper Selesia [sic] and had had the most awful experiences marching through the countryside in the depths of the Winter leaving many of their comrades frozen solid on the road-sides where they had dropped through sickness, starvation and fatigue, many of them having been shot as stragglers.
As 'sproggs' we were very fortunate to have the benefit of their experience but I was suprised [sic] to see a map of Europe spread out on the table and to be asked if there was anything we had seen en route' that might be of any use to our advancing armies.
I got Archie called in and we gave them enough information on the fuel tanker wagons that we had seen up in the mountains for a plot to be put on the map. I still do not recall exactly where it was though.
It was heartening to think that somehow we were actually able to pass on that information and the tankers might go up in smoke. It was not beyond the realms of possibility.
There was a radio somewhere among us. There had to be as we got regular BBC news bulletins after we got settled in. But to imagine that there was a transmitter as well was mind boggling. It must have been a remarkable piece of equipment with it's numerous components concealed in all manner of things with wiring connections and aerial secreted in belts, braces and tin cans. It is worth bearing in mind that a lot of earlier Air Force prisoners were highly trained technicians who could build such equipment out of basics.
I was never privileged to see anything of it. That was the province of the veteran POW brigade and the fewer people that knew about it the better.
It was still freezing and we did not dare use any more bed slats to get fires going as there was always the chance that some might be needed to line a tunnel.
That was only a thought at the time but I found out later that there really was a tunnel linking us with the next compound.
Of course, the toilets were frozen although still in use, and other parts of the ablutions were also locked in deep freeze.
The only running water available was in the compound kitchen where it was used sparingly for producing hot drinks and later
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on some sort of food.
It is understandable that creature comforts were still our primary consideration in such primitive conditions so the first cup of 'hot stuff' that was dished up was very welcome even if many of us had to go to the end of the line and wait until the owner of a drinking utensil was prepared to lend it.
We had been in the camp several hours, when an air raid hit the city, starting with the wailing of sirens in the distance and then the camp sirens.
Then the roar of hundreds of B.24's, (Liberators) reverberated and shook everything as they came in from the South with mass formations glittering in the weak sunshine but they were surrounded by enemy fighters like a swarm of bees around a jam pot.
The fighters must just about have met them head on and they wheeled in and out of the formation. Flak peppered the sky and they still droned on as one fell out of the sky with flames pouring from it. Then the smoke markers and streams of bombs from the lead aircraft was followed by clouds of bombs from the rest of the formation with the most spine chilling whistling rushing sound as they descended followed by the steady roar of explosions they plastered the city in great swathes.
Some went wide, perhaps jettisoned as aircraft got into trouble, and the station that we had only recently vacated collected one or two!.
What was most vividly imprinted on my mind were the numbers of crippled aircraft falling out of the sky at one time. There must have been at least a dozen. Some breaking up, others on fire or exploding with bits and pieces raining down and all the time the continuous roar of the battle with the crackle of machine guns, the thud-thud of cannon mingling with the heavy crack of anti-aircraft guns. It was a savage battle.
There was an awful lot of killing going on up there as well as down below and there were a lot of parachutes too.
The luckier one's fell clear of the city, and I would not have given much for their chances if they had come down in it.
We added to our numbers by one that day and he did not go on the ration strength. He came right down in camp and was promptly hidden before the guards came out of their 'funk' holes where
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they invariably dived with their tin hats over their back-sides.
We learned later that the B.24's had come from Italy and were going though to UK bases, hence they had run into the defences instead of having to fight an extended battle right across the country.
The fires in the city burned all of the rest of the day with the occasional explosion of delayed action bombs which made it very difficult for the fire fighters as well as the inhabitants.
When that bit of excitement was over the rest of my day was spent sorting myself out. I was lucky enough to salvage an old tin can from a rubbish dump and as soon as it was cleaned and polished with sandy soil I was able to join the drinks queue a bit nearer the front.
I had also found a piece of barrel hoop that looked as if it might be turned into something useful so I started working on it. It took two days of hammering and grinding with stones and lumps of concrete before it eventually finished up as a combined cutting tool and shallow spoon to make me more independent.
Ever the optimist, there was never any need for a knife for a long time as most of the food we were getting was easily dealt with a spoon; or the fingers!.
The first night was cold and rough, but we managed to get through it, as usual, fully dressed, rolled up in a blanket and anything else that was available. Even wrapping paper and cardboard was useful; either as cover or to provide some sort of insulation underneath. It was a noisy night too as a few Mossie's turned up and stoked up the city with cookie's.
It did not take long to finish off the Red Cross parcels that we had left Wetzlar with and the food provided during the next few days was very basic.
The day usually started with the ersatz 'coffee', without milk or sugar of course. There was a slice of black bread at midday and the thickness varied according to the number of people sharing a loaf. Sometimes there was a pat of ersatz margarine about the size of a ten pence piece, or a bowl of vegetable stew was a luxurious alternative; if you had a bowl to put it in, otherwise it was handful. In the evening there was a mug of ersatz 'chocolate'. No milk or sugar of course, and that
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was the basic ration when there was no supplement from the Red Cross parcel.
The mid-day 'meal' was quite a performance as there was no mess hall. When the rations came in there was a whole crowd of 'observers' who followed it's progress to the cookhouse and the division and supply to the huts to ensure that there was no pilfering along the way. Considering that we were a mixed bunch of RAF and USAAF, Officers and NCO's it was all done quite amicably. The final division of the bread was usually done by the chap with the sharpest knife under the eagle eye of more 'observers'. He had to be very careful when it had to divided between nine or nineteen people!.
The next day brought another devastating attack on the city. Again they were B.24’s but this time coming from UK bases on their way back to Italy but the concentration was not the same.
They would have spent a lot longer running the gauntlet as attack after attack had been met and probably many losses had been incurred. This time we went for cover as a lot more bombs went very wide of the target and in our direction. They were not quite in the camp but when one or two holes erupted within a few hundred yards of the wire in open ground only the foolhardy would have stayed to watch.
The next day was just another cold and miserable day. The city banged and burned but there was no heat for us. Not that we expected it after what had happened just a few miles away.
It was well below freezing at night and Jim and I found it warmer to do what others were doing by just wrapping ourselves up together to utilise a bit of animal warmth. It was either that or freeze.
I shall never understand what rats found to scavenge for in that place but they were always busy at night and could often be heard in the vicinity. Perhaps they were cold and hungry too and were looking for a warm place but we very soon learned that it was not a good idea to take one's footwear off at night unless you wanted something gnawing at the toenails!.
On the 25th the city was still burning and another batch of prisoners came in. Some more huts were opened up and as we stood there looking for familiar faces among the new arrivals we found one. Lynn Clark, the rear gunner. We soon had him billeted in
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our hut and it was not long before his story came out. After the order to abandon came he had already managed to put his 'chute on and rotated his turret on the beam so all he had to do was jettison the doors and chuck himself out backwards. The snag was that his bulky flying boots got stuck between his seat and the guns as he had not depressed them sufficiently so he found himself hanging out of the back watching us go one by one underneath him and disappear into the cloud.
It was no time to mess about so he pulled the 'rip'; the 'chute deployed and yanked him straight out of his boots. It's a wonder that he didn't break his legs considering that it was all happening at speeds somewhere between 150 and 250 mph but he was lucky and made a good landing, albeit without any footwear!. Unfortunately he too was soon picked up after he had spent some time improvising some foot covering out of his parachute that had served him so well. Later on he was provided with some well worn second-hand boots but certainly better than lashings of parachute silk/nylon. Nevertheless, he had not seen Geoff either and we were beginning to wonder if he had been able to get away somehow and that what we had been told at Ober-Orsal was all 'bull'.
The city still continued to burn all the next day with the occasional crump of a delayed action bomb going off but the highlight of the day was the mid-day meal when real potatoes were dished up.
We knew they were real as there was still a great deal of earth attached to them that had not come off in the boiling. At least it showed that none of the goodness had been lost in the cooking!.
There was even a smear of evil smelling semi-liquid French cheese in lieu of the coal based margarine that in better days would have been condemned for human consumption....and possibly animal consumption!. But we eat it just the same!.
The RAF stoked up the city again that night with a few more 'cookies': Those 4000 pounders certainly did go off with a crump that shook the dust off of everything and that was from three to four miles away!.
Another day dawned and with it good news. A large consignment of Red Cross parcels had come in with more people and lots more
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rumours. Even the rumours were a heartening charge from the daily dose of 'bull' that we were getting from the OKW (German High Command) news bulletin which was always good for a laugh when it was read out by an English speaking guard. I wonder if he ever listened to the BBC London news broadcast.
Every evening now we were getting a summary of that compiled by our own sources, inclusive of information from new arrivals that were not being processed by Dulag Luft. There was a great deal of difference between the two bulletins.
We even got another blanket issued on the 28th so that at last we could manage to keep warm without going into a huddle at night but the most important issue was the distribution of four Red Cross parcels between [underlined] five [/underlined] people. There was a lot of good stuff in those....including cigarettes!. I don't think I was the only one going around puffing happily and blowing smoke all over the guards as if to say "that's real tobacco".
I got real satisfaction out of that as a couple of days before I had traded some soap for a couple of their's and an enamel spoon; but only once.
Theirs tasted like a mixture of dried oak leaves. old tea leaves and pulverised straw-perhaps they were, but like a lot of other things in Germany at the time it was ersatz, (substitute), and tasted like it.
The pattern of each day did not vary much. A bit of a thaw during the day allowed a little more water to come through although it all froze up solid again at night.
The food issue was still the same old rubbish but it was safest to eat it first and then top up with something from the parcel. It would have been so easy to have gone for one big blow out and be done with it and it exercised one's self control to the utmost. It did not always work!. Scrounging and bartering with the contents of the parcel was an occupation undertaken by some with the mental agility of the street trader but it was not for me. Some went around trading in such a way that they doubled their stock but I confess that I was one of those who helped them do it as my stock diminished. It takes all sorts and I soon packed it in when I found that I was being outsmarted. If we all had that sort of ability for success we would probably all be in the stock exchange.
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We did get a little light entertainment on the Ist March that also gave an insight into the plight of the Luftwaffe.
We had often noticed activity at an airfield a few miles away to the North East and on this particular day we observed a couple of FW.190's tail chasing which was the standard procedure for a fledgling to learn new tricks but it was obvious that it was a very inexperienced pilot that was doing the chasing by the way he teetered around every turn at about 3000ft not far from the camp.
We watched them for a while as they went through some very basic manoeuvres. The trainee wobbled around every turn very gingerly and after a short break they had another go. They went on to some more advanced stuff and at one point when the turns got tighter and tighter I think we must have all been willing the outcome when he wobbled and side slipped, wobbled some more and then lost it.
He stalled, flipped, and dived earthwards out of control and wallop, in he went with a plume of smoke to mark his grave.
A great cheer went up from the camp but the guards were most upset about it and we were confined to barracks for two hours. As far as we were concerned that was one FW.190 that would not have to be shot down so we indulged in a little community singing, bawling at the top of our voices everything from 'Abide with me'. 'Colonel Bogey' and 'Lillie Marlene' liberally sprinkled with RAF words, much to the bewilderment of the guards who had been stationed in the doorways of the huts.
On the 2nd March the day dawned much the same as any other until some more prisoners came in and as our compound had filled up the next one became active. We were soon at the wire making shouted enquiries about this that and the other when Geoff appeared; looking a bit pale but otherwise fit and well.
It transpired that he had made a reasonable descent but he also had landed slap into the arms of a reception committee although that did not explain his late arrival at Nuremberg, but that was soon explained.
He really was at Dulag Luft at the same time as us but he had been out of circulation for seven days after his interrogation.
It seemed that towards the end of the interrogation, when presented with the little white card and pencil he told the
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interrogator precisely what he could do with it...in Aussie terms,....sideways; so he got seven days solitary confinement for insulting a German Officer!.
According to Geoff, "Ve haff vays of delink vis you" is not so funny when you are the one being dealt with. But now we were all accounted for. Years later, as a solicitor, practising in Australia, I am sure that he was more careful in his selection of words in difficult circumstances.
As a matter of interest it was the small white card that triggered off the Red Cross reporting procedure that notified all and sundry that so and so was a POW so he could have saved himself a lot of trouble.
Between the 3rd and 7th there was not a lot going on. It did start to get a little warmer during daylight hours on occasions and it soon became neccessary [sic] to find ways and means of filling in the time.
There were a few scruffy packs of playing cards about but unless one was good at poker there was no point in taking a hand unless you were prepared to lose your shirt. The stakes were usually items in short supply and our American friends seemed to have the manopoly [sic] of the schools.
I was of the opinion that I had lived rough enough already to risk my meager [sic] stocks which had already suffered from my attempts at wheeling and dealing especially as I saw a few who got the bug and were going down the drain fast for promissory dollars or pounds in the form of I0U's to be redeamed [sic] later.
Draughts,(or checkers) was favourite with most people, using home made boards and pieces made from cardboard and soot from the still empty stoves to distinguish black from white and it did not take long for regular afternoon and evening classes to get going on all manner of subjects in one hour sessions. It certainly filled in the time with subjects as diverse as music, fishing, maths and agriculture.
I found considerable interest in the German classes which were given by a Flt.Lt. who I suspect was one of the Luft.3. boys and he was as interesting as he was fluent. It is highly probable that he had been partly educated in Germany before the war and apart from the introduction to the language he told us a great deal about their history, the people and their culture.
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There were rumours that he was a 'mole' or a 'stooge' but if he had been I am sure that we would have known about it and not tolerated him for long, but then we thrived on rumour at that time.
Later events were to prove his credibility but there was always a little suspicion about who was who so we generally stuck to people that we did know and bit by bit accepted others on recommendation and found oneself accepted. I even found a Flt.Lt. who came from my home town and who's home was no further to the West of my local pub than mine was to the East. He had been in Wg/Cdr. 'Willie' Tait's crew on 617 Squadron at one time and had helped to make a mess of the battleship Tirpitz before he too had run out of luck.
The days just went by with very little to mark one from another and although I had started keeping a diary using cigarette packs there is a long gap without note after the eighth as things became rather desperate.
The Red Cross supplies were running out. The bread allowance became less and less. At one time twenty two people shared a loaf and sometimes we only got one ancient hard tack biscuit instead.
The days and nights just blurred into each other and there was a general feeling of helplesness [sic] as we became weaker and weaker. People had got into the state where they were falling all over the place especially when going from the horizontal to the vertical. One had to be very careful to let the world stop spinning before attempting too much.
On the night of the 11th RAF Mosquito's made another noisy attack on the city but most of us were too far gone to get very excited. More than half the hut had gone down with the flu' and the limited supply of Asprin did very little in the way of relief. They were only dispensed to the most seriously ill who had complications and the only way was to try and keep warm relying on friends to bring a little nourishment as it became available.
Certain things happened during the period that I cannot put a date to but I know they happened.
Some Red Cross officials toured the camp and the Camp Commandant lost his dog.
The Commandant, in elderly silver grey haired Hauptman, always
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smartly dressed, used to walk around with his staff and his Dacshund [sic] until one day it disappeared around the corner of a hut on his own personal inspection for something to cock his leg up against; [underlined] and did not come back!. [/underlined]
He was very upset over the loss of his little 'Fritz' but he had underestimated the skill and determination of our cooks so our stew that day had a little more 'body' in it. I’m glad I did not know at the time!.
In the same period the civilian contractor who used to bring the rations in by horse and cart was distracted long enough for his horse to disappear in the same way as little Fritz and he made a terrible fuss. Not so much about the horse but the harness and the blanket!.
He eventually stopped hollering when the items were returned plus an additional blanket but there was a lot more fuss when the cart was towed back to the gate by hand and then a search party was sent in to find the horse. All they found were a few nasty bits and pieces down the toilet pit. Everything edible had gone into the pot and was stewed and diluted for several days before it ran out.
As a result of this latest escapade all starts of reprisals were threatened with Courts Martial for theft and with shooting; the lot....but it all fizzled out. It might have come to that if things had been normal but they were anything but normal.
Towards the end of the period I was getting over the worst of my ills and I eased myself from my bed in stages into the vertical position for my daily constitutional and tottered out of the hut.
I had not gone far when I started a nose bleed so I was staggering along, head back, my one and only handkerchief in use to stem the flow when there was a blinding flash, a searing pain in the back of the neck and the next thing that I remember was that I was face down In the dirt.
When I climbed to my feet blinking in pain with a few angry words welling up inside me I was facing a full blown inspecting party comprising of an SS General and his staff which included two giant sized troopers, one of whom had bopped me with his rifle butt.
I think it was astonishment that stopped what might have been
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some ungentlemanly language but was halted in my tracks when the Generals Adjutant or his ADC stepped forward and barked "you must salute a superior German officer".
I was in no condition to argue so he got his salute. It wasn't the parade ground sort though. It was a very sloppy afair [sic] in which two fingers were more prominent than the others and I was shoved out of the way whilst they continued their inspection. After that I staggered back to my bed feeling worse than when I had got up.
The days and nights continued to blurr [sic] into one another and then ran the 13th came the devastating news that President Roosevelt had died the day before and an impromptu memorial service was laid on.
It was difficult to take it in and the guards crowed a bit as if they had somehow been responsible and suggested that it could mean the end of the war without appreciating that that was not the way a democracy worked. It seemed such a tragedy that the great man had not survived long enough to see the end of the war than was obviously not far away.
The following day we were still feeling a bit numb but there were some rumours of parcels coming in that cheered us up a bit but it was very difficult to show a bold front when we were all so cold and hungry....but we tried.
It was not until the 15th that things showed real signs of improvement. The toilets at last came out of deep freeze and then some fuel came in so the boilers were stoked up for the first time in a long while. We had hot showers and made full use of the water that was available and washed some clothes.
Drying them was the problem so there were a lot of people just wearing a blanket for a while, not that anyone cared about that when Red Cross parcels were distributed. One between two!.
Apparently they had come in by truck the night before and during the day some more arrived. Thank God for the Red Cross. What sort of a shape we would have been in without them I dread to think and at the time few people, including myself had any idea of the vast operation that the International Red Cross had going.
The RAF had another go at the city on the night of the 16th yet despite it all some more fuel came in and there was more hot water for a while to continue the cleaning up process. The
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place was turned into a laundry, and like most laundries things got 'lost' but no-one cared much. The most important thing was that we could clean up and that there had been no sign of lice. On the 17th there was another surprise. I suppose it had something to do with the recent inspections that some of our deficiencies were being made up. We were issued with new enamelled spoons and bowls and by way of payment the city got another pounding during the night.
It was followed by some excitement the following day when long columns of prisoners arrived at the main gate. They had all come from Wetzlar...new POW's and the old permanent staff as they evacuated the place and brought all of their accumulated stores that they could manage.
It seemed as if Nuremberg was becoming an assembly point for POW's but it was getting very difficult to absorb the numbers. It did not seem possible that any more could be crammed into the place, but somehow they were.
There were over 200 in our hut by that time and all of the top bunks had to be brought into use by re-distributing the bed boards plus the clever use of all sorts of materials such as string, strips of fabric, and cardboard plaited and replaited and finally criss-crossed to serve as webbing. It was suprisingly [sic] strong especially as some of it had a centre core of fine wire that had been stripped after some of the lighting had been re-routed!.
The new arrivals had brought a large quantity of food parcels so there was a generous issue which led to a bit of a party later in the evening which was rounded off with some community singing. It was all going quite noisely [sic] until the sirens started to wail and the lights went out as another raid fell on the city.
The days started flying by as things improved; especially the weather. There was no longer that bite in the air that seemed to cut right through you, made worse by the fact that you were not getting adequate food.
The showers were no longer permanently frozen so when there was water it was at least possible to have a drink or to have a wash.
Rumours were rife but usually the jungle telegraph managed to
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pick up something from the outside and one rumour of even more food parcels coming in raised our spirits some more. So did the sound of heavy gunfire in the distance on the 25th. That really was a good sign.
There were some French parcels distributed on the 25th but most of us thought that the contents were very inferior although welcome. It was hardly likely that they could have been anything else considering the conditions that the French had been living in for years. They were the bulk version similar to the British ones we got sometimes and were divided between 13 men or went straight to the cookhouse.
The American pack was the most favoured as it was based on the 'K' rations that were liberally distributed to their troops, and were made up of several packs about the size of a 200 cigarette pack. They came in three variations. Breakfast, dinner and supper, and were complete with cigaretts [sic] , matches, can opener and that most civilised item; toilet paper!. Nevertheless, the Americans were not all that keen on them. Too much Spam and coffee powder!. They should be so lucky!.
I got to wondering if the German POW's in our hands got Red Cross parcels and what they would to like. Not that they would need them as desperately as we did, but at that stage of the war with transportation in Germany at breaking point food supplies were probably worse than they had been for years and everyone suffered accordingly.
We were more keen to get out of the wretched place but with the end so near there was no point in trying all the normal escape methods. We had in fact been told by our own administration not to do anything risky. It was only a matter of time.
There was a lot more speculation when definite news reached us that 30,000 food parcels had somehow arrived by train which was possibly just as well as not even basic rations had come in for days. Supplies had been very spasmodic since the dog and the horse had disappeared.
Even more important was the news that Allied forces were less than 100 miles from Nuremberg but what put a slight damper on that was that we received instructions to prepare for a long march so with an issue of parcels was advice on how we should
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turn the contents into 'marching rations'. There being a limit on how much we could carry.
The veterans soon passed the ward around and everyone was soon busy, and trying to avoid the temptation to have what POW's referred to as a 'bash'. A real feast. It was not practicable. The idea was to process as much as we could into convenient and lightweight food. Everything other than the tinned goods had to be considered. Tinned food was to be consumed first but the biscuit, fruit, (raisins and prunes), peanut butter. powdered milk, flaked chocolate, coffee and sugar was all to be pounded together with as little moisture as possible so that when it dried out it could be cut into bars about the size of Mars bars and then wrapped in anything suitable. It made good sense and on the basis of one bar per meal, three times a day there was more nourishment in that than we had been coping with for same time.
Then there was the problem of carrying it all along with blankets and other personal bits and pieces. Trying to carry a parcel as some people seemed prepared to do would have been back breaking so I set myself the task of making a rucksack from the lining of my US. army greatcoat with the aid of my 'hussif'. I put a lot of time in on that and as far as I was concerned it was a masterpiece and copies were being made by others.
It had padded shoulder straps, waist straps, draw string, blanket roll straps on top and other ties on the bottom. I washed and darned my socks ready for the off but I was not in all that much of a hurry. My mind was concentrated on other things.
Every night I dreamed of a shoot out down the road so that we could all get out and go home. But it was not to be.
The 28th came and even more prisoners arrived and were squeezed in. Tents were put up on the spare ground between the huts and the latest news was that armoured forces were only 70 miles from us. So near, and yet so far!.
The longer we hang about the nearer our forces got to us and in the meantime it was just a case of hanging on to our marching rations and eating up any surpluses from regular issues of parcels which everyone was getting. No other food was coming in.
On the 29th more prisoners were squeezed it somehow The place
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was bulging at the seams.
Some of them had come from an Army camp at Hammelburg, 170km. North West of Nuremberg and same very interesting stories came out of that lot.
Apparently an American armoured column had blasted through the German lines with the express intention of releasing the prisoners of Hammelburg but it had all gone disastrously wrong. Although some had been released the Germans reacted very quickly to block their escape route to a safe area and there was all hell let loose. A lot of casualties had occurred and some of the escapees found safety back in their barracks but the Germans took more prisoners and only remnants of the raiding force got back to our lines. So the story went although it seemed too far fetched to be credible.
Each time the story was told it became more and more lurid until we treated it as what the Americans would call "scuttlebuck' or we would call 'bull' despite the protestations of "on my Mother's life' etc.
Eventually it turned out that basically the story was true although officially not a lot was said about it but it did tie up with an OKW news bulletin that a couple of days previous had reported an American armoured column approaching Wursburg was counter attacked and had suffered very badly. Certainly some of the new prisoners had been taken on that raid so it was not all 'bull'.
April 1st brought more parcels and as by that time most of us had our marching rations set aside so we really did have a 'bash'.
With parcels had come another suprise [sic] in the form of even more prisoners. Thirty two members of the Serbian General Staff, also from Hammelburg!, although the normal compounds were by that time so chock-a-block that a temporary compound was set up with tents alongside ours. Then things changed dramatically.
The guards no longer patrolled the compound from the inside but only the outside of the perimeter fence which had been extended, so down came the trip wire and the inner fence which normally we were forbidden to approach at the risk of being shot. Even a stand-pipe was set up to provide then with running water so it was a free for all as ours was still limited. Of
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course there were protests from the guards as it seemed that just about everything was 'verboten'. They just could not understand why we would not obey the rules and it made them very angry.
The very fact that the internal fence on one side had come down saved us from the daily ‘apel' (role call) which had become an obsolute [sic] farce. The guards never got it right anyway.
If a head count did not produce the right answer they tried all sorts of methods but we had all sorts of ways of adding and subtracting people. What gave them most trouble we found was having more people than they should have done so then they would try an identity check which was a bit daft anyway. It always worked out simply because our own administration drew up the nominal rolls anyway. As long as it tallied they had been happy. Now they had given up the whole charade, and left it to us.
A strange phenomena occurred whilst I was attending an open air Easter Sunday religious service. Just at the end of the closing hymn and with many people kneeling in private prayer, there appeared, it seemed, just to the North and very high, an enormous V shaped cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky. I have no idea what caused it but many theories were put forward.
The most popular one was that it was a very high flying aircraft doing a photo recce' of the battlefield but we could see no sign of the aircraft itself. The cloud hung there a long time before dissipating like a cigarette smoke ring. To me. and others no doubt, it was another sign of hope, and so unusual that I just hoped that a little miracle would happen and that somehow we could just walk out of the main gate and go home, but no such luck. Such thoughts were becoming an obsession it seemed.
The next day we were warned to be ready to move out at 7am the following day so there was feverish activity to get everything prepared.
One of the veterans who had already had experience of one of these marches tipped me off that cigarettes, soap, and chocolate were the most useful currency for bartering with the guards and the German population and I had already observed that soap was being thrown away wholesale down the toilet pit.
There was so much of it, still packaged, under the twenty seater
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'thunderbox' that It was not difficult to recover several dozen unspoiled packages of soap. As much as I wanted to carry anyway. The following morning we were up bright and early and the dream came true as we started to evacuate on time.
It was just after eight o'clock when our compound started to file out of the gate and it was a wonderful feeling. Even the air smelt different.
In all there was about 9000 of us with several hundred guards, many with bicycles, and in a long snake column about four abreast we were on our way. Naturally there was a lot of speculation as to the prospects of getting away if and when the opportunity presented itself; it would not have been difficult but our own administration had thought of it first and issued orders that we were not to attempt any chancy breakaways as the escape committees had everything under control.
That order absolved the officers at any rate from their duty to resist and/or escape so there was nothing more to do but to go along with it however frustrating it was.
I knew what it was all about as we had filed through the gate when I saw the Flight Lieutenant who used to give the German lessons, in civilian clothes, and carrying a small suitcase tucked up very tightly in the middle of a group so I tried to keep my eye on him as it was very suspicious.
In the melee I never saw him go and I never saw him again but I'll bet he was home long before I was, with a great deal of information which would help the advancing Allies.
y
TO BE CONTINUED..........................
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One or more pages is missing.
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party went for cover.
There was no cover so everyone scattered as the parties started laying out the markings after the first burst of firing and by the time the Thunderbolts came back for a second pass we had been identified. It was too late for some though. Our casualties were one killed and two injured and for a long time after that everyone spent a lot of time looking over their shoulder. The casualties were sorted out by a small party that was left behind with a guard and the rest of us just ploughed on, and on, and on, and although most people had made some attempt to get fitter by walking around the compound for an hour or so a day we had not reckoned on doing mile after mile without a break.
It was not surprising that by mid afternoon there were lots of complaints about blisters and aching bodies but we were just prodded on by the equally disgruntled guards.
By late evening we were still going; albeit slower than when we had started and finally after it had got dark it started to rain. Nevertheless it was about 10pm before a break was finally called.
I was absolutely shattered as were most people and I took shelter under a railway wagon on the temporary railroad that had been laid at the side of the road and then gorged myself on a large can of stewed steak from my ‘heavy’ rations.
We were not allowed to rest for long. Before there was time for a nap and with the rain still coming down in buckets we were the move again but not before I had investigated the wagons with a view to hiding in one for a few days but found that they were all full of coal and had no covers so that was
that. Nevertheless, a liberal handful of fine ballast from the track into the axle grease boxes made sure that they would not move it very far without finding the odd problem.
Finally, soon after midnight the word came down the line to stop for the night and most of us just flopped where we were. We had done some 22mls, it was still pouring down and as there was very little cover not many had the energy to go any further to look for any.
All I did was to dispose of another can of something, curled up in my already wet blankets at the foot off a tree and went
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out like a light.
It was dawn then I woke, to a clear steamy morning and like most people I was soaked through. I had been sleeping in a puddle several inches deep which had accumulated from the steady downpour, and the prospects were not good until we saw signs of a cheery blaze a bit further up the line.
The whole column had virtually collapsed where they were when the halt had come and some more fortunate characters had been near a saw mill where there was a mountain of off-cuts which they used for shelter. That was until someone set fire to them!
It had of going nicely and it did not take long for us to take full advantage of the situation. The sight of hundreds of naked bodies dancing around getting warm and drying out their clothes whooping away like a tribe of Red Indians was more than the guards could cope with.
They tried very hard to put out the fire and get us to assist but it seemed that we were pulling in opposite directions, and they were losing the battle. We were stoking it up!.
They had not a hope in hell, not even after threatening to start shooting someone after loosing off a few into the air. Right from the start every one was marked by half-a-dozen prisoners and they would have been flat on their backs immediately they had pointed a rifle at anyone:
We kept the fire going as long as we could and most people got dried out and comfortable again as the enormous pile of glowing embers was reduced to little more than charcoal; then we were ready to leave!.
We understood that the mill owner was still going on about compensation as we left and how the poor old Hauptman dealt with it we would never know but he was looking very grim about it having wined and dined at the mill owners home for the night. Once we got ourselves sorted out and got going again we plodded on through the day for another 16mls before a halt was called for the night.
That time, to avoid a repetition of the previous night we were all to be billeted in large enclosed buildings such as churches, church halls, village halls, barns, etc. I was in a party of about 300 who were packed into a small village church around
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which they placed a guard. No doubt they had noticed a thinning of our ranks since the previous night but they would not let anyone out for any reason whatsoever.
It was not surprising that the place was defiled. I was not proud of the fact that someone had used the pulpit as toilet but it was the one place that no-one could sleep and they were lucky that the altar was respected.
The guards made a terrible fuss naturally and I was glad that I was not among the cleaning up party that was left behind, but that was the last time they bothered to confine us at night.
The main party had started to move out at about 9.30 and the pace was steady although slow before we got to Birching about mid-day to find a great deal of activity.
There were dumps of Red Cross parcels along the main street in front of the Town Hall and they were being distributed as we passed through...one each!. Even the guards were getting them but I suppose there was a good deal of sense in that, if only to keep them off our backs.
There were Red Cross trucks, (American and British Army types) and a couple of ambulances going up and down the column, and beyond, picking up stragglers and bringing them back to the fold. Some of them should have been to hospital and were really in poor shape but they had cleared all the hospitals of the walking wounded as well and everyone that could stand on two feet was having to hike it. The Red Cross took some of the worse cases further along the line of march so that they could rest up before we caught up with them.
Nothing else was provided and water had to be scavenged from where it was available in order to have a drink of something. I even got used to instant coffee being made up cold...it was wet!.
We moved off later in the afternoon and stopped for the night at Belingries where Jim and I found a warm corner in a stable where we spent all the next day and night before we were on the move again. I suppose we could not really complain about our conditions as there were two guards in the next stall sharing the same facilities and making the most of the contents of their food parcel.
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It must have been like a Christmas present for them the way they were going on and like us the only thing they had on their minds was survival, food and shelter. They were only Grade 3 troops and were looking for an end to all the discomfort and misery just as much as we were That's what made it all so damn silly!.
Things got better and better as we plodded into Bavaria. The countryside looked lush and green with well tended fields and the early signs of crops was heartening The weather was fine and most of the civilian population treated our progress kindly. We treated it like a Sunday School outing, waiving, smiling and cheering the population. No doubt they thought we were daft but we were not downhearted.
On rare occasions Allied aircraft flew along our line of march waggling their wings so it seemed that they were monitoring our progress.
Some of us eased out of the column from time to time to do a little trading and on one occasion I was able to add some fresh bread and garlic sausage to the stores of our little group comprising most of the crew and I occupied myself happily after being elected cook.
We picked another barn for the night and found a good supply of mauve dyed potatoes of the sort we had at home for animal feed. The farmer was a bit concerned when he found us with them. He made it quite clear that they were for 'swine' only and that it was a criminal offence to use them for human consumption. It was a continual source of amazement to me that whilst their country was being torn apart with the utmost disregard for human life and property there was still so much regard for common law but I suppose that they had been conditioned by years of shortages and regulations.
I had first noticed the tendency at Nuremberg when we did have fuel for the stove and we were toasting the black pumpernikal [sic] by sticking slices on the side of the store and in came a guard who became very angry when he saw what we were doing.
Toasting bread was ‘verboten’ by law as it destroyed the nutritional value of the bread and we were breaking the law!
As prisoners we were well aware that they could impose civil
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as well as military law if necessary. They had made the same threats for the same reason when we had our bonfire but as there was no time for that sort of nonsense there was precious little that they could do about it. In any case, a few gifts of cigaretts [sic], soon overcame the problem.
We finally got on the more again the next day about mid-day but by now we were doing little more than just strolling along enjoying the freedom and the weather. I had the opportunity of selling a spare blanket to a Polish farm worker for 6 eggs but he could not understand that we were mixed British, American and Commonwealth POW's. Nevertheless, there were a few more exchanges after a lot of sign language and I was better off by 30 Reichmarks which caused a spot of bother as the transactions had been witnessed by a straggling guard who wanted to confiscate the goods. Again it was 'verboten' to sell German military equipment. It was easily resolved. He got 10 marks and was told to "getten ze stuffed" so he wandered off somewhat bewildered.
There was a distribution of Belgian Red Cross parcels, and a large wedge from a round Bavarian loaf at one point and eventually we caught up with the main column again to find a comfy spot in another barn and a good night's sleep with a handsome meal tucked under the belt.
I suppose that now we had put a fair distance between us and the battle front there was no longer the urgency to force us along so we continued to stroll through open farm lands and cross a lot of main roads and the Danube; which was not blue. In fact it was quite mucky.
At one point shortly after crossing the river we crossed a bridge over a closed off section of either dual carriageway or autobahn and there was some interesting activity in the road through a deep cutting which had been closed off to traffic near Seiganburg.
To our amazement the road had been turned into a temporary airstrip with Focke-Wolf 190's lined up and being serviced under a great deal of cables and camouflage netting. I wondered how long it would be before our chaps identified it as camouflage and gave it a good pasting even though we did not see so much of them quite so often as we had previously.
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There was plenty of evidence that they were still busy not too far away though.
We continued to plod on past decorative Bavarian farm houses which, with their high pitched roofs and fancy gables looked very attractive. We were close enough to some of them to see into their fine big kitchens in pine and stainless steel where women in crisp pinafores seemed to be up to their arms in tubs and flour. We did not get more than a passing glance though. The guards were catered for with steaming hot canteens of soup and hunks of home made bread cut from big flat round loaves, supplemented by thick slices of farmhouse cheese. It is understandable that all we got were dirty looks!.
We found accomodation [sic] that night in a barn at Swienbach and once again contemplated the possibility of doing a runner but when we made enquiries we also found out why the column was thinning out!.
It appeared that our administration had been organising parties of 25, each with two guards, to do an about turn during the hours of darkness to find a route to our own lines.
How the selection was made I do not know but it was understandable that those who had been in the bag the longest had first choice and if anyone deserved priority it was them. It was also interesting to learn that the guards were being provided with safe conduct passes which would ensure that they would get preferential treatment when they were finally picked up.
We were still told not to go it alone as there would still be many pockets of fanatical resistance and it was just not worth the risk. Geoff had already tried it once and he had a close shave. He had only got a little way beyond the fringe on a daylight attempt when he was apprehended by a couple of trigger happy SS field police. He had been sent back with a warning, but there was a very good chance that those blokes did not send any of their own back to the line if there was any chance of them being deserters. A little on the spot summary punishment was likely to be meted out without having to justify the action. With our guards it was different. Things were so slack that on one occasion one of them sat on the roof and placed his rifle between us. I just could not
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resist the temptation when a hare appeared in the field and I grabbed his rifle that I had been eyeing anyway, quickly worked the bolt to 'put one up the spout', aimed and fired, but missed, so I hurriedly handed the gun back to it 's owner as the Oberfeldwebel came running up to see what the shooting was about. That turned out to be another big laugh. What else was he to think when he found the guard with a smoking rifle in his hands?. The guard must have figured that he would be in less trouble if he admitted to the use of his rifle for sporting purposes than to admit to allowing a POW to get the better of him so he got a good dressing down for wasting ammunition and I got a dirty look. It all helped to pass the time and keep up morale.
The next day we received the news that we were heading for a camp at Mooseburg but although we started off fairly early we soon got the message that Mooseburg was not ready for us. That immediately started the 'go-slow' process again.
At one time we were lounging around at the side of a track that led across the fields when we heard the skirl of pipes and from over a rise to one side of the main column came a small formation of Scots troops in full marching order with a piper in the lead. What a glorious sight they were with kilts swinging, brasses glittering. It looked damned silly to see half a dozen guards marching with them!.
The sight was enough to inspire some of us to drag ourselves to our feet as they converged on us. Some of us even saluted but they just ploughed on ignoring the Air Force rabble. Good luck to them. They were still going strong as they disappeared from view over another rise. Good luck to them. It looked good and it no doubt made them feel good but there was no doubt that they would be back behind barbed wire long before we were.
We just flopped a bit farther along the track and found ourselves a comfortable billet for another night of relative freedom.
The next day I got organised with another group for scavenging and the like.
Things had been going so well that like others I had already got through my marching rations and generally had lightened my load. No-one was hungry any more but I was approached with an offer that I could not refuse.
The offer was made by a Captain of the US. Infantry who wanted
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fourth to complete his team. The others were two American Air Force Sergeants so I left the crew to join his outfit. It was hard luck on the crew though-they lost their cook!.
The Captain was very interesting and enterprising character. It was his third time as POW, having escaped on two previous occasions, but this time he was no longer going to stick his neck out as there was a state-side ticket waiting for him as soon as he was out of his present situation. He was a very shrewd and tough bloke and it did not take us long to decide just how we were going to operate.
At the first opportunity we scavenged some bits and pieces from some farmyard pumping machinery and rebuilt a broken down 'dog-cart' on which we dumped all our kit and went into action immediately.
Two did the pulling whilst the other two went off scavenging. Within the first half day we had done so well at the butchers, bakers and farms a few km. each side of the column that to were soon re-trading among the others at a 'profit'. My carefully hoarded stock of soap was proving to be most useful currency although coffee and cigaretts [sic] were sill the most valuable.
It was too good to be true. We had not gone far with our cart getting piled higher and higher when the owner of the bit’s and pieces that the cart had been built from discovered they were missing. He rapidly caught up with us on a broken down horse and demanded the return of it.
There were more dire threats of punishment for stealing which of course never came to anything but it left us with having to carry, eat or trade the fruits of our transactions, and the two with the column just had to carry that much more. It was worth it though.
Part of the plan was that it was this pair that staked out a comfy site for four when we made camp and generally the scheme worked well.
The Red Cross trucks were still going to and fro’ but with a difference. They were coming from the South East, loaded, and discharging their loads at various places, loading up the sick and lame and actually [underlined] backtracking our route to the Allied lines [/underlined] to deliver them to safety before loading up again and refuelling for the return journey to us, mainly with ‘K’
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rations.
It still was a source of amazement that the Red Cross trucks were nearly all British or American types that had been re-painted accordingly, loaded, and transported from Italy through Switzerland with neutral drivers under the International Red Cross Organisation.
We were told that some 2000 of them had set out and split up near Munich, one column going in our direction and the other North Westerly to meet other POW's converging on us from the North.
If that produced a farcical situation then it was no more farcical than the latest method of communication that had been adopted between our administration and the rest of the Germans to keep us informed of what was going on.
A sort of HQ. unit had been set up by the more senior officers and their selected staffs who were up front and they never missed a chance to harass the guards....and that included their CO!.
Right from the outset the guards bicycles had come in for a lot of attention.
With monotonous regularity they had lost tyre valves, and chains. Tyres had been slashed until constant canabalisation [sic] of what was left had reduced the original number to only a couple of serviceable bikes, and we had reached the ideal solution where they no longer had a pump between them. We had!.
It was not suprising [sic] therefore, that the last bikes were allocated to the Commandant and his Adjutant....but on conditions imposed by us!.
It was agreed that if we had equal share of them there was a good chance that they would no longer be vandalized but the daftest thing of all was when our own Adjutant went up and down the line on one to pass information it still had a machine pistol on the handlebar clips!.
On the 6th we only moved a few km. and there were more food parcels distributed The awful French one's again but anything was welcome in the food line, if only for bartering.
One of the team and I slipped away one one occasion and crossed a railway line to a group of cottages where we made enquiries for eggs.
At one cottage we called at we were received by an obvious
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1914/18 veteran who was minus one leg but who was quite philosophical as we discussed the terms of the deal in a mixture of broken English and German and he seemed friendly enough. When the terms were agreed he shrugged his shoulders and indicated in the direction of the chicken house and then left us alone with two teen-age girls, possibly his grand-daughters, to collect the eggs.
He was either very trusting, or taking no chances and possibly very relieved to find the eggs were all we had helped ourselves to even offered to give them a four minute boil before we departed. Again, after the difficulties of conversation it was the shrugg [sic] of the shoulders and the well worn phrase, “you soldat-me soldat”.
These eggs went down very well with Spam, beans and fresh bread that someone else had aquired [sic] .
Every day brought the sound of gunfire and battle closer well as Allied aircraft sweeping over us on occasions as they plotted the movement of the long snake of people. There was no doubt that that is what they were doing as our identification process had not been needed for a long time.
That evening we were quite close to Mooseberg and we made camp in a sheltered part of a farm with beds of hay and camp fire was set up with bricks and ironmongery that we had accumulated.
As usual as soon we were all together I planned the menu around the spoils of the day, particularly as our team leader, Capt. Dunkleburg, (a good old American name), had just knocked over a plump farmyard hen.
I don't know if he had been a horseshoe throwing champion back home but he was adept at throwing a short length of wood up to twenty feet with deadly accuracy and he had brought the chicken down by catching it across the neck and it was ready for the pot in a few minutes.
After that it was my responsibility as I had been the team cook on joining, and had been able to make all sorts of dishes from anything that became available including nettles and turnip greens, wild berries and even watercress from the streams where most of our water was drawn from.
Everyone seemed to be happy with this arrangement and our chicken supper was simplicity itself. I must admit that I felt a little
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guilty when others drifted around our site sniffing the aroma like Bisto kids but it was a matter of survival, although I did feel a little sorry for those who could not cope with looking after themselves.
Lashings of coffee was consumed and dispensed to others who wanted to make use of our fire and we were off to sleep like babies.
The morning of the 17th started with a leisurly [sic] breakfast which was still in progress long after the time we had been told to be ready. Then the farmer and a guard arrived making a lot of fuss and accusing us of stealing again. I suspect that more than one chicken was missing but nevertheless we pleaded innocence. They threatened us with all sorts of consequences for our actions as we started to clear up bones, feathers and damp down our fire so they eventually called in the Hauptman.
When he arrived on the scene he let rip with a very good immitation [sic] of Hitler and as we took very little notice he worked himself up into a fine old state until he was just about purple with rage. We didn't understand much of it, but Dunkleburg did, and he knew what he was getting at before he got a little calmer and reverted to English. Then he gave us an ultimatum. He was going to count ten and then he was going to shoot someone if we did not get moving.
By that time the situation had got decidedly dodgy but we took our cue from Capt.D, and started to spread ourselves out as the count started.
Ien...drie...swie...by which time he was spluttering again and by the time he had got to ten he was clawing at his pistol holster which was a beautifully polished leather affair with a fancy-lanyard disapearing [sic] into it.
Capt.D. had gathered himself into a crouch like some old gun fighter from a Western, poised as if to try and beat him to the draw..although of course totally unarmed. The guards looked alarmed and backed off as the pistol was withdrawn seemingly in slow motion as Capt.D. prepared to charge.
On the other end of the lanyard appeared a fancy pearl handled ladies handbag model of a .22 which was pointed skywards and fired.
Putt, putt, putt, and everyone relaxed immediately and rolled
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about laughing as we carried on clearing up. The old boy's face was contorted in anger and embarrassment as he stomped away. I think that was the last I ever saw of him.
I imagine that as he was just about to hand us over he was getting the wind up and was going to have to do a lot of explaining about how he lost 2000 prisoners and half of his guards on the way from Nuremberg!. That is always presuming that anyone else was still worried about such things.
We finally reached the camp, Stalag V11a, Mooseburg, by mid-day and then began the process of sorting ourselves out. Eventually we had a hot shower and a meal of sorts and then sat around most of the afternoon whilst the administration figured out what to do with the 1700 strong RAF contingent now that we all been segregated. It was goodbye to all the friends we had made outside RAF circles so I was back with the crew again.
The time spent lounging around was not boring anyway. There were Yanks all over the sky around us, knocking hell out of anything anything [sic] that moved now that we were within the safety of the camp.
We had news that Prauge [sic] had fallen. The Yanks were reported to be only 20 mls from Berlin and the Russians virtually had the city surrounded, so what was there to worry about.
All we had to do was sit tight and survive and eventually we were given an area of huts for the night although they provided little more than just a roof over our heads.
The 19th started with a roll call, with promises of hot water and food which did not materialise. All that happened was that we got moved to another compound with huts in the same condition as those we had just vacated, lacking everything except the bed frames.
I got very fed up with the whole deal. My shaving gear was just about used up. Like others I had over two months growth of hair falling all over the place. My boots were falling off of my feet....they had not worn at all well. There was a long queue at a single tap and no ablutions. There was no heating and precious little fuel for cooking fires. The remaining bed boards were carefully guarded by those who had managed to get a few together. Issued rations were a couple of potatoes, a hunk of
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bread and some mouldy cheese. I went into a nasty fit of depression so I turned in to sleep it off.
The floor was the best place with the shortage of bed boards so it was a matter of just curling up in a corner wrapped up in anything to keep warm.
Over twelve hours sleep cleared the air a bit and the next day I felt a lot better. All the crew except Jim had got together again for parcels and food share out as for some reason Jim had gone in with another group but the waiting game was not improved by a change in the weather so any cooking or brewing up had to be done in the hut. At times it was like 'smokey Joe's'.
The change in the weather did not stop the air activity all around us but fortunately it was mostly ours. The Luftwaffe was rarely seen.
The next day was the same but supplies were improving a little and carefully hoarded stores were opened up. I got a replacement pair of boots; not new but at least the soles were not flapping and I was able to replenish the shaving gear.
The following day looked like being a repetition until an order came through to prepare to march again. The burning question was "where the hell can we go from here?.
The Russians were already through Poland into Czechoslovakia to the East and the North of us, and were coming up through Austria to the South and not all that far away. Even Italy was suggested although the only obvious way was back and perhaps that was not a bad idea as I was not partial to the idea of the Russians over-running us.
There had been lots of stories already concerning the Russian way of life and from what I had seen and heard of the Ruskie POW's on the far side of the camp there was no doubt that they were a strange lot.
Of course they had had it very rough and had no protection under the Geneva Convention as non-signatories which had a lot to do with it. They were very badly treated and their food rations were even worse than ours….and they had to work for it, officers and all.
As a result they had become a desperate band of brigands with little more than survival in their minds and they were up to
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all kinds of mischief.
Only the day before they had been bearing a coffin out of the camp for burial and the German gate guards made sure it was a corpse that went out. They plunged a bayonet through the flimsy coffin and the corpse screamed!. They had buried the original in the compound and although it might have been interesting to have got mixed up with them I don't think it would have been exactly pleasant.
We got back to using the bunks again after a load of rough boards had been dumped in the compound for the purpose of making them up although a number got sidetracked for fuel, mainly for brewing up.
Brewing up was something of a ritual and when fuel was short it was foolish to be extravagant with resources. The most economic were the tin can arrangements that had come down from Luft.3, although some copies had been made.
Usually mounted on a small board they consisted of hand wheel driving a metal fan in a perforated lower chamber with a fuel chamber on top. All driven with a string or bootlace drive. It sounds very crude but the gearing was such that it worked like the bellows of a forge furness [sic] . They were very economical and would burn anything from a handfull [sic] of twiggs [sic] to lumps of tar off of the road. There was always a great deal of whirring going on at brewing time. i
The owners of these masterpieces would usually brew up a can of water for others if a handfull [sic] of fuel was produced and it was amazing how bits of fire was transferred from one to the other rather than use a seperate [sic]match for each start up.
The 25th April dawned a beautiful day and there was considerable relief when we were told that we would not be marching after all as it could only be a few days before we would be free.
The sky was getting thick with aircraft at times, mostly ours, but the odd German Air Force fighter was seen invariably high tailing it for safety to their temporary landing strips, often trailing smoke, with a swarm of stars and stripes after them.
These were exciting times and the guns seemed even nearer as the excitement increased when we had a news flash that Augsburg, about 45mls to the West of us had fallen into our hands.
It seemed to us, and it proved to be the case, that it was a
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race between the Americans and the Russians as to where the gap would be closed, whatever may have been previously agreed. The thrust between us and Munich, and onward to where they finally did join forces did solve one very important point.
It prevented what might have been the fulfilment of Hitler's original plans to surround Birtchesgarten [sic] with his SS fanatics and at least 40,000 POW hostages for a fight to the finish.
Everything was going so well that we were no longer bothered about keeping a reserve of food or conserving fuel supplies. Part of Geoff's bed went into preparing lunch and some of mine went at supper time.
The 26th was another beautiful day. We had a bit of a surprise when a large party of guards marched through the camp to the boundary wire at the edge of the compound, then downed arms, cut the wire and rapidly filed through leaving their rifles behind. It is quite possible that they just went off to somewhere quiet and then sat down waiting to be picked up.
They got out of sight rapidly after I dashed out and picked up one of their rifles to send a couple of shots after them but I only fired over their heads.
That's all there was time for as our administration collected all of the rifles and took them back to camp HQ.
It was not long after that news came through that we were taking over the running of the camp and we were one more step nearer home.
A bread ration came up. The interior fences were torn down. Where the guards had cut the wire we strolled out into the open as if it was a Sunday afternoon along the prom. Along the river bank, chatting to a couple of pig-tailed giggling teenage fraulines and even picked up some firewood which had been our main purpose for going outside.
It was not long after our return that the PA system instructed us not to stray too far if we were outside and although there was a tremendous sense of freedom in doing so it really was not neccessary [sic] for obtaining fuel.
Warning notices, air raid shelters, fence posts and the like were all available to us by that time. It was a change not to hear the PA blasting out 'Achtung' and OKW rubbish but we were being kept informed almost hourly by
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relaying BBC and AFN programms [sic] .
There was an announcement that our documents and personal possesions [sic] were available for collection from the admin office if we wanted them.
After all that had gone on since 7th February I actually got back my mirror and cuff-links that had been confiscated but it would seem that someone had aquired [sic] a very nice white silk scarf that I had been wearing at the time. Perhaps it had been considered service property, which was fair game. I was just surprised that anything was returned under the circumstances.
News came later that Regensburg had fallen and our forces were encircling Munich, and although the weather turned very nasty in the night and the hut leaked like a seive [sic] no-one was concerned about such minor discomforts.
Even the, following day when there was no let up in the downpour we did not worry about it. Even the natural water supply was a luxury!, and a visit to the clothing store gave us the opportunity to change some more of our tatty clothes.
On the 29th P47 Thunderbolts buzzed the camp and then did a bit of straffing [sic] in the local area. Perhaps it was just as well that the cut wire had been repaired and we had been confined to camp until further notice!.
By 11 o'clock there were all the signs of a battle starting to the North so there was another good reason for staying under cover.
Geoff and I had taken cover under our hut and in fact I was brewing up whilst the battle was going on and one or two people who were foolish enough to still be wandering around were hit by stray bullets but fortunately not seriously.
By 11 o'clock the sounds of battle had gone right round the camp to the South of us, giving us a chance to venture outside.
There was still a lot going on almost on our doorstep. Some big guns were firing over the camp from the hills and shells could be heard rushing overhead followed by a 'crump' as they landed between us and the town.
Then one found it's mark when the church steeple and a sniper with it disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.
News in those conditions travelled as fast as a bush fire and
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we next heard that the senior Allied POW officer and the local German Commander had been out the previous evening under a white flag to confer with the American Commander, but the German was adamant in his response to the ultimatum. He refused to surrender the area without some sort of fight so that was why it had all started up again but it did not last long.
There seemed to be a bit of a lull and then on the top of the hill, along the ridge, dozens of tanks appeared and just took up position menacingly. About mid-day another party went up the hill under a white flag to parley once more and I can only assume that enough people had died to satisfy honour and to find terms on which to end the slaughter especially when faced with that threat.
By 1 o'clock all firing in and around the area ceased. The Stars and Stripes flew in the town and in the various compounds national flags of all kinds were flying.
Those flags had been hidden for a long time at great risk and at last they could be proudly displayed. As far as we were concerned it was all over, and we could look forward to going home.
We were nearly all bursting with excitement wondering what to expect when later on in the afternoon a convoy that was a sight to behold came in through the main gate.
The lead Jeep had a General saluting all over the place. Some said it was Patton as it was the US. 7th Army that had relieved us but there was so much going on with the bustle and the noise it was difficult to take everything in.
Behind the Jeep came a Sherman tank and a whole convoy of armed troops who toured the camp as we shouted and cheered, and cheered some more, and cried a bit too until we were just about drained of emotion.
The PA system belted out cheerful music and then the circus was in town.
Another convoy came in and news reel camera crews set themselves up as Red Cross trucks, ambulances, mobile hospital, mobile bakery, mobile laundry and trucks with mountains of goodies followed.
There was everything from chewing gum to fruit juices and even fresh fruit that some of us had not seen for months and in some,
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cases, years.
Everything was eventually set up in the central compound and we marvelled at quantity of the goods and the generosity with which it was all being dispensed. There was even a Padre' tossing packets of chewing gum into the crowd.
It was announced over the PA system that we could go outside again but only through the main gate, and then only after we had been processed by the general office and provided with a repatriated POW document. It was worth it, although at that particular time I found plenty to occupy myself in camp and did not venture out.
Although we thought that the fighting was over it started up again not far from our compound as dusk fell. No doubt some brave German still trying to defend his Fatherland but it did not last long.
We had already been warned not to try and make for home on our own as some had attempted. There were still some fanatical pockets of resistance in areas that had been encircled and had yet to be secured.
The most noise that night came from the Russian compound. Although they had had their share of all that was coming into camp they had been conditioned [deleted] but [/deleted] [inserted] to [/inserted] such hardships that they were still out for anything they could get and went on the rampage. They raided the camp bakery and having carted off all the bread and the flour that they could carry they finished up by smashing all of the equipment. It took some time to round them up and try to convince them that there was no need for it. It didn't work.
It all flared up again the following morning. They had their freedom, as we all did and got into town but it was not long before they were smashing the place up, pillaging and looting and generally being a damned nuisance until something happened that I though I would never see.
The limited number of Military Police in the area had to be backed up by deputies drawn from the POW ranks and included Officers and NCO's They were armed with the rifles that had been left behind by the departing guards and were needed to guard German shops, homes and the population against rape and downright vandalism.
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As one Welshman who was involved said to me at the time, "There's daft for you. Yesterday the Germans were our enemies and today we are protecting them from certain elements of our Allies". There's no answer to that but I think the Ruskies eventually got the message.
Some of the excitement had died down by the next day until the circus got going again.
The camp had another visit from some top brass and there were more news reel camera crews shooting just about everything in sight.
American Forces Air Mail blanks were distributed and collected again but that is one area where the Yanks did not get top marks. Mine never got home. Probably they were shipped to the States first and then they were dumped on the assumption that we would have got home first.
The mobile bakery was going full blast now that the camp bakery had been ruined but some of the veteran POW's were having problems with the fluffy white American bread. One chap was stuffing great lumps of the stuff into his mouth and complaining that the 'cake' did not fill him up like pumpernikal [sic] . There was plenty of everything else anyway and no doubt by the end of the day he would have tried everything that was on offer and like me, the pains in his tummy would be from eating too much!.
The camp PA system continued to broadcast AFN and BBC relays. The BBC gave news of 32,000 liberated POW's in the drive for Munich and that had to include us. That would be good news for the folks back home who would be getting the same news and were no doubt feeling very relieved that they would soon be hearing from their loved one's.
It was not all good news though. What the army found in places like Dachau, between us and Munich was a very different story, and the world was soon reeling in shock and horror at the scenes of the almost indescribable conditions that were found there.
By comparison our situation was a picnic.
Those that did venture into town could not be stopped entirely from a little 'souvenir' hunting.
They came back with bicycles, radios, weapons, motor bikes, and all manner of household goods but although it was a free
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for all I do not remember that it got too far out of control as it did at the time of the Ruskie's excursion.
One group near us came back from a hunting expedition with a deer that was soon given the treatment. It was barbicued [sic] on a spit over a pit that used to be an air raid shelter and there was everything that one could wish for.
It was open house and became a communal feast. People just contributed anything that they had. There were chickens, eggs, rabbits, ducks, fish, you name it. It was the biggest, most hilarious barbicue [sic] that I have ever been to or ever likely to go to, and of course some alcoholic beverage found it's way into the camp as well.
During the proceedings one American came back from visiting a nearby tank unit and he was absolutely plastered.
He was teetering all-over the place, hanging on to half a case of Champagne on his shoulder and every time he looked like capsizing and people went to help he he [sic] , fought them off. He was very protective of that 'champers'. Even when he fell into an old air raid shelter it could not be prized from him so we left him with a happy smile on his face. There was plenty more.
Although we were getting a little restless at the delay in moving us it was understandable....there was still a war going on!. But on May 3rd. parties started moving out and leaving their surplus goods behind and we spent a lot of time walking around the area inspecting the staggering amount of transport, troops and armour that we came across. We only had to show our identity slips and everywhere we went we got first class treatment with the utmost generosity, but there was the inevitable sad story to remind us that for some people the war was not yet over.
One of the tank crews was suffering from a traumatic experience, the memory of which was still fresh in their minds.
Apparently, when they had been confronted, not far from the camp, by armed school kids in cadet uniform they had tried to discourage them by firing over their heads but it had not been successful. The youngsters still showed defiance and continued firing. The tank crew had no choice but to fire on them for the benefit of their own infantry who were just behind them, and of course some of them had been injured before they gave up.
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In it's way it was very sad but it just showed that it was no picnic out there.
When the next piece of news came it was difficult to take it it [sic] in.
Berlin had fallen to the Russians and Hitler had killed himself in his Berlin bunker. The German High Command had collapsed and a cease fire was imminent.
The excitement reached a new high when that news had sunk in.
The call forward of people for evacuation was speeded up and those called were taking messages for us as well so I was looking forward to being home for my wife's birthday on the 8th, but the days were slipping by rapidly.
We were bathed and de-loused, (the first of many de-lousings) on the 6th for moving out on the 7th only to be frustrated by another deferment.
We were interviewed by an American female War Correspondent and were photographed charging around on bicyles [sic] and yet another frustrating day went by. Some people had got totally fed up by that time and were having a go on their own despite the regular warning being given. I played it safe and was rewarded on the 8th when our party was called forward.
All of the parties were of 28 people and Geoff was in charge of ours when we finally moved out at 5.30am. when we boarded a convoy of trucks, that set off for an ex Luftwaffe base at Straubing to the North of us.
It was a rough and dusty journey, but eventually we rolled into the place and again I was struck by the resemblance to our own pre-war airfields. I could have found my way around there as easily as Marham, Mildenhall or Stradishall but we did not have chance to go far. It was not worth it anyway as we were likely to be called forward at any time.
We were off-loaded on the road leading through the camp with the hangars dead ahead and told to stay put.
There was very little sign of damage so either the Luftwaffe had evacuated smartly or surrendered, but there we were, at the side of a tree lined avenue waiting….and …waiting!
Des and Lynn had been left behind at Mooseburg but they turned up in a later convoy and were not far from us as evening came. Still stuck on the road!.
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Fortunately the weather remained fine and although there was a NAAFI type building on the opposite side of the road none of us wanted to be confined. We had had enough of that.
We relieved the NAAFI place of a small stage about 8ft by 8ft and about a foot high which we set up between some trees. Several parachutes from the stores were used for bedding and a canopy and we had a neat little camp site that was the envy of many.
A metal grid was set up on some bricks to serve as a fireplace and we were able to dispense hot water and coffee to all and sundry as well as being a meeting point. I
We were just about to settle down for the night when the bomb shell came. Germany had capitulated…the war was over at last! As if there had not been enough excitement for one day.
There was still a little light left when there was a flurry of activity up at the airfield and troops were charging in that direction from all over. Curiosity got the better of us and no sooner had we got to edge of the airfield than a half dozen Ju.52's approached from the North East firing red verey signals
as they went into line astern for landing.
As soon as they had landed they were surrounded by armed troops and then the doors opened.
The occupants were mainly women and children, obviously families of Luftwaffe personnel being evacuated from Chechoslovakia [sic] out of the path of the advancing Russian forces. They looked very frightened as they were hustled away but I am sure that they would have been taken care of by the local population even if the military got different treatment.
We were not allowed to get too close but the airfield attracted us like a magnet and we soon found it to be a very busy place. No wonder they did not want us in the way.
There were mountains of stores dumped all around the perimeter.
There were dozens of Mustangs and Thunderbolts in another area and the remnants of dozens of German aircraft of all types piled up in another area.
Then came the next surprise when about twenty Me.109's and Fw.190's appeared in the circuit...all flying white streamers from their wingtips in the act of surrender. The sight of those brought just about everyone up to the airfield as they circled and landed, finally taxying into a neat line in front of the
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hangars.
The pilots hardly had time to switch off before the 'reception commitee' was up on the wing and the elegantly turned out pilots in their No.1. uniforms were unceremoniously whipped out of their cockpits, frisked and relieved of any Iron Crosses around their necks, and watches, binoculars, pistols and holsters were removed before they were lined up and marched away.
I suppose they did try to surrender with some dignity but they were not allowed to do so and neither was the next group that came in.
We had had the families, then the Staffel, and the next arrival was a Ju.52. carrying the unit commander and his staff. It included his female secretary, filing cabinets and all....plus...the pig!.
The latter was no doubt the product of the unit pig farm and an insurance against going hungry at a later date. So here was an almost complete unit apart from the poor old ground staff who were probably having to hike their way back from somewhere just inside the Chech [sic] border about 60 miles away.
The volume of gold braid on the senior officer did not save him from going the same way as the others, so he was bundled off one way, no doubt protesting about his rough handling....and the pig went the other. To the cookhouse!.
One of the last to land in the fading light was a Feisler Storch light communications and spotting plane and the pilot demonstrated it's capability by virtually stalling it into a very short landing run and …..plonk, stopped.
The pilot got out, like an entertainer in the circus, grinning, as if to say "who's a clever boy then", until a huge coloured American airman grabbed him by the collar and he was put through the mincer like the others.
We loved every minute of it and wandered back to our camp site very happily not expecting anything to climax that but the finale came shortly after daylight went completely.
The day was finished off with a giant pyrotechnic display that must have used up everything that could be mustered from all of the combined stores plus stuff from wrecked or surrendered aircraft.
The way some of the stuff had been put together to blast off
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some 200ft into the air must have made the excercise [sic] near lethal but I am sure that there was no shortage of the necessary explosive and technical skills to put on such a show at such short notice.
The night sky was filled with star shells and flares of all colours and enormous explosions for well over an hour before we retired to our communal bed with stars in our eyes, and hope for what the next day would bring.
When May 9th dawned we were up early, washed, shaved, breakfasted and the site tidied up in case anyone else wanted to make use of it after we had gone, all ready standing by long before 7.30 as we had been told to be.
About 8.30 a flock of DC3's (Dakota's to the RAF) started pouring in, landing and taxying into the park directly ahead of the road we were on.
We had seen these depart on the previous day and it was a well drilled procedure by which they took up position in five ranks of ten nose to tail so all we had to do was to was [sic] for the call forward. It did not come!. Instead, truckloads of GI's came rumbling into camp straight past us and out to the aircraft which taxied out as soon as loading was complete and away they went…..all 50 of them!
We did not know whether they were front line troops who were in need of a rest or even walking wounded but it got us a bit steamed up to think that someone seemed to be jumping the queue but we knew that they would be in again in the afternoon so we continued to wait impatiently.
By mid afternoon the flock were back again and after landing formed up with the same precision and then another convoy of Americans arrived, again going straight out to the airfield. Fortunately it was a smaller party and some of our groups ahead of us were called forward but leaving us still sweating it out.
There was nothing more to but to open up our site again and brouse [sic] around the rest of the camp to occupy the time.
There was another firework display but we could not work up much enthusiasm for it. All of our thoughts were concentrated on what might happen the next day.
Again we were on call to be with some of the first away so once more we prepared ourselves and then watched in dismay as another
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convoy came sweeping in and went straight out to the airfield. When the aircraft came in they were promptly loaded and were away again leaving us still stuck on the side of the road. There were some angry mutterings.
Eventually the group leaders had a conference to elect a spokesman who went forward to speak to the load masters and whether it was that that did the trick or whether it was the luck of the draw I would not know but all of the RAF roadside gipsies were moved up to the airfield for the afternoon shuttle.
In came the aircraft as before and as soon as they were parked each party was allocated a specific aeroplane from which they unloaded jerrycans of petrol and other stores which included 'K' rations from which we got an issue and then we boarded....at last.
Like a well oiled machine the 50 aircraft started up, rolled out in sections of ten, took off and in loose formation headed West at about 4000ft.
The precision of that operation made a lasting impression on me as it was shifting about 300 tons of fuel and suplies [sic] in and about 2800 people out each day. With over 40,000 repatriates to get out of the area it was understandable that it was going to take time however frustrated we might have felt at times.
We landed at an airfield near Rheims, France, and were trucked to a huge tented encampment in the grounds of some Chateaux. We got de-loused again, had a label tied on and were then provided with vouchers to exchange for cash, shown the accomodation [sic] and told to be ready by daylight next day..
To someone like myself who, had only been in the 'bag' a short time it was a short step back to reality but for those who had been behind the wire for years it was the start of a long period of adjustment.
The bright lights, the incessant broadcasting of AFN (American Forces Network) and the delights of the tented city with it's cafateria [sic] tents, beer tents, cinema, magazine stalls and one-arm bandits was a different world. Obviously American servicemen (and women) did not expect to be cut off from their home comforts just because they were fighting a war in foriegn [sic] parts, whether they were in our [sic] out of the line. i
Whilst I was having difficulty in deciding what to spend my
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money on…and a beer was one of the first things, others were very reluctant to spend at all. I found that those who had hoarded for years in order to survive could not easily break the habit but we all mucked in together until eventually we had had our share of everything that was going and then it was early to bed, a real one, in preparation for an early start on the next lap.
We were up at 5 o'clock the next morning, piled onto trucks and commenced another bumpy, noisy and tiring drive, seemingly in the wrong direction, to an airfield at Juvencourt, which I found out later was between Troyes and Chaumont. I did not hear any complaints. If everyone was like me they were too pre-occupied with their own thoughts at the prospect of getting home soon to be concerned about a such a journey. Even if it was about 100 miles!.
We expected to be going into another camp but there was great excitement when, on arrival, we found a flock of waiting Lancasters on the airfield and we loaded 25 to each aircraft ready for the off.
The Lancaster was not built for passengers so we were distributed all along the fusulage [sic] and my diary records that I was in one of 514 Squadron's aircraft, from Waterbeach, Pilot, Flying Officer Tasker. His W/Op turned out to be one of my old mates from training days, Tommy Gookie.
There was no opportunity for chat though. Anyone who who [sic] has ever flown in a Lanc. without a helmet will know just how noisy they were but it was a terrible racket when those four beautiful Merlins started up and we taxied out and took off, setting course in a bit of a gaggle, heading West. I did have the opportunity of a few minutes in the top turret but there was quite a queue for it.
I lapped it up but it was a bit nerve racking for some of those who's flying had been cut short when they had been flying 1939 vintage fighters and bombers. Those chaps were going to need quite a lot of rehabilitation that was for sure.
After about an hour's flying all the changes in engine note and attitude suggested that we were preparing for landing and after touching down and taxying in we scrambled out of the door to find ourselves on the tarmac at, of all places, Tangmere.
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Just 18 miles from my home town!. Then the inevitable occurred. First we had to go through a very rudimentary customs check and then we were deloused again. There was no way that anything illegal or catching was going to be allowed into the country but I was beginning to get a bit fed up with having a hose stuffed up trouser legs, sleeves, down the trouser front and back and in the hair dispensing clouds of strange smelling itchy powder. Then it was tea and sandwiches in the hanger served by WAAF's who for some reason seemed to treat us as if we were something from outer space. I did not realise it at the time but that is probably what we looked like.
For the next part of the programme we were bussed to Barnham railway station to board a train that was sitting in a siding, but not before I had attended to one most important matter.
I was sorely tempted to slip away but thought better of it. Instead, I dived into a phone box, called the operator, but before I could tell her that I wanted a reverse charge call she asked if I was a returning POW, so obviously I was not the first she had had on the line.
Having been assured that I was she said that there was no charge and got a number for me in Worthing. In a flash I was talking to a local Chemist who I had been in the Home Guard with. He took a message to my parents, just up the road and on the way met my father-in-law so the whole jungle telegraph got going to spread the news.
Quite a few used that phone but eventually the locomotive whistle brought them back on board and we were off.
The trip was a long one and at times very slow as we wound our way all round London making occasional stops at stations for the ladies of the WVS and the 'Sally Ann' to dispense tea and sandwiches, whatever the hour, until eventually, somewhere around midnight we arrived at the reception centre at RAF Cosford, near Wolverhampton.
The train ran right into the camp which had it's own internal railway system being a storage area and maintenance unit and we dissembarked [sic] almost directly into a well lit hangar.
There were lines and lines of tables creating avenues which were alphabetically indexed; and from then on it was every man for himself for a while.
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The first part of the process was an identification check. There were boxes of Records Office duplicate I.D. cards with photograph after which there were a few questions and once past that check we were back in the Air Force. Some who had not worn too well in the 'bag' took a bit longer but all were eventually filtered through perhaps after calling an officer to verify or a Doctor to advise on suitability for immediate clearance or a spot of R & R. (Rest .and Recuperation) first. Cosford also had a very large hospital so it was ideally suited.
After that we were provided with a temporary I.D. card and authorisation chits for this, that and the other. Leave warrant, ration card, advance of pay, clothes coupons, petrol coupons, cigarette and confectionary coupons…..all taking time as we worked our way down the line of tables until we were further directed towards another hangar which was a monster clothing store for an issue that would at least allow us to change out of the odds and ends that we had been wearing for so long. Half of mine by that time was American drab olive so it was back to blue.
The clothing issue was very basic. Airmans battle-dress and cap. Underclothes, socks and boots. Shirt, collar and tie.......separate of course, and nothing to hold them together, and finally a. piece of braid or a set of stripes appropriate to rank and..........the sewing kit!, plus a new kit bag to put surplus stuff into. Goodness knows what time it was before the process was complete and then we were off to a barrack block, a steaming hot bath and to bed.
We had been told that the Mess dining room was providing a 24 hour service and very few people overslept. We were up and about gathering everything together and I forget how many peices [sic] of braid and collars I sewed on for others before the need for breakfast was calling.
I felt a bit like a fish in a bowl wandering around the Officers Mess again among others dressed much the same as myself. The permanent staff were very helpful and the stewards could not do enough but there had to be a limit to how much one could eat in one go. There was only one thing on the minds of most people, and that was to get home as soon as possible. One of us had already gone. Jim only lived at Coventry and I was told
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that he had ordered a taxi and was off…..and to hell with the expense!.
Buses had been scheduled to run to Wolverhamptan [sic] for main line connections for those who were cleared to go and other nationalities, including Commonwealth personnel were being assembled to go to clearing depots that had been set up in various parts of the country to prepare them for repatriation. For me it was a quick call to Newmarket and I was on my way.
I must have got quite used to the scruffy character reflected in the shaving mirror without realising that there was a lot more of me that I had just taken for granted. When I first looked in a full length mirror it took some time to realise that the wild man from outer space was in fact me. If clothes maketh the man then I really looked like a rag-bag…..but a clean one!.
Clean I might have been but I had over three months head of unruly hair which was almost white from the liberal use of de-lousing powder that would not wash out. My ill fitting serge battle-dress had come straight from the stores and looked like it and although I could have delayed my departure to make myself more presentable I didn't. And I do not know anyone who did!, but as soon as I was back in the public eye it not surprising that I was getting some funny looks.
There were a few more to come before I finished my journey but one incident imprinted itself on my mind.
I have no idea where it was exactly but after changing trains and we got under way, I was lost in thought and the other person in the compartment; a member of the bowler hat and brolly brigade, went to some length to point out that it was a First Class compartment and that I appeared to have made a mistake.
Normally I would have treated it lightly but as his expression suggested that he had a nasty smell under his nose I'm afraid I was in no mood for that sort of nonsense. I cannot recall exactly what I said, but it certainly was not complimentary, I do remember that it was he that moved out and not me....after all, I did have a First Class ticket!
I finally arrived at Newmarket where it seemed that half my wife's HQ had turned out to greet me but why they were on the down-line platform when I arrived on the up-line platform I
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don't know and there was an awful lot of running about before we fell into each others arms. Then it was back to her office for a whirlwind of activity and excitement as a leave pass was arranged.
There was of course a very lively party in the evening before we finally retired to our room with some people that we had often stayed with on previous occasions. It was ironic that the lady of the house was the German wife of an old jockey of some repute.
Old "Willie" Warne had been the Kaisers jockey prior to the 1914/18 war and had been too late to get out of the country when that war started. The result was that he had been interned in Germany throughout the conflict. We had a lot to talk about!.
The following morning we were off to Worthing for a reunion with my parents and the rest of the family with the exception of two of my brothers who were still away in the forces.
My uniform and other clothes were waiting for me, all cleaned and pressed; although a little on the loose side and eventually, after lots more soaking in the bath most of the signs of the de-lousing powder disappeared. Nevertheless, a haircut was necessary, before I could get my cap on. The old barber that I had used for years nearly had a fit when he saw the state of my hair until I told him how it had got that way. That was the only free hair-cut I ever had out of him!. After that it more or less resumed it's natural colour and I was reconciled to a more civilised routine even though a touch of jaundice limited activities for a while. Something was bound to happen when the diet was undergoing that sort of change.
It was another twenty six years before I left the Air Force. I will never know why I was one of the lucky one's and it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I have thought that I have lived on borrowed time since those days.
If I had been a cat I would have run out of my nine lives a long time ago and I have always considered myself very fortunate to have enjoyed a longer period of relative peace than the older generation had experienced between two dreadful wars.
My youthful ambition to fly had been fullfilled [sic] ; even if it had been the hard and dangerous way. The war had finished and our country and our society seemed safe and secure at last.
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It had been achieved at the most dreadful cost in human lives and suffering. There were a lot of my old school friends and others that I would never see again.
Historians have since put forward many academic arguments on the conduct of the war as they have done throughout the years over long and bloody conflicts to try and prove points and discredit theories as well as personalities which is easy enough to do in hindsight.
The fact remains. Hitlers evil Third Reich was destroyed, and only just in time before the introduction of a new generation of weapons might have prolonged the war or even given Germany the chance of recovery. Then the pages of history would have been written somewhat differently and I doubt if todays armchair strategists would be in a position to express themselves quite so freely.
The overall number of casualties was appalling and the Royal Air Force had it's share as it wielded one of the most powerful and flexible weapons ever forged.
Bomber Command alone lost 47,293 aircrew killed or missing on operations over Europe, and another 8000 were killed in training and non-operational flights between 1939 and 1945.
A staggering 9000 bombers of all types were lost in the same period and at the peak of the air war 40% of Britains [sic] war production was concentrated in the manufacture of aircraft and supporting services.
Between them the Allied Air Forces devestated [sic] 70 cities and manufacturing centres severely curtailing production.
The Hamburg raids of 1943 disrupted U-boat building and caused the terrible fire-storm that resulted in more than 40,000 deaths. Altogether 3,600,000 homes were destroyed. 7,500,000,people were made homeless and there were 1,000,000 casualties caused by the bombing on the European front alone.
The costly raid on Peenemunde in the Baltic gave us breathing time to develope [sic] a defence against what could have been devestating [sic] damage from the V1's and V2's.
Sea and Air co-operation effectively swung the balance of the U.Boat war and a steady flow of war materials and food was assured from the vast resources of the USA.
The German Navy got bottled up and was no longer an effective
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force. The Luftwaffe was being depleted as their bomber force declined in favour of fighter production. Although in 1943 their production of fighters actually increased they were faced with the fact that experienced pilots cannot be produced, at the same rate as machines and the bombing was starving them of fuel.
Once Germany was forced onto the defensive as was Japan the writing was on the wall.
Towards the end of the war Germany had committed enormous quantities of some 20,000 anti-aircraft guns and vast quantities of ammunition to the defence of the Third Reich, tying up 1,000,000 troops and another 1,500,000 people in fire fighting, clearing up bomb damage and re-housing.
The destruction caused by Allied air raids affected German war production to such an extent that it was estimated by German sources that in 1943 alone, it cost, in terms of production, the [underlined] equivalent [/underlined] of 10,000 heavy guns and approximately 6000 heavy tanks. If the resources that those figures represent had reached the battle fronts the outcome of many a campaign might well have different.
Those figures are just some of the grim statistics on the balance sheet of a war that need not have happened if Hitler could have been prevented from embarking on his plans of world domination.
The overwhelming Allied air power was a major contribution which helped to reduce the casualty figures of the ground forces who eventually squeezed the discredited leaders of the German nation into surrender, giving Europe a chance to sort itself out and lay plans for a more peaceful future.
History will show that the transition into an uneasy 'peace' and the rebuilding of shattered countries and communities was not easily achieved but I am proud to have been part of it.
Alan.T.Gamble.
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"NIL DESPERANDUM”
[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
My war came to an end with Victory in Europe, when, after returning from German POW camp I was sent on leave to await further instructions.
For some time I expected to be called for duty in one of the areas of either Europe, the Middle East, India or the Far East where there was still a great deal of conflict going on, but it seemed that there were still plenty of people around to cope and it was many weeks before something was found for me to do.
I was content as long as my pay and allowances were being credited to my account, so I sat back waiting for something to happen and enjoyed being with the family again. My wife Dorothy was still in the Army and soon used up her leave entitlement to be home with me at Worthing although I managed several periods up at Newmarket where she was still stationed which was not too far away so I had a comfortable time rehabilitating myself until a telegram from the Air Ministry requested my presence at Whitehall to determine my future.
Meanwhile I had had plenty of time to contemplate both the past, present and the future. At least I still had a future of sorts which was a lot more than some of my old school friends whose short lives were about to be recorded on the memorial tablets.
My youthful past had been humdrum until joining the Royal Air Force and I could not see it getting any better by doing what so many were doing by getting `demobbed' and back into `civvy street' as soon as possible to pick up the threads of their previous occupation. Apart from anything else I was not even sure that I wanted to resume my previous occupation.
I had made the grade from the ranks to commissioned officer more by luck than anything else and despite some bad moments I had been introduced to a different sort of life; and it attracted me.
I had asked myself time and time again; should I throw it all away or capitalize on it? The answer always came out the same, whichever way I looked at the situation. I really had nothing to lose as I had very little to start with, so I approached the postings department at Air Ministry with an open mind and tongue in cheek.
I was kept waiting for a long time after I had presented myself, and bit by bit I progressed from the main reception to the clerks office then to an outer office until finally being called into the inner sanctum to be asked by a chap who simply asked what I would like to do.
It was such a surprise that I was barely able to splutter out "anything you like" and no doubt if I had not already given some thought to my future I could easily have blurted out "civvy street" and that would have been the road that I would have gone down. Nevertheless, my remark produced a contemplative "hm" and a lot of paper shuffling. I just looked at the ceiling and shuffled my feet!
The next question was "what about administrative work?" and I recall that my reply was something to the effect that "if that is what you would like me to do I will have a go" although my insides were churning. Me! administrative work! What the hell did I know about that, but the die was cast and I was sent off for a few more days leave to await further instructions, which took the form of a telegram instructing me to report to No. 47 Group. HQ, Hendon, for disposal.
I duly reported to the HQ which was in a group of huts, which is still there behind barbed wire in front of the Restaurant of the RAF Museum and by adopting the philosophy of leaving my destiny in someone else's hands the cards were shuffled once more. I was earmarked for administrative duties and sent home, once more to await further instructions.
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It was not long before, they arrived and then I was en route to Lyneham, in Wiltshire, all shiny, new and refreshed for the beginning of a new era.
[line of stars]
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[underlined] CHAPTER ONE [/underlined]
Lynham [sic] was a flying station of No. 47 Group, Transport Command so it made a change for me to be outside Bomber Command but I did not have a lot of time to contemplate the Yorks and Stirlings that were being flogged to and from many parts of the world. The arrival preliminaries were soon over and I found myself being employed as assistant to the Adjutant of 511 Squadron and was soon up to my ears in routine paper work, a lot of which was processing claims for campaign medals but it seemed an easy way to earn a crust for the ten days that I did the job and I learned a lot more about the running of, a unit like a flying Squadron which had not changed a lot since I had been a 'sprog' airman at Mildenhall in 1941 where I had started my first stint of admin in the orderly room. There was something else that had not changed. Stirlings being Stirlings, whatever the mark, could still get into an uncontrollable swing on take off and landing as I found out from the signals that were coming in reporting aircraft all the way down the route to India having swung and busted the undercarriage in some God forsaken place and I had not been flying a desk very long before one did the same thing at Lyneham which finished up careering into the operations block causing a number of casualties among ground staff.
It had previously entered my mind that if I could keep away from flying for a while it would not do me any harm but after that episode it did not seem to make any difference. I think that I would have been most upset at being pranged by a runaway Stirling whilst sitting at a desk; especially after successfully completing a tour in Bomber Command on them without damage to myself.
However, I was whisked out of that job overnight and flung straight into a properly established job in Station HQ. That of Station Assistant Adjutant although the job title of the appointment was a mis-nomer as far as I was concerned. It really was personnel administration and I inherited a staff of twenty headed by a Flight Sergeant Chief Clerk. All of a sudden I was an Admin Officer!
The reason for the sudden move requires a little explanation as I did not physically take over from the previous encumbant [sic] , a WAAF officer who apparently had got herself and the job into one hell of a mess and had been moved out smartly before things could get any worse. My brief from the Senior Admin Officer was to get stuck in and sort things out as quickly and as quietly as possible so I took over everything completely blind. Office, staff, ledgers, account books, cash and inventories. It was difficult to know just where to start so I familiarised myself first with the orderly room procedures and the staff who handled the details of some 2000 airmen and airwomen and then came the process of sorting my own office. It did not take long to find out that things were far worse than they appeared on the surface.
I started checking the inventories as I had signed for them subject to check and although some small one's were fairly easy but when it came to the bedding store, oh dear, oh dear. My heart missed a beat. It showed up a flaw in the system that been exploited for a long time by people quite prepared to make a few bob out of surplus blankets, only they were not surplus! Even in the stock room half blankets suitably folded had been counted as complete blankets to deceive the checkers for a long time. I had to have a long think about that one. There seemed no point in enquiries and chucking charges about. I had a feeling that it would bounce right back into my court. Quickly and quietly the boss had said, so I did it my way and worked at it steadily over a period of several weeks whilst dealing with other day to day matters.
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I had the station scoured for blankets that were being misused as curtains, table covers etc. and a few billet inspections with the aid of the Station Warrant Officer produced a considerable number that were in excess of entitlement and more than a few exchanges were made at the main stores until I was satisfied that the deficiencies had been reduced to a modest number that I could subsequently declare for write-off. War time methods of writing off losses were no longer in force so I was aiming for the minimum possible before asking for an independent check to be made with me in attendance. Such matters absorb a great deal of time and at the same time I introduced a completely new system of accounting for the issue, receipt„ storage and stock control of bedding without adding extra staff although there was a change of staff. The Corporal in charge of the bedding store! who I am sure was very pleased to go without a fuss. I found a place for him in the sanitary squad! In the long run quicker and quieter than the more formal way of doing things. I followed it up with a multi page paper on the subject, with recommendations for the changes that I had already made and submitted it through channels to Air Ministry, as I was sure that there were considerable savings to be made if my scheme was implemented officially. I can only assume that someone, somewhere along the line put his own name to it and nearly two years later an Air Ministry Order appeared almost word for word so it must have had some merit. It was still in force 40 years later!
I did get something out of though!. Nearly six months later after I had moved on and after an enquiry into the deficiencies that had been disclosed, a Board of Enquiry found me responsible for the losses and invited me to pay £5 toward the value of the losses. One learns the hard way and so it seemed that everyone was covering their backs, and they had to have their pound of flesh. £5 was a lot of money in 1945. About 25% of a weeks pay for a Flying Officer!
Had that backhander arrived whilst I had still been at Lyneham I might well have decided that Air Force Admin. was not for me but by then I was engaged in numerous other problems and learning to cope with them without compromising myself. It did not always work but I was getting better at it. In the meanwhile Dorothy had left the Army and was back with her parents in Worthing awaiting the arrival of an addition to the family.
Among other things that were under my jurisdiction were the issue of clothing coupons, tobacco and confectionery and petrol coupons and it did not take long to find out that the system of accounting for those items were far from satisfactory. Of course, they were all issued, or were supposed to have been issued according to entitlement as laid down in the relevant orders but I found it impossible to reconcile the stocks and book balances. I burned the midnight oil balancing, (or to be truthful, cooking them) until I had resolved the petrol and clothing coupons sufficiently to satisfy a snap audit which was always a possibility although obviously no such audit had been done for a long time.
In hindsight it would probably have been to my advantage to have asked for an independent audit when taking over, if it had occurred to me, but I was new to the business and without formal training it could still have gone against me in the same way as the blankets episode. I doubt that it would have gone against the departed WAAF officer who no doubt had left the service very smartly which was the normal practice for someone in her condition. There did not seem any point in making waves so in my ignorance I just pressed on.
The tobacco and confectionery coupons were a bit of a headache although I had not placed any priority on them but the first time I attended a Station Commanders conference the subject came up as the local and area NAAFI managers had apparently been tearing their hair out for some time as their monthly stocks were all being taken up in the first few days of the month and supplementary stocks were having to be put up to supply the demand for the rest of the month. I came directly into the firing line although my predecessor had previously been
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instructed to do something about it and of course the inevitable occurred. The finger was pointed at me with an instruction to "fix it ....and quickly". It did not take long to find an answer.
The blank coupons were initially issued by the NAAFI to units for distribution and generally coupons issued by one unit were valid at another and therein lay the problem. At Lyneham everyone other than the Officers and Sgt's messes seemed have about four times as many coupons as they should have but the work involved was not easy and I burned a lot of midnight oil personally setting up a system to get it right first time. I made all old coupons invalid as new coupons became valid from a certain date. They were all serial numbered and distributed to internal units and departments against nominal rolls There was no leeway or overlap. Any cases that would have previously been arbitrated by the Naafi staff were referred to me and only coupons bearing the Lyneham stamp were valid. All new arrivals got a new issue on surrender of their old one's with a limitation of only two weeks back issue. I did get it right first time!. The rot was stopped dead in it's tracks within the first few days of it's introduction. The Naafi managers were happy and despite the success of the operation that was the only area from which any compliment came and I was presented with an enormous box of chocolates for my wife with their compliments. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had some aptitude for the work that I had been thrown into and had so far I seemed to have done it a bit better than someone with formal training.
There were other matters that needed a nudge in the right direction from time to time to bring them into line but eventually all the serious problems had been attended to and I was able to relax slightly as the job ticked over as it should have done in the first place. I even managed a few more week-ends at home instead of working right through but at that time people were still revelling in the euphoria of the cessation of the war and there was a lot of partying going on, and that of course meant too much drinking as an outlet for pent up emotions. There was one rip-roaring party to which I invited my Petty Officer Naval brother, (with temporary promotion to Lieutenant. RN. For the occasion) and it was the great granddaddy of all binges. We were in a very sorry state the next morning when we went down to the flight office as I had arranged a trip in a York for him. He had never flown before, and it had been no trouble to lay it on although it was in a freighter on air test that we found ourselves in. No seats. Just a load of loose covers on the floor with a few straps to hang onto.
I suppose it's something you are trained for and you grow up with so it was second nature to me. My poor brother felt differently about it with the thunder of the engines, the unfamiliar smells and a skyline that would not stay in place, and neither would his stomach as he was obliged to make use of the paper bag supplied!
His final thoughts on the matter were that he would sooner take his chance in the bowels of a ship than fly or have to chuck himself out of an aeroplane if it got into trouble although I am sure that when he was later obliged to fly back to the UK on compassionate leave on the death of his daughter he had more things on his mind than his own personal discomfort.
Bit by bit I attacked all of the accumulated problems and new one's as they arose and life began to jogg [sic] along quite nicely. I was able to spend time studying the activities and the rules and regulations of the personnel department for which I was responsible, although it was run very efficiently by a Flight Sergeant Waaf. Even so, I began to take more notice of what I was invariably signing for. At that point in time I seemed to have been launched in a career in Admin so it seemed logical that I should learn all that I could about it.
It was too much to expect that I would be left to settle for long. In early Spring of 1946 I received the reward for my efforts when I was notified that I was posted to Holmsley South in the New Forest, Hampshire, for Admin duties, so a quick hand over followed a handshake from the C.O. and to my surprise a "well done" and I was ready to go. One of my
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first thoughts was that I would be a lot nearer Worthing and things seemed to be working in my favour especially as Holmsley was another Transport command station with a Stirling squadron. The prospects were good and I had no reason to make any preliminary enquiries so off I went and waved goodbye to Lyneham.
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[underlined] Chapter Two [/underlined]
I completed the arrival formalities by eventually arriving at the C.O's office and that's when I received a nasty shock to be told that he was very pleased to see me as a very special job had been reserved for me. I was to take charge of 50 German POW's who would be arriving by train [underlined] the following day [/underlined] and the Senior Admin Officer would tell me all about it!
He did. A dispersed Nissen hutted site had been allocated. Beds and bedding had been set aside at the stores and an inventory opened ready for my signature. Cooking facilities had also been arranged on site "so off you go and the best of luck and keep them out of my hair" was the brief.
[underlined] Dispersed [/underlined] was the operative word. Typical of war time airfields it was well spread out and I was to find that the site that I had been allocated was nearly two miles from the main camp area but I was thinking very hard about the prospects and wondering if my reputation had preceeded [sic] me as they must have decided at the last moment to appoint an officer in charge. I must confess too that I rather liked the idea of being a POW Camp Commandant which was the title that I gave myself. After my recent experiences as a POW in Germany it would be interesting to have the role's reversed.
Most of my first day was spent checking out the site and supplies. The electricity was on, the plumbing was working and coal had already been dumped on site but it was the `cooking facilities' that intrigued me. It was no more than an old soya boiler and a Spitfire packing case but I was not going to worry too much about that. One thing was for sure. At the very worst the conditions could never be described as rough by comparison with the way we had been treated as prisoners so after reading up the limited amount of information that been handed over to me and making a few arrangements for the reception of the POW's I settled in the Mess and turned in that night with a clear conscience. The next day could take care of itself!
I duly met the motley crowd at Brockenhurst railway station the following day without too much ceremony having mustered a couple of hefty, armed Service policemen to make an impression and there I was handed a package of `bumph' by one of the two RAF (aircrew) Warrant Officers who were going to be my total staff for the indefinite period that they were going to be with us. As soon as we got back to the main camp I was able to dispense with the policemen and the POW's did a lot of waiting about whilst I poured over the documents with the Senior Admin Officer (who really didn't want to know), but I was determined to keep him in the picture before being told once more "get on with it". By that time I had got the impression that as far as I was concerned I was on my own!.
The POW's were all ex Africa Corp and had been incarcerated in working camps in Canada. They had been well fed and documented and were in the pipeline for repatriation, and they knew it and the best part was that they were to be reminded regularly with the added threat that if any one of them absconded, or even attempted to, then the whole lot would be put back to the end of a very long list.
That solved a lot of my fears and it was with a much lighter heart that I paraded the lot, read the riot act through their senior NCO `interpreter' although most of them knew enough English to understand and then we were off to the site where I paraded them again and explained that it was to be their home until further notice. I also explained that any comforts that they might enjoy would be achieved mainly by their own efforts which soon put a stop to any complaints that they might have thought of voicing. There was the inevitable roll call and familiarisation of faces having formally introduced myself and then we got down to work setting things up.
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The next few days were hectic as I scrounged, scavenged and borrowed all the necessary equipment to make life tolerable and there was a lot of earth moving, hammering, sawing and considerable industry as the days went by. The kitchen and mess room layout was built from the Spitfire packing case and sited in a partitioned end of a hut adjacent to the ablutions block to make use of the plumbing, and the remainder of the hut was turned into sleeping quarters for the duty officer and the site office.
There were few restrictions. By the very nature of our staffing arrangements it was an open camp apart from morning and night roll calls with one of the Warrant Officers or myself on camp throughout each 24 hour period. The daily routine was soon established. I was allowed a small cash ration allowance to supplement the daily ration issue and the prisoners were allowed a small basic pay in script as they were not allowed real money. They spent their script in the small canteen that we set up and it's value was converted into real money under my control (more book-keeping), for purchases from the Naafi main distribution centre in Southampton.
I was also allowed to employ them on the station in a variety of trades that they were suitable for and give small pay increments accordingly, so it was not long before some of them were being employed as drivers, fitters, cooks and butchers, cleaners and baggage handlers with a pool of refuse collectors. My message to them was very simple. "Screw up a good job and you go straight to the garbage detail". (There was no extra pay for that job!)
A bout of very wet weather made life very difficult as the entrance to the site was uphill and impossible for motor transport so that supplies had to be man-handled in but in my travels I had spotted a considerable supply of used and new PSP, (Perforated Steel Planking) of the type that many war time hard standings and even temporary runways were built with which had been more or less abandoned by the Americans, who had used Holmsley for the invasion of Normandy so several tons were transported to the site in the next spell of good weather and we got cracking. There was a lot more earth moving as the surface was prepared and we worked it out as we went along. I got my shirt off too which raised a few eyebrows among the troops.
Like any other body of men there will always be those who will hang about on the fringe of activity trying to look as if they are busy. Germans are no different! But I felt that if I could demonstrate that I could work as well as any of them then I would be justified in putting my boot behind anyone who seemed reluctant to flex his muscles so we toiled like an army of ants the whole of one week-end when I was the duty officer. At the end of the day we straightened our backs with the satisfaction of having done a good job in record time with a firm driveway leading up to a level turning area at the top.
I had a few crates of beer brought in later on and had the additional satisfaction of being told by one of them that it was most unlikely that a German officer would have applied himself in the same way. By that time I had bathed and was back in uniform and once more and `The Commandant' was feeling rather pleased with himself, so the reply that came from me, almost without thinking was....."possibly, and you lost"! Touche!.
After that things began to tick along quite nicely which was just as well as I was beginning to be drawn more and more into the routine work of the station. Nevertheless, the POW's took up most of my time and I had to argue my way out of doing station duties like Orderly Officer on the grounds that I was spending every third night and every, third week-end in the POW compound. I was excused station duties...but not for long!
I had to take fairly swifty [sic] action on one occasion when I had a report from the civilian accountant officer who came to work on his scooter that he just passed one of our two tonner's being driven by one of my POW's on the Southampton road, and he did not appear to have a load! I was off like a shot on my recently aquired [sic] motor cycle and chased after him.
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I was flat out for several miles before I caught him up and flagged him down. The driver was the one that I thought he might be. He was reputed to have been a pre-war racing driver mechanic and it appeared that he had been doing some unauthorised tuning of the truck's V8 engine as well. His argument that he was road testing the vehicle cut no ice as he had no authorisation to do either that or his journey so it was about turn and back to camp with me tailing him. I think he knew what to expect when I had him on the mat. Like everyone else he knew that Southampton was not many miles down the road and my own view was that he was making a dash for freedom although there was no way I could prove it. For him it was the loss of his trade pay and on the back of the refuse lorry instead of driving it! They had been warned!.
My motor cycle was a great help to me and allowed me to get between camp and Worthing in less than two hours giving me much more time with my family especially as I would normally have caught an early Sunday evening train to get back. With the bike I was usually driving into the compound on the dot of eight o'clock on the Monday morning to be received by one of the Warrant Officers and the Feldweibel. The bike was then taken to be cleaned up as I changed and had breakfast before going through the reports and morning inspection. The bike was then taken to be cleaned as I changed and had breakfast, before going through the reports and my morning inspection. [sic]
I had learned enough about Germans to know that they understood and respected that sort of routine so there was some satisfaction in having the bike cleaned and polished, very often by the chap who I had suspended from driving after his misdemeanour but I was too trusting. I should have remembered that once you give a "creegie", (an abbreviation of the German word for POW); an inch, he would take a mile. We used to!
On one fine day I decided to take run to Bournemouth and on the spur of the moment took the head man with me on the pillion but we had barely done a couple of miles when the bike went into a violent, almost uncontrollable wriggle on a bend which resulted in us being thrown onto the verge, on the wrong side of the road, somewhat shaken, when the back wheel locked up!
When had got our breath back it did not take long to find the cause of the trouble. A loose back wheel which had caused the wheel to go out of alignment and the chain to jump the sprocket! That had also upset the brake control but it was soon put right and the outing was abandoned. There was some more sorting out to do. I was quite adament [sic] that wheel nuts do not loosen themselves and I had already decided that the bike would no longer be cleaned by a particular prisoner and the same person found that he never did get back driving, or for that matter on any other job that might have restored his trade pay. There were no direct accusations but I think everyone was aware just how close `Sir' had been to a very nasty prang. It was just one of the many problems to be sorted out where my charges were concerned and it was not unusual for the local village policeman to be hauling one of my `boys' back into the compound in the early hours of the morning having found him sneaking around the village. It was an open camp after all and my staff was not large enough for anything else. Neither would the administration consider giving me a guard patrol at night so all sorts of things were known to be going on after roll call and lights out and I was obliged to turn a blind eye to such goings on provided that nothing desperate occurred. It was impossible to stop the forces of nature and if some of the local lasses preferred the company of German prisoners then that was their affair.
Another problem concerning the motor-bike nearly deprived me of it when I received a letter from an H.P. company advising me that the machine was the subject of an H.P. agreement between them and a third party and as Dorothy had opened the letter at home it really caused a storm in a tea cup!. The bike was costing me about four months pay on an
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H.P. agreement with another company! In the end it was not difficult to sort out. I threatened to sue the dealer that I had got the bike from and told the first H.P. company that the bike theoretically belonged to another HP company and then let them sort it out so in the end the bike remained in my possession.
It very nearly got bent on another occasion when a group of about five of us who had motor-bikes, (including the medical officer), went out for an evening's tour of the local area which included a few stops for [underlined] light [/underlined] refreshment. Perhaps that was what caused a little excess speed as we swept into a bend, line astern, with the Doc. in the lead, but he couldn't quite make it round the bend. Off the road he went whilst the rest of us made our own arrangements to keep control and come to a stop as the Doc. disappeared up someone's garden path. When we had turned around and investigated there was the Doc. bike and all, extracting himself from a flower bed. There was no real damage done except for the loss of an area of skin from his knee and a hole in his best trousers.
The lady of the house had just come out to see what all the commotion was about and seeing a pranged person discharging a quantity of blood on her path asked if she should get a doctor and with great solemnity the Doc. said, “thank you madam, I am a Doctor but I would very much like a cup of tea", so we all got tea and patched him up althoughfor [sic] some reason we did not indulge in that sort of escapade again.
Our little camp matured and blossomed and I thought that it was enterprising of the inmates to have achieved some colour in the place when flower borders appeared. I put it down to the generosity of the locals until I had a telephone call from a retired Colonel living in a pleasant old Victorian house next to the compound. It didn't take long to find out from a visit and a couple of sherry's that as our our flower beds blossomed his had thinned out. Actually he was very reasonable about it for a man with a name like his. It was BASTARD, so I naturally pronounced it Bas-tard, to be put well and truly in my place when he insisted that it was BASTARD by name and BASTARD by nature; but his bark was worse than his bite.
It was all simply resolved by the return and replanting of most of his plants and by the allocation of a regular POW gardener to him for two half days a week. Couldn't be fairer than that! We benefited from the deal as there was no further need to raid his garden. We apparently just appropriated surplus plants from his greenhouse!
I had a few days leave after our first daughter was born only to find on return that there had been a near mutiny among the prisoners when someone had upset their comfortable routine.
I had made arrangements that whilst I was away the Duty Officer would include certain daily checks that would normally have been done only at week-ends when I was not there. It had all been resolved by the time I got back but it had resulted from the actions of one officer, himself an ex POW, deciding that they should have a taste of what he had been subjected to resulting in numerous restrictions, parades and roll calls. Nothing too drastic but quite unnecessary in the circumstances when they were safe in the knowledge that all they had to do was behave themselves and repatriation was certain. The net result was that they had refused to go to work until the status quo had been restored. Just to show them that they were not going to get it all their own way I imposed a fine of one week's pay for everyone although it really need not have happened. It subsequently turned out that the officer concerned had been in Stalag X111b and V11a with me and we continually bumped into each other at various units over the following years but that's another story.
One highlight was our camp concert. News had been filtering through of the closing down of the whole station so I thought we should do something special without thinking too much about what the implications were for me, like what, when, where? so after a tentative enquiry the repatriation authorities suggested that if it did happen then my lot might well be
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moved up the repatriation schedule rather than re-locate them. I thought it wise to leek [sic] this information to them to act as an incentive to good behaviour and it did not take long to get things going. I did very little except to beg, borrow and scrounge stuff for them, including instruments and did not even vet scripts or attend rehearsals. I left that to my two Warrant Officers. It would have been a useless exercise anyway.
When the show was finally presented, the CO. and other Senior officers who had been invited seemed to enjoy themselves anyway although I suspect that many of the jokes were at our expense. Nevertheless, they all laughed in the right places; as I did, even if we did not fully understand what was being said. It was an interesting experience and there were no repercussions although their [sic] was an air of excitement creeping into our daily lives as this particular element of the vanquished Africa Corp. considered the pending return to their homes, or what was left of them, and as for me. What next?
About that period I was in the Mess one lunch-time when a noisy visiting aircrew were attracting a great deal of attention in the foyer and my eyes lighted on one of them. None other than Macdonalds Flight Engineer of my Stirling days, 'Paddy' Martin, now in the rank of Fg.Off, but we only managed a few minutes chat before they were all boarding a crew coach with I suspect, a little more than just their lunch on board, going out to their aircraft which was a Mk.V. Stirling no less.
When we met up again umpteen years later he swore that we had never met on such an occasion; but then he also swore that he had never attended my wedding in 1944 until I produced a photograph to prove that he did. The last information that he could recall of me was that `Tommy' Gamble had got the "chop" early in 1945. Close--very close, but not quite.
One very interesting event took place just about that time. A Courts Martial came up. That of a case of alleged rape of a WAAF by an aircrew Warrant Officer, and I found myself sitting with the court as one of the officers under instruction. All part of the training scheme.
The WO had engaged the services of a K.C. barrister whilst the prosecution had produced a relatively inexperienced officer, not of the legal profession, who had just been detailed for the job and the case lasted two days during which time I studied the form very carefully as it customary for anyone to be detailed for such jobs; either for defence or prosecution and my only experience of court procedure was in my youth when I had appeared before the magistrates for some minor cycling offence and this was very different.
We were in fact treated to some of the finest court arguments that it has ever been my privilege to witness as the barrister ripped the evidence of the prosecution to shreds in the most expert fashion and the case was not proven. It made me feel very uncomfortable to think that one day I might be detailed for such a job and find myself in the same invidious position as that unfortunate prosecuting officer so at that point I made two resolutions. One, to keep my head down when they were looking for someone to make a fool of himself in a court room, and Two, to dissuade anyone from accepting my services should I be so detailed. Needless to say, after it was all wrapped up I think we were all rather pleased to put our medals back into storage.
I then became heavily involved in the arrangements for the Squadron's move to Lyneham and followed the normal procedure of working with the RTO (Military Rail Transport Office) to move the remainder of the personnel that were not flying or going by road but when I submitted my part of the planned move of the movement order to the Station Commander he was not impressed and instructed me to cancel them and arrange for a fleet of coaches so that the move could be accomplished, taking a third of the time and with the bonus that the Squadrons would be non-operational for only a very short period. It made sense and having cancelled the RTO arrangements they were no longer concerned so I duly hired the coaches through a Christchurch firm and all went well. Shortly after the aircraft departed the
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transport baggage train convoy followed and a silence descended as the airfield was closed to active flying.
In due course the bill arrived for several hundred pounds and I passed it through accounts for payment thinking no more about it until an irate Group Accountant Officer came on the phone demanding to know why we had not used the RTO for transport and who had arranged it all. My insides went into a turmoil of panic as I thought of the consequences and the effect that it would have on my already overstrained finances particularly after he said that it was all very irregular and that he would send the bill personally to me for payment. That's when I dug my heels in and pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was the Group Captain's (who was no longer in command); decision and I had only carried out his instructions then the line cooled a little when he said he ought to send it to him instead.
In hindsight I suspect that he felt that he had to make a fuss under the circumstances but I think I chewed my fingernails down to nothing whilst I waited for the outcome. Thankfully I never did hear any more.
Meanwhile there was the problem of the shrinking station. I had been absorbed into the station HQ for all manner of duties and then in a twinkling of an eye I was unit Adjutant with a Squadron Leader CO. With all that on my shoulders it was time to place the full responsibility for the POW's onto the WO's. The senior was placed in charge and as the camp medical centre had already been closed I re-opened it and transferred the prisoners to it from the dispersed site which was closed. As far as their conditions were concerned they were now positively luxurious with all that a complete medical centre had to offer including constant hot water and a superb kitchen. That got them off of my back whilst I tackled the deluge of responsibilities that came my way.
We soon compressed the unit administration into one HQ building as bit by bit activities closed down and brought their own problems and although certain posts were disestablished there were some that had to remain and most of them fell into my lap. Almost every day another crop of posting notices arrived and more people were on there way leaving behind various duties for which they had been responsible and the one quick way was to concentrate that responsibility into the hands of some-one who would discharge the final act to terminate the job. With only a few officers left and with myself being one of the nominated seven to stay I would go so far as to suggest that I got more than my share being the junior officer.
All non-public accounts were concentrated under one control; mine, and although the monies were at the bank by the time I had collected seven accounts to the value of several thousand pounds I was beginning to feel somewhat uneasy particularly as I was delving into the mysteries of double entry book-keeping. There was more burning the midnight oil to study to try and work it all out and I tried desperately to take it in my stride without admitting that I knew very little about it in the first place. Now what would a Secondary schoolboy trained as a carpenter and subsequently a Wireless Operator/Gunner know about such things? Fortunately there was only one active account and although they all had to be audited by the accountant officer monthly who certified the balances I must have done it correctly as there were never any problems.
It was inevitable that among the various hats I was wearing I became the M.T. officer but only as the nominal head of the section which was as usual ably run by an experienced senior NCO. But the Air Force had this thing that only a commissioned officer could take the can back for anything that went wrong and I barely had time to sign for everything that I had become responsible for as it was so most of it was done tounge [sic] in cheek and fingers crossed. I had already crossed that bridge when I was at Lyneham so it was nothing new.
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One of the jobs for early elimination was that of Entertainments Officer as it was not an on-going thing but then it occurred to me that one of the accounts that I was managing was the PSI fund which was particularly healthy. The PSI fund is the equivalent of a Regimental Fund which when all was finally wound up would have any balance transferred to Group accounts. But it could be used for financing other projects-provided that it was not drained and I could not think of anything better than the concentration of the best of our remaining local talents into a final farewell party. It didn't take long to find someone to mastermind the production side and I developed it into a two hour music hall programme with some very accomplished and enthusiastic people. The hall was laid out along the lines of a German beer cellar with barrels of free beer being dispensed by real German waiters (my POW's) in white aprons in the time honoured fashion with free food laid on as well.
Maybe I pushed my luck a little but as I was also in charge of the few remaining service policemen I issued instructions to keep it cool with further orders to the POW's to the effect that none of them were to fall down until they had completed their jobs as barmen, cleaners and general handymen. As far as I know none of them did but no doubt because I was so heavily involved I could not have seen to everything and towards the end I was not far from falling down myself. I do know that when I did my rounds in the morning everything was back in place and cleaned up. If there had been any bad behaviour or punch-ups there was no evidence of it and the cells were empty. All I had to do after that was pay the bills but that was one hell of a party'
As the unit continued to thin out even more business came my way including the dreaded inventories and by that time I had already received the outcome of the Lyneham enquiry so although I was a bit peeved about it I felt safe in the knowledge that having started up my POW inventory from scratch it was a model of correctness from the time I opened it up. Nevertheless I was more than peeved when I found that I was required to take over dozens of depleted inventories from departing people and transfer the stocks to one holding inventory.
A job like that can only be done with a mountain of vouchers and although I tried to get the hard pressed storemen to do it internally I found myself stuck with it but it involved a lot of work including stock taking before taking some of them over. I had learned my lesson!
Numerous problems arose of course. Like the occasion when a bicycle found in the village pond was brought in by the local policeman. Identified by it's [sic] serial number the books showed that it had already been written off so no more paperwork was required. It was consigned to the scrap dump which was yet another of my responsibilities.
Naturally there was a lot of useful scrap in the yard as well as the rubbish and it was my job to see that a contract was let to a local merchant whose outgoing loads had to be inspected and approved by me at the Guard room and the price agreed on a signed invoice which went to the accountant officer who subsequently collected the money. It was all done according to the regulations so it was with some surprise that on one of my tours of the airfield I investigated the contents of a large packing case in the area of the old bomb dump. I found that it contained a brand new, still sealed, Wright Cyclone aero engine with American markings that had obviously been left behind by the USAAF prior to `D' Day.
Perhaps it was too innocent but at that time it seemed that my biggest problem was how to get rid of it as it was definitely not on charge. It was a completely surplus item until enquiries through the supply people resolved it. You simply took such an item on charge by filling in the appropriate vouchers and once it's on the books that's it. You can then transfer it so Engine, Aero, Wright Cyclone, Mk. ?, serial no. ? Port, One, was dealt with and I thought that was the end of it. Within an hour of having it picked up and conveyed to stores the scrap contractor was knocking at my door. He claimed that he had `discovered' same, but had not said anything to me whilst he was looking for a home for it, which he had only just done.
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I have often wondered if [sic] would really have known-anything about it's departure as according to him he had found someone running a one man airline with a Dakota who could have done with a spare engine and £500 was the price he was going to put to me but it was too late. (and hard luck Freddie Laker!). I certainly could have made use of that sort of money at that time and I might have been tempted but as the RAF was still using Dakota's it no doubt found it's way into one of them at a later date. There was never such another lucrative opportunity but there was no time to cry over spilt milk either. I was up to my ears in stores vouchers and posting notices as I had become the Personnel Officer again as the unit got smaller by the day and we got nearer our dead-line date. Then the time came when the POW's were warned to be ready.
When the day finally came there was no ceremony. All the hand shaking had been done before they were paraded. There was just a quick salute and "goodbye and good luck". That was that. Some of them had been receiving mail via the Red Cross and they had had access to UK newspapers so they knew what to expect. Those who had lost touch with family for various reasons did not have a lot to celebrate knowing that they were going back to a land that had been ravaged by a war that had destroyed so much. I knew what it was like; I had seen it, so there was no cheering and I was glad to see the back of them. As they marched off there was one thought that struck me that the WO's had not mentioned; the radio that I had been permitted to purchase on their behalf had not been handed back and I had to account for it. It was "Halt, about turn" and it didn't take long to find it when I told them that it had to be returned, even if they missed their train. One of them had it under his greatcoat!!!
It didn't take long to clear up the paper work after they had left then it was nose to the grindstone again as the next major job had to be attended to. That was the disposal of all non-public assets, mainly PSI funded, that had already been collected and an inventory drawn up which I then had to dispose of by public auction for which I engaged a firm of auctioneers. In all the book value was just over a thousand pounds and shortly before the sale which had been advertised I had a visit from a retired Air Commodore representing the Bournmouth [sic] Branch of the Royal Air Force Association who was prepared to make a cash offer for the whole lot at half the book value. I managed to negotiate the addition of the auctioneers fee if it was acceptable. It seemed a good deal to me but when I put the idea to the Group Accountant he was horrified. Oh dear no! It was most irregular and the regulations stated quite plainly that it had to go to auction so despite considerable pleading and argument he had the final word. Whilst my sympathies were with the Air Commodore and the RAFA there was nothing I could do about except apologise to him and let the sale go ahead.
I did not attend the auction and was quite happy to leave it in the capable hands of the experts but subsequently when I got the proceeds, less commission and handling fees it did not amount to much more than £100 for the lot! I was hot foot down to their offices for explanation but it was all above board although the receipts showed that most items had been knocked down at quite ridiculously low prices but I did find out that a certain Air Commodore had been in attendance and he and his cronies had done most of the bidding. As far as I was concerned the RAFA had got the stuff much cheaper than they would have done by private sale although I had a sneaking feeling that a certain Group Accountant was not going to be very happy so I obtained a complete breakdown of the sale prices and the purchasers before I left their office. Just as well. When the Group Accountant did spot it it really did 'hit the fan'. The line was red hot as we discussed the pro's and cons and it was perhaps my suggestion that in hindsight we should have accepted the cash offer in the first place. That brought forth accusations of collusion and conspiracy. That did it. I was on a short fuse anyway flogging my guts out and with more than my fair share of responsibility and there he was, up in his ivory tower counting paper money so I let him have facts and figures, not forgetting to point out that I was after all a lowly GD(General Duties) Flying Officer doing my best in a job that
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I had received absolutely no training for. Then he simmered down, huffing and puffing, "it's still all very irregular". I began to get somewhat fed up with Admin duties that was for sure but had no option but to "press on".
Fortunately the unit accountant had been the Accountant Officer at Chedburgh when I was there in 1943 and only dealt with the day to day financial matters at Holmsley but knew enough of our experiences there at the time was very sympathetic and supportive and assured me that the Group A.O. was only making waves in case anything went seriously wrong and he got the blame for it so I learned a few more lessons about human nature. He was very helpful in many ways.
On one occasion he arrived at the office from Lyndhurst on his scooter and related the story of how he had just seen a pig clouted by a car down the road and how it had finished up head first in a ditch looking very dead. The driver had not stopped and obviously would not be reporting it as the bye-laws of the New Forest gave right of way to animals. But `headfirst' sounded good to me. I don't know if it was the 'creegie' still in me or just the thought of all that good meat going to waste but in no time at all I had a two ton truck and two kitchen hands with carving knives on board scorching down the road where we spotted the animal, still headfirst and no longer bleeding. Many people must have passed it and there no doubt in my mind that if it was left a great deal of fresh meat would go to waste even if the owner of the animal were to be found within the next few hours so we cruised pat [sic] the corpse and cruised back again keeping a good look-out in both directions. As we came up to it there was nothing in sight arid within a matter of seconds it was on board and we were off. It certainly supplemented our rations for a few days and I had no qualms about my action which were quite illegal and would have caused a few embarrassing headlines if the law had been tested.
Fortunately for me it never was.
The unit finally dwindled to three officers and a handful of airmen and we all finished up in a large house that had been the CO's official residence. I claimed an enormous room, en-suite, as I was the only one living in so I had a little luxury that compensated to a degree for the enormous amount of paperwork that was involved. Even moving has it's problems like decommissioning this that and the other, re-arranging the staff, and getting phones transferred as we no longer needed a switchboard. I was still doing about 16 hours a day to keep on top of the work so that I could have my week-ends free to get through to Worthing when a bombshell arrived in the form of a posting notice detaching me to Hereford, on an [underlined] Admin course!!!! [/underlined]
At the time I thought that perhaps my career was being advanced by that development so I didn't make a fuss although the duration of the course was three weeks. I [sic] would mean nearly a month without visiting home as it was too far on the bike and too expensive by train. My fellow officers thought it would do me good to take the course so I was off.
Perhaps I would have benefited from it if it had not been a course specifically designed for young aircrew officers to teach them the inner workings of the Air Force although at first I decided to go along with it. Within a few days I came to the conclusion that it was not for the likes of me who was actually doing such work. It seemed more of a disciplinary course to occupy idle hands and mine had been far from idle for a long time. I became more and more resentful as the days went by as I was shown how to use a rifle and a pistol and a Sten gun and engage in all manner of field craft including escape and evasion techniques which involved crawling around in long wet grass which at one point I strongly objected to only to be told that I might find the experience useful one day! What does one say to that? Matey, I've done it, and a fat lot of good it was when in the end I was surrounded and had a Schmeisser stuck up my nose. It didn't cut any ice. Then there was all the drill and parade procedures which were not entirely new to me either although I can understand the needs of some who for some reason didn't know one end of a rifle from the other and were
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somewhat unwilling to pull triggers and throw grenades. I wondered what they had been doing in their very limited careers!
The classroom work was mainly forms, forms and more forms and their use therof [sic] as well as stores procedures and of other things like how to write letters, command structure and a lot of other stuff that was old hat. By the end of the first week I was fuming I was not learning anything new and there was a lot of work piling up at Holmsley just waiting for me to deal with. Only the most essential would be dealt with by the others and I could visualise many hours of binding graft before I was likely to have broken the back of it.
I must confess that my attitude toward the course as we started the second week was not going unnoticed by the course commander who quite naturally took me aside to point out the error of my ways. That is when the real reason for the course was confirmed. Not only was it intended for surplus aircrew officers to find something for them to do but it definitely was a disciplinary course as well so I was being assessed accordingly--------and I was not doing very well! It seemed that we had gone back in time to "Yours is not to reason why etc" and I had had enough of that as an airman. For a start I wondered why I had been sent on such a course anyway so I promptly made a request to phone my parent Group HQ `P' Staff which brought forth howls of indignant protest. Despite the fact that I was normally in touch with the chap on an almost daily basis I was told in no uncertain terms that such lowly types as myself were not allowed to communicate direct with the higher echelons. It was only the prerogative of senior officers to the `top brass' and that is what I was on the course to learn about. As far as I was concerned it was utter nonsense and I had serious doubts regarding the background experience of this Flight Lieutenant of the A & SD (Admin & Special Duties) Branch who seemed unaware that the `top brass' were only people like ourselves holding staff appointments. Not only that, a lot of them were like myself of the GD (General Duties-Flying) Branch. Expected to do anything that was thrown at them------including flying!
Suitably chastised I was dismissed with threats of extra orderly officer duties and the inclusion of some appropriate remarks on my course and confidential report so I simmered down a bit as I waited for an opportunity to use his phone whilst he was out of his office a few days later. There all hell let loose when he suddenly burst in, very angry and rightfully indignant at the audacity etc, etc, at performing, in his eyes, an almost criminal act. Not that I was unduly worried as by that time I had already done what I set out to do and the threats went over my head.
Within four hours a signal arrived from Transport Command HQ. recalling me to my unit urgently and naturally I was called to his office immediately to have the signal waived under my nose. "Explain this!!!! So I did, in detail that he had not been prepared to listen to previously and I think he understood my action even if he could not approve of the manner in which I had dealt with it. As far as I was concerned I was off the damn silly course and I was on my way.
As soon as I returned to base I plunged into a mountain of paper work and after two days and nights of frenzied activity I came out on top ready for a long week-end at home.
During that burst of activity there was an unannounced staff visit from Group HQ and all the visitors could find was one junior officer slaving away, whilst the others were out hunting, shooting and fishing around the area and that put the cat among the pigeons. That and my absence for nearly two weeks seemed to solve the problem of the numerous delays that occurred in the closing down procedure. Hence a snap visit! And although I could only explain the absence of the others by saying they were on tours of inspection, when they did turn up there was a lot of muttering behind closed doors and I was only too happy to bury myself in paper again.
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A few more weeks went by until at last we were run right down to a C & M (Care & Maintenance) party. At last I had got my head above water and I could relax a little-----but not for long.
A telephone call from Group, followed by a posting notice gave me advance warning of my posting to Oakington in Cambridgeshire for --------Admin duties, to report in a few days time, but as far as I was concerned, not before I had another long week-end at home. After just thirty months I was a bit of a stranger at home, especially to the baby but I felt that something had to be sacrificed if there was any chance that I could make a career out of the Air Force. At least, I thought, Oakington is a well established station so I should slip into the same sort of job that I had done at Lyneham without any hassle. I had had enough challenges for a while-------but I had overlooked the fact that so had Lyneham been well established and what a mess that had been in. There was more to come.
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[underlined] CHAPTER THREE [/underlined]
The journey up to Oakington was nearly a disaster. After a few days at home I set off on the motor bike on a cold and frosty morning, Loaded to the hilt, wearing full flying kit over my uniform and greatcoat which included a bright yellow immersion suit and flying boots, helmet, goggles and gloves, looking like something from outer space but warm and well protected I had just cleared the London area when the front of a blizzard caught up with me and my speed was drastically reduced to a few miles an hour with my feet stuck out like out-riggers to prevent me sliding all over the place and in those conditions I pressed on until I got to Baldock.
By that time there was between three and four inches of virgin snow covering everything and every sensible traveller had got off of the road. There was very little other traffic so I ventured down the hill very slowly with my aching legs still propping up the bike and found myself gaining on the only other vehicle in sight which was a fairly high standing two ton truck, and I was desperately trying to slow down when suddenly the truck driver braked and slithered along fishtailing to a stop. I knew that my brakes were not going to stop me as I slid gently towards the back-end of the truck and when it quite obvious that the tailboard hinges were going to spread my face I took the only option open to me. I flipped the bike on it's side and went underneath. It was just as well the truck had a good ground clearance as I went right underneath the back axle and came out between the front and rear wheels with my tail in the gutter. The driver had obviously been completely unaware of the incident as within seconds of my coming to rest he started to move off, with my front wheel right underneath his rear wheel so I reached out and pushed on the truck wheel and the bike and I slid out just enough to avoid serious damage to the bike. The truck wheel just squashed over the front number plate and mudguard and then he was gone before I could get my breath back. There was not another vehicle in sight and the only other person around was an elderly lady, who might well have been the cause of the drivers urgent braking; who, observing the situation, was concerned enough to ask if I had had an accident!! What she thought I was doing there, laying in the gutter with a motor-bike I don't know but I think that I said something suitably facetious as she tottered off and I started to sort myself out.
I was very glad that I was wearing so much gear rather than having tried to pack it. I was not even bruised and apart from a slightly bent number plate and tip of the mudguard there was no other damage to the bike but it took a while before I recovered sufficiently to get going again getting more than a little concerned as it had started to snow quite heavily. However, with traffic clear roads I was able to make progress and eventually outran the weather front, coming out completely in the clear and completing the last ten miles completely free of snow. Oh, blessed relief…..until I ran out of petrol just in sight of the camp!! I had overlooked the fact that I had been using it up at a much higher rate than normal doing so many miles in low gears. Fortunately an Air Ministry Works Dept truck came along and with the aid of a length of rope I was gently towed the rest of the way. After an eight hour journey I had at made it to Oakington and I was only too glad to book into the Mess and leave the arrival formalities until the following day. A bath, a change of clothes and a meal and early to bed made all the difference.
I soon found that the job was to be the same as Lyneham and I was looking forward to free-wheeling for a while until I met the C.O. I could hardly believe my ears after the introduction. "Ah" he said, "you are the very man I have been waiting far. My Central Registry and internal communications are in a bit of a mess and I'm told that you the man to fix things. The last chap couldn't sort things out and I've got rid of him so off you go and get stuck in". Oh no........not again!
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The only consolation was that my previous efforts seem to have been recognised and that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to find a career in the Secretarial Branch ultimately as I always seemed to be sorting out jobs that Secretarial types had made a cock-up of; so off I went and "got stuck in". There was no-one to take over from so once again I started from scratch: At least there was not the panic to get things squared up and the routine work went smoothly enough whilst I conducted a searching enquiry into the main problem that I had been instructed to sort out.
At that time my own personal problems needed sorting out as well. Now that I was a family man the household at Worthing was getting a bit crowded particularly since Dorothy's brother-in-law had at last been de-mobbed after being abroad with the 8th Army for four years and there was family expected in that direction. I was frantically looking around for suitable accommodation and although official quarters for married personnel was beginning to come back on the scene the points system that determined one's entitlement suggested that it was going to be a long time before I qualified for one. I was just one of millions of people who were desperately trying to re-settle and in need of accommodation. The story was invariably the same when one enquired. "Sorry, no children" and it all added to the frustration.
Eventually I did find a place just to the North of Cambridge on the Huntingdon road and plans were made although I must confess that I did not tell Dorothy the exact arrangement of the accommodation. The kitchen was in the basement. The living room was on the ground floor. The bathroom was on the second floor and the bedroom on the third floor! I didn't dare, but I hired a car and drove down to Worthing in a clear gap in the weather pattern that the Met. Man assured me would last a couple of days.
Apart from the occasional sortie in the Flight pick-up van when I had been at Newmarket two years previously I had never taken a car on the public highway before but I don't think that I gave it a second thought. The family needed something picked up from near Leighton Buzzard `on the way' which created a fair sized `dog-leg' but did give me a few more miles to come to terms with my lack of experience, and it avoided London so somehow I made it to Worthing.
Travelling by car those days was generally a fairly slow business as there were few major roads that allowed high speed cruising and one just plodded on but there was no time to mess about as we loaded up the car the following morning and off we went, having arranged that the pram, fully loaded, was to follow by rail. There were tears on our departure and I think that perhaps the most ironic thing was the remark from my sister-in-law that there was no need to worry as "Alan was a good driver" and that we would be OK. I don't know what gave her that impression. Little did they know, but I had managed 200 miles without any problem......so what was another 140! The journey was not uneventful! That would have been too much to ask for.
The hire car had been a reluctant starter at the very outset but we had got as far as Kingston when in the dip under the railway by the station the engine packed up and so did the battery. Not the best place to fizzle out but eventually we were pulled clear and towed to a garage a little further up where I purchased a new battery and we were an our way again. The fact that the cost of the battery had to come off the hire fee did not please the hire firm when the car was returned but a compromise was eventually reached. The main thing was that we had taken up residence in a place of our own for the very first time and much to my surprise Dorothy accepted the arrangement of the flat although we soon made alternative plans to avoid going right to the top of the house to a cold bedroom as I had already installed a convertible settee in the living room. That was soon put to use.
The met. Man's forecast was absolutely spot on. The day after we arrived the weather that had been expected hit us with a vengeance when about a foot of snow fell. The basement back door was unusable with a drift of snow filling the door well right to the top and massive
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drifts along the road due to cross winds were up to six feet-high. Cars were already stuck. It was impossible to get the bike out from the bottom of the garden and a colleague who lived in the same building joined me in walking to camp across country. It was a long way and our situation was not improved when we came to the edge of the airfield and in making a direct approach to a gate he disappeared through the snow cover up to his neck in a ditch but we made it in the end. I'm glad it was him in the lead as he was nearly a foot taller than me. I would have completely disappeared!
We struggled back home in the late afternoon as life on the station virtually came to a standstill. There was no flying and with more snow forecast the whole airfield was blanketed although an energetic but useless snow clearing operation was initiated which at least kept us warm. There was a slight spell of thawing when some areas of the road went a bit slushy but then a `deep freeze' hit the whole area and everything was locked up solid. People got to and from work the best way they could. The main Cambridge to Huntingdon road was impassable due to buried frozen in vehicles. The C.O. issued an order of the day allowing any type of clothing to be worn to cope with the extreme weather and we just battled on from day to day. At home of course there was no central heating but fires just had to be kept going on the fuel supplies I had stocked up although it was difficult to get at and it was supplemented with anything else that was to hand but it thawed and froze alternatively for weeks before a general thaw finally set in and vehicles could be released from their icy cocoons, many totally ruined. The A604 (now the A14) was still difficult to negotiate through ridges and ruts of ice well into March.
Meanwhile I had had all the time I needed to complete my survey and draw up my plans accordingly. I placed a brief outline of my proposals before the C.O. and although he gave me cart-blanche to get on with an added word of warning such as "cock it up and you will follow the last chap" so I worked my way right through the plan once more to look for problems before drafting the final order. Meanwhile, I had collected two more responsibilities. The Post Office as Postmaster and that of Mess Secretary which meant that more of my precious time would be used up but the day came when the plan that I had circulated to all users was put into effect and on that day there was absolutely no problem with it's introduction. I had expected some hick-ups but it all worked like a charm.
I decentralised the Registry to cut down the appalling wasteful duplication of just about everything that was going in and out. That in itself was causing delays and was a self generated work load. New index cards and registers were brought into use and the system updated to ensure that files were booked back in as well as out! As daft as it may seem that had not been the case so files could wander around between people and departments and the Registry had no knowledge of the whereabouts of a file if it was not in it's cabinet. I have often wondered what 'mastermind' had set all that up in the first place as it certainly did not conform to the Manual of Office Administration. However, new index cards and registers were brought into use and when it got under way the staff had no difficulty in handling the new system so within days a few sub-registry's became redundant and number of active filing cabinets was reduced from twenty to four, all cross referenced to the old registry. The bumbling circulation of paper was at last reduced to manageable proportions. The C.O. spent less time than he had done previously handling his daily correspondence and when I found that too many people were now sitting around doing little more than making tea a quick establishment review reduced the number of Registry clerks from ten to four. It made my life a little easier too as long as I didn't collect too many other jobs on the strength of my success.
I was certain by this time that it could only do me good as far as my confidential report was concerned. I had already applied for and been granted two extentions [sic] of service that had taken me beyond my normal discharge date and that's, as far as I was concerned, was what it was all about if I was going to be noticed. Any ambitions that I had at that time were
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mainly concerned with holding on to a relatively well paid job as a lot of my school chums were not finding 'civvy street' all that easy. I had no other qualifications other that of cabinet maker/polisher, [underlined] lapsed, [/underlined] and wireless operator, almost lapsed, so I just hung on to what I had got.
Like a good many of my age group and background, politics were not my strong point but it was not long before there was an awareness. Some very odd things were happening. The first post-war elections had shaken a lot of people when our remarkable war-time leader's party had been rejected for a different administration with an overwhelming majority. It did not make sense to me but the daily routine had to go just the same although some very subtle changes were taking place. Naturally I was shielded from a lot of it by being in the Armed Forces but it was difficult not to notice what was going an as the main effort was being channelled into `Nationalisation'! That meant roads, rail, steel coal, electricity, road transport, health care and a lot more that was in the pipeline. It was one of the great bloodless revolutions of the age. It was of course jobs for the `boys', the party members, who were often elevated to manage their previous employers businesses for the benefit of the state. History will show whether it worked or not but a lot of new ideas were filtering into the Forces.
One of those was the formation of a Station Committee made up representatives of all ranks from all departments, elected by ballot and not by appointment, which was to sit weekly to air grievances, discuss working arrangements and conditions and in fact anything other than pay, appointments and promotion. The unit Commander chaired the committee but thank God he had the power of veto and most commanders voiced their indignation at having their time wasted with such nonsense. Like mine did when he was on his way to such a meeting at which I was to take the minutes. "Come on Gamble; lets get along to this bloody silly union meeting". What a funny way to run a military establishment. It was a complete turnaround from the normal well established command structure and had all the ingredients to undermine discipline. It did little more than waste time but I had the distinct feeling that the tail was beginning to wag the dog!
I ran into a union problem sooner than I expected when we had two steward posts in the Mess disestablished. The disestablishment notice came straight out of the blue and the Mess Manager and I agreed that we would could [sic] do without the two least useful members of the staff who were duly served notice. Immediately there was a great deal of protest about being contrary to trades union practice etc, and that their representatives would be taking up the policy of disestablishing jobs without union consultation as well as giving notice to people to terminate their employment without the same consultation.
I turned a blind eye to it all but within a few hours I had a trade union rep. From Cambridge breathing heavily in my ear and telling me that I couldn't do it. That was red rag to a bull so I dismissed him with a flea in his ear but it was not over. A few hours later a chap from an Air Ministry department for civil relations or something was on the phone telling me that I couldn't do it, and quoted chapter and verse from the newly drawn up trade union rule book so I had no choice but to bow to that although I insisted that I had it in writing. Meanwhile the two men were re-instated as we were forced to apply the last in first out rule. As far as I was concerned it still was not over. Two could play that game.
I got hold of a copy of the union rule book and studied it at great length with the Mess Manager before we took our next step. Within a few days two people got their cards by reason of incompetence. (They had had plenty of verbal warnings over a period of time, and a written one as soon as they had been re-employed)......and immediately afterwards the two men that we wanted to keep were re-instated. Of course, there were immediate screams of protest from the union officials so I invited them to a face to face confrontation with both the Mess Manager and myself where they used every argument they could accusing us of `collusion',
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`unfair treatment' and `victimisation', but what they couldn't say was that it was illegal. It was right out of their own rule book but I was never entirely comfortable about the incident but I was damned if I was going to be told who and who not I could employ in certain circumstances. I quickly briefed the C.O. in case of repercussions but nothing further came of it.
It was about that time another incredibly wasteful practice came to light more or less by accident.
We were continually being exhorted to use less stationary and in particular duplicating paper and I had already done quite a lot to reduce the consumption by the registry arrangements. I had followed it up by reducing the supply to sub units and at the same time allocating more to the central registry for printing on behalf of the sub units although every job had to be vetted by my chief clerk. That had helped but we were still going through our allocation rather quickly and as H.M. Stationary Office were not always prepared to meet supplementary demands WE had to do something about it. WE equals ME in those circumstances as it fell into my lap once more as unit commanders complained to the Senior Admin Officer that they were being starved of certain stationary items. It was just about that time that Bourne, on the Cambridge to St.Neots road, for-which we were the parent unit, was in the late stages of closing down so I went over to see if they had anything in the stationary line that would be of any use to us. What I found was an Alladins cave as the stationary store was opened for me!.
There was an assortment of exotic stuff like the pale blue embossed pre-war paper for the exclusive use of unit commanders. Beautifully bound ledgers, some indexed. Note books, log books and all kinds of stuff that must have accumulated over a long period. It was stuff that if you were to order any of it in the present conditions you would be very lucky to have got any of it without putting up a special case. I was bugg eyed and it did not take long to transfer that lot to a three tonner and convey it to Oakington. Our stationary cupboard had to be re-arranged with the assistance of most of my staff and re-stocked until it was virtually bulging at the seams... ...and I held the key and a newly drawn up stock book!!
I think that I know how it was all accumulated. The same half yearly demand must have gone in as regular as clockwork irrespective of stocks but times were changing and so were the figures that showed that the Air Force was using even more paper per flying hour than ever before but no-one could say Oakington was not doing it's bit although there were still some items that we were short of so I phoned H.M. Stationary Office and did a deal. I don't think such a thing had ever happened before. There was a lot of huffing and puffing and expressions of "highly irregular" but they went along with it. We sent them a large packing case of what I considered was surplus to our requirements in exchange for a supplementary issue of items we were in urgent need of and everyone was happy but I just wondered how often that sort of wastefulness had been repeated by the hundreds of other units up and down the country during the war when every commodity was so precious to us and had often cost lives to import the raw materials. It was mind boggling.
Bit by bit life became a little more regulated although it was never without it's share of excitement and on occasions I even managed to tour around various other parts of the station including the airfield and the aircraft; Dakota's no less! It was not long after the snow and ice cleared and things started to warm up that the unsettled conditions usually associated with the end of April brought some savage weather including the most violent thunderstorms that I have only ever seen on one other occasion since.
In the late morning the sky darkened by degrees until it became as black as night and the wind increased by the minute to the point where it started to howl with the most savage gusts.....and then the rain came! It slashed and swirled and in no time all the roads were like rivers as the drains overloaded and I stood in my office window at the front of the HQ
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building thinking how lucky I was that I was not out in it. Anyone with any sense had taken cover and as I contemplated the violence of the storm I was astonished to see the striped pole barrier in front of the Guard Room suddenly whip into the vertical, snap off like a matchstick and disappear over the building. It occurred to me that that would be a job I would have to see to when the storm abated when the little Austin Seven which was parked outside and had been rocking about as each gust hit it; suddenly flipped on it's side. Oh well, I thought that can wait too.......then the phone rang.
Above a great deal of noise on the line an almost hysterical WAAF in the Post Office blurted out "please come at once sir, the roof has blown off”. My first reaction was "S..." but I had no choice so out I went, splashing my way through about four inches of water and was soaked in a matter of seconds. The Post Office looked a sorry sight minus it's roof which lay, completely wrecked, not far away but the poor girls were more concerned with the fact that as they had just set up the counter for business the contents of their trays had been sucked up, following the roof, and had been deposited far and wide. I don't remember having any lunch that day.
The clerks gathered up all the rest of their Post Office stocks and set up a temporary post room in the WAAF quarters and then I locked the place up! That was a laugh. I felt that I had to do that as only a week before I had had new mortice locks fitted and the safe securely embedded in brickwork. All that and now the place was roofless!
Although the clerks had set up the post room just inside the WAAF quarters they initially used the laundry room for sorting out their stock. A few telephone calls got some search parties organised as well as a broadcast on the PA system and before long some very soggy money and postal orders started coming in. It was rinsed, dried and ironed much to the amusement of all concerned but the amazing thing was that when I called off the search there was only one ten shilling (50p) postal order missing. When the inspectors arrived from Cambridge GPO (General Post Office) towards the end of the day they were agreeably surprised that that was all they had to write off after seeing the state of the Post Office. We were all somewhat relieved at that. I made may report to the C.O. later and followed up with a load of repair work including the barrier pole in front of the Guard Room.
I thought that was enough for one day until I got home. Dorothy had had her share as well. The downpour had filled up a balcony outside a full length window of one of the other flats and she had spent a lot of time baling out the balcony to stop the flow into the room whilst the storm was raging. We were both very relieved when that day was over.
Eventually things settled down as the year wore on and we experienced a most beautiful summer. Life in Cambridge with it's wonderful buildings and activities made life very interesting. Even the baby indulged us by winning first prize in a baby competition but as far as the job was concerned with most of the problems ironed out it was almost boring, but a great opportunity to develope [sic] family life to the full. Again it was too good to last!
I was asked to report to Transport Command HQ at Teddington, Middlesex for a job I [sic] interview and I was sure that the business was opening up for me. Out of the four candidates for the job I was offered it and I accepted. It was in the "P" Staff (Personnel) dept of the HQ so before long I was wrapping up and making the necessary arrangements to move the family. Although Teddington was not too far away Dorothy felt that she did not want to be on her own and preferred to go back to Worthing with her parents; [underlined] particularly as we had just found out that there was another addition to the family on the way! [/underlined] In hindsight it was a pity that we gave up the flat. I'm sure that we could have coped but Teddington was also convenient for Worthing but we settled for that.
The C.O. gave me the opportunity of nominating a suitable relief so a friend who was the Operation Wing Adjutant was acceptable and so it was goodbye Oakington. Here we go again!
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One or more pages is missing, apparently pages 24 – 86
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EXTRACT FROM
[underlined] NIL DESPERANUM…… [/underlined] OR
IF YOU CAN’T TAKE A JOKE ………
[underlined] BY [/underlined]
[underlined] A. GAMBLE [/underlined]
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knock. Pay awards had for some time been based on a flat rate rather than a percentage increase and the differential between ranks had closed up considerably. I now found that a Warrant Officer aircrew was in fact was in fact better off than a Flight Lieutenant!, which did not make a lot of sense. My situation was not improved by the Wolsley's rather extravagant use of oil and petrol and it eventually ran a big-end on the A5 just North of Birmingham on the way home one week-end so I didn't make it. Fortunately I had relatives at West Bromwich so I was able to stay with them until I could pick the car up in sufficient time to get back Sunday evening. That made another nasty hole in the accounts!.
That little episode put paid to a few week-ends at home. There was no-one at that time living anywhere around or on route that I could share with so I was obliged to stay in the mess with others in a similar state, although we often filled up a car and toured into Wales for a day to fill in the time.
A friend kindly offered me the use of his motor bike to go home one week-end and although it was only a clapped out 250cc side valve BSA I thought it was worth a try. That was a laugh and a half.
I dressed up in a selection of flying gear that I had with me and I was off into the wide blue yonder. I mounted the thing and kicked it into life and the first thing that was obviously wrong was the throttle which had a mind of it's own. I was not the sort of chap who could tolerate sloppy machinery so a quick investigation soon found that the top of the carburettor needed screwing back on and with a few other adjustments I set off. Before I had got to the main gate I was obliged to totter down to the MT yard to have the tyres inflated by as much as 20lbs both front and rear and then I was under way. Even then I was not feeling too happy about the machine. There were unpleasant noises from the engine and the first few bends caused the most peculiar sensations so another pit stop to tighten the head and forks dampers was taken. They had been very very loose and being forks with dampers gives some indication of it's great age. I was still feeling my way with it when I had to put the brakes on rather briskly when the lights went against me in Wellington and the back wheel locked up throwing me into
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gutter. Another pit stop to adjust primary and main chains and brake linkage was necessary before I could head East again. I very nearly threw my hand in then but surprisingly I found myself jogging along quite comfortably at between 45 and 50 but with still an ear tuned to the knocking from the engine until a convenient garage came in sight and it seemed an appropriate time to stop as there were signs of overheating. This is a bit of an understatement as she was almost red hot 'pinging' with excess heat. Whilst it was cooling down I dipped the oil tank and couldn't find a level so it took nearly two pints to top it up, then it was cool enough to change the spark plug and reset the points before the final test. I had so far done about 60 miles in three hours and it was decision time as I gingerly started up and carefully took off once more.
After a few more miles all was well so I decided to go for broke and head for home at speeds between 50 and 60 and finally arrived at Marham some 7 hours after departure much to the surprise of the rest of the family.
The return journey on Sunday took less than 4 hours so at breakfast on Monday morning I was able to tell the owner of the bike that all was well and I hope he didn’t mind that I had found it necessary to make a few adjustments which he was quite happy about.
He did not seem quite so happy later on that evening when he came into the bar with plasters on his face and a bandage on his hand. Before I could [inserted] say [/inserted] anything he hurled at me "you and your bloody adjustments", but laughed as he said it before telling that me what it was all about. Apparently, being so used to the machine that he had allowed to get so sloppy and gutless he had attempted to drive off in his usual way but it reared up, tore across a rose bed and threw him in another one!. Nevertheless, he was very impressed with the way it performed when he had got used to it so when the word got around I finished up with a few more machines to tinker with to keep me occupied.
The fastest I ever did that journey one way was 30 minutes. In a Canberra!. I was being 'dined out' at Marham and the aircraft was laid on for me one Friday afternoon. The pilot was the co-pilot of my last 90 Squadron crew and he showed Shawbury a few thing…and me. It was the: first time I had
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ever done a 'rotation' take-off although I had seen one or two demonstrated....I think I left my stomach on the runway when shortly after the kick up the backside by the tremendous acceleration he pulled it up almost vertical like a rocket and kept going until we got to around 10,000ft before levelling out and setting course for Marham. I was very impressed with that for an old bomber man who was more used to 500ft a minute climb hanging on the props with everything shaking and thundering. The return journey was done on the Monday morning a little more gently in an Oxford.
By that time a second course was running and another friend who had been an instructor on the Marham training Squadron had joined the course on transfer. He lived at Feltwell and was prepared to divert through Marham for a share of the running costs so until the end of the course that eased the burden a bit but as the course was nearing it's end like everyone else I was concerned to know about my posting. There was nothing notified so I was still hoping for a return to Marham but when the course results were made known after the final exams I was not pleased. Never mind about Marham...what what about Egypt?.
There was no point in making a fuss, one just had to accept those things so most of my embarkation leave was taken up settling the family back in Worthing as there was no way that I would be getting quarters out there in the 61 days after my effective posting to the Middle East and they would be obliged to move after that anyway.
I sailed on the RAF troopship Empire Ken out of Southampton in the Summer of 1954 and there were times that I wished I had taken up one of the jobs that I had been offered in Shell distribution.
I was the only one that had got an overseas posting and apparently it was almost unheard of. Overseas units usually wanted controllers with a bit of experience behind them but there I was, posted to the main terminal for the Canal Zone; Fayed. The only consolation was that it would be more or less in the centre of things and not stuck half way up a Wadi.
I soon found my sea legs and how to cope with bar prices which in today's money was less than 5p a double but it was the heat that took a lot of handling. The ship had canvas ducting to
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direct air down to the lower troop decks but it was ghastly even then and the troops, including Waafs used to have to come up on deck in shifts for a breather but it was one of those situations that could only be enjoyed for that period of time. With temperatures well over 100deg. the minute you went down below you started oozing again and just had to wait for the next turn on deck. The ship had never been built for that sort of climate anyway otherwise it might have had a more sophisticated ventilation system. The Empire Ken was a German ship built in the Blomm and Voss yards at Hamburg which we had taken as part of the war reparations and was more suited to the Baltic or the North Sea. I had had enough of it by the time the journey was finished anyway. We stopped at Algiers and subsequently arrived at Port Said to exchange sweaty discomfort for smelly and sweaty discomfort. It took a bit of getting used to. After disembarkation and sorting out of paperwork I was on my way by bus down the canal road wondering if I would ever get used to it with persperation [sic] pouring off me from top to bottom and to experience the further delights of the dust, flies, heat and smells of the Land of the Pharoes [sic] . Two minutes of that and I was quite willing to let them have it back!. At last I understood why my father used to get so incenced [sic] about flies. He had done it all both in India and Egypt many years before. My main concern was that I was entering a new phase of my career with a difference; as a Branch Officer, ie, Air Traffic Control, and no longer General Duties(Aircrew) and a dogsbody for a multitude of other jobs. It had been my experience that it had always been very difficult to detail such Branch Officers for extra duties, especially when they were so often shift workers and there were many units that maintained a 24 hour Air Traffic Control service. Fayed was one of them!.
Some of the most serious of local troubles in the Canal Zone had simmered down a bit and it was a lot safer than it had been a year earlier with the political unrest, mainly caused by the fact that there were elements in Egypt that wanted us out and Egypt for the Egyptions [sic] . They were talking, we were talking with an eye on the security of our oil supplies and trade routes through the Suez Canal. It was obvious that we were not going to give that up without favourable agreements after what it
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had cost us during the war in terms of blood sweat and tears.
So there I was. Arrival one day and to work the next although it was three weeks before I went on a solo watch after 'on the job training'; testing and certification. It was relatively simple and so was the set up. It was all very crude and temporary and had not changed a lot since the war but surprisingly enough it all worked efficiently albeit with the need for considerable local knowledge which was to be expected.
Fayed was the terminal for the Canal Zone with fighter airfields and other units to the North and the South and operated 24 hours a day with four short range Transport Squadrons that went out on scheduled flights in all directions, calling at Khartoum, Aden, Habbanyia (Iraq), Cyprus, Malta etc, with staging posts in between. It was a busy place. Fayed even supplied the neccesary [sic] control for the Great Bitter Lake for any flying boat that happened to be coming through although those services were nominal. In addition it was a staging post for the long haul types on the routes to and from the Far East. Our facilities were limited to VHF (Very High Frequency) and HF (High Frequency) direction finders and radio beacons and the airfield lighting was all lashed up stuff that had been modified to signal an alarm if any part became disconnected which had become necessary to discourage the natives from stealing the wire for it's copper content. Another discouragement was an anti-aircraft searchlight and a Bren gun on the roof of the control tower!.
The domestic and technical sites were separated from the airfield by being totally ringed in barbed wire and the access tracks leading from the airfield had wheeled barbed wire fences drawn across from sunset to sunrise as aircraft went in and out. It needed a small army to man the wire as well as an armed, mobile lighting repair squad standing by.
Air Traffic Control staff manned our searchlight and the gun and the searchlight generator was run at all times during the hours of darkness and I recall the night we used them with a vengeance.
The look-out reported movement on the airfield but I could not see much more than moving shadows through the glasses so it was "searchlight on" and on it came with a sizzling crackle as the switch was thrown. I could still see only vague shapes
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about 300 yards out from the tower in the reflection of the intense reflecting blaze of light, the man on the gun had already cocked it so I gave the order to fire. He loosed off a complete clip [inserted] s [/inserted] after which things seemed to have changed a bit so everything was put back to stand-by as the mobile patrol was ready to go out through the wire.
They very soon reported that we now had a dead camel on the airfield although it was clear of the runway and the question was; what to do next?. The Air Traffic Control course had not covered situations like that!. A quick call to the duty Engineering Officer produced a bulldozer and a working party to bury the thing but the problem did not go away for a long time. Every night for the next week the wild dogs uncovered it, and every day we covered it up again until eventually nature took it's normal course and there was no longer a meal to be had for the scavengers.
Although Married Quarters were available I went on to a very long list so I just settled down to sweating it out. In more ways than one. The Control Tower did not have the luxury of air conditioning and at the height of the day it was stifling with a shade temperature well over 100deg. One of the great delights of the night shift was to be able to sit outside on the roof of the Met. Office at about 3 o'clock in the morning when the temperature was down to about 70deg!, but that only lasted for about an hour before the sun zoomed up over the horizon.
Just as I thought that I could concentrate on being an Air Traffic Controller I was appointed Station Fire Officer and no sooner than I had mastered that I got loaded with another job but it all helped to pass the time anyway. Somehow I found time to qualify as a Desert Rescue Land Rover driver and then I figured that was enough as I devoted any other spare time to photography and accumulated my own processing equipment and soon found that my services were in great demand as the local processing was ghastly.
The photo processing did not start until I moved out of tented accommodation which was three months of absolute misery. Trying to sleep in a tent during the heat of the day after a night shift was virtually impossible.
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The permanent accommodation was limited so it was into a tent first and then wait your turn but sand seemed to get into everything despite the cat-walks laid on the sand. The bed feet stood in the usual pools of paraffin in boot polish tins to stop the creepy crawlies from invading the bed and mosquito nets, were hung from the ridge. I don't think I ever slept more than three hours at a time in those conditions before waking up absolutely soaked in persperation [sic] . The only thing to do then was to get up and shower; not that that did much good.
The water tanks were on the roof of the ablution block so they heated up well during the course of the day and never really cooled down but the best time to get a cold shower was normally between 4 & 5 in the morning!.
At least it was a happy unit. The rest of the controllers and staff made the best of it. Some of the controllers I already knew as well as some of the aircrew who I had met previously either at Marham or other units. One delightful character was a Czech who had been war-time RAF and had returned to his homeland to reach the rank of Air Commodore in the Czech Air Force until the political climate of the country had forced him to leave it. As a result he had rejoined the RAF as an Air Traffic Controller and was back to Flying Officer!. Nevertheless we all got on well and I found that copying his routine provided some limited relief from the heat.
Having completed the first few hours of sleep it was off to the Officers Club on the edge of Lake Timsa by bus equipped among other things with a sheet. At least it was possible to emerse [sic] one's-self in water even if it was in the eighties, wrap up in a wet sheet in the shade of a rush 'basha' and achieve a few more hours sleep until the evaporation process was complete and the 'cooking' process started again. Then it was back to camp to get ready for the night shift again. That was just part of the routine. It was all that happened within the routine that made life interesting.
I had been there a few months when I had two aircraft inbound from the UK. One a Hastings, the other a Canberra and just before their arrival a violent dust storm blew up. These could happen at any time given certain conditions and rising sand can make flying very dodgy. I just managed to get the Canberra in before
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visibility dropped to near zero and then the VHF direction finder went on the blink so I had to pull out a few stops after suggesting an indefinite holding or a diversion to Cyprus. The pilot was not keen on either and finally opted for a non-standard let-down using the H/F direction finder co-operating with his Wireless Op. and pilot together. It worked and he got down just about the time that the pilot of the Canberra had worked his way though Ops. and came up to the control room to find out what had happened to his baggage aircraft!
There were very few people that could have fixed up that sort of thing and it was of course the one and only 'Black Mac-The China Bull', on his way to take over command of Habbanyia, (Iraq). When we came face to face in the control room he was his usual bad mannered self. His comment of "I might have bloody well known it" was no more than one would have expected from him. As if it was my fault that a sand storm had blown up!. Had it occurred to me from the details on the flight plan that it was him I would definitely diverted him to Cyprus!. As it happened he only refuelled and fed and was off again after I had gone off duty. I thought that would be the last I would see of him but I was wrong.
Then we had a very interesting fire. Some damn fool army signals bloke exploded a primus stove by using the wrong fuel when brewing up so off went the fire party supplimented [sic] by the Army fire service and between them threw enough water at the signals hut to put out the fire but a lot of it drained away down the conduits in which the whole of the zone's land lines were trunked and out went the lot.
I could not get to the scene as I was duty controller and as all our mains facilities had failed all the stops had to be pulled out again to keep things moving. Going on to standby battery operated equipment I handled Approach control as best I could with no D/F facilities and the Senior Controller handled local traffic from the cockpit of a Valetta aircraft sitting on the tarmac not far from the control tower. Fortunately the weather was fine and all worked well with co-operation of the pilots who were able to carry out visual procedures.
The outcome of the enquiry was typical. The Fire Service, and that meant me; got half of the blame for the failure of all
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the radio, teleprinter, telephone and land lines!.
I got all the blame as the result of another enquiry that had taken place at Marham after I had left and I was kindly sent a copy of the findings. Shortly after leaving they could not find a Secret file although I know of no reason why it had not been in the cabinet if it had not been booked out. After my experience with registries I had been punctilious with the Secret Registry that had been under my direct control as well as the handling of the Top Secret files that always went in and out of the Wingco's office under sealed cover, and as far I recall everything had been handed over according to the laid down procedures. Nevertheless they could not find the handing over certificate, (I wish I had kept a copy), and I had to take responsibilty [sic] for the loss. I was a bit peeved at that. I had not been asked to give evidence even though the certificate would have been in the files now under the control of the bloke I had handed over to it seemed that the only avenue left was to appeal. After some thought I decided just to acknowledge receipt of the findings but with a very strong protest. After all, they couldn't shoot me for it!.
By this time the political infiltration into service life had almost died out and most things had returned to near normal as far as there is any normality in the forces. One just pressed on but at times one's shoulders had to be very broad to carry the load and it helped to have a thick skin as well!. At least there was the satisfaction that it would not last for ever. A lot of control was being passed back to the Egyptians and customs officials were getting very busy at Port Said placing import and export duty on almost all personal goods plus insistance [sic] on area Air Traffic Control by their services with a suggestion of imposing the same controls at Fayed. So far they had not been given access to Fayed but when they were we were very likely to have been deprived of one of our most advantages 'perks'.
We had a weekly 'training flight' to Malta locally known as the Whisky run which picked up supplies from a bonded warehouse and Fayed then acted as distribution agent for other units. The net result of that was that, as an example, a bottle of Whisky was 8s. 6d. in old money in the Mess. 42 pencel and
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cheaper than the Naafi who were obliged to make some declaration and payment to the Egyptian Government.
As a result of my involvement with the fire service I requested a Fire Officers course in the UK which I thought would kill two birds with one stone. It did not work so I took my accumulated [underlined] local [/underlined] leave with an itinerary of a round robin tour of the Middle East and hopped on the Whisky run to Malta and thence BEA to the UK. returning by the same process. At least I had 10 days at home with the family and then the misery started all over again.
There was still little hope of Married quarters but I kept a very close eye on the comings and goings.
Among the names that appeared on the list was that of the chap who had been the Station Adjutant at Marham, just one position below me, stationed somewhere in the zone at a Maintenance Unit. We met up on one occasion at Ismalia as I did with a number of people who had been at Marham with me. At one time there seven of us at Fayed. I had even met up with a long lost cousin who was in the Army at another unit so in one way and another occupied myself as time went by. What it must have been for my army cousin before the war I dread to think. He was in the ranks then when a tour of overseas duty was five years without family or home leave. I don't think I could have even contemplated it, but then perhaps neither did he when he signed on. After pre-war service in the Middle East and also a survivor of the Dunkirk withdrawal he was certainly earning his pension the hard way.
Being a shift worker gave me the opportunity to get away from the place on numerous 'flying' visits. Trips to Khartoum and Cyprus were fairly easy to arrange and I planned to go further East sometime when the opportunity arose.
Another advantage of Fayed was that it was the centre of all entertainment schedules. All visiting shows started off in our open air theatre/cinema and they could be sure of a critical audience too. It was usually packed to capacity and I enjoyed some of the very best shows on the circuit and had the priviledge [sic] of meeting many of the stars of those days when they were entertained in the Mess. Many are still around today. There was Harry Secombe, Lena Horne, Arthur English, Tommy Trinder
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(who got himself lost out on Lake Timsa in a small sailing boat), Ted Ray, Terry Thomas, to name but a few and it was there that Tesse O'Shea got one of her biggest laughs ever. The stage really did collapse and Two Ton Tesse had to be dragged out from underneath, still laughing. On the other hand there were turns that were not received so well. If Fayed didn't like them they knew it but it would be unkind to mention names. They tried and some of them are no longer with us.
In due course the Egyptian Air Force took over some of the zone fighter bases having been trained by British instructors at other airfields near Cairo and I began to wonder what sort of fun and games those instructors must have had in the process if the sort of flying that they were doing was anything to go by.
They seemed to put a great deal of effort into their flying but there never seemed to be such practical value in it if the commotion that went on at their nearest airfield was anything to go by.
I was on duty on one occasion when it became obvious that they were expecting an aircraft when all the ground radio checks started and in due course we heard the pilot calling Almaza (near Cairo), for back bearings every two or three minutes until he was obviously about half way when he started calling his destination.
The result was dead silence as the pilot called again and again with mounting urgency in his voice. He seemed so desperate that I chipped in and offered assistance as my D/F operator had been passing me his bearings anyway. The offer was accepted although it took some time before he was able to identify who was calling him and the rest was simple. He was homed to overhead us, descended to a lower height with instructions to steer a given heading for a number of minutes and he would find his destination which he did and despite his frantic calls to his destination we never did hear their control. Not even when he asked for landing clearance or when he reported landed!.
What all the fuss was about I do not know. It was only a 70 mile flight and a few minutes in what we identified as a Meteor when he came overhead. The sky was 100% blue with the Suez canal right under his nose a few miles from his destination so I can
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only think that he was a bit worried at missing it and getting lost in the Sinai desert. Later on we had a liaison visit from some of their controllers who had in fact been trained by International Air Radio and they were not backward in boasting about all the sophisticated equipment that they had. It was met with a diplomatic h'm, no comment. It was a pity that they did not know how to use it!. A lot of their questions were directed to where our radar unit was, suggesting that we had hidden it prior to their visit. That was time for some discreet tapping on the side of the nose. Radar!, we should be so lucky. I found out later that before I had arrived there had been a small final approach radar for evaluation but it had moved on somewhere. Despite the fact that there was liaison it was only one way and we could not get a visit to their unit. They were very mysterious and conspirital [sic] . They said that their bases were secret and it was very difficult to keep a straight face at that. We had even built them!.
Eventually they worked up their fighter units to the North and South of us and one day they decided to do a mass formation flight of about 30 aircaft [sic] up and down the canal. I wish I had recorded that R/T pantomime somehow although I suppose they were ding [sic] their best with limited training and experience.
The two formations never did get together as one. There was total confusion about heights, and everyone tried to talk at the same time when at one time they found that the two sub formations were on a collision course at the same height and then it was "break, break, break", and every man for himself. It was absolute pandemonium. All that in bright blue skies without a cloud in sight and the line of the canal and the lakes to navigate by. It was something to think about!.
No doubt they improved later on with practice and experience but I have often wondered how the Russians got on with them when they decided to re-arm with Russian equipment and of course, Russian instructors as well. They could not have found it easy by any standards.
Another serious Air Traffic matter came to light purely by chance shortly after had [sic] been appointed as Deputy Senior Controller. A lot of our inbound flights from the UK were chartered company aircraft, although at Malta the company livery was painted out
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and the crew changed uniforms and aircraft call-signs to become RAF. All very clever!. So we had a selection of those, RAF Yorks, Beverly's, Viscounts etc, both inbound and outbound. They were normally cleared by Cairo Delta control from Alexandria, descending and transferred to us but I was a bit concerned when more than one pilot reckoned they should report a confliction after they had been transferred, and even more so when I asked what traffic information they had been given. The answer was always nil so for about a week I asked all pilots to complete a questionaire [sic] relative to the hand over procedure and when it was complete the results of my investigation went through the Senior Controller and Operations. It resulted in some discreet enquiries with the Egyptian Ministry of aviation and a liaison visit by the Senior Controller and some rapid changes in prcedure [sic] . Many a pilot complained subsequently about the extra Easterly drag from Alex. to Port Said under airways control before being cleared to descend on the final leg to us. Little did they know that previously they had been descending blindly across three air routes out of Cairo. Phew.!.
There was an interesting situation early one evening when dust storms blew up unexpectedly around Cairo. I was only aware of it by listening to the one-sided R/T conversation but it was obvious that Cairo's controllers were getting in a bit of a 'tizzy' and some BOAC pilots were getting angry. They did not seem to be able to get an accurate weather report or saisfactory [sic] holding instructions and there was mention of diverting to Nicosia until one ex RAF BOAC pilot remembered us and gave us a call. Having checked our weather he then requested diversion facilities which Operations approved he was on his way, followed by another and another until we had accepted six until Ops. said "enough" before we were swamped.
It was a lovely collection. Constellations. Super Connie's, DC4's and Argonauts of BOAC, Air India, Air Italia, and SAA came swooping in and discharged about 300 passengers into the passenger lounge. They were not too happy about being limited to the reception area with an obvious presence of Service Police but the pilots were pleased enough when they came up to the control later to file their flight plans when Cairo had cleared.
It was just as well that I had had time to look up the
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regulations for charging landing fees, a subject that had not received much attention on the ATC course. Nevertheless, we got it sorted out and charged the grand total of £300. I could not repeat what some of the pilots said about Cairo control but it seemed to be about the same standard as Niarobi [sic] was at that time from what I was told.
In similar circumstances about that time a BOAC pilot had stood off at Nairobi and had taken control from the air to let down five others and himself when the controllers had actually lost control of the situation. I thought our training had been a bit rough and ready but I suppose that the fact that most of our controllers were ex aircrew was in our favour. We had grown up with it whilst other emerging nations were just finding their feet.
I had been in Egypt about nine months before I was allocated Married Quarters. It was a hiring on the canal road close to the officers club, and then the process of calling forward the family started.
The day after it was allocated it was reallocated to the chap who was just below me on the list on the strength of two extra points he had claimed by virtue of detachments overseas from Marham. (Returning B.29's to America he claimed). No way; I knew those regulations inside out and it didn't count so the 'phone lines were red hot before that got sorted out. There was no way that I was going to lose the [underlined] last [/underlined] allocation in the zone by default, not to that chap. (He was the one that knocked me off the greasy pole at Marham). He was not amused.
Everything was eventually worked out for the transportation of my family except for the date and then there was a dock strike at home which put thing back for several more agonising weeks. Meanwhile the quarter was being officially sub-let to another officer who in fact spent the best part of three months in it before my family eventually arrived at Port Said on an Army troopship, the S.S. Lancashire from Liverpool. There was only one snag. When they were half way across the Med. I got posted!. I think someone was using his influence-and putting the boot in.
I was stunned as I was required go to Amman in Jordan as soon as possible. When I protested pointing out that my family were
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half way across the Med. the answer was that they could easily wait in transit in the zone until I was-settled or they could take the next troopship back to the UK!. I really was getting the treatment!. I did eventually get a few days deferment by virtue of going sick, to hold me over until they arrived.
That put paid to any idea I had of taking them all on a visit to Cairo and the Pyramids. I had waited a year for the opportunity and it had slipped through my fingers.
There was great excitement when I met my wife and two daughters at Port Said and after the arrival formalities were completed we boarded the bus for Fayid via Ismalia down the canal road to be dropped off at the bungalow which was complete with a native servant who understood practically no English but understood the requirement and had been recommended. He was a glossy black Sudanese resplendent in galabere and tarboosh and displayed a permanent broad smile. He was a treasure. The girls did not quite know what to make of him at first but he was efficient as was unobtrusive. He made it plain the kitchen was his domain and Madam was not allowed in it. That suited us alright as there was not a lot time to get used to paraffin cooker, lamps and even paraffin fridge.
Of course my wife did not know just how much time she had until we had all settled in and I asked her if she knew where Amman was. Of course she did; in Jordan, but it wiped the smile off of everyone's face, including Abdul when they were told that we were off there in less than a week. Abdul cheered up a bit when I gave him a full month's pay and a reference and he looked after us well whilst I was busy about arranging passage to Amman. Of couse [sic] , it was too much to ask that it would be straightforward.. First of all my wife said she didn't want to fly but since the only alternative was camel she did not have much choice. Then all the deep sea baggage had to be chased up with some urgency from Port Said and then Air Movements insisted that it all be repacked as the size of the boxes were in excess of Air Freight dimensions. It was a good thing that I knew a few people in the right places and a compromise was reached where it could stay as it was. We finally went on a mixed freighter passenger flight in a Valetta. The Gamble special only had one other airman passenger on board and had to go via
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Aquaba and in fact overflew Amman to another of our bases at Mafraq.
Prior to our departure signals had been going to and fro' asking when I would arrive and in answer to one inquiry one confirmed that suitable accommodation was available and eventually when all of our baggage and boxes were unloaded we were bussed to Amman, about 35 mls away to make another new home. On arrival and after refreshments I reported to the Adjutant.
I was optimistic about what had been provided for us but knowing my luck I was not really surprised either when contrary to my expectations I found there was absolutely nothing. True they knew I was coming, but not with a family. There were no quarters available or accomodation [sic] other than by private arrangement plus the fact that as it was Friday and it was a Bank Holiday week-end nothing could be done until Tuesday. I nearly went spare. What had all the rush been about, etc, so I went to see the Accountant Officer, changed some money, drew some more and decided that I would have the Bank Holiday off as well since I could claim three days in transit at the expense of the Air Force so off we went to a hotel in the city and we had a good weekend familiarising ourselves with the area and a new currency. All I had done on the day of arrival was sign in so on the first working day I reported in and started the arrival procedure. All went well until I reported to the Senior Controller who actually accused me of being absent without leave when he found out that I had arrived on Friday. He was under the impression that I should have reported to him in the first place as he could have put me to work. It is not the best way to start a new job with a flaming great row with the boss but a flaming great row there was.
Obviously they had coped despite the alledged [sic] shortage of staff because he had not even known when I was due to arrive and I could not have just slipped into the routine without some preliminary training and certification. No allowance was made for my domestic circumstances and then whilst I started to absorb the local set-up another bombshell arrived. Air Headquarters Middle East at Habbanyia having received confirmation of my arrival signalled to the effect that I should have reported to that HQ for posting as required as they wanted me down in
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the Persian Gulf, and I was instructed to proceed accordingly. Then I really did blow my top!.
I had already found alternative accomodation [sic] ; more or less in the native quarter on Jebel Hashiem as the hotel was straining the finances somewhat, but at least it-was convenient for the base and the girls were about to start school. In [sic] was still scouting around for something better. I was not in a very good mood by the time I had worked my way through the Adjutant, Senior Admin. Officer and Wing Cdr. Admin. to the Station Commander for a showdown. At least he was sympathetic enough to listen to my greivance [sic] which I followed up with threats of resigning my commission there and then. Pretty strong stuff but a lengthy signal to AHQ produced the desired answer and I was at last allowed to get down to work with a bit more security than I had had for a long time. I don't think I was ever forgiven though for stirring things up for a change instead of accepting what was thrown in my direction. I was beginning to wish that I had transferred to the Secretarial Branch after all if that was a fore-taste of what could be expected in the future. Little did I know.
I found Amman very interesting. It was a joint Military and Civil International Airport with control exercised by the RAF. That included a locally based RAF fighter Squadron with Venoms, communication aircraft and Search and Rescue helicopter. The Royal Jordanian Air Force with Vampires. RAF transit traffic, two resident civil airlines and scheduled BOAC Argonaughts from London to Barhrein [sic] via Beruit [sic] on Monday's returning later in the week. Somehow that seemed more civilised as the crew always brought UK Sunday newspapers in for us when they brought their flight plans in. We had three parking aprons. One civil, one Jordanian Air Force and one RAF. Our facilities were the basics that I had been used to at Fayed plus; the Radar!. The very one that had been at Fayed, had gone to Cyprus and thence to Amman. It was a non standard equipment for the RAF which had received little more than a mention on the ATC course and on which in due course all Amman controllers were to be locally trained. And before you could say 'Bingo' I was appointed the Station Fire Officer as well!.
Within a matter of weeks I had found a more desirable residence
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on Jebel Taj nearer the city and things started to settle down. We soon got used to the amplified sounds from the mezzine calling the faithful to prayer....at 6 am!. it was better than an alarm clock. One could not possibly have slept through it. Not even on a day off and as I was still shift working it was inconvenient at times. However, we were comfortable and happy in our new accomodation [sic] and there were English families living around us so we did not feel as cut off as we had been before.
The new landlord was a Palestinian originally from Haifa and he and his family were very kind. They all spoke very good English and helped us with learning enough Arabic to get by on the buses and in the shops. In fact it was too easy to get lazy in learning Arabic as most people could speak English. It was the second language in all the schools.
The camp swimming pool was one of our main attractions and it was situated near the control tower. In fact when on duty I could look down on it which made it a little frustrating on those steaming days when the temperature in the 'glasshouse' was well over 100deg. and the family had come in by bus to make the most of those cooling waters.
A lot of people had written home to the tourist departments of their town halls to get posters of their favourite sea-side resort so it was not long before Worthing was also advertised on the fence. A little bit of home and of course that usually designated one's favourite spot in the area around the pool.
It was quite a small pool so sessions had to be allocated to prevent overcrowding and it was not unusual for members of the Jordanian Royal family to be mixed up with the officers families. When King Hussein flew as he did often being a pilot in his own right he insisted on going through the motions like any other pilot. He climbed the steps and presented his own flight plan for approval. and he was of course very pro-British. His army was to a great extent British financed and controlled through General Glub. His air force was similarly controlled and they were very good too having had their basic training in the UK and then finished off locally on Harvards before jet training. His senior Air Force Officer was a seconded Wing Commander and in fact there were quite a lot of secondments
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both Army and Air Force. His stable of racing cars was looked after by an ex Flight Sergeant and several- of his ponies were stabled in our pony club and looked after by us. It all seemed an innocent and comfortable arrangement. It was not always quite so comfortable on occasions when certain factions in his own country and those of neighbouring states would rather that the strongly pro-British monarch was deposed. After all, Jordan was in a peculiar geographical position. The Hashimite [sic] Kingdom of Jordan had been carved out of what used to be Palestine and some of the old Palestine was now Isreal [sic] which had produced something like a million refugees who were virtually stateless persons. The mandate that the British had had for many years had been repealed by the United Nations due to pressure to create the new state of Isreal [sic] after the war. The Arab/Jew conflict had not neccesarily [sic] been made any less of a problem and it was all tied up with the American owned IPC (Iraqi Petroleum Company) oil pipeline between Haifa and the Persian Cuff that dominated military and political thinking. Not that the pipe-line had delivered oil for a long time, but we still had an interest in it.
The King had a very close shave on one occasion when he was returning from Damascus whilst I was on duty. The Wing Cdr. was with him in the Royal De Haviland Dove and they found that they had a couple of Syrian jets on their tail. They produced some very spectacular low flying by all accounts until they were able to make contact with us for back up from anything we had flying in Jordanian air space before they were safe. It was the sort of chance he had to take in those days, even when he only used to fly half-way down the pipe-line towards Bagdad to meet his cousin King Feisal of Iraq at an air-strip on the border. Neither used to file flight plans for that. Both of them used to keep in touch through their own private shortwave radio link.
It was obvious that the senior captain of one of the resident airlines was ex-Luftwaffe by the cut of his coat and the set of his cap. Only the insignia had changed and he was an honourary [sic] member of our Mess!. We swapped a few yarns which ultimately led to the production of our respective log books which confirmed that he was the bloke that had shot up our Stirling very badly
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in October 1943 when we were on our way into Bremen. Our conversation after that provided answers to questions that we both had. Yes, he was flying a jet. An early prototype Me262, and had been scrambled for evaluation, but why had we only received small calibre shots?. The answer to that was sobering. He had used up all his cannon shooting down two other Stirlings...and the records show that three Stirlings of the force had indeed been lost that night, two of them to his guns. I can only thank my lucky stars that he had not been using cannon on us that night!. It did explain the tails of fire we had seen from his back end too. He was somewhat surprised that we had not incurred casualties and that we had in fact returned to base after all the stuff that had flowed back from us after the engagement which had obviously been the leaflets I had thrown out in a great hurry, especially as he had claimed us so badly damaged that we must have finished up in the North Sea as there had been no other crash report.
I was still negotiating for other accommodation as official quarters were still a long way off but before either came up Dorothy had to be hospitalised. She could have gone to Habbanyia or Cyprus to either of the military hospitals but she opted for an operation to be done locally at the RAF's expense in the Italian Hospital in Amman so in she went.
It was all very different from one's normal concept of hospitalisation. It was a private hospital and she did have a private ward. The head surgeon was Italian and the staff were mainly Italian nuns with some Arab cleaning staff. Catering was not normally provided but on this occasion two meals a day were provided under the terms of the contract, mainly rice and eggs. There was only one nun who spoke very limited English and with her very limited Arabic it was a bit of a pantomime. Altogether it was hardly conducive to rapid recovery.
The occupant of another adjacent private ward, a Sheik, spent most of the daylight hours out on the flat roof outside her window with all the accompaniment of a scene from the Arabian Nights. I don't know what was wrong with him but he seemed to end a lot of time trying to cough his lungs up, not that it stopped him smoking his hooka [sic] pipe.
he was well looked after by several retainers who brought him
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various kinds of food, including great bunches of grapes with which he was fed and when this circus was added to by his personal musician with his one string fiddle it was enough to drive anyone mad. That and visiting times in the afternoon for those in the dormitory wards where the sounds and smells of on the spot cooking on primus stoves wafted up were enough to have her out of there as soon as the M.O. would allow, to continue her convalescence at home.
When she was fit enough we moved house again and the process of the final negotiations for the tenancy was yet another pantomime; never to be forgotten.
Some of the locals, particularly the Sheiks, had made a packet out of the British a few years earlier when room was needed for the expansion of the airfield and other areas that were needed for the building of the Married Quarters. I suppose it was just another way of putting money into the country really but it seemed. that the criteria for receiving payment of £1000 for any sort of building on the land purchased was that it should have a door. As a result there had been a brisk trade with carpenters fitting a door to just about anything, and those that could not afford it naturally borrowed the money from the Sheiks at a premium or were forced to sell their property to the Sheiks. One way or another they were the blokes that finished up getting most of the 'ackers' which they had reinvested in properties that they let to the military. It was the process of bargaining and negotiating with these chaps that created another scene out of Arabian Nights. One must understand that bargaining is a way of life out in those parts and that to do business it was common courtesy to respect the fact that when in Rome you do as the Romans do.
One did not do business through agents as such. The only agents were the multitude of small boys who were always wandering about looking for opportunities of exercising their light fingered efforts to pick up something for nothing. A word in the ear of one of those suggesting that you were interested and an appointment would be very quickly fixed up and he would get his reward of a few fils for his trouble from both parties.
It was not the first time that I had gone through the procedure but that particular occasion sticks in my mind. At the appointed
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time we presented ourselves at the flats and were escorted to a plain unfurnished room with just cushions and a low table and then the 'person' arrived resplendent in robes of gold on black over white, with jewelled belt and sash and jewelled knife scabbard plus the butt of a pistol showing from an equally elaborate holster, and greetings were exchanged. With that over he clapped his hands and the glasses of tea appeared and the performance was on. I had been asked to bring my wife with me by one of the boys who turned out to be one of the Sheiks sons who was also acting as interpreter but it was obvious that the request had come from the Sheik. I had already been warned about him. Now the scene was set and his number one wife squatted in the dirt on the other side of the road from the flat. Women did [inserted] not [/inserted] pay [sic] a particularly important part in the routine except to keep an eye on things. No.1 wife's responsibility was managing the household and the other junior wives. So she had taken up her position.
I don't know that Dorothy was particularly happy with the situation as she sat opposite that imposing figure with the classical hooked nose and piercing eyes of the Bedouin. Pleasantries were exchanged with the first glass of tea; revolting stuff to our standards, then the second glass came up and by this time Dorothy was squirming a bit as the Sheik was not slow in examining what he seemed to be part of the deal. He played a bit of footy footy and proceeded to pinch the fleshy parts of her arm that were exposed under her shawl which she was obliged to wear in such circumstances. Their own women were covered in black from head to toe as well as wearing a yashmak. Nevertheless he examined her as if she was a chicken in the market and she winced a bit but stuck it out until the third glass of tea arrived. That was the one you did not finish and it was time to talk business. It was the way things were done and we were obliged to go along with it for about half an hour until we gave him our promise of a decision before the sun had set. We had made the decision before we made our escape from him with the eagle eye. Dorothy did not care to become part of a Hareem as part of the deal or having him inspecting his property too often with an eye to another 'wife' so the message was passed. "No thank you" and we looked elsewhere.
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We eventually rented a flat not far from the camp main gate and I suppose it could be said that it good views. It looked down on the Hadj railway station on the famous line from Damascus through Amman to a point where it fizzled out way down South towards Aquaba. A line that Lawrence of Arabia had played havoc with many years before when the Turks had control of the area. It also looked down on the main Damascus/Amman road and the prison but at least it was convenient. The landlord was the local butcher an [sic] he eventually brought along a young married chap who we were only to willing to take on as 'bearer'. He had never worked anywhere by virtue of being caught up in the net of the homeless refugees in the North but he was willing and learned fast and took no liberties. He found local accomodation [sic] and moved his family for the first ever now that he had a job which allowed him to face the world with a little more dignity instead of being dependent upon United Nations hand-outs.
He was an Abdul and replaced another Abdul who was reputed to have worked for the British Army but we were glad to see the back of him and his dirty habits plus the fact that I had found him drying out his tobacco in the gas oven on one occasion with only one side burner lit to save gas!. His English was also punctuated by a great deal of barrack room language and his final efforts in the kitchen seemed to be designed to feed his family on our left overs made sure that there was plenty for all!. Now the catering was firmly back in Dorothy's hands and Abdul looked after the rest. He needed a bit of training but it was well worth it.
My cousin that had been in Egypt was now down in Aquaba and an arrangement with the Jordanian Air Force brought him up to to [sic] spend a Christmas with us and some time later we flew down to Aquaba in the Kings personal aircraft for a couple of weeks holiday and that was a very interesting period.
Our accommodation was a holiday bungalow on the sea shore that had belonged to General Peake who had given it to the RAF for recreational purposes. It gave me an opportunity of spending more time with my cousin who I had not seen all that often in the past and to visit our limited Air Traffic Control staff and the firemen who manned the landing strip on rotational basis
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from Amman resources. The landing area was just a rolled strip in the wadi that led down almost to the waters edge and even the control cabin was only the cockpit of a Dakota that had crashed there many years before. It was no more than just another link in the chain of landing grounds that served the Army garrison tasked with keeping the peace in the area which they had been trying to do for years.
The geography was historical and had become even-more important since the creation of the State of Isreal[sic] . The Gulf of Aquaba was only three miles wide at the head and the town of Eilat in Isreal [sic] sat on one corner and the border with Egypt only a little further down. Three miles down the other side was the border with Saudi Arabia so it was quite a crossroads.
I suppose it was just my misfortune that a couple of my firemen went on a sight seeing tour whilst I was there and were absent two days as a result of straying into Isreal [sic] . No big diplomatic incident really but the Army did have to exert a little diplomacy to get them back and they were both charged for contravening standing orders. Still, one could laugh off seven days C.C. (confined to camp) in that place; there were few places to go. Anyway, the army dealt with it and I got on with my holiday. I wanted no part of. The weather was supurb [sic] , the bunglalow [sic] was on the waters edge and there was no tide to speak of. Unfortunately the glass bottomed boat that usually provided interesting views of the coral reefs had been damaged and was awaiting repair so we were not able to enjoy that experience.
Some people relate to being on holiday with being able to sleep in late but it was very rare that we were able to do that with the fishermen out in the early morning. Their fishing was accompanied by a succession of bangs resounding across the water. Lazy fishing that; with sticks of dynamite!. Then they netted the stunned fish afterwards. The girls were warned to keep well out of the way when they were close to the shore as obviously they were not all that clever. The dynamite thrower in one boat only had one arm and the girls had learned earlier on in Amman that when told to do things like that it was for a very good reason and they had to react without question. On that previous occasion in Amman we had gone into town on a little shopping expedition and had just reached the main shopping area where
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there seemed to be a lot of people and suddenly the whole crowd erupted as shots rang out, followed by a lot of panic stricken people running in our direction. When I grabbed them and said "run" they did. Hot foot down the road, into the Hotel Continental where we stayed until things had gone quiet before taking a taxi back home. I understood later that day that an order had been issued on camp putting the city out of bounds but then I had not been into camp and knew nothing about the possibility of trouble.
We managed to enjoy ourselves though, just lazing about, swimming, playing board games, reading, listening to London on the short wave overseas service but generally resting up wondering what was going to happen next. Something always did!. One morning we were having coffee out in front of the bungalow when we noticed that a Royal Navy destroyer had dropped anchor about half a mile out and it was not long before a boat with four ratings and a Petty Officer was rowed ashore. They tied up just few yards from us and were loaded with some metal trunking that they started to chip paint from so I figured that they were defaulters given a dirty job to do. Hard luck on the Petty Officer!.
I would have left them to it but there was a geat [sic] deal of lower deck language that was enough to blister the paint off without the use of elbow grease so two little girls had to be hauled out of earshot whilst I ambled across and asked them if they would like some refreshment. They nearly fell over with shock but the P.O. jumped at the opportunity. Beer for him please, anything but beer for the others and what the blue blazes were we doing in such a God forsaken hole and where the hell was he anyway?. He was quite happy to sit in the shade and chat for some time whilst the others chipped away until a winking light from the ship signalled that it was time to return. It had made his day and in the time we had spent chatting I had found out that he knew my brother from his days at HMS Vernon, the torpedo establishment at Portsmouth. It's a small world.
Later on as darkness fell the ship was dressed overall with lights and was an imposing sight out in the Gulf as small craft pIied to and fro' with the garrison Commander and his party to a social function on board. I think they may have stayed
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most of the night if what happened to us is anything to go by.
We had been invited by some Arab neighbours to coffee, cakes and social chat and there had been no mention of conditions outside when darkness fell. We found out as soon as we got outside. Everything was blacked out by rising sand. Not the sort of sand storm with horizontal wind but the sort in which sand is just lifted straight up and deposited somewhere else. We could hardly see our hand in front of our face. If it had not been for our hosts being more familiar with the area I doubt if we could have negotiated the fifty yards between the houses.
We put the shutters up as soon as we got back but it was too late and it took ages to clear the heavy layer of sand that had been deposited over and inside everything which included the beds and the pantry. Just something else to put down to experience. We were well rested by the time we flew back to Amman in an RAF Valetta and as I knew the pilot from Fayed days he kindly circled the ancient and amazing city of Petra virtually hidden in the desert which we would otherwise never have seen, and then it was back to the old routine. Not a dull one by any means. Among my activities I had a taste of some limited radar control on which I was locally trained. I found the process fairly easy to pick up as this was a 'one man band' and the initial pick up was assisted by a built in direction finder system. To an ex aircrew wireless op. it was no problem. It did not take long to become proficient and as the only other qualified controller was leaving I finished up being in charge of the thing and training others, not without some dissapointments [sic] . The Senior Controller, an ex navigator, couldn't cope with it and neither could another, an ex pilot, but enough did become proficient to ensure that there were sufficient people to rotate. It was not all that comfortable stuck out in a metal box at the end of the runway.
That particular radar unit was the one that had done the rounds. At one time it had been at Nicosia before it had been transferred to Fayed and then Amman and the original operator had travelled with it but it could only provide a very limited service and as far as the RAF was concerned it was a 'one-off'. It gave me some useful experience anyway that I made use of later on.
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By that time we had given up the idea of getting back to Egypt for a holiday. Fayed was just about handed over to the Egyptians so we could not get a passage that way and since holidays had to be planned well ahead it didn't seem worth the effort to go the long way around via Cyprus so that was ruled out. Haifa or some similar place was considered before we found that it was again impossible to go direct particularly as we would need a second passport to visit Arab countries and Israel. The tension was very real out there at the time. Even the Naafi could not import any goods that may have been a product of Israel and postings to a place like Amman ruled out anyone of Jewish name or origin.
It was the only place that I had come across where a parade commander was to say "Roman Catholics may fall out" before prayers. That order was usually "Roman Catholics and Jews....". In the end we figured that we would do better just to make the most of our immediate surroundings but we never got to Beruit [sic] or Damascus. Every time we made plans for a long break between shifts or a week-end those places were declared out of bounds.
It did seem as if we were hemmed in although we were in regular contact with neighbouring countries. Even our daily radio checks gave us two way communication with Nicosia and strangely enough Lod in Israel. We thought nothing of it, or of giving bearings to any Israeli aircraft that called us but the Jordanian Air Ministry were very sensitive and suspicious about it so we had to discontinue any contact with Israel.
We had a very interesting experience one afternoon when we were having tea in the flat when there was a shivering shaking sensation. The tea in my cup rippled an [sic] I immediately recalled something that my father had mentioned about his time in India. If in doubt look at the ceiling light, and there it was swinging gently to and fro' and then I knew that what I had felt was an earthquake tremor Dorothy looked at me and asked "why did you kick my chair?" and then nearly fell out of hers when I told her to look at the swinging lamp and the significance of it. It was a very light tremour [sic] really and we understood later that the centre had been around Damascus but there had been no damage.
One real highlight of Amman was my flight in a Venom jet trainer.
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Since my first jet experience in a Canberra I had been itching to have another go. It was not difficult to arrange and away we went into the wide blue yonder. It was the most exhilarating experience. The sky was bright blue well laced with towering cumulus cloud and at 25,000ft I was in my element when control was handed to me in the side by side trainer as I went cloud hopping. I was in my element and I always knew that I had an aptitude for it. I performed all the standard manoeuvres successfully which rather surprised the pilot. Wireless Ops. don't do things like that!, but he changed his mind when I attempted a roll. Then my old problem of disorientation reared it's head again and he had to take control to prevent us hurtling earthwards out of control. He reckoned that with formal training I would have had no real difficulty in becoming a pilot but it was too late for me to change direction at that time.
Our flat overlooked the prison just beyond the main road and an incident there created a lasting impression on Dorothy. I could understand that if conditions in the prison were as crude as those in the hospital then a lot of people went hungry most of the time if family and friends did not bring in food regularly or the inmates had not got the money to pay for it but that's the way it worked. Prison out there was real punishment and the ultimate was to be publicly hung in the city's amptheatre [sic] which were other occasions when the city was out of bounds.
The incident really upset her when some noisy activity started as protests were voiced and then the whole thing escalated rapidly.
There were hundreds of prisoners milling around the courtyard and the guards manning the walls were reinforced by the army. What sparked it off I could not say but there was a sudden crackle of rifle fire and prisoners went down like nine-pins for several minutes. When it stopped the army entered the courtyard and hearded [sic] the frantic mob to one side as dozens of bodies were dragged away and she could no longer watch the scene of such callus [sic] slaughter. She had some very bad dreams for a long while after that.
At last a married quarter became available after some ten months of waiting and moving around and we moved into a very large
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converted hut which many years before had been the Education Section. The original lettering on the doors was still visable [sic] under fresh paintwork. A friend of mind remembers the building from when he was out there in 1937!. However, it was spacious, convenient and comfortable. Just a stone's throw from the Mess and almost overlooking the flat that we had just left. In addition to our own servant who successfully passed his medical we were allocated an official one, shared with another family, so life took on a whole new style.
Typical of course was the fact that very British fire places had been installed but the cooker was still the parafin [sic] job so took our rented gas one with us. The water heater was the most diabolical hazard that I had ever come across. It was oil fired; with a difference!. We had got used to parafin [sic] fridges and cookers so one took such things in one's stride. To fire up the boiler you turned on the fuel to drip onto a metal plate, then set light to it. By turning the fuel tap on and off the plate eventually got hot enough to explode the drips as they fell on the plate and then it could be adjusted to give a series of continuous explosions and presto!, hot water!. A damn dangerous device though and as fire officer I made sure that everyone was reminded regularly of it's dangers. At least it was more civilised than what we had been recently used to. In our first place on Jebel Hasheem we had a bath that had to be filled with buckets of water that had to be heated by other means and the drain hole was positioned above nothing more than a hole in the floor. It was alright until the bath slipped off of the supporting bricks and flooded the floor. Perhaps it was better that way as it slowed down the activities of the toads, whacking great spiders and scorpians [sic] that tended to investigate the invasion of what they considered to be their territory. In the last flat, although new, we had always had trouble with the drains. The worst part being that when there was a blockage in the system. When we flushed everything came up in the next door neighbours bath!. Small problem….well, to us anyway. When the sanitory [sic] people were called in they pin-pointed the problem of blockages right away. Apparently toilet paper should not be flushed into 2" drains!. The alternative was most unhygenic [sic] to European standards.
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Now it seemed that we were home and dry. There was a bit of a garden which was overgrown so after I set my photo dark-room up I got to work terracing the garden so that we were able to grow tomatoes and sweet corn within a matter of months. The trouble was that it disturbed the habitat of several dangerous species of snakes and other creepy crawlies of which there were plenty. One had to be forever on the alert for them, checking footwear and clothing, and particularly bedding.
One of the strangest creatures was the sand beetle. This chap was about 1/2 ins. long and lived in the sand with the entrance to it's complex protected by a trap door. It had the most incredible technique of building a hinged trap door which was a perfect watertight fit. To see this thing nip down it's hole and pull the trap door down after him was quite amazing.
Another insect that surprised us one evening when we were having drinks on the veranda were the fireflies. For a moment I thought that I had made the drinks a little too strong when little bright lights started jumping around the table but then a little more light was produced they turned out to be little flying insects with little light bulbs in their tails.
Lizards of between four and five inches were common and quite harmless. We had one or two resident one's that had been given names and at one time we had a Chameleon that I had found in the garden but it died on us. Probably due to the rapid changes of colour that was expected of it when we put it on a multi coloured carpet. The poor thing probably got into a state of utter confusion and died of a heart attack.
Tortoises were common and I have never seen so many in a natural habitat as there were around the old Roman city of Jarash, and Jarash it'self [sic] was another incredible place that was right out of biblical times. It had been uncovered in the preceeding [sic] 20 years and I swear that if you just stood there and listened you could hear the ghosts of the past all around and the sounds of chariot wheels on the old Roman roads that still bore the marks of those wheels.
We paid a visit to the Dead Sea and it was well worth the frightening drive. The native taxy driver seemed quite oblivious to his surroundings as we swept along high mountain unmade roads that twisted and turned with sometimes as much as a sheer 1500ft
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drop on one side into a moonscape like valley. Mix that up with the dust, the heat and five fractous [sic] kids as we were sharing the journey with another family, the driver with only one hand on the wheel and the radio blasting native music at 99 decibals [sic] and you have all the ingredients for a very exciting time. It was. Our route took us through Jericoh [sic] and close to the old courthouse, where according to the scriptures Christ was tried and sentenced, until we eventually got to the banks of the Dead Sea, over 500ft [underlined] below [/underlined] sea level and where I subsequently was flown down to in a Jordanian Air Force aircraft. A most interesting experience.
After the journey the sight of so much water was a great temptation and in we all went but within minutes we were in trouble. The adults knew that it was impossible to sink in that sea due to it's high salt content but no-one had told us that it was just like acid if you got it in the eyes. The kids thrashed around screaming in pain and it was just as well that we had a plentiful supply of water in bottles that we were able to pour over their faces until all was well again. After the initial discomfort we were all very careful as we experimented in the very dense water. It was quite incredible. Even just walking into it, before one was waist deep it was impossible to keep your feet on the bottom. You couldn't swim in it either. There was just not enough of the body in water to be able to go through the normal motions. Arms and legs just thrashed around in the air and it really was possible just to float in the sitting position with head and shoulders out of the water.
That was alright until we came out and there was no-where we could rinse off as most of our precious bottles of water had been used up. Within minutes we dried off and were covered in a layer of salt crystals and that was the way we set off back via a different route.
On the way we came across a place by the name of Salt. Just a nameplace where the road crossed a small tumbling stream so we made a stop there to wash off the salt and freshen up. There was an old rusted cannon and a lot of other ironmongery in the stream left from battles of long ago but we did not have a lot time to investigate further. A Jordanian soldier appeared and warned us off by the process of pointing his rifle at us
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so one does not argue in a situation like that. We did a bit more splashing about after I had put my camera way [sic] whilst the driver and the soldier communicated. Some folding money changed hands and we were on our way. The driver told us that the small wooden bridge was guarded because of it's strategic importance and I suspect that it had been guarded ever since General Allenby had passed that way during the first World War. Rather like the Allenby bridge across the River Jordan that we also visited on another occasion. That was still guarded so we did not think it worth while trying to obtain a bottle of water that we had planned to do. I suppose that if we had approached the soldiers with a fistful of notes we could have done it as that is what seemed to smooth the way generally if you wanted to get things done as a friend of mine found out when he imported a car from the UK!.
God knows how long the preliminaries had taken to even order it but in due course it arrived at Beruit [sic] after months of waiting.
Then came the business of getting it into Jordan. First of all he could not do it himself and pay the fees. That was much too easy. It had to be imported by a recognised import/export firm and then negotiations were started with the appropriate Government department although he was entitled to it's import without tax, under current diplomatic arrangements. So it laid at Beruit [sic] for many months as palms were greased until it duly arrived in Amman. Having accumulated more fees by that time there were even more to pay. Several more months of negotiations had followed as the documentation kept getting held up until fistfull [sic] of Dinars smothed [sic] the way and it was finally HIS car. Not that he was able to tax and insure it and drive it away. Despite the fact that it was new it had to go through all the mechanical checks that all vehicles were required to go through before being given a registration. It was a sort of MOT test but set annually, and annually got a different registration number which also meant a new set of plates. More Dinars changed hands at each of the four stages of testing, shuffling and mis-laying of papers, passing the papers to the department that made the plates, (right next door to the registration office), more mis-laid papers, and at last, when
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the plates were ready, the production of the insurance documents before those plates could be fixed and sealed by the department. Plus of course the final bakshees before he could actually take the car on the road. In all it took just over a year. He never took it for a second test. Things happened that forced him to subsequently drive it across the desert nearly 500 miles to Habbanyia where it was eventually taken to Basra under service arrangements and it came back to the UK on the Ark Royal minus wing mirrors, screen wipers, wheel trims, slightly dented and rusted. Fortunately there was enough documentation with it to ensure that it was not subject to import duty....provided that he kept it for a year!. At that point in time he would rather have got rid of it when he eventually got back to the UK himself but despite all the hassle he made full use of it. That was a car with a history.
I eventually got my opportunity to go further East. Just far enough. I was detailed to go to Habbanyia in Iraq for Courts Martial duties as a member of the Court. Anything except defence or prosecution, but it was not quite the 'perk' that I thought it was going to be.
After flying in I reported to the Adjutant who I knew and had a been the Signals Leader of 138 Squadron at Wyton and subsequently 90 Squadron at Marham, (at the same time as the chap who had fun with the car had been there); only to find that the President of the Court was none other than 'Black Mac' himself.
Being the junior member I was the 'scribe' and Mac was his same old self. His Adjutant was having as rough a time with him as I had had at Coningsby. Anyway, the case was over in a day and sentance [sic] was pronounced so I immediately set about putting some distance between Black Mac and myself.
It took three days with the flight priority that I had and more than one argument with the Senior Air Traffic Controller at Habbanyia who wanted to put me to work there. No way!. I wasn't there for that and it was a good thing that I knew a few people, not the least the Adjutant, who kept me on a four hour stand-by for a seat on an aircraft back to Amman. Apart from anything else I wanted to see Habbanyia, the RAF's jewel in the desert.
There was plenty of it with the old plateau airfield and the new one that had been laid out on the plain; the former being
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used for the training of the Iraqi Air Force. The relatively new base on the plain was surrounded by masses of buildings, three swimming pools, a profusion of lawns and gardens that turned the place into a glittering oasis. I walked miles and miles around that place and marvelled at the engineering that had made full use of the waters of the Euphrates and numerous artisan wells. There was even a large lodgement compound for the hundreds of native workers and their families who seemed to enjoy quite reasonable amenities, and eventually a seat became available and I was on my way back to Amman. I was to go back there again in due course.
Meanwhile it was back to work. I was duty controller and the airfield had been shut for a couple of hours one evening as no traffic had been notified when one of the ATC assistants phoned from the duty but to tell me that there was an aircraft overhead flashing it's lights. There was a rapid call out for duty crews and I was off to the control tower. The aircraft was still circling when I went on the air and asked the pilot to identify himself. It turned out to be an Eagle Airlines York freighter on his way to India which had been routed to us but the signals office still had nothing so he had to circle until we lit the place up, inspected the runway and alerted all the other services before we let him in. Then there were a few more surprises as the pilot and the navigator turned out to be ex 207 Squadron, Marham, who I had known there.
It did not take long to find out why they had arrived before the notification. They had actually been routed via Cyprus and Beruit [sic] but had done a short cut across the Med. and smack across Isreal [sic] . It might have seemed logical at the time but with no diplomatic clearance such an unauthorised route could have had unpleasant results from a trigger happy Ack-Ack gunner.
There was never a dull moment although some of the things that happened were quite serious.
Our helicopter with the Station Commander and Station Warrant Officer on board went down the line of the old Hadj railway of Lawrence of Arabia fame; to a point where it petered out about half way to Aquaba. For some reason or other the SWO, contrary to standing orders relative to the safe areas around a helicopter made the mistake of backing into the tail rotor,
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and a military funeral was the order of the day and a few months afterwards the helicopter pilot's wife who had shared our taxi to Gerash died of natural causes and there was more sadness in our tightly knit community.
There was a snippet of information from Habbanyia that did me the world of good when I heard of it and had a little 'chortle' at Black Mac's expense. He had given orders for an enormous banquet to be laid on. Typical, it had to be big!, but to lay that on for around a thousand people was no mean task. I definitely would not have cared to be in his Adjutants shoes about that time. As usual he had a hand in everything, including the menu and I can imagine the raised eyebrows when he decided that among the many courses served to two Kings, Ambassadors and dignatories [sic] from all over the Middle East was; maise!,(corn on the cob). That's what they feed the chickens on out there! but that was not the end of his indiscretions.
There was King Feisal of Iraq and his cousin King Husein [sic] of Jordan so it didn't help matters when he proposed a toast to King Feisal of Jordan!. I could just imagine the diplomatic huffing and puffing that went on. I had been on the mat in front of him often enough. I would like to have been a fly on the wall when he was on the mat in front of the C in C later.
In the political turmoil of the area we still managed to carry on with a small degree of normallity [sic] .
We managed a sports day with inter service competition between the RAF, the Army and the Jordanian services finishing up with a flying display from both Air Forces and on more than one occasion we closed the airfield to suit the Kings convenience by turning it into a motor racing circuit. That was a bit of fun on one occasion when he wanted to try out his latest Mercedes sports car. I can't remember the model but I do remember that it had gull wing doors. I even had the privilege of belting it around in company with the rest of his fleet.
It was a dreadful shock when we heard later that there had been a political uprising in Iraq, something that seemed to be spreading right through the Middle East, and as a result of that particular incident King Feisal of Iraq and most of the Royal family has been massacred, and a republic had been declared.
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There was definitely a rot setting in and there was no doubt that there was a lot of outside influence behind it all. You didn't have to be a genious [sic] to work out the fact that oil and a power politics was still the key to the whole business in Egypt, the Suez Canal, Jordan, Iraq and as it was to turn out later, Aden, the Persian Gulf and Iran and all points East. It seemed that that area of the British Empire's influence was crumbling around us.
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Nevertheless, Air Traffic Control was the job and there were few occasions when a shift did not produce something out of the ordinary.
It was all quiet one sultry afternoon when I heard a very faint 'May-Day' call on the common frequency and immediately responded but found it difficult to achieve satisfactory contact. The direction finder bearing showed the aircraft to be to the North of us and although it was possible to pick out a call-sign the rest of the message seemed to be in German. After giving courses to steer to reach us the aircraft's transmissions were getting louder and the pilot was calming down although it was obvious that his English was very limited, as was our German and then one of the assistants came to the rescue. I was not aware that he was a Channel Islander but he asked me to find out if the pilot 'parlies vous francious [sic] '?. That brought forth a stream of French so I put the assistant on the radio and it did not take long to find out what it was all about. At least he was steering the headings he had been given and was getting louder which was the most important thing but he turned out be a Swiss. in a light aircraft en. route from Cyprus to Bagdad but had encountered head winds, was lost and getting low on fuel. Certainly he had done the right thing by declaring an emergency over that inhospitable terrain that looked like the surface of the moon and getting into a bit of a panic that caused him to lapse into non-standard procedure. The rest was easy. He followed our instructions until he found us after which he was directed to the civilian reception area for the rest of the
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formalities. By the time he came over later to file a flight plan he had calmed down and able to communicate in good English and certainly happy enough that he had finished up with the RAF in Jordan instead of being lost in the mountains. Another satisfied customer even if we did extract a small landing fee from him.
I had to respond very rapidly to another emergency situation one evening shortly before our normal shut-down time. One of the Venoms was still airborne and the C.O. was on his way back from Aquaba in a Pembroke. The helicoptor [sic] pilot had just put his chopper away in the hangar almost opposite the control tower and had given me a wave as he started to walk off when the Venom pilot came on the air reporting his position and the fact that he had just flamed out and would be ejecting in five seconds ...4..3...2...1 and he was gone. There was a quick shout to the chopper pilot and hand signals to wind it up, another quick call on the radio to the C.O. who was on a different frequency almost overhead, to tell him that we had 'one down about 25 mls to the North East of us, please investigate...chopper on the way' and everything swung into action from there. Suffice to say that the downed pilot was back on the airfield within 30 minutes of his first call. Not bad going. The same 'downed' pilot was the one that subsequently took the first Harrier on a non-stop transatlantic flight to New York.
There was another occurance [sic] one late afternoon when a Valetta had a burst tyre and ran off of the runway to get well and truly bogged down but things like that were only slight hic-ups in a day's routine and I must admit that I was getting a lot more out of life than if I had continued to push paper around in the Secretarial Branch. Not that there wasn't any paperwork but it was different.
I had not been in Quarters on camp for very long and I had an off-duty morning closeted in my dark room when I heard the fire alarm faintly in the distance but with all the stuff I had in the trays I decided to ignore it. There was a highly qualified
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Flight/Sergeant RAF Regiment fireman on duty and quite capable of handling any situation without me. I found out what it had all been about when I went on duty for the afternoon shift and in hind-sight figured that it might have been better if I had turned out.
The fire had been in a ventilation canopy over the airmens mess kitchen right next to the school, so the firemen and police had cleared the school and were tackling the fire quite successfully until the Wg/Cdr. Admin turned up and instructed then to lay foam on the roof. They did as they were told and the resultant mess took days to clear up as the foam slid off into the school. My daughters were delighted at the fun and a few days off but the kitchens and the mess and the school were in a hell of a state. Ox blood based foam is very sticky stuff but I found a bit of a problem in writing up the fire report. First of all I was in trouble for not being there and then because foam had been used. I think it took three drafts of the report before the Wg/Cdr found it acceptable to pass on without laying the blame for the mess at anyone's door.
Following the report were his own recommendation that I, as fire officer should be on the phone so a phone was installed,(not that it would be any good if I was in the control tower or off camp as anyone else was entitled to be when off duty, but that caused another storm in a tea cup.
Some time later I got the bill for the telephone installation and was hot foot down to see the Wg/Cdr. As far as he was concerned I had the facility and I should pay for it but there was one quick way out of that. I insisted that as it was a strictly a service requirement on his own recommendation it should be restricted for incoming calls only and the Air Force could pay for it...and that was that. As far as I was concerned it was a matter of principle but I was beginning to wonder if other people had the same sort of hassle over almost everything. I certainly seemed to be getting more than my share anyway.
We had another unfortunate incident one night when an aircraft of the local air line inbound from Jedda lost an engine on final approach and piled in about three miles out. There were no other aircraft scheduled so with all the alarms going we were straight
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into the crash procedure and I jumped aboard one of the back up water tenders to get to the scene. It was a very rough ride but all we had to do was to head straight for the fire and by the time we got there the aircraft was well alight. The first rescue crews on the scene had put water spray on the exits where the passengers had been scrambling out virtually being pushed along by the crew and the last of them had just got out a few minutes before I got there and the fire finally beat the water and the foam and was rapidly consuming the aircraft.
Nevertheless, the crew were uninjured and there were no serious injuries among the passengers no doubt due to the fact that the the [sic] pilot had whipped the undercarriage up smartly and had done a successful belly flop in the lights of his landing lights. I found the rather shaken Captain who told me that at least everyone was out until there was some hysterical screaming from one of the native passengers who had been assembled in a group to one side and ultimately some-one conveyed the message that she had left her baby an the luggage rack…..too late!. The aircraft was melting down and there was nothing that could be done until things cooled off. Meanwhile we started loading the passengers into an RAF bus and ambulance as well as some of the back-up fire vehicles that were no longer needed and they set off back to the medical centre. My problem was that due to the terrain our radio to the tower was virtually useless and produced little more than buzzes and crackles so no-one on the airfield knew what was going on. I did something that was a bit hit and miss but it worked. I got the Rescue Landrover up to the highest point I could looking down on the airfield and broadcast the information and in addition I used the headlights to morse a message to the tower. They got both and the medical centre was ready to receive them and attend to the injured. Typical of the way they did things out there was one of the final acts. The pilot was promptly placed under arrest by the civil authority even though he was still in a state of shock. Out there you were often guilty until you could prove your innocence. It was the way things were done and one got used to things that would have been outrageous at home. It was very similar to the manner in which I saw the public treat a taxi driver in Amman city after he had knocked over
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a small boy in the main street. The taxi had come to a screeching stop after the lad had nipped in front of him and got clipped. A howling mob descended upon the taxi driver and hauled him out of the vehicle and pulled, punched and kicked him in the direction of the nearest police post whilst in the meantime the small boy, who had only been bumped and had rolled into the gutter, got up, dusted himself off and scurried down a side ally. No doubt the taxi driver got thumped for his part in the incident and it seemed that no-ne [sic] was particularly interested in a slightly grazed little boy!.
The unit library was a place that most people used and contributed to quite regularly but most books had become dog-eared and certain types, mainly 'whodunits' very often had their story line ruined by the attentions of a certain elderly lady.
The lady was an ex school mistress who had taught in the local missionary schools since the days of Queen Victoria if her appearance was anything to go by. She wore Victorian type clothing that elderly ladies of that era would have worn. Voluminous skirt and blouse with tweed jacket, the whole ensemble, half moon steel rimmed glasses and all, topped off by a white brolly. She lived locally although retired, and had stayed on, greatly respected by the local population and permitted the privilege of an honourary [sic]membership of our mess. That was how she came to use the library but the margins of nearly every book contained some comment, like an Agatha Christie Miss Marples, in her unmistakable shaky scrawl such as, 'now I know who it is', or 'so and so did it', or 'it cannot be……' or 'I knew it was' etc, etc. but she was a great character and after a spot of bother on one occasion with some of the locals when she needed rescuing from an excitable crowd she was heard giving them some suitable comment in arabic about their behaviour whilst still retaining her dignity.
At one point in the late summer we got the first rains of the season and a most wonderful sight met our eyes when we looked p down the hill from the bungalow. The whole hillside was covered in a solid carpet of crocus in all shades of mauve. They had
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just popped up, and by the end of the day they had all gone again. Surprising what a bit of moisture will do in that part of the world where it did not usually rain between March and September.
As the weather became cooler we decided to have a fire lit in the lounge one evening. Coal was available in the outside storage bin supplied on payment through the stores and very expensive. As it was a most unlikely commodity in that part of the world I asked the storeman how the devil we got it to find that apparently it was supplied under a local contract and came from South Africa by boat to Aquaba and then was brought up by camel train. Very precious stuff that!. However, Abdul was instructed to light a fire. I suppose I should have shown him how to do it the first time but it never occurred to me that he would never have seen coal before so when he queried the method he was told, paper and wood with the coal on top and the black rock will burn. So he did as he was told but he had experimented somewhat. He mixed the lot up with about a pint of parafin [sic] , set light to it outside and then brought it all in in a bucket. There was certainly some pandemonium when he came staggering in with a bucket of fire on the end of a pole!. The Station Fire Officer had visions of his quarters going up in smoke but we did eventually manage to transfer it to the fireplace where he sat watching it for a long time before being convinced that the black rock really did burn.
Their usual method of producing heat was by some parafin [sic] appliance or charcoal or even scrub wood which further diminished what timber there was on the sparse hillsides.
There was always plenty of social activity with dances, parties, horse riding, tennis, swimming gala's, motor racing etc, etc but I will always remember one particular function that we attended. A reception at the British Embassy was about the dullest affair that I have ever been to. The drinks were so watered that even if you asked for a straight Whisky you still couldn't taste it, or the Gin or the Brandy for that matter. One thing was for sure, no-one was likely to have more than was good for him and let the side down. What other foreign
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nationals from other Embassies thought about I wouldn't know but I imagine that giving a Russian a Vodka similarly diluted would have raised an eyebrow, and precious little else!. However, as is so often said, it was all part of life's rich tapestry.
As a part time untrained fire officer I was certainly getting my share of 'on the job training' from the experiences of attending some quite spectacular fires.
Shortly after having the phone put in I had a call-out and had no option but to turn out since the call came direct from the C.O. The first one was in the Souk (market), in the city, and I mustered the maximum that was available, leaving the bare minimum for the airfield so we set off with four vehicles and when we arrived the area was an inferno. The source of the fire was right in the centre where there was a great deal of timber used by a small factory producing boxes for fruit and vegetable packing and although the native population were very agitated not a lot seemed to be happening. The municipal fire services were no-where to be seen and as my F/Sgt was on leave the two corporals soon assessed the situation and started to deploy the vehicles whilst I went in search of a person of some authority and to find a source of water replenishment. I was unfortunate in both respects and when I returned to the scene it was obvious that we were in trouble. A hord [sic] of uncontrollable natives were helping out in their own way by manhandling one hose and had pulled the pump off of the jacks and the suction hose out of the water bowser to such an extent that there was water everywhere except where we wanted it. It was a fine old mess until I managed to find a policeman with stripes on his arm and asked him to muster sufficient troops to protect the operation whilst my firemen were instructed to recover everything, stop pumping and to stand-by until we had control. Not easy as some people were absolutely frantic as it appeared that at least four people had been caught in the blaze. As I saw it they would have been well and truly roasted by that time and my main concern was to stop the fire from spreading and we started to pump water again as far as our tankerage would allow although we had found a supply source of our own at an ice factory back along the road and started
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a shuttle and that kept things going.
In due course the municipal fire brigade arrived and positioned themselves on the downwind side of the fire…..and the best of luck, then the Jordanian Air Force arrived with their pump but no water tender but very soon packed up as their hoses were perished and leaking but it didn't matter much as they then ran out of petrol!. At least we were putting on water..until the King arrived!.
The police lost control of the crowd again, everyone was bowing and scraping. We lost control of the pump for a while and stopped pumping which upset the King a little when he came to watch progress but was satisfied that we had a water problem and as the fire was almost under control we might as well allow the centre to burn out unless the city fire services still required us. That being established we wrapped it up and set off home in convoy with a salute to the King and clapping from the locals....but we were minus one brass hose nozzle; which had been stolen!.
The next fire I attended some time later was to a cinema up on Jebel Ammman overlooking the city. That time we took the big fire tender with back-up pump and tanker. I went with the big Mk.V. and half a dozen firemen and air traffic control assistants but we did not have the best of drivers for a job like that. There were some very steep hills to negotiate and that particular model as fas [sic] I was concerned had some built in design faults. Not the least of which was it's hill climbing capability with a full load of water and foam compound plus a few people. In the excitement the driver did not react properly to the possibility of an extended hill climb when he should have selected auxiliary low gear at the bottom of the hill, but instead he stuffed it at the hill until he ran out of steam and then muffed a gear change. That was a recipe for disaster.
We started to roll back. Neither footbrake or handbrake would hold it and with the prospect of a nasty situation arising I hollered to all the men on the back to bale out, crashed the gear lever into a forward gear and wrenched the wheel out of the drivers grasp so that our downhill run was stopped by our back end ramming a low wall. I got some stick for it of course but I am convinced that it saved the day. It saved the troops
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but it bent the tender and the wall but at least we did take off again and got to the scene of the fire. Unfortunately the pump outlets had been damaged and we could only use it as a back-up water tender to our trailer pump that got to work immediately on arrival. The cinema was nearly gutted anyway and the shell of the building itself had prevented any spread of fire to surrounding buildings so there was little that we could do. The city fire services were spraying water on the side wall, aiming for one small window quite high up, with very little success until one local fireman climbed an extending ladder with his 1 1/2 inch hose to put water directly into the window. I didn't think it was good idea as it was all very close to overhead power lines and the like so I went inside through the foyer with the city fire chief to asses the possibility of taking our hoses in through that way and promptly retreated. The fire had got a good hold so I immediately withdrew all of our appliances out of the roadway from below the wall of the building to the space under the inside balcony. The main wall was as hot as the side of a brick kiln and all that cooling water in my estimation was likely to cause a blow-out and collapse the wall. Despite putting this suggestion to the fire chief that his man up the ladder was in considerable danger he left him up there whilst we concentrated on the fire at the base of the inside wall.
Of course, in retrospect there is always another way of dealing with a situation although my report emphasised the need to keep my firemen out of the danger of a collapsing wall so as usual I got 'stick' for it. That is what officers in charge were for!!.
That's what the recently appointed C.O. thought anyway as for some reason he did not have a lot of time for Air Traffic Controllers, even though we were all ex aircrew. To him we were 'rock-apes', a term of endearment usually reserved for the RAF Regiment. There was very little that any of us could do right according to him, so there was the usual enquiry and a lot more caustic comment thrown around. I was used to it by that time so it was all water off of a ducks back.
I was paying a number of liaison visits to the civil airport
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by that time as parts of the civil terminal building were being up-dated with an Air Traffic Control facility although it was very basic. Almost every time I went there the man in charge was comfortably dressed in pyjamas and rather like the Egyptians had very limited knowledge and even less experience but most of their questions were answered. We never saw them in our Air Traffic Control tower though. They always declined the invitation as apparently they monitored all of our radio channels anyway!.
I have very good reason to remember the occasion that the terminal was officially opened by King Hussien [sic] . I had an official invitation to attend with a place on the viewing balcony so of course I had my camera at the ready when the King advanced along the red carpet towards the entrance just below and a perfect shot was presented....then my lens hood fell off and landed at the feet of P.M. with a gentle tinkle. There was instant reaction. H.M. stepped back smartly, surrounded by his escort whilst about ten weapons were aimed straight at me. Phew!. Fortunately I was immediately recognised by the King as the chap he saw quite regularly in the control tower when he presented his flight plan and with a wave the procession carried on. One thing I did not expect was a soldier clattering up the steps to hand me back my lens hood with the compliments of the King. Alright to laugh at later but a bit tense at the time.
The political situation in Jordan seemed to changing in a way that was very similar to that which had caused Britain to give up their protective role in Egypt under the mandate given to us by the United Nations. We had been obliged to get out of Egypt and our troops had been withdrawn from the Canal Zone. Now the power struggle had centred on Jordan and King Hussien [sic] being pro. British was having a spot of bother keeping control of the situation and on one occasion when I paid a liaison visit to the civil 'Air Traffic Control Centre' I had an extraordinary proposal put to me. Although one had to be very careful not to discuss sensitive political matters a mention was made of Colonel Nasser who was the current 'fly in the ointment' in Egypt. It was suggested that if I could arrange for the British Government to put up £1,000,000 in gold Nasser could easily
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be put out of business!.
Having done my best to confirm that it was not a joke I lost no time in passing the message along a discreet channel which dealt with such things and naturally heard no more about it.
It was not long after that incident that I was on duty in the control tower and soon after we had opened up in the morning a great deal of activity was observed over at the civil terminal building as well as in the Jordanian Air Force dispersals. Through the binoculars I was able to determine the figure of General Glub, C in C of the Jordanian Forces, (and controller of the purse strings for the British money that kept that force going), in amongst a large crowd of military people.
It all looked very excitable and not the usual situation that one expected to see the General in so I immediately opened the line to our intelligence officer to give him a running commentary on the activities as far as I could see. One of the Jordanian Air Force's De Haviland Dove's was run up and then started taxying as the pilot called for take-off clearance whilst on the move. He would not give his destination although he advised that his flight was diplomatically cleared and he duly took off heading North. So was the General and his Lady as we found out later!. There had been a coup. Out went the General and the Jordanians controlled their own purse military purse strings. The results of that were soon very obvious as the supply of British money was cut off.
The British seconded personnel were OK for their pay as they were seconded from their respective forces but pay for Jordanian Forces soon became unreliable. So did the supply and re-supply of military stores. Their uniforms became tatty. Their boots were wearing out and we were to find out later that the troops were selling their equipment to make both ends meet although the shortage of one commodity did not come to light for some time.
It was after attending another fire that we were able to put two and two together. The fire was in one of the typical concrete blockhouse native dwellings out in the scrub and there was a hell of a bang one night when it erupted in smoke and flame. When we got there it was obvious that there was little need
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for our services. For myself I had long given up trying to put out fires. The priority was to save lives, stop the spread of fire and last of all saving of property. What we were faced with was a blackened ruptured mess that had been a home but with very little combustable [sic] material left but the worst part of, it was that there were half a dozen pink, bloated, naked bodies spread around it, plus one on what was left of the roof. We dowsed the place well and truly with water and the locals recovered the body but it was even more terrible to find that most of the casualties were women. They all had to be very carefully handled so we left the clearing up job to the Jordanians.
The subsequent Investigations showed that the explosion was caused by the careless handling of some high grade cordite, from some .303ins. cartridge cases complete with percussion caps, all in the same area. A recipe for disaster.
Apparently cartridges were being emptied and the bullets replaced making a nice little earner for someone. But it did mean that most soldiers probably had only one in five usable rounds for his rifle!. It was just part of the corruption that was beginning to undermine the once proud and efficient Jordan Arab Army. It was going into decline rapidly after it's finance had been cut off.
From that point on we found ourselves facing more and more restrictions in our daily life. NAAFI supplies became limited as certain items which were produced by firms having any connection with Isreal [sic] were banned imports. That included of course Jaffa orange juice that had gone all the way to the UK and back again to their next door neighbours but we coped. The NAAFI bottling plant stepped up production of orange and lemon drinks from essence that came from Cyprus. Well, so the management said!.
Nothing that happened surprised me any more. We had some very unusual flight plans signalled in one day which immediately aroused suspicion so Intelligence was advised. I decided to go out to the radar truck situated at the edge of the runway to get the closest possible view of these four 'Egyptian Air
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Lines DC.3's when they came in. They came charging into the circuit totally ignoring all Air Traffic instructions, did a low level circuit in a 'gaggle' and then crunched onto the runway. I was watching carefully from a small ventilator in the van as they slowed down at my end of the runway and they were quite a sight. In the first place they were not DC.3's. They were Russian Ilushan [sic] 14's and not in very good condition either. They were very tatty with lop-sided undercarriage suspensions and their general appearance was not improved by the rough flaking paintwork only partially covered Egyptian Air Force markings by crudely painted civilian registration letters.
I kept in touch with the control tower and all of our observations were passed to Intelligence and of course as they were ostensibly civil aircraft they went to the civilian terminal.
There was a great deal of activity on their arrival and there was a fleet of lorries awaiting them but the unloading process was difficult to follow even from the control tower, although I have no doubt there were many pairs of eyes on these from various vantage points as there must have been from the moment they touched down.
As soon as the unloading was complete they were requesting taxy clearance, destination not notified and no flight plans filed. All very suspicious.
All the information that we had been passing back had filtered through to the right people, possibly through the Embassy to the King but someone was very quick off the mark. Jordanian military police forces intercepted the convoy of trucks on the main road out of the airfield and the cargoes were found to be arms and ammunition looted from the huge depots in Egypt that we had left in the care of the Egyptians. It was obvious that something really dodgy was going on and subsequently some very rough justice was meted out. There were more public hangings in the city which was becoming quite a regular event.
The daily routine still went on but there was an air of apprehension creeping in. It was not unfounded. The next thing that happened was that families were warned to get ready for
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repatriation to the UK, and not very much time was given. There were lots of tears and frenzied packing until eventually the airlift by Hastings aircraft out of Cyprus began. Every day there were more goodbye's. Some people had to go by 'casevac' aircraft as the medical centre was emptied. Mothers and one day old babies were included until eventually it was the turn of the Gamble family. Abdul cried and beat his chest in anguish and when they had gone and the married quarter had to be prepared for handing back as I took up residence in single quarters. What an end that was to what had been initially descibed [sic] as an accompanied posting!. [inserted] I [/inserted] was not amused, but work had to go on just the same.
Living out privileges were withdrawn and everyone moved into camp as our activities became more and more restricted by local events. We were confined to camp for days at a time and mess life became a very hectic round with little else to do. Even the cinema only opened two or three nights a week with the difficulty of getting new films in. I managed to get Abdul taken on by the mess as a steward and he was only too glad to have a reasonably well paid job having moved his family into the area to work for me he had considerable overheads.
On one of the numerous occasions that the city had erupted once again in political termoil [sic] the C.O. sent for me to do a nice little job for him. I was to be a courier to take a message to the British Embassy, which was virtually under siege, and our communications were no longer as discreet as they might have been. I was to go in civilian clothes by taxi. My answer to that was "thanks a lot, do I have any options" to which the answer was "no". Thanks again, although I did wring one concession from him, I was allowed to draw a pistol, with a full chamber, which I kept in my hand, in my brief case, all the way there and back. There was no way I was going to be at the mercy of a howling frenzied mob without being able to do a bit of damage first. Right or wrong, that's the way I felt about the situation at the time. After all the tight spots I had been in in my life I reckoned I was owed a chance but it went off without any fuss and I breathed easy again.
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One evening about six weeks after the families had gone there was a strange atmosphere permeating the normal activities. The cinema was closed. The Sgt's mess bar, and ours, as well as the Naafi canteen were ordered to close early and everyone was warned to be ready for an early start the following day.
Few of us thought that it would be as early as it was though At 5am the sirens started wailing. The PA system was busy giving orders for everyone to report to their normal places of work by 6am, phones were ringing madly and the whole station got into gear very quickly. At 6am roll-calls were made and instructions were passed for everyone to get back to quarters, pack personal belongings and back to the messes for breakfast. Breakfast was tea coffee, toast and boiled eggs...taken on the run as it would finish at 7pm precicely [sic] after which we were to report back to our sections. At 7pm the PA system was announcing the almost unbelievable news that we were evacuating the station. Today!...just like that!. We were going to Mafraq which was a few miles to the North and we had 12 hours to do it in, and the PA system was going almost non-stop. There was no written distributed plan to work to. It was all done on the PA from Ops. and on the telephone. Motor transport was allocated to all sections who provided their own drivers. Those sections that had no drivers had them allocated with the vehicles and every qualified driver was pressed into service. Workshops were emptied. Vehicles were put together, and those that could not be put on the road were loaded on the backs of others or prepared for towing.
The direction finder vehicle that had been up on the hill without wheels for years was fitted with wheels and brought down. Fuel tankers were filled from the storage tanks and vehicles were filled to the brim. Aircraft tanks were topped up to maximum. A Meteor that had been under repair in the hangar was hastily prepared and in fact took off later with almost flat tyres and was wheels down all the way with the locks in just to be safe.
The messes, offices, stores, the Naafi, the library and armoury were emptied. The armoury in particular was cleared by the simple expedient of issueing [sic] arms to everyone to save transport space so we all finished up with a selection of rifles, pistols, Sten guns, Bren guns, you name it, and as much ammunition as we could
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carry. Work pressed on at an incredible rate. The only refreshment was what one managed to cobble up in the departments and sections…..lunch was not even mentioned, although we were told that meals would be available at Mafraq where a skeleton crew had always provided minimum facilities there as a relief landing ground; even before a new runway had been built on a new site.
Everything that was not bolted down was packed…and some things were unbolted, and as each section was ready to move it was off to the Guard Room where convoys of a minimum of ten vehicles were put together and dispatched by the Service Police. The Squadron Venoms were being flown out followed by the chopper as soon as the Squadron was gone. The fighter control unit that had always operated from a remote site was wrapped up and that was on it's way independantly [sic] as were the British Military personnel on secondment to the Jordanian Government. The RAF Regiment airfield defence units just packed up and went, Bofors guns and all, everyone armed to the teeth and in many cases parties left a certain amount of damage and disruption behind them. Handsfull [sic] of salt and sand did guns and engines considerable damage. The Jordanian Air Force Vampires had all their guns de-harmonised so that they were likely to spray lead all over the place instead of in a concentrated pattern and the Kings personal Tiger Moth was tipped up on it's nose busting it's prop.
The Station thinned out fast. Air Traffic Control, the fire services and the signals cabin were the last to wrap up but the dead-line was met although aircraft were still going in and out with very limited services which pilots were advised of and as we approached the dead-line we lost control of the airfield.
The last civilian aircraft was the BOAC Argonaught from U.K. to Bahrain and although the captain accepted the limitation he had to be sent around again as half a dozen vehicles of the Jordan Arab Army appeared on the airfield weaving about all over the runway and he was obliged to circle whilst we tried to keep them off. The pilot landed eventually under his own responsibility, disembarked and embarked his passengers in double quick time and was off again without a flight plan.
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Our last action was to signal the airfield's closure and change of operating authority before the signals cabin was dismantled and the Pembroke flew out with as many as could be piled in leaving the remaining Air Traffic staff (including me) and the fire services to go by road as soon as the keys were deposited in the Guard Room, so off we set with RAF Police Landrover in the rear. Amman was no longer an RAF base!!!.
Our new home was the new Mafraq airfield being built as part of the NATO plan. It was on the North side of the old oil pipeline on the main route from Damascus to Bagdad opposite the old Mafraq (Dawsons Field), but it was in no way complete.
At least it had a long new runway, some new buildings which had in fact been built as married quarters although there were no barracks as such. Needless to say, they were allocated as barracks even though they lacked lighting, running water or toilet facilities. In fact, water was a very scarce commodity as there was no bore hole, and no water tower so water had to be brought in by a dubious civilian source which could not even be used for cooking until a filtration system was devised. But all these problems were only part of the getting sorted out plan. Later on we found that as we were not far from the foothills of the mountains of southern Syria a water diviner was expected from the UK to pin-point a source. That was put on hold although it should not have been difficult considering that 20 miles to the East there was a large area of marshland and vegetation which was fed by the flood waters from the mountains and some of that found it's way through the middle of the airfield. They had built a large conduit under the runway to take it away in the rainy season!.
However, limited water there was and that was a start. At least once a day we could draw a ration for washing and shaving. Drainage was a different matter. There were no drains so we resorted to the desert encampment method of doing things and the shovels had been at work allready [sic] . Everyone got 'stuck in' and were working like beavers.
The Officers Mess had been set up in an area of bungalows. The Sgts Mess was similarly set up in a clutch of houses and the airmen spread around the incomplete estate. A large wooden building with a kitchen, which had originally been provided
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for the contractors workers was turned into the main mess hall.
As with our departure from Amman there were very few questions asked. Then we had been told to pack up and go. At Mafraq we were just allocated space and it was up to us to set it up. It says a lot for the character of the British serviceman in the way it was done. There was no lack of initiative.
Air Traffic Control had already been set up in a suitable place about half way down the runway in a desert mobile office and our old runway control van. Emergency short range radios took very little time to fit and aerials were promtly [sic] rigged by the signals section as was the direction finder and radar truck although it was only as a radio back-up and even the homing beacon was tied to the side of it on with a lash-up of a mast. As the ATC services were outside the main camp area and main power supply we had our own mobile generator.
The Royal Signals Corp who were [deleted] a [/deleted] our telephone people out there were frantically running lines between departments in the main compound, linking everything through a small PBX in the hub of the whole system, the Ops. room but had saved a lot of cable by actually using the runway lighting cables as phone lines to the ATC centre. There were no lighting units installed anyway just the cables. It would be back to the old parafin [sic] goose-neck flares for a flare-path.
The RAF Regiment were whacking in stakes and spreading coils of barbed wire by the ton to surround the main area of activity which did not include ATC. It was an isolated outpost, but armed to the teeth as was everyone else. Representations had already been made to the CO to turn us in a defensive compound surrounded by wire as we were going to have to maintain a 24 hour watch but we had been given a low priority on that.
Within the stores area was another fleet of vehicles including workshops which had [deleted] previously [/deleted] been part of the Egyptian stores depot that I had previously known nothing about and that played it's part later. Then there was a complete [inserted] mobile [/inserted] fighter control unit but it was not sited or deployed so there were a lot of people without jobs that ops deployed as manpower to wherever it was needed.
Work had been going on at a furious pace and a lot had been done before we arrived in the late evening. To uproot about
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1400 people with all their goods and chatels [sic] , equipment of all kinds, transport, arms andammunition [sic] , fuel, food and cooking facilities plus communications equipment, and set it all up again was quite an achievement and must have given the CO and his senior officers more than a few headaches in planning it in secret the night before.
Work that first day did not stop at five o'clock. It just continued until most things were in place and reported operational before the troops staggered back to the mess hall for soup and sandwiches before drawing bedding and making up beds to finally flop into them; exhausted. What a day it had been although it should be pointed out that it did not all happen on the first day. It was an on going thing and a matter of priorities.
There were two items of private transport parked in the officers mess area. One, the car that had caused a colleague so much trouble to get into the country, and the other, a neat little bright red MG.B. belonging to the Station Commander, or to be precise, his wife. Some months previously King Hussein had made a present of it to the CO. but no sooner that the Embassy heard of it they invoked Queens Rules and Regulations about the acceptance of gifts by serving officers and it was 'no can do'. I do not know who squared it all up, but the King took it back and then presented it to Mrs.C.O. There was no argument with that!.
After a few hours sleep the second day was a memorable one as far as some of us were concerned. There was no need to push anyone and after a quick breakfast the hustle and bustle started again. I had not even had time to go to the airfield for the day shift although we were down to six controllers by that time with postings out and no replacements and having left ATC problems to another controller I had hardly had time to check out the fire services deployment when a message direct from the CO was delivered. It required two controllers, six firemen, two radio mechanics and two other technical trades to muster with tool kits as appropriate, small kit, (essential personal belongings), plus one major fire tender, to return immediately to Amman to put the services back on the air again. It had not taken long for everything to fizzle out and the King had made
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a personal appeal to the Group Captain for assistance. I had no problem in nominating my No.2. A New Zealander, an ex POW like myself who would know how to take care of himself. I went with the fire tender and the others went by air arriving more or less at the same time. I had been delayed a few minutes before setting off as I transferred a couple of cases of Brandy from the Mess stocks to the fire tender…..just in case of emergencies!!!!.
My colleague had already taken stock of the situation and was waiting at the foot of Air Traffic Control when we arrived and we quickly sorted out a plan. A young Jordanian pilot was 'in control' in the tower and was doing his best with a verey pistol and a stock of cartridges which was about to run out as there had been a total breakdown of communications despite, as I had understood, that the civilian terminal facilities were all in place if needed. A bit of 'know how' would have helped, but civil aircraft were still scheduled and something had to be done so everyone went about their business. Within two hours everything was ticking over again. The main generators were started up. Power was back on, batteries were being charged, verey cartridge stocks were replaced by scavenging among the Jordanian Air Force aircraft, tuning had been carried out and crash and rescue services were operational, with limitations, although the Jordanian Air Force appliances would not join ours on the hard-standing but 'control' remained in the hands of the Jordanians. We flatly refused to have anything to do with it....it was their airfield and that was that.
By late afternoon our activities slowed down as intercomms [sic] and radio communications were all back on line so we waited around for something to happen.
Eventually we were rounded up and taken to a mess hail in the Jordanian Air force compound where we were fed. We certainly needed it. We had had nothing for ten hours other than perhaps a small share of a bar of chocolate that someone had thoughtfully put in his kit.
After that we were taken to our accommodation. I could hardly believe it was happening. The keys of two married quarters had been produced from the Guard Room. One was my old quarter and the other the Station Commander's.
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My colleague and I took rooms in my old quarter and we put the men in the CO's residence as it was the larger building but after a good look around we decided that there was plenty of room for all of us in the big house and that we would move in the following day. There was room for us at one end and for the men the other with the lounge designated as a common room. Our stock of drink was added to what we found in the main house. The CO had lived in it right up to the moment we had moved out and hence his wine stocks were still there in his store and side-board. It was an Alladins [sic] cave!. Exactly as he had left it. Nice of him. We promptly appointed one of the Corporals as barman with the responsibilty [sic] of keeping it all secure and out of bounds during the working day. That way we could make it last so after a couple of rounds on the CO we retired for the night.
I must confess that it did seem strange sleeping .in my old quarter again especially as there remained a memento of the previous occupants. A jig-saw puzzle that one of my girls had left was still on the top of a wardrobe!.
We had been warned to be ready for a pick-up at 7:30 the following morning for an 8 o'clock breakfast so we were all formed up in a mini parade when the transport arrived on the dot and were duly conveyed to the same mess hall, where we had had supper the night before.
Most of us were hanging on to the little bit of kit that we had taken with us and had added a few eating and drinking utensils along the way. The quarters were still as they had been left by the last occupant, as per inventory; down to the last pepper pot... but who cared!. There were two ex POW's who had been obliged to eat with the fingers before, and were not taking any more chances.
We had a good breakfast and at 8:30 we were asked to wait for instructions as there was a great deal of activity ouside [sic] and we did not have to wait long before we found out what we were going to do next.
The mess hall was totally encircled by armed troops standing shoulder to shoulder and an officer told us that we were to stay put until things were sorted out. We were under house arrest!.
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By mid-morning the sorting out had been done as we just sat around twiddling our thumbs until we were asked to assemble outside as we were going to the airfield...but not before being asked for the keys to the fire tender!. There was no point in arguing so I reluctantly handed them over and then we were escorted to the airfield where we waited a little longer before our Pembroke came in so we all piled in. The pilot, who happened to be the Group Captain did not bother to shut down the engines. It was certainly not built to carry that many so it was a bit of a squeeze and it was even more of a squeeze to get it off the runway too. We used every bit of it and every bit of power that was available. We used all of the runway and just lifted off with everything straining all the way to land at Mafraq a few minutes later with some very hot engines. So much for that little expedition!!.
The CO did not say a lot apart from suggesting that there would have to be an enquiry into the loss of my fire engine and I think [deleted] g [/deleted] my answer was something to the effect that it might as well be done by the same board that would do the enquiry into the loss of his airfield!, but it was only a formality really in order to get it struck off and replaced.
In the meantime things had really been going on apace at our new base. The barbed wire had been strengthened. Trenches and gun pits had been dug. Sand bags were piled up all over the place including the fuel dump, the aircraft dispersals and other vulnerable places....including Air Traffic Control. That was at least no longer stuck out on a limb but a whole new pattern of life had emerged.
The station was on Red Alert permanently which was a rare situation for peace-time. Everyone was still armed to the teeth and the Amman party had reclaimed their weapons from the armoury. On reflection it was as well that we had not been armed when we had gone back otherwise I am sure that it would have meant another enquiry into the loss of our weapons.
The old Mafraq desert airfield had been completely deserted and everyone was confined to the new camp area. Aircraft had been shuttling to and from Cyprus and Habbanyia. Essential supplies were coming in and non-essential personnel were being flown out as a lot of adjustment was taking place.
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Air Traffic Control was still being maintained on a 24 hour shift system so the few that had been doing the job were only too pleased to spread the job out a bit. We all had secondary duties to perform as well so we were kept busy.
The Army had opened the Post Office again and some mail was already beginning to filter through from the UK but we had been advised that outgoing mail was being censored at Nicosia so there would be delays in that direction.
I was desperate for news of my wife who had not been well prior to leaving Amman and had had a dreadful time going through Cyprus, Stansted and subsequently through Hendon before being able to catch the first train out of Victoria in the cold early dawn of an English winter. She had caught a chill. Her nerves were shot to pieces and it was just as well that she had opted to go back to her parents home in Worthing where she could be looked after much better than if she had gone to a transit camp at Blackpool which had been one of the options.
From her most recent letters it was obvious that she was still unwell and was not being helped by the disruption of the mail from our part of the world either.
All our goods and chatels [sic] which had been flown out of Amman was somewhere en-route so a lot of new clothing had to be purchased and it was not easy but somehow she was coping. For the girls it had all been quite an experience although even they were glad to settle down in the local school once more.
Our daily routine developed into something like normality once more. There was plenty of ammunition and we could spend as much time as we wanted on the range which had been quickly set up but in a very short space of time we set up our own on the airfield with aid of a borrowed bulldozer. I had qualified as a range safety officer at Mareham [sic] so we soon got clearance to do our own thing. The targets were of the tin and bottle kind and there is nothing like practice to improve marksmanship!.
One also learns considerable respect in the handling of firearms provided that the basic rules are observed, and they were. No fooling about. A gun should always be handled as if it was loaded so loading and unloading and cleaning, going on and off duty never produced one incident of mis-handling...fortunately!.
Aircraft continued to go in and out, and in most instances we
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had notification as soon as our communication with the outside world had been re-established. It was all radio and radio teleprinters of course so with all the coding and de-coding that was required the signals cabin was going flat out.
We were very surprised one morning we we [sic] went off-duty after a busy night with Hasting's coming and going to find that we had several heavy artillery peices [sic] already dug in, sandbagged and manned by the R. A. ready for use. The question was, against who?.
We were not left in doubt for very long. Within 24 hours of their arrival the news hit us that combined French and British forces had invaded Egypt and the Suez Canal Zone and then we were immediately on a war readyness [sic] state.
News was limited to the personal radios that many still had but the fresh restrictions under which we were then placed gave us more to worry about.
Diplomatic relations with other Arab countries were broken off and we could no longer use the air route across Syria to Cyprus and all traffic had to be routed via Habbanyia(Iraq) and Turkey. Isreal [sic] was at war with Egypt and Jordan. Iraq was making protests in respect of our presence and Cyprus was suffering some internal unrest from a regigious [sic] rebel. And we were sitting in the middle!.
That particular episode is but another chapter of history, so it might as well be left to the historians to write it down. All I was aware of at the time was that it was another fine mess I was in.
The daily routine went on but perhaps the biggest headache of all was the acute shortage of water. Tanks, water carriers and bowsers of every sort were pressed into service for storage. There were no laundry facilities and it soon became neccesary [sic] to institute bathing parades for about twenty people at a time to strip wash at a water bowser and then dunk clothes at the same time. It was not very well received by some of the more sensitive youngsters, many of them national servicemen but thank goodness the weather was still fairly warm with the odd shower from time to time. At least when it did rain Air Traffic Control had a plentiful supply with the benefit of the stream that ran under the runway. More than enough on one occasion after a really
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heavy downpour when a great deal of rubbish was carried along in the flood which blocked the grating and then diverted the stream over the runway!. A useful job for the fire services.
The rain did bring some other problem though as the airfield had been built right across an age old camel route from the North right down into Saudi Arabia. Camel trains naturally followed the water supply and took years to go each way with many young being born en-route.
The older animals knew the route instinctively and invariably travelled in the cool of the night with the herders fast asleep in the saddle but it played merry hell when they blundered into barbed wire and other things like an airfield across their path. There was a great deal of growling, bellowing and other noises that camels make as some of them got tangled up.
Some wire had been strung out earlier to divert them from their route but it was a waste of time. You only had to look at a camel to realise that going around it was very far from their minds. The easiest way was to remove it and thoroughly inspect the runway at night before it was. I think it save a lot in compensation too!.
I had one piece of good news anyway. The two cases of Brandy that I had diverted from the bar stocks were written off and did not get charged to my mess bill, the paperwork for which had all been brought from Amman. It would not have cost much anyway. At approximately 50p a bottle it would not have been more than £12 in total in those days!.
Since we had moved to Mafraq our rations had been fairly basic although with the air supply we had been topped up and were adequate for several weeks if we had been completely bottled up. Nevertheless. the NAAFI manager, who was a member of our mess and in fact shared a room with me, decided that he would do something really special for one week-end and set to work with some 'surplus' stocks to make an enormous pie. In a bath tub!.
In went four chickens, obtained locally, followed by several pounds of bacon. The contents of several tins of pork and sausage meat. Corned beef, spices, all suitably spiced and sloshed into the tub with several dozen halves of boiled eggs. The pastry took umpteen pounds of flour and fat to make the lining and
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the lid and when finally decorated was a near masterpiece as the 60lb. pie was hoisted into the oven.
After hours of cooking and cooling it was finally brought ceremoniously into the dining room with all the solemnity usually reserved for a royal haggis. It really did look good with it's pastry leaves and rosettes all glistening with the overall glazing. It cut beautifully and tasted gorgoeus [sic] . Certainly it seemed worth all the effort that had been put into it….until the following day!.
Some people said it was due to a richness that we had not been used to, others reckoned it was over indulgence but the medical officer decided that as the medical centre was inundated with officers going sick that perhaps the ingredients were not as fresh as they might have been. The local chickens were suspect even though they had been bought live. (You did not normally buy anything of that sort out there unless it was on the hoof or still clucking). So the MO had the last word and condemned it to be consigned to the fire. I thought it was a great shame. I had had a double portion and I was OK, and so was the NAAFI manager who took out a large chunk before disposal. And we still did not come to any harm. Need one say more!.
There was one weekly event that many people turned out to see. It was the 'train' that went through from Damascus to Bagdad a few miles from us, usually on the far side of the old Dawsons Field, only it was not on rails. It was a huge Mercedes locomotive/coach with a trailer coach like a gigantic silver caterpillar. It's wheels were between 7 and 8 feet in height with great balloon tyres that looked as if they had come off of a Stirling. With a crew of drivers, engineers, radio operators navigators and stewards it just bored majestically along like the proverbial ship of the desert in a plume of exhaust smoke and a cloud of sand. It really was an impressive sight as it went through. Unfortunately I was never in a position to photograph it as zoom and telephoto lenses were not so readily available as they are today.
After [sic] while the rigid restrictions were eased a little although we were required to wear uniform all the time. Everything to the West of us and that included the town of Zerqua was still out of bounds but we could go in small parties Eastwards to
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the marshes where there was some wildfowl and some remnants of an ancient civilisation.
Among them were the ruins of an old Bysantine [sic] town which still bore the marks of the progress of the Crusaders that had passed that way hundreds of years before. The most amazing thing was the size of the building blocks. Something like 4ft square and there was still a lot of it standing. Mostly it was being used as a shelter for camels which were being looked after by a motley collection of very ragged boys who surprised us by having a smattering of broken English. In fact they even looked a little European and I will say no more about that other than to note that the British had been in those parts for a long time!.
The method of construction was to remain a mystery as we could find no books on the subject in our limited library but generally it must have followed the same ancient techniques used by the Romans and the Pharoes [sic] , who seemed to be able to move huge quantities of stone with only crude equipment…..and a lot of expendable manpower. In one wall there was a door of solid stone 18ins. thick, some 4ft by 5ft hung by 3ins. pegs, hewn out of the solid, which was perfect fit and capable of being swung to and fro' in balance by a finger touch. Quite remarkable, and a welcome outing in a place like that provided some relief from our normal routine.
I took the opportunity to fly down to Aquaba on one accasion [sic] . The firemen down there were on detachment originally from Amman on a rotational basis and some of them had been there overlong. I had been badgering the CO. for a long time and eventually got clearance to go down and swap three of them over, as well as taking what mail there was. Mail had been very spasmodic as the lines of communication kept changing.
When we were in Egypt the run out of Fayid to Amman used to parachute the mail into Aquaba and aircraft landed infrequently. When Egypt packed up some went by sea and some went via Amman and then it all got held up until it went via Cyprus and Amman and then the routing was changed to Cyprus/Habbanyia/Mafraq with the inevitable delays. With only limited communications between Mafraq and Aquaba three firemen had a nice surprise when they found that they were being relieved. I tried to find my cousin but learned that he had already returned to the UK.
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At his age he was due to end his long service with the army and at last get the sand out of his shoes. I could understand how he felt after all the years he had spent in Mesopotamia [sic] before the war and he was no doubt relieved to get out of another of many tight spots including the evacuation from Dunkirk.
We had a very nice surprise one day when a couple of young English nurses in an old banger presented themselves at the main gate asking for shelter for the night.
They were en-route from the UK to India the hard way. Right across the continent, a hop from Turkey to Cyprus. Another to Beruit [sic] and Damascus, then following the route of the old Hadj railway to Zerkqa before setting off across the desert for Bagdad they found an out-post of the British Empire on their route so it changed their plans a little.
Room and board was found for them. They were fed and rested and their old banger, which was actually in better condition than it looked, was serviced by the MT. section who were only too pleased to have something different to do. After spending a couple of nights with us they were given a resounding send off and good luck to them. There was still some spirit of adventure left that was for sure. They were not the only women to undertake such a daunting journey.
When the families were being evacuated from Amman there was one lady who decided to drive the family car back to the UK. If they had had as much trouble in getting the car into the country as my colleague then there some logic in it, but she took two youngsters as well.
We heard that she had made it after many weeks on the road and her route had taken her out of Jordan into Syria. Then further on into Turkey, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany and Belgium before it became neccesary [sic] to cross the last ditch...the Channel!. Some journey. Nearly 3000 miles. Who said that women were the weaker sex.
We were still losing controllers without replacement. The next one to go was the same chap who had imported the car and the NAAFI manager was being posted back home as well so they went together. They filled up the car with their kit, fuel and supplies and they set off for the 500 mile plus journey to Habbanyia following the pipe-line towards Bagdad and Basra.
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The pipe-line was the best possible navigational feature for crossing the desert as there was no road then. Just the pipe-line and a string of desert air-strips that were generally American oil company manned with their own system of communication. All that for a pipe-line that had not pumped oil for years!.
My wife was continuing to have a rough time of it and for some reason was not getting all of my letters. Her nerves were still bad and she was having a lot of treatment whilst I was still stuck in that place. True, we had the facilities of mess life and the Squadron pilots who were not doing much flying had set themselves the task of starting up a cinema in a marquee. The RAF Film Service had fallen down on the job and nothing was coming in other than privately arranged 16mm films from Habbanyia and using the 16mm projectors that were supplied for training films we managed some form of entertainment. Our original 35mm equipment in our cinema had been left behind in Amman but we coped even though we had to stop the programme to change reels and it very often went out of synchronization...accompanied by hoots of laughter.
A games night in the mess on one occasion provided a little distraction but it was a night that I fear I became a little unpopular with the organisers, The Squadron pilots of course. It was a games night with a difference as it was turned into a gambling den despite the fact that normal mess rules forbad the playing of games for money. Anyway, our conditions were far from normal and I recall that the bank was holding it's own at most tables but the roulette wheel favoured me to the extent that I broke the bank. The first time was not so bad and after they had raised more funds I broke it again!. They said it was only for fun so I gave all my winning back and retired but I am sure that I would not have got my shirt back if I had lost it....but it was still a lot of fun despite the fact that the CO made some very disapproving remarks. He and I were not on very good terms by that time.
Our relationship had not been improved by another incident when I was Duty officer one night and one of the patrols called in to report that there were suspicious noises on one section of the perimeter according to the Guard Sgt, like tank track noises. I was just a link in the chain and passed the report on to OPs.
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centre. The CO decided to go out with the Guard Commander and found that it was only echoes from a generator exhaust and I got the stick for it. Still, I would have got a lot more if it had been a tank probing our defences and I had not reported it. As usual it was a 'no-win' situation for me.
We still did not know quite what to expect or from where. The Suez invasion was all but over. We had driven a wedge between the Egyptians and the Isrealies [sic] and they had agreed to pull back. Our troops were withdrawing and it was a very tricky situation not improved by the recriminations and world opinion on our role in the whole affair, and all was not quite what it seemed on the surface.
We had been warned that the odd Canberra might be making a dash for us from Cyprus but we had a bit of a shock to learn that on one occasion an RAF Canberra out on a high photographic recce' over Syria had something on his tail that he had not quite expected. A Syrian, (Russian made.), SAM 7 heat seeking missile!, and unfortunately it found him. As far as I recall one member of the crew was killed, the other was captured and was returned some time later when the situation had eased a bit. Not a lot was said about it.
Christmas 1956 came and a great time was had by all. The Officers and NCO's served the men in time honoured fashion. There was too much to drink and rationing was forgotten for that day. Unknown talents emerged with a station concert and a station song with many bawdy verses was produced along with one or two daft acts on stage. I am not sure what time lunch finished that afternoon but I reckoned we owed ourselves that.
My tour of duty, 2 1/2 years, was coming to an end and like most people I cherished the date which was bodly [sic] marked on my calender [sic] . In the old days it would have been "roll on that bloody boat" as the song goes although in the circumstances it was roll on any form of transport when I reported to the Adjutant for confirmation that the repatriation procedure would soon be be [sic] put in motion. I was devestated [sic] when I was told that I was being deferred as they could no longer afford to lose people without replacement. It did not take long to arrange for an appointment to see the CO only to be told that there was no appeal, the decision had been made although after we had been
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closeted for a while with some man to man talking and the production of some letters from my wife and her Doctors he accepted the fact that I might have a good case so he would see what he could do. He owed me that at least after one incident that ocurred [sic] between us that needs no airing so I was left sweating it out for a while.
Fortunately it did not take too long and I was soon involved in the paperwork to clear the unit, obtain an air priority and wait for another week before, I at last found myself on an aircraft for Habbanyia.
As soon as I got into the transit mess there was my colleague who had driven there in his car still trying to get it down to Basra but otherwise enjoying himself.
I found it very difficult to enjoy myself even when every day was virtually a holiday whilst I waited for a seat on an aircraft when I was so desperate to get home. My priority rating was still the basic, the bottom of the list!, so all I had to do was wait.
Fortunately I knew a lot of people at Habbanyia and was invited out quite a lot. I also saw a lot more of Habbanyia and on one occasion a party of us got together for a day trip to Bagdad.
That was a forty mile taxi journey each way across the desert as there did not appear to be a road and the return journey was of course done at night. I can only think that those drivers navigated by the various clumps of rocks that loomed up from time to time as there was nothing else to indicate which way to go except the stars.
In Bagdad we broused [sic] around, up the street of the goldsmiths, down the street of the silversmiths and up the street of the ivory carvers and in an about sampling the sights.
It was not possible to photograph all that I would have liked to as it seemed that the Iraqi army was guarding almost every street corner. Photographs had to be taken very discreetly after the first occasion that a threatening rifle was pointed in our direction, but it was a good day just the same.
I was still kicking my heels after a week without having been called forward so I buttonholed a Valetta captain that I had known at Fayid who was flying a freighter to Cyprus the following day and he agreed to take me as supernumarary [sic] crew. Air Movements
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staff agreed and I was out on the airfield, baggage, hangover and all by 7am, after very little sleep. I wish I had had the good sense to have abstained but it had all developed into another fairwell [sic] party and I don't think I have ever felt so bad before. I almost signed the pledge [underlined] again!. [/underlined]
The thunder of the take-off just about scrambled every nerve in the brain-box but that was only half of it. We were of course taking the roundabout route going North-West to cross the Turkish border then West over the mountains and the Valetta thundered it's way up to 16,000ft with the crew on oxygen, all except the supernumary [sic] crew member who did not have an oxygen mask so I cupped a spare outlet hose in my hands with it on full flow I gulped and and [sic] gulped until the hammering in my head became a little more bearable. I was very glad when we turned South and started letting down clear of the mountains on the last leg to Cyprus. What a blessed relief it was to touch down at Nicosia and sample that first cup of coffee in the transit lounge.
With thanks to the pilot for the completion of one more leg of the journey behind me I reported for documentation and when that was done found myself signing for a Smith & Wesson .38 with six rounds and a printed set of instructions before being transported to a hotel in a quiet area of Nicosia. Basically the istructions [sic] were to the effect that if I was out in public I had to be prepared to defend myself although the natives seemed friendly enough on the surface there was still an undercurrent of dissent. Most of the troops that had invaded Egypt who had used Cyprus as a jumping off point had been withdrawn and I certainly had no intention of going very far on my first day in Cyprus. I was in need of a lot of sleep.
The following day, fully refreshed, I was off to re-visit Nicosia city centre and I was dammed if I wanted to take a pistol stuck in my belt like some bandit as all my webbing had been packed away in my 'deep-sea' kit so I left it in my room.
I was wandering along quite happily taking in the sights down a main street when a car pulled up alonside [sic] with a screech of brakes and my immediate thought was...'whoops-here is trouble' and I turned quickly to asses [sic] the situation only to see a chap that I had known in Amman who said with some urgency "Tom Gamble,
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get in you bloody fool", so I did.
It turned out that I had been strolling down 'murder mile' where more than one bloke had bitten the dust in recent months. He was more concerned afterwards that I was not armed but who knows, perhaps it was because I was not that I did not become a target. He lived in a bungalow not far from the Hotel so that's where we finished up for tea, dinner and drinks on more than one occasion.
He was a useful chap to know being one of the Air Movements and despite the fact that I had been told that I would be called forward when a flight became available I didn't think a daily visit to Air Movements would do me any harm, if only to be sure that I-was not overlooked. Not that he could expedite my passage. That was determined by my priority and a long waiting list but we chatted about this that and the other and he told me there was a compound in the freight area with all the Amman baggage in it so we went to have a look. Under a large tarpaulin was a huge pile of boxes and on investigation we found all the Gamble's unmistakable boxes on the edge of the pile. I couldn't mistake those boxes. One of them had been my father-in-law's tool chest and another had belonged to an Uncle who I had never known, who had been killed in France during WW1. He had had it made in India so it was certainly well travelled. Anyway, they had already been there three months and whether he exercised his perogotive [sic] or not they were back in the UK two weeks later.
I had many a pleasant time with his family for odd meals and parties as well as a couple of runs out into the country and to the coastal resorts of Limosol [sic] and Lanarca as the days went by.
Despite the fact that I checked daily with Air Movements the answer was getting monotonous, "sorry, not today" was not what I wanted to hear and seriously thought of using the knowledge of my wife's condition to 'up' the priority although I had already sent a cable to her to let her know I was in Cyprus and still waiting when, at last, after a week I was told that I was allocated for the following day so all the paperwork was done. I sent another cable to say I would be on my way and duly reported with baggage, ready to go. I actually got as far as the steps to the aircraft when a Service Policeman came rushing
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up with an Air Movements Cpl and a harassed looking airman with a suitcase. Papers were waived and I was taken off of the manifest to go back into transit. The airman had compassionate grounds for getting home in a hurry and that's the way it worked. He had a higher priority than I did and unless you were very senior it was usually an officer who had to give way. It cost me another cable to say I was further delayed.
Air Movements confirmed that I would be away the following day and I think I went to bed that night with everything crossed but it all went according to plan. There was another emergency boarding but that time it did not effect me as my priority had gone up one as a result of the previous day's cancellation, so I was off at last in a chartered Eagle Air Lines Viking stopping; at Nice for refuelling and thence to Stansted and finally to Hendon for disposal. After that I was on my way to Worthing, home and family.
That was the end of my Middle East tour. All that packed into two years and seven months!. By that time it was the beginning of February 1957 and I was not thinking too much about my next appointment. I would know all about that when I reported to the Air Ministry within the customary 48 hours of my arrival in the UK. Family business was of the highest priority as it was obvious that Dorothy was far from well with a nervous disorder so before I reported to Air Ministry I got a letter from her doctor and was prepared for any problems that might arise.
I need not have worried. The Personnel Staff could not have been more sympathetic and sorted out a posting for one that was beyond any wildest dreams. Tangmere, just 18 miles from Worthing so off I went with two weeks dis-embarkation leave to sort things out.
It did not take long to get a small car and we visited Tangmere to take a look at what was to be our new home and to complete an application for Married Quarters which we were told, would be available soon and another visit to the Senior Controller soon put me in the picture. There was one small problem. It was another 24 hour shift working Air Traffic Control situation. Another of the many geographically placed units that provided an emergency service although that would not present much of
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a problem once I was in quarters. I was used to sleeping away from home....although that did not mean that I liked it.
The two weeks went very quickly but at least we made the most of it. We got out and about visiting family as part of the process of rehabilitating my wife until it was time to report for duty and once again after the arrival formalities I was up in the control tower ready to start local training to bring me up to the very high standard required on such a busy unit.
There were two resident Squadrons. One of Meteor night fighters and the other of Hunter day fighters and their activities ensured that Tangmere was not going to be dull. A controllers handling capability had to be brought up to being able to cope with up to eight aircraft at a time....and that was pushing it!. What took a little time to get used to was the fact that every time I was up in the tower I was looking down on an area of tarmac where only 12 years previously I had been de-loused on repatriation from a German POW camp, but it was the general atmosphere of the place that I found so fascinating. To me it was like being on hallowed ground and all rather pleasant after my recent experiences and somewhat comforting to find that I had served previously with three of the controllers.
Within a matter of weeks I was put to the final test required by the Senior Controller and was certificated for solo watchkeeping and bit by bit I was also creeping up the married quarters waiting list until one day I was allocated a quarter.
Unfortunately it all went sour the following day when I was told that it had been re-allocated to the Medical Officer!. It was not very well received at home although I was told that another would be allocated in a few days so I was reluctant to have made the protest that I could have done. My knowledge of the regulations told me that as a National Serviceman the M.O. did not qualify for quarters!, but it was politic to let it ride.
Within a matter of days I was allocated a quarter for the second time and there was considerable excitement in the family when they were told that we would be moving soon.
It was either the next day or the following one when I went on duty that I was told, yet again, that it was being re-allocated. I could not believe it. If I had done that sort
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of thing when I had been looking after quarters at Coningsby I think I would have been lynched but that time I did not take it laying down. It did not take long to find out that it had been allocated to the new O.C Flying Wing, (my boss, two steps up) on ex officio grounds, meaning that the quarter goes with the post irrespective of the waiting list. That was the regulation and as such it was acceptable, apart from the fact that the out going Wing Commander was still occupying a Quarter!. As far as I was concerned that was not on and if I was go home and tell Dorothy once more that we were further delayed the next thing that I would be doing was resigning my commission. I had just about had enough too but after more consideration than I would have given most problems I asked to see the Station Commander, Group Captain Hughie Edwards.VC, among many other decorations, and with tounge [sic] in cheek put my case as succinctly as I could. A change from my usual bull at a gate tactic. Out came the relevant order, in came the OC Admin, and the S/Ldr Admin and the Station Adjutant, the order was taken apart with a decision in my favour and apologies for the cock-up. After that it was my turn to apologise for having the temerity to make such a protest and it all ended up without anyone being upset and within a week we were in quarters. I can think of one or two CO's who would not have reached a similar decision whatever the regulations but enough said about that.
Before we moved our boxes had at last been delivered to Worthing and we didn't know whether to laugh or cry when they were opened up. Customs had already been through some of them and they had been badly repacked. Crockery, glass and ornaments had been broken. Clothes had gone mouldy and had to be thrown away. Linen that we thought was white when we packed it was a nice shade of brown as a result of a couple of pounds of Jordanian and Cypriot sand in each box a lot of which had filtered into the sewing machine box requiring a complete overhaul of that to avoid further damage. Nevertheless, most of it was usable. Just one of the snags of living out of a suitcase and boxes for years but we settled into our new home and a comfortable routine was soon established. The girls were soon back to school and there was continual family movement to and from Worthing as we picked up the threads of a more settled life and Dorothy's
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health began to improve. It really was turning out to be a very a happy unit too, and I had become the Station Fire Officer again!. It was suggested that I should go on the Fire Officers short course at one time but I cast that one aside. "No thanks, Iv'e[sic] had enough on the job experience" and left it at that. I didn't protest when the phone was put in though. Being out of my bed every fourth night I could cope with but I was trying to avoid being away from home any longer than that for a while.
It was shortly after we had settled into the routine that I heard the sequel to the Mafraq situation. Not a lot was mentioned by the media and I got most of the information from my correspondence with friends but apparently within a few weeks of my departure we abandoned the place. It was quite an operation. Again, everything was made mobile. Vehicles got armour plating and Bren gun mountings. Some 400 vehicles that had been in the Maintenance Unit were made ready and loaded with all the other stores, preparations for which were going on before I left as that many vehicles require a lot of batteries but the distilation [sic] plant did not have the capacity to produce the required amount of distilled water. Even at that point a decision had been made to use any sort of water and throw the batteries away after a short life. All had been put together in a very large convoy of 600 vehicles were fuelled and provisioned for the 500 mile journey, armed to the teeth still, the aircraft were flown out so off they set off with air cover and air supply all the way to Habbanyia.
Quite an experience for a 'peace-time' operation. There was no real problem and eventually it all finished up at Basra for shipment.
I eventually heard from the chap who had had all the problem with his car. It did eventually get to Basra and subsequently back to the UK, as deck cargo on the Ark Royal, very scratched and bent with a lot of bits missing. There was a car with a history!,.
One of the biggest surprises that I got one day was a bill from the accounts department; for1s & 7d, (7 1/2 pence in today's money) for 'barrack damages' on the occasion of leaving my quarter in Amman. It was for the deficiency of one wash basin plug!. Absolutlely [sic] incredible after all the millions of pounds that
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the evacuations had cost the Government. And I get a bill for 7 1/2 pence!. When I approached the Accountant Officer with a suggestion that it ought to have been written off he was adament [sic] . It had to be cleared from the books and although it cost me more than 7 1/2 p in stamp duty I paid it by cheque just to make a point. How bloody silly!.
Secondary duties were always coming the way of Air Traffic Controllers and one that fell in my lap was an audit of the bedding store inventory. I had a full briefing for that one and the appropriate Air Ministry Order thrust under my nose to reinforce the importance of checking thoroughly. It was the first time that I seen the order and it was almost word for word of the paper that I had put forward years previously so obviously it was an successful system. I wonder who got a pat on the back for that?. Certainly not me.
On one fine day up in the top tower doing airfield control with a few Hunters flashing around the circuit I knew by the clatter of footsteps on the stairs behind me that the party of .Air Cadets that I had was expecting were about to descent upon me and on turning to meet them was astonished to find that Peter Hobbs who had been the Navigator in the same crew as myself on Stirlings in 1943 was the officer in charge. I don't know who was the most surprised and for a while I was far too busy for any conversation although later on when it was quieter we really did get down to business. I picked him up later in the day to come home for tea and later for a drink in the Mess and we had a lot to chat about but the extraordinary thing was that when we met umpteen years later he had no recollections of the meeting at all, although at least he could remember coming to my wedding. That is more than Paddy Martin the Flight Engineer could!.
As we got into the Summer I had a feeling that all was going too well to last. In July I was dispatched to Shawbury for an eight week Radar course. Just as the kids school holidays were coming up. Nevertheless, I took some local accommodation at Wem and managed to live out for nearly a month. That gave everyone a change and a chance to tour new areas and a great deal of Wales as well. It actually made a very nice break for us all and although it was my second visit try Shawbury it was not to be my last.
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I passed out of that course with possibly the best mark that I had ever achieved despite it's intensity and in due course reported back to Tangmere for duty.
There was of course the usual period under instruction but I was certificated after ten days and back on watchkeeping duties with the ability to be rotated anywhere in the control system.
Ground Controlled Approach as the radar system was called was most satisfying and there were many occasions when I was required to pull out all the stops. It was very demanding but rewarding nevertheless. Some of the highlights of my experiences in GCA are firmly imprinted on my mind.
One occasion that I remember well, and I think my younger brother will as well, was when I was on stand-by on the end of the telephone at home and he was staying with us as he was also recovering from a nervous disorder following a matrimonial problem. I took him with me when I was called out.
The alerting system had already brought the equipment up from the stand-by mode to full power as we raced for the operations truck and I made contact with the tower as I slid into my seat. I put him on a spare headset and was pointing out the significant blobs on the radar screen and after that concentrated on the job in had [sic] , showing him the progress of the blob from time to time. The customer was a diverted Hastings from abroad and although our weather was bad elsewhere was even worse so with 600 yards visibility and a 200ft cloud base I got stuck into my very first operational talk-down. I had been on the other end often enough and knew that it was not easy to handle an aeroplane completely on instruments, boring into the murk, descending at around 130mph. That was probably why I always projected myself into the cockpit when doing talk-downs and felt as if I was virtually holding hands with the pilot and everything went smoothly. The pilot had a full instrument rating and the rest was up to me. When we came to the critical bit, just in the bottom of the cloud at half a mile from the runway threshold he was as steady as a rock, still doing around 120mph, in contact with the approach lights through the murk to the point of touch-down when I flicked the transmitter switch off to hear the pilot report "on the runway" as I turned to where my brother should have been to as I said "I'll open the door
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and you will see him go by"....he was not there. The strain had been too much. He was flat out on the floor and although he did not take long to recover he vowed that would never place himself in that siuation [sic] again and was very glad to get back to the house where a drop of the hard stuff restored him. I don't know if it was the shock treatment but he made good progress after that and got his feet firmly on the ground again.
Another visitor to the tower one day sent a few people into a panic as the sight of a policeman' uniform will often do. Even if you have done nothing wrong. Nothing you can remember anyway!. It was my wife's cousin, a local police patrol Sgt who was making a courtesy call, and in the course of our conversation he conveyed his Inspectors compliments. It had come out during a chat that he was none other than the chap who had been in the same hut as me in Stalag 11d, Nuremburg POW camp. It certainly was a small world!.
Our Senior Controller had a unique talent. He was in great demand to perform party tricks with cards and the like but his best performance was as a Hynotist [sic] .
Like most-people I was sceptical even when I saw people doing quite remarkable things, under the 'influence' I was still not convinced. Not until I was included in a group session. When the preliminary process of selection and conditioning had been done and I was told that my right arm was heavy and I could not lift it I said to myself "rubbish', I will show him. But I couln't [sic] , or my leg when we got round to that any more than I could stop the daft answers to questions coming out of any mouth when I tried not to say them. After that I was convinced and knew that people who were. getting drunk on a glass of, water, acting like chickens and other animals were not just part of the act. I submitted myself to several sessions and it was to be the same every time. He really did have control and was very good but the CO. put a stop to group sessions particularly if any of the pilots were involved. He reckoned that pilots were too vulnerable and did not want any talked into the ground!. Although it was most unlikely as one has to submit oneself to hypnosis it was perhaps a wise move.
We were getting into the Autumn of that year when I collected another secondary duty, that of taking charge of the Corporals
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Club, and on the face of it it seemed easy enough. Like a lot of other things that had come my way!. I soon found out that picking up the takings every morning, and checking the books and cash in hand and stock-taking once a week was a job that I could do without. The takings were very small. There seemed to be no more than half-a-dozen people making use of the place on any night and as far as I was concerned it hardly justified the services of two part time volunteer barmen and yours truly putting in two hours every week when over a hundred Corporals never even bothered to stick their noses in the place. That's the bit that peeved me most and I was 'piggy in the middle' again. For all that if anything that went wrong I was the fall guy.
A survey showed that for the year that it had been operating the takings had never reached what I would call reasonable proportions, albeit it was a non-profit making set-up, and the NAAFI manager confirmed that when the Cpl's bar had been run by them it had not needed any extra staff. That was enough for me and called a general meeting of the club with only two items on the agenda. One, "do you regularly make use of the club facilities;" and two, "would it make any difference to you if it was to revert to NAAFI management", The vote was a unanimous NO to each item and armed with the results of my survey and the minutes of the meeting I presented my case to the CO. When he realised that an officer was spending more time on Cpl's club business than most of the Cpls made of the facilities he agreed immediately to it's disbandment. He did make the observation though that as I had not appeared to be keen on taking the job anyway was my action the easy way out. A straight "yes" surficed [sic] !.
We were still making the most of Tangmere and the area, there was always something going on. On one occasion the Mess laid on a Battle of Britain garden party with invitations to all and sundry including of course many of the 'Few' who had fought from Tangmere. The invitation list was very impressive and I was awed by the prospect of being in such illustrious company. It was a schoolboy's dream come true.
Douglas Bader was there doing his usual stomping around and chatting with his old chums and gold braid seemed to be dripping
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everywhere. I spotted one of the 'Few', a Group Captain who had been my boss when I had been at Transport Command HQ. If ever I am asked about my most embarressing [sic] incident what happened next is certainly one of many.
I tried several times to catch his eye if only to make my presence known so when he eventually looked in my direction and approached I thought it would be an opportunity to make small talk for a while. He never seemed to notice although I had my hand stuck out to grasp his he went right by and gabbed the hand of an elderly steward who was behind me. As I looked in amazement at him pumping the arm of the steward he looked around at me and said "sorry Gamble, I couldn't let this bloke go, d 'you know, he was my batman in 1940". Then I understood and I knew that he had got his priorities right so I retired to the refreshment tent.
With the winter approaching the GCA became more and more important to our activities. On one occasion we had a flight of three Hunters of the Royal Netherlands Air Force notified but our weather deteriorated very quickly as they were on there way and when they did arrive they only had a very limited fit of frequencies which were already cluttered up by other traffic using Ford and Hayling Island. They were also quite low on fuel and on that day I think I created a precedence in Air Traffic Control by declaring an emergency 'Mayday' on the frequency requesting all other users to clear the channel. Needless to say it worked and with the GCA operator monitoring their progress they poured down from the overhead and landed without a hitch in what were still very poor conditions but a quite oblivious to the fact that the situation could have been much more serious. Another less successful incident was the talk-down of a diverted Valetta from overseas. His destination was below his limits and ours were marginal but three times I talked him down to the half mile decision point but he would not go that little bit further and overshot each time. After the third time he asked for a further diversion and was sent to Manston. I felt very sad about the end result of that. I know he was in the right place to make a touch-down but either he was sticking to the rules or he was lacking confidence in me. We will never know. The runway at Manston was icy, he braked and slid after
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landing, dipped a wing and pranged in a ball of fire and all of the crew were killed.
On another occasion I was on duty on a dirty Saturday morning in what was our published availability time for the Radar. We had not been warned of any traffic, the equipment was in the stand-by mode and I was in the crew van with my feet up sipping a cup of coffee when the tower controller came on the intercom. He only said two words, "urgent...in" and I was off to the operations vehicle with the mechanic at the double.
The mechanic started building up to full power as fast as was permissable [sic] as I contacted the tower to be told that we were taking on a Sea Vixen from Ford as there [sic] radar had just packed up as they were recovering aircraft from the Victorious in the Channel. The tower controller was positioning the aircraft into the pattern on time and bearings as my picture was filling in and I had already been told that he was short of fuel. Why the Fleet Air Arm had to fly to such tight limits I do not know but as soon as I had him in contact and he had changed to my frequency I asked him to confirm his fuel state and he quite calmly said "I can't overshoot if that's what you mean", so it was going to have to be a first timer.
I suppose my voice was calm enough, my directions accurate enough and his flying precise enough for him to ignore any limitations to make a perfect touch-down and then he promptly ran out of fuel on the runway as he was saying his 'thank you's'. I wonder though, if he was anything like me absolutely saturated in persperation [sic] !. All part of a day's work.
y
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Page 170 is missing
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Part of ‘Nil Desperandum’
Wyton 1962. Dot had become paralized [sic] from the waist down.
we were managing; just!.
After Dorothy had been in Addenbrooks for three weeks her condition had deteriorated further with almost no control over the lower part of her body as they carried out test after test whilst we continued our prayers in our own way. There was no time to spare to attend church for formal services. We were much too busy. Then the ultimate test came up on a new machine that Addenbrooks had just installed. Dorothy was the first person to have ever been strapped into it. Normal X-Rays had failed to show anything but that machine was the very latest. The patient was strapped to the bench which was set in double gymbals [sic] which rotated the body in every possible angle to a number of X-Ray cameras. The contraption looped, rolled and twisted and turned until she was dizzy but when they interpreted the results they did at least find the problem, which was all that they told me at the time apart from the fact that are operation was necessary and everything had been arranged for it to be done at The London Hospital in Whitechapel which specialised in neurosurgery so I managed some more time off to go with her in the ambulance to see her settled in. That is all I could do....and pray some more!.
The operation was scheduled for a week later and the surgeon wanted to see me first so I knew the time had come. I had to find out sometime but when I was told I was just about bowled over. When you are told that an operation has a fifty fifty chance of success you draw your own conclusions as I did but although Dorothy had been told the same I was given some more priviledged [sic] information. The 50/50 chance was that, one she would die, or two, she would be a cripple for the rest of her life.
I have made a few decisions in any life but to give approval for an operation that could have such consequences was perhaps the most difficult I have ever had to make. That was my Dorothy they were talking about. The little schoolgirl that I had known since I was seven and who had never subsequently questioned my career decisions and had always supported everything I had done. I hoped and prayed that I would not let her down.
As far as I was concerned at that time that the end of my service career. There was no way that I would be able to carry on, my
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work was suffering too much already; and I signed on the dotted line. Dorothy never knew about that 50/50 chance for years and neither did the family. I left everyone to draw their own conclusions and not everyone realised the seriousness of the situation, and never have. As for me I was back to work, looking after the kids and trusting in the Lord.
Eventually the operation took place, all eleven hours of it in the hands of a most celebrated surgeon and as it was a teaching hospital it was all recorded by colour cine' camera's under the eyes of dozens of students in the galleries. I found it very difficult to concentrate on work but eventually I phoned to find that she was out of surgery, confortable [sic] , stable and all the normal things that the nursing staff are trained to say but it was a couple of days before I could get down to see her.
To aovoid [sic] upsetting the system too much I could only visit between shifts without landing myself in more trouble by asking for more time off. She looked pale, she had had three blood transfusions during the operation which had been to the area of the inside and around the back of the spinal column between the shoulders to remove a tumor [sic] . A very delicate job, and touch and go.
It would be three weeks before we would know whether it had been successful and in the meantime she was told not to move a muscle or even think about it. Every movement she wanted to make had to be assisted. About the only thing she could more without assistance were her eyes and mouth. Not easy.
Whilst she was in that state she developed some side effects like a sort of bronchitis that had everone [sic] baffled although it eventually got sorted. That was one time that we were able to do something for the hospital, they had done so much for us and she was not the only one suffering from the same congestion in the bronchial tubes. They had tried everything and Dorothy suggested that one of Grandma's cures might help so they went along with it. Off they went to the fruit and veg. market on the opposite side of the road to the hospital to buy lemons and then produced Grandma's mixture. Hot pure lemon juice and honey!. Two doses and a cough and up came the offending obstruction with a great deal of relief. It went down to the
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path. lab immediately and funds were promptly allocated to buy more lemons and honey from the market and everone [sic] received the 'cure'. That made some considerable improvement in Dorothy's condition and she began to get stronger. Family visits were allowed, all except the baby and after two weeks, although she was not supposed to move, came the moment we had both been praying for. She reckoned she had been static long enough and had experimented a little. It may not seem a lot, but when I made my next visit she said to watch the foot end of the bed. The bed clothes rippled. She could wriggle the toes of both feet so that was a good sign but we could do no more than hold hands in our excitement. We coudn't [sic] even embrace due to all the dressing and padding around her but that was the beginning of her recovery.
Within a couple of days she had experimented a little more to find that she could move her legs and there was feeling in them, a fact that she was able to tell the surgeon on his rounds. He and his staff were excited too and she had the all-clear to try, very gently, other movements, in a closely controlled situation, and what she was able to do caused even more excitement. Of course, she was prodded, pricked and scraped to test all the reflexes that had previously packed up and all the right signs were there.
At the end of the third week she was allowed off of the bed into the vertical position and most people will know what that is like, even if they have only taken to their bed for a few days. After fighting the nausea and using a walking frame for a few days she decided to go solo. No walking frame crutches or sticks and she did the length of the ward from bed to bed with a lot of encouragement from everyone in the ward.
Day by day she improved, doing a little more each time and getting her sea legs. Her wound had healed well and she could do most things by herself including turning over in bed. Even her vericose [sic] veins had improved due to the bed rest and the end of another week she was transferred back to Addenbrooks Hospital on a stretcher by train with private compartment!.
After a further week the hospital authorities were making arrangements for her to be transferred to Huntingdon hospital which would make it easier to visit when, out of the blue they
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changed their mind. She could come home for convalescence!. The relief was indescribable. It was an emotional time for all of us, and I can barely recall what went on apart from the fact that I was totally overcame when the strain of the last few months manifested itself and I had to go and lie down in a darkened room for a while to wait for my brain to simmer down. Eventually I was able to get myself together and bit by bit we were able to tackle the daily routine once more and re-establish the family unit that had been so disrupted.
Every day brought improvement and by the time she had been home a month Dorothy had not only managed to walk comfortably with the pram and to a certain extent unaided, after another few weeks she even managed to ride a bicycle again. That was quite an achievement and when she went back to Whitechapel to see the surgeon he and his colleagues could hardly believe that it was possible and were justifiably highly delighted. Dorothy turned down an invitation to appear in person to back up the film for a presentation at a later date. It would have been very good for the moral of the team but we had more important things to attend to by then.
Fortunately the tumor [sic] had been non-malignant and was in a place of honour in a pickle jar and we were only too happy to say our 'thank you’s' to all the ward staff and doctors who had made it possible, including a letter to Peterborough hospital staff who had started it off. But who had really made it all possible!?.
By what stroke of fate was it that she went to Peterborough hospital on that day when a particular nurse was there. What caused the surgeon to express such surprise at the supple state of Dorothy's spine if it had not been the dedicated work of the Chiropractor, and what guided his hand in a most hazardous operation which they considered to be a near miracle?. Who knows. When we wrote to the faith healing organisation telling them of the outcome we received a most beautiful letter and so we went on from there.
Not everything was as it had been before. The bits that they had taken out of Dorothy's spinal column to get at the tumor [sic] had left her a little shorter than she had been. She had to walk fairly fast to maintain her balance and her ankles were
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turned over slightly inwards. Small things really and as time went on they became less and less of a problem.
For me it was back to the routine again to try and make up lost ground. No more time off, full shiftworking again including night shift although we had lost the emergency service requirement we manned for 24 hours to cover USAF traffic. All throughout those months of anquish [sic] there had been a lot going on that I had still been involved in. We had got rid of our museum piece of radar and taken the new equipment into service and were beginning to shake it down as we were developing new, safer and more sophisticated systems of traffic handling. In such an environment everything was ongoing as problems were confronted and solved almost daily. It all directly involved me one way or another as at the same time I was working my way through the system to refresh my proficiency certificates until it all finally settled down and was running efficiently. At least, during that period I had not collected any secondary duties like Fire Officer!. The only certification I lacked was that of supervisor and no doubt if I stayed there a little longer I would have made but before you could say "Christmas 1962" my next posting was notified. To Laarbruch, Germany, effective from the following February!. I was a bit peeved as I had regularly requested to be trained for area radar which would have widened my scope but at the same time limit the units at which I could serve but it didn't work out that way. I found it somewhat frustrating at times that whilst I was bouncing around like the proverbial yo-yo every 2 1/2 years (or less), there were people around me in different professions who had been in the area for ten years and more. They had done the rounds of Wyton, Upwood and Brampton, bought houses and raised families all in the one area. I should be so lucky!!!.
At least we had plenty of time to organise ourselves. I knew a few people out there so I set the wheels in motion for renting a some private accomodation [sic] to hold us for a while until quarters came up and finished with a place in the town of Goch, about eight miles from the airfield and where the RAF had some married quarters. The two eldest girls were going to have to go to boarding school at Hamm in the Ruhr which was not entirely to our liking but local military schools only went up to junior
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grades, after which it was off to boarding school, either in the UK or Germany. to. A very limited choice so Hamm it was.
After some careful planning we made the move as painlessly as possible. I went privately two weeks in advance with the car loaded up to the hilt almost 16 years to the day that I had baled out of a crippled Lancaster over that country.
The car really was loaded. I only had a little cockpit left that was not stuffed with something and it wallowed somewhat, but I was not rushing anywhere. A gentle jog would get me there if the suspension held out and I got perhaps the best advice that I could have had from A NAAFI manager who was returning to Gutersloh, on what to look out for when driving with UK number plates out there.
We were on the Harwich to Hook route so I had the advantage of following him for a while as I settled in to driving on the opposite side of the road. In the first large town that we came across the very thing happened that he warned me about.
The rule of the road is such that you give way to traffic on the right, therefore if you are on the left of any conflict between two vehicles you are in the wrong and penalised accordingly. Cut and dried in Dutch and German law. So if you are a Dutchman driving a beat up banger that needs a new engine, and replacement panels what do you do?. You bounce an English registered car that you know has got to have good insurance cover and that's what very nearly happened!.
A couple of youths in an old Merc. made a bee-line for me from my right hand side and I had to work very smartly on two occasions to brake and weave away from his obvious intentions. Then he must have got angry and tried it a third time but I got out it by jinking around the wrong side of a tram which he promptly collided with so I had no further problem with him. Trams in Holland have absolute right of way so he was the one to finish up having to do a lot of explaining and no doubt a hefty repair bill.
I was even more wary after that but there was no further trouble after waiving [sic] goodbye to my 'pathfinder' friend and in due course crossed into Germany at Nijmegen. The loaded car caused considerable amusement among the German customs officers. I don't think that they had seen a vehicle quite so well packed,
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roof rack and all. The only room for any cigarettes was on top of the blankets that covered everything up to the sill line, but they got the message when they realised that it was all mainly household goods and I was away again without any hassle.
I was relieved when I finally arrived at my destination and although I had planned the route very carefully I made sure that I stayed on track by calling at numerous bars on the way. That had resulted in an intake of several beers which caused the interval between stops to become shorter and shorter. At the last port of call, in a bar just off of the market square in Goch I tried out my well rehearsed little bit of German on the lady behind the bar "Bitte, vo ist drei unt vierzig Weeze Strasse"?. It must have sounded alright as I had already asked for an "eine kleiner beer, bitte", but she came out with a torrent of German and then was amazed to be told "langsam, ich sprechen kliene Deutsch" and that was almost the limit of my German. It didn't matter a lot. After a good laugh, another beer and a lot of arm waving I only had a few hundred yards to go and there was 53 Weeze Street, a tall terrace house that looked a little battered with other houses each side still shored up or boarded up with panels of wood and galvanised sheeting. It was no palace but it was going to have to do.
The landlady was a charming elderly lady, almost Victorian, who managed only a few words of English but magically produced a cup of tea and over that I found that her husband had been a merchant sea captain and had been lost at sea but all was quite friendly when I told her that I had been more fortunate after being shot down not so far from where we were sitting. After that I started to unload the car with the tool box being one of the first things and then places were found for everything with shelves, brackets, hooks and the like with her permission. I wanted it to be as homely as possible, and it certainly needed the personal touch. There was basically only two rooms and nothing that could be called a kitchen, only a long passage off of the living room. It had a wash basin and a cold tap and at the far end was the toilet....unscreened and frozen up anyway!.
I could have done a lot with emulsion paint but I did not have time for that. I worked on it with what I had in terms of covers,
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screens, tacks and nails, pictures and plaques and it soon looked considerably brighter which rather surprised Frau Van Cooke who had kept me supplied with tea and cakes throughout the unloading and conversion process. The last last [sic] thing to install were various electric and gas cooking appliances and it was all done. It would not be too much of a shock to the family on first sight at least and then I was off to Laarbruch to stay the night with friends who had been at Tangmere with us before going down to Wildenwrath for the homeward journey.
I had arranged to leave the car at Wildenwrath in the care of friends who had fixed me up with a flight to Northolt in a Pembroke and it all clicked into place. Later that day I trained to Huntingdon and home. So far so good and a couple of days later we gave up the quarter and travelled as a family to Manston via a night stop in London where several of the family had congregated from Worthing, and then by air direct to Wildenwrath. The air movements staff were somewhat surprised when; as a family we by-passed all the normal transportation facilities, but all I had to do was pick up the car and set off for our new home. It was not much but we were together and we made the best of it. Frau van Cooke was a little concerned as she had obviously mis-understood that we were five in family until the eldest girls were off to boarding school but after some adjustment to the rent she made another small room available and we were fairly comfortable. Fortunately the weather had turned a little warmer and the toilet had thawed but the thing that seemed to bother Frau van Cooke most was that as the rating system in Germany was based on a poll tax the appropriate authorities had to be informed of changes as they occurred. We overcame it as we did most things. The day after arrival I was reporting for duty. The girls were enrolled at the camp school temporarily before their places at Hamm had been confirmed and we were very soon into a routine. It was different though. It was a long time since we had lived in anything but an Air Force community and in it's way it was very interesting. We soon integrated into the local environment and we had no problems in adapting. Frau van Cooke and our neighbours were kind and helpful [sic] . The local garage housed the car overnight for a modest fee when I was not on duty rather than park it in the main road and we
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soon got used to the the [sic] German way of doing things. First and foremost, the cleanliness of the area in front of a building was the reponsibility [sic] of the occupant so it seemed that there was competition to be the smartest although they were very reluctant to allow grass to grow on the verges. They were all raked and scratched into patterns. Bicycles were ridden on the footpath but always according to the direction of the road traffic and the bicycle bell was mandatory. Cars could be parked in the roads but only in the direction of the traffic but not both sides of the road at the same time. It was a very practical arrangement. Parking was relative to the date and the house numbering. Odd dates on odd numbers and visa versa. Cars were not washed in the street on Sundays and neither was washing hung on the line. Sundays was a day for visiting the family in Sunday best clothes and for church. How much that routine has changed over the years I would not know but at that time it seemed to be a comfortable arrangement. Another practical method of designating where speed restrictions started and stopped was by applying the standard 50k limit at the signpost at the town limits on the way in and at the signpost on the way outwhich [sic] gave the name of the next town or village on route. Very simple, economical and effective.
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The town of Goch was a market town very close to the Dutch border and more or less on the line of what had been at one time the old Seigfried line. It had suffered badly from savage fighting when the big push was launched on the 8th February 1945, the day after I failed to return, when the Allies attempted to reach the Rhine all along the front. The Canadians had forced a passage by the most bloody hand to hand fighting along the very road in which we were living after they had taken Weeze and most of the houses still bore the marks of the battles as did many places in the town centre. The houses adjacent to us were not the only one's that were boarded up skeletons and the Town Hall was still pock-marked with scars from shell and morter [sic] splinters as well as anti-tank and canon fire but despite it all life went on as near normal as one would have expected at home.
The attic rooms above us were not part of our let but we investigated at one time and I immediately regretted it as it upset the girls. The flimsy doors at the bottom and the top of the narrow winding stairs were both splintered with bullet holes and the walls were well and truly peppered with holes and some very nasty stains which obviously would not wash off. The attic itself was no better and there were still remnents [sic] of uniform scattered about and it would appear that nothing had been done other than to clear the casualties of the battle. It was not difficult to imagine the desperate and bloody fighting that had gone on in that place and we only ever went up there that one time.
Despite it all, the Germans had built a memorial to a British officer who had been appointed as Town Major to manage the civilian administration which was standard procedure after the battle had passed through. It was neccessary [sic] to get public facilities running properly as soon as possible and tie up the minimum number of fighting personnel. His job was to help to get things going again as smoothly as possible and to that end he applied himself in such a way that he became highly respected by the locals for his ability to be hard working, fair and just. Unfortunately, it had to be a memorial plaque as, once the town was capable of running itself again he had rejoined his unit up at the front and had been killed in action. It was something to think about that their appreciation was so recorded which
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was more than could be said for some of the German military whose presence in the area still showed…but in a different way. In the town of Kevelaer, which was renowned for it's manufacture of religious artifacts, there was a tall wall alongside a church absolutely riddled with bullet holes where a large number of the population had been lined up and shot..by the SS!, as apparently the battle raged to and fro they had been evacuated several times for their own safety until finally they refused to be moved. They were prepared to stay and take their chance and after seeing that terrible sight I could understand that the population of some German towns were prepared to show their appreciation for their deliverance from the yoke of Nazizm [sic] .
Eventually the time came for the two eldest girls to start at Hamm when the new term started and they set off by train with others who they had met between terms. It seemed better that way and probably allowed them to settle a bit quicker...but they did not like it that was for sure. Boarding school discipline was not to their liking and the school buildings were a bit grim. They were converted SS barracks and most of the pupils were quite certain that the matron had been left behind by the SS when they evacuated all those years ago!, but they coped.
We went to Hamm whenever the opportunity arose. Week-ends when they were allowed out and half-term so we took them about as much as we could to places of interest but there was invariably tears when we were obliged to leave.
Fortunately the journey through to Hamm was only just over two hours but it was an interesting route whether by autobahn or the 'scenic' route. The autobahn route was right through the 'Happy Valley' Ruhr industrial complex that had received such a pounding from Bomber Command and still showed it and the scenic route to the North was through some very badly damaged towns, including Wanne Eikle when we diverted to have a look at the place. Nevertheless, it was surprising how quickly the economy was recovering. When we first arrived a great deal of our transport and services were provided from local resources under the reperations [sic] agreement but as industry recovered that was was coming to an end and British products were taking over.
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We had plenty of friends in and around Laarbruch and at other RAF units in the area. There were plenty of places to visit and Arnhem and Nigmegen [sic] were near enough for shopping expeditions
as well as paying our respects at the military cemetary's [sic] both at Arnhem and the Reichwald. Despite the fact that the camp had very comprehensive facilities we got out and about as much as we could. If we were going to be stationed in Germany we were going to see it, particularly when the eldest girls were home from Hamm or we visited then there. I remember once asking the technical F/Sgt in charge of the radar how he liked the place and was surprised to find that he did not think much of it but after a little more discussion found that he had not been outside the main gate since he had arrived!. Even by the end of his tour he had only been 'outside' twice and his wife not at all. It seemed a bit 'head in the sand' to me as most people we knew got about as much as possible.
There was one place we found, a little different from when I first encountered it, and that was the spot where I had landed safely in 1945 and nearly got shot by the side of the road. The house where I was first interrogated was as it was imprinted on my mind. Only 22 miles from Laarbruch. I even entertained the thought when I scouted around the area that I might recover two soggy one pound notes and my old I.D. card. Some hope!. The area of small nursery pines had grown to some 50 to 60 feet high and although I looked around the area I could find no sign of the whacking great hole that 'D' Dog would have made if that was where she came down. I never have found the crash site. It was years later that I made a serious attempt to find it but MOD Historical Records could not help other than to say that they had information that they could not disclose. Possibly a cover up for the fact that they knew nothing although they were interested to know where we baled out and why. 'D' Dog was the only aircraft Bomber Command lost that day and the crash site is still listed………………..
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as 'unknown'. That local tour was one of many that we made to places that were engraved on my memory and noted in my diary. At Krefeld I couldn't even find the airfield!. At Dusseldorf the old airfield had been swallowed up or otherwise expanded although the ghosts of the past were swirling around when I surveyed the area on more than one occasion from the terminal buildings.
At Frankfurt although I followed the road out towards Ober-Orsal I could find no sign of what had once been the infamous interrogation centre of Dulag-Luft. Throughout the next two and a half years there were not many areas that we did not visit as we ranged far and wide with the benefit duty free pre-paid petrol coupons that were more than enough for our requirements. Shortly after starting the daily routine of setting off for the airfield one morning I picked up a Warrant Officer who was heading the same way. He too had only just arrived and lived not far from us. He was the Technical Wing Adjutant and his son was destined for Hamm school the same as our girls. That was the start of a long and deep seated friendship of the sort that one rarely made in the service as most friendships were like the ripples made by a stone in a puddle. They tended to dissipate when one or the other moved on but we are still in touch after 35 years.
I was soon certificated and operational. The work at Laarbruch was slightly different although it was not a continuous 24 hour shift system that I had become used to but we kept a skeleton crew on standby outside normal working hours to fulfill [sic] the requirements of 2nd Tactical Air Force. The aircraft were Canberra bombers and the more modern delta wing Javelin night fighter. A touch of both Bomber Command and Fighter Command which made for some very interesting procedures. Other than that the rest of the set-up was fairly standard. The GCA radar was the same type that I had used at Tangmere and I was promptly placed in charge of it for it's operation proficiency which included checking out other controllers and to train to a high standard of re-positioning and setting up of the equipment when the runway in use was changed. The requirement was to do it within an hour which was a tall order considering that there was the operations trailer, the power supply trailer and rest
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caravan weighing in all about 40 tons to be moved with great care considering that it contained some quite delicate equipment and cost around £250,000!. Bend that little lot and someone's head would roll........mine!.
The route to Hamm took us down to the new bridge at Vesel, slightly up river from the remnants of the ends of the-old bridge that had been destroyed during the war in that hottest of all hotspots. It was from that very area that massive armies had gathered to force a crossing of the river and where Churchill had fired one of the first shots of the assault by pulling the lanyard of a very big gun and where the biggest Airborne landing of 22,000 men had been landed by glider and parachute on the East side of the town. A very historical place militarily and a slightly battered one having been given a terrible pounding by Bomber Command prior to the attack by ground forces. Nevertheless, a lot had been rebuilt and the new system had taken advantage of a lot of open space and vast quantities of rubble. We usually swept through and in a few miles had linked up with the autobahn.
I got my first taste of motorway driving out there when they were were [sic] still building the M1 in the UK although the southern end was usable I had not used it but it was like a battlefield. 90% of the autobahn traffic seemed to be VW Beetles and the like with a top speed of a little over 70mph, about the same as mine, but it was the way they were driven that put the wind up me.
There was no speed limit and drivers just hurled themselves along at maximum possible speed with foot flat on the floor all the time, come what may. Nose to tail, bit between the teeth, no leeway whatsoever and no margin for error, just going like the clappers all the time. I really felt as if I was back in the Battle of the Ruhr and found it decidedly uncomfortable. I don't think that there was ever one journey that we did that we didn't see the results of what appeared to be suicidal driving so I started to try and prove that the MT instructors at the base were not going to include me when they quoted the statistics of 90% of drivers [underlined] will [/underlined] have an accident whilst in Germany. [underlined] They were right though [/underlined] !. I came unstuck eventually. In the meantime I just battled on. On one occasion we had just cleared the Ruhr
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area on the autobahn heading for Hamm with particularly heavy traffic developing into two solid streams doing around 60 to 70mph and I felt concerned enough to do as I still do today under such circumstances....get into the 'slow' lane where there was at least room to duck onto the hard shoulder if there was trouble. I was suddenly aware that way ahead stop lights were coming on like strobing airfield approach lights and was immediately on the alert. I suppose other drivers concentrating on the vehicles directly in front were not aware that the stop lights were coming on were getting closer and closer and then as it was obvious to me what was going to happen I jinked out onto the hard shoulder. I must have done it with split second to spare as some 200 vehicles shunted each other with the screeching of brakes, bangs, thumps and the sound of tearing metal and breaking glass. It was followed immediately by the cries of the injured when all other noises had stopped.
No-one in our immediate area was badly hurt although there were numerous head injuries and the odd broken limb with a fair bit of blood splashed around so it was out with the first aid kit and to the rescue. Fortunately, in addition to the mandatory first aid kit I had for years kept a large package of war-time wound packs in the car and they came in very useful although I what some people thought when they found that they were British Military packs dated 1943 I couldn't say. They did the job despite the fact that in most cases the safety pin was rusted!. Small matter. I had found them in an abandoned store in a pill box at Oakington in 1947…..I was not the sort of a bloke to waste things!. They lasted many years. In that instance we were luckier than the majority and it took an hour and a half before the autobahn ahead was cleared sufficienty [sic] for us to proceed past piles of smashed up vehicles, and then we came to the root cause of the pile-up. Unbelievable!. There were [underlined] two [/underlined] white police cars mangled together more or less standing on end up against a bridge support. We subsequently learned that they had been heading the long snake of cars to keep the speed down but had been playing 'tag' and had obviously not-been very clever.
I felt at the time that 'someone' was definitely out to get me having so far escaped all other intentions of the Germans to eliminate me and it did not improve Dorothy's attitude to
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sitting in what was often classified as the suicide seat, ie, the passenger seat of a right hand drive vehicle being driven on the right hand side of the road. There was even more apprehension by the time that particular week-end was over. We had just got into Hamm and rounding a corner had to duck to miss the car ahead that had lurched around the corner, bounced off of one of the large concrete cylinder things that were liberaly [sic] sprinkled around their street corners and then finished up with the front wheels over a small garden wall. It was a British Forces registered vehicle also heading for Hamm school but no-one was hurt and the driver declared that he needed no assistance so we pressed on. Nevertheless it was a great weekend with the girls who enjoyed their visit to Munster zoo we thought no more about driving and it's associated problems until we were on the return journey.
I was gaining slightly on a VW Beetle but held back for a while as it was lurching about over both lanes in very light traffic. It was some time before I ventured alongside and was somewhat shocked to find that all of the windows were closed and steamed up and all four occupants were asleep, including the driver, hunched over the wheel. I gave the horn as much as I could for as long as I could to rouse everyone, making signs to wind down the windows until it was safe to pass and felt after that that I had done my good deed for the day as that bloke was very close to running off of the road. He would not have known much about it though as he was doing what most beetle drivers did. Foot still flat on the floor regardless.
As always there was continual movement of personnel, most people having settled into a 2 1/2 year tour. We had with us people that we had known at many units including Amman and Egypt as well as Mareham [sic] and Wyton so of course the usual thing was happening with the married quarter waiting list as we went up and down like a yo-yo. There was one movement that had occurred just before we arrived although would not have made any difference to our quarters list, that of the Station Commander whose Adjutant I had been at Marham but he had gone on with more promotion. After that apparently almost every move he made was with further promotion until he eventually retired as an Air Marshall with a Knighthood and a handsome string of awards and
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decorations including; GCB, KCB, CB, CBE, OBE, DSO, DFC, AFC, and I must confess that I am proud to have received a great deal of instruction from him in the three years that I was his Adjutant.
The eventual allocation of married quarters at Laabruch could not have come at a better time. 53 Weeze Strasse was not the most suitable of places but it had enabled us to recover our finances to the satisfaction of both the bank manager and our-selves, and I hope, Frau van Cooke, so we moved into our comfortable centrally heated house shortly before the winter set in and had a damn good house warming party to celebrate.
Everything sailed along quite happily despite the girls dislike of boarding school and our youngest was soon into her third year but we were outgrowing the little Ford Popular and it's three speed gear box was a bit tedious at times. It was time for a change and we considered all the options. In the end I ordered the new Ford Classic (tax free) from a firm in Chichester in Sussex with a part exchange deal and it was all done when we went back to the UK for a holiday covering the school term break.
That was going to be the car that would see me through for the maximum number of miles before another change became neccessary [sic] . I ran it in carefully and the engine was treated with all the right things to achieve longevity and when our leave was up it was fully prepared to do anything asked of it, nevertheless, no sooner than we were back into Holland on the way back one of the first things we came across was a car upside down in a ditch at the side of the road with arms and legs hanging out of broken windows. I only stopped for a quick look and decided that there was little I could do that would not involve and upset the family so I pressed on for about half a mile until I saw a house with the sign outside denoting that they had a phone, nipped in and asked them to telephone ambulance and police to get to the scene, and then continued my journey. I've sometimes thought that I might have been able to do more at the scene but the inside of the car was like a butchers shop with not a lot of hope for the occupants.
The Classic was soon re-registered with British Forces plates and as it was a new model it always attracted a great deal of interest wherever we went. There was usually a crowd around
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it wherever it was parked.
There was one place just over the border in Holland that we visited regularly. The village of Well was an interesting little place and one of it's most comfortable establishments was a little restaurant and bar on the side of the River Maas. 'Auntie' Nellie was mine host and she was a remarkable person. She was well known for her resistance work and had been responsible for numerous evaders to pass along another link in the chain back to the safety of their own lines. It had obviously needed someone like that who was handy to assist in the river crossing. The Maas was quite wide and fast flowing at that point and the nearby bridge was a war-time Bailey built especially to carry military traffic from Eindhoven; still carrying heavy traffic. Our free week-ends were often spent there for shopping and for refreshments in the restaurant, watching the barges chugging by with all manner of goods piled on them and the bargees washing, bicyles [sic] , dogs, or watching a UK football match on the tele. but there was a bit of a problem with that. The football commentary was usually in Dutch so a radio was set up alongside and we had a commentary in English for the same match that suited the Dutch, English and German patrons who all gravitated to that place. Great fun greatly assisted by good strong Dutch beer, or possibly something hotter and stronger on cold days.
We visited the area many years later and it had not changed much and one of the girls plus her own family visited many years after that and it was still pretty much the same. We had a lot of time for the Dutch people and found no difficulty in integrating. In fact, we could quite happily have taken up residence there.
Crossing the Dutch/German border just North of Goch a few months after getting the new car the windscreen disintegrated in my lap and of course being a new model not yet on sale on the continent it took a week before a Dutch Ford agent could fit another but that was nothing to what happened later. With a new car I thought that I had overcome the love/hate relationship that I had always had with motor vehicles, but I was always
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to be in trouble with them one way or another.
Something else cropped out that I was not overjoyed about. The 'cold war' that was the very reason that we were out there demanded emergency establishment manning in the event of going to 'Red Alert' and on that deployment I would have been immediately on my way to my war establishment post. To Gatow, Berlin!!!, right in the middle of the contested Russian Zone. Just my luck. I would much rather have been going in the opposite direction!, away from any conflict but due to it's security classification I had to keep that possibility under wraps.
Life was anything but dull. The job of Station Fire Officer landed in my lap again almost as soon as I moved into quarters although it was the usual arrangement. A senior fireman did the work and 'Sir' was the dogsbody who took the flak if anything went wrong but it still helped to know as much as possible about the job. I had learned the hard way but the crash/rescue element was always under the operational control of Air Traffic Control and I thought that having got that job it would be enough---wrong again!.
There was plenty to occupy my mind and my hands. There were liaison visits of all sorts on a two way basis. The local German and Dutch fire services were entertained and visa versa (but not both at the same time). At one time I had two Luftwaffe NCO's for several weeks to polish off their GCA training although their initial training had been with the Americans and we all used the same procedures. Even our GCA was of standard American design. All very interesting!. A very daft situation arose with them on one occasion as naturally they were billeted with us and it seemed natural for them to use their camera's. It is true that we did have one very secure area in the vicinity of the Canberra dispersals on the far side of the airfield but the Service Police were I think a little over security concious [sic] when they pounced on them in the domestic area and ripped the film out of the camera's. Typical. I did have a word with the senior policeman but it was a waste of time. He reckoned that he was not having Germans photographing our installations. Bloody daft!. They had built the station for us in the first place!
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My interest in photography had developed further to the extent that I joined the unit photographic club, a move that I was to regret later and although the facilities were a bit run down I was able to widen the scope of my activities in that field as I had sold all my processing gear back at Wyton when finances were taking a bit of a hammering. What happened next was just waiting to happen. The current Officer I/C (in-charge) was posted and they did not look very far for his replacement. There were no terms of reference so I was instructed to write my own for approval and then my brief was simple. "It's a mess, put it back on it's feet". I knew it was a mess, the trouble was that I had told too many people. In the main it was used by people for standard processing at a profit, and who were not very interested in cleaning up. It did not take long to find out that there was about twice the number of people booking out the keys as there was on the register so it was a matter of going back to 'square one' to lock the place up and out of bounds to all but a selected few who were formed into a committee until a new system was set up I had the place refurbished with all the enlargers overhauled by a local German photographic supplier, new black-outs and racking resulting in four good booths. Eventually we agreed the maximum number of people that we could have on the register, all old membership cards were invalidated and new cards issued against the subscription register which was to be renewed annually and 'bingo'. With new rules, a studio and lecture room we opened up and it flourished. One feature I introduced was processing on certain nights only and a weekly 'beginners night' series of talks for the benefit of those, schoolchildren, wives and all, who wanted to know the basics. I well remember my own first efforts when every other word the 'experts' said was 'double dutch' to me so I was determined that each of the four talks was pitched as low as possible and repeated every month. It worked well and it was popular.
As we went into the first Winter we were glad of the design of the married quarters. Airmen's and Officers were all built along the same lines albeit to a different standard. The typical concrete box built on top a cellar and around the plumbing. There was no piping showing inside or outside. The cellar was
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the utility area, with concrete wash tubs, floor drainage and other mod. cons. and a store room. It all looked rather like the inside of a submarine with huge pipes and turn cocks along the passage…..but there was no boiler!. Hot water was provided by a huge boiler system to the whole station along deep insulated piping on a communal basis, the only base in Germany to have such a system and it made everything very comfortable and convenient. Especially when an Officers wife went 'down below' to see how the plumber was getting on with a job only to find that he was sitting in one of the wash tubs, in the buff, happily blowing bubbles in oodles of hot water. Now that's what I call initiative and it caused a bit of a giggle when the story got around.
Later on our store room became the 'Den' where the girls and their friends congrgated [sic] to get away from the 'oldies' but at least they had their own space. Goodness knows how many there were down there at times after we got fed up answering the door and fixed up a string and a bell system through the outside grating.
Being a house of concrete the attic had a concrete floor as well and all the roof beams had built in hooks for what I assumed to be hammocks if ever they were needed as barracks providing a very useful sleeping area particularly if anyone was overwhelmed with visiting friends and relations from the UK.
As it happened we never were and although my father-in-law expressed an interest to visit us and take the opportunity do the tour of the WW1 battlefields he found it more than he could bring himself to do and could not set foot on German soil; and he never did. The memories of his brother being blasted into eternity at his side, and his own wounds were too strong for him ever to forget that episode in his life.
Before the winter was out we skated and tobogganed. Everyone enjoyed themselves in the light fluffy snow of the kind that one did not normally see back home until at last Spring broke through and work and play took over the scene again. The Winter was a bit hard although nowhere near as bad as the one to follow but a lot happened in between.
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One tour we put together for the early Summer holidays came unstuck. It was planned as a round robin right down through Central and Southern Germany, into Bavaria, Austria and Switzerland, France and back home over at-out ten days. It did not quite work out like that although we were making the most of it until it went wrong.
We went to Nuremburg and found the site of Stalag X111b but there were no huts left, only a police Guard Post and we were allowed to browse around. Then on to Stalag V11a Mooseburg and back to Munich for a night stop. The memory plays funny tricks though. Despite my notes I found it very difficult to locate some places and even when I did positively identify places from the notes they were sometimes unrecognisable. We had already found the same problem around the UK!. However, our navigation went a bit haywire down in Austria when we took a wrong road up in the mountains and instead of going into Switzerland we found ourselves back in Germany again. Not that it mattered much. All of the scenery was absolutely splendid and eventually we were into and out of France crossing the border into Germany again near Strasburg. We were ahead of our schedule so we decided that we would head for home rather than go for another night stop and were about ten miles South of Heidleburg when some idiot driver pulled a stunt that upset a few people; us included and so we finished up with a night stop anyway.
I was the tail ender of seven or eight vehicles in convoy doing near enough 70mph in the 'fast' lane with no traffic in the other lane when a light truck going like a bat out of hell came up behind making angry signals with his lights for us to get out of the way, which I did and then I resumed the tail end position. I did not stay behind him long as obviously no-one else was going to move over for him so he pulled out and went through on the wrong side. No doubt he had worked himself into a frenzy of agressive [sic] behaviour, (what is called road rage today is nothing new) and as soon as he got to the head of the column he did something quite unexpected. I could see the whole thing happening as if in slow motion as he literally hurled his vehicle across the bows of the leaders and them stood on the brakes. What happened next was anything but slow motion but long before
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anything happened directly I was on the brakes and everyone on board slid up against something solid before each and everyone of the cars shunted one another with a series of thuds until despite my heavy breaking we slammed into the one in front with such a wallop that it shot forward again into the one in front and our roof rack landed in the road between us. It was very fortunate that I was 'tall end charlie' as I am quite sure that we would have had one in the back of us as well.
After a quick check to see if we had any injuries, to be very relieved to find that only the eldest had had a scratch from a broken Coke bottle I dispatched her immediately to about fifty yards back along the centre section to start waving her white cardigan like mad, and got everyone else out onto the central reservation in case some damn fool back-ended us. It was not difficult to get out of as the impact had given us a 'droop snoot' and the doors had sprung with an overlap of some four inches. One could see at a glance that that we were not going anywhere in that car for a long time.
Checking on the vehicle in front and recovering the roof rack disclosed that the middle aged couple in the BMW that I had hit were badly shaken but otherwise unhurt although their car was quite badly damaged. The front end was bent, the back end was scrunched, the boot lid had sprung, and the exhaust had fallen off. They were both in tears though as the car was absolutely brand new, direct from the factory on delivery with only 22km on the clock but that was the least of my worries.
Between listening to their tales of woe, refixing the roof rack and repacking some of our spilled goods with a very watchfull [sic] eye on the traffic that was still hurtling by I still had time to take a few photographs before the police arrived and my daughter could retire from her rather exposed position to the relative safety of the central reservation where all the damaged cars had been pushed once the police were satisfied with explanations and that the exchanges of insurance details had been attended to. That's the way German traffic law worked; 'he who does the bumping does the paying', so you dealt with the one in front and the law is satisfied.
Breakdown vehicles appeared as if by magic but we had to wait a lot longer than most to get cleared as I, being a member of
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the military, had to be dealt with by the appropriate military authority, in that area, the U.S. Army, who could not have been more sympathetic and helpfull [sic] . The car was eventually winched onto a civilian break-down vehicle, (which I subsequently had to pay for) and off it went with us following up in a staff car to see it settled in a field full of other wrecks. Our surplus goods were left in the care of the driver of the breakdown-truck before we were finally deposited at the steps of a very nice Hotel in Heidelburg.
In normal circumstances we would have enjoyed that visit to the beautiful city of Heidelburg but not that time. We were just about broke. I had a Hotel bill to consider as well as the train fare back to base. I did not have a German bank account and there were limits that one could do then with a UK chequebook. Nevertheless, we dredged up every mark and phenig [sic] that we could, including the kid's pocket money but it didn't allow for a meal so we just had to picnic on the bits and pieces that we had recovered from the car and ultimately went to bed very tired if not a little hungry. It still took a long time before sleep came to me. Here I was again, virtually stranded in Germany wondering what was going to happen next. Every piece of the day’s action kept floating in frost of my eyes. Of all the damn silly things. All those occasions of war-time flying over enemy territory escaping injury by the skin of my teeth, to finish up in Germany with a pranged car and very nearly a damaged family as well.
I made myself a promise before I want to sleep, to never, ever again put myself or my family in such a situation again. There had to be a way to adjust one’s driving technique to reduce the risks, so I was going to have to swallow my pride. Meanwhile I had become one of 2nd TAF's motoring statistics having been told that nine out of ten drivers would have an accident I had scoffed at the idea...but they were not wrong.
The following day after paying our bill and buying tickets there was not much left in the kitty so it was rolls, butter, sausage and fizzy drinks bought locally for breakfast and for the journey, then we were off.
That part of the journey was a tour to remember for it's sheer
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beauty but I think that I was the only one to remember it in detail. The weather was perfect. The scenery along the Rhine was picture postcard stuff of vinyards [sic] and castles perched high up on hillsides especially the area around Koblenz was too good to miss particularly as I had run out of film and could not even afford to buy another. I kept waking the family up to look at, it but at that stage of the game they were not too impressed although I was out to make the most of it. To hell with the car, insurance would take care of that and the most important thing was that we were all together and all in one piece. That's all that mattered. We eventually arrived back at Goch, a colleague picked us up and that was the end of that holiday and touring for a while. There were letters to write and reports to make as we eventually settled down to life without a car. I tried to negotiate for the car to be transferred to Holland for repair as it was a new model not yet available in Germany although it was filtering onto the Dutch market but the agents for the UK insurers who were based in Hamburg would not entertain the idea and weeks went by as they deliberated. In the meantime my neighbour who had just bought a new car agreed to run it in by driving me down to Heidelburg to pick up all the stuff that we had been obliged to leave behind. It had all been prepared and packed and even lunch was provided for us. He and his Frau earned our gratitude and their remuneration for their thoughtfulness. It helped me overcome my dismay when I went to see the car sitting forlornly among the wrecks. It had already been vandalised, possibly on the assumtion [sic] that it would be a write-off. All the wheel trims and the front wheels had gone as well as the wing mirrors. The battery had gone and the petrol had been drained off all ten gallons of it as we had only just fuelled up for the home run. I had been relying on some of that to help us to do the 300 mile round trip but someone had beaten me to it. Of course no-one knew anything about it. The yard did not belong to the recovery chap and there were notices around in German disclaiming responsibility for any losses etc. It was to be expected!.
The months went by and were particularly frustrating. Having looked the car over carefully on that visit I figured that it ought to be classified as a write-off but the insurance company
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disagreed. I tried to get it taken to Cologne, the German manufacturing centre for Fords but eventually it was transferred to Mannheim for repair. I found out later that the front was completely cut off and replaced, something that would not be acceptable today but that was it and they had the last say. I was without it for six months and a lot of annoyance which did little for my blood pressure.
I busied myself in work of one sort and another. We did not go out of camp much and the girls had settled themselves into local employment so it was the photographic club that received most of my attention which was soon flourishing financially and with a lot of enthusiastic new members. So much so that Laarbruch was selected as the venue for the Command Photographic Competition. It all went well with the cooperation of the Education Flight and the fact that I won two awards had nothing to do with the fact that one of the judges had been my neighbour at Wyton. All entries were coded which was standard practice.
Air Traffic Control was more or less routine. By that time I was convinced that I had covered just about every aspect and I was still making it known annually, that I wanted area radar training for the future. Nevertheless, I had one experience which I thought might have influenced a decision but it didn't.
I was doing stand-by shift in the radar track after I had been informed of a large formation practice of aircraft from 2nd TAP units to the South-East of us and I had been monitoring their progress when I was asked to take control of an aircraft being flown by the C in C who wanted see how the formation was shaping up.
It was really difficult after taking him on. I found out from the formation Ieader the detail's of the altimeter setting and then working him on a different frequency did a perfect fighter interception placing him just above and 100yds behind the formation. He even asked if I was a Fighter Controller and was somewhat surprised to find that he was being controlled by an airfield radar. He did say "as good as any fighter control interception" but he didn't bother to find out who I was!.
Our GCA was not without it's troubles though. There was one
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expensive internal item absolutely vital to it's operation that was costing dollars to replace and contracts had-been let to produce them in the UK under licence but they didn't always last for the expected running time but at least we had replacements. Our headphones were a different matter. Some of then were the original issue with the radar unit and were always in need of repair which was common in almost every similar equipment in the RAF. I found that intolerable. Aircrew helmets and associated communications equipment cost hundreds of pounds to ensure absolute reliability and safety and I was sometimes sweating a bit when we were obliged to operate in marginal conditions with our own equipment that could fail at any time. I indented for new head-sets to be told that they were too expensive and were to be repaired locally. I made a fuss and some were taken away by Command signals workshops for repair but very few people knew that I had got something else up my sleeve.
My contacts with my opposite number in the Dutch Air Force at Vokel was very helpful in finding out that their Bell helicoptors [sic] used the same sort of headset and were replaceable under a NATO agreement. A liaison visit exchanged three of them but I kept that quiet. The only time they came out was when we were operating in marginal conditions; and I kept up the pressure for total replacement much to the annoyance of the technical staff particularly when the refurbished sets proved to be unreliable. Eventually, wondering how long it would take to get something done before the next winter set in I really put the cat among the pigeons. I did a 'Douglas Bader' and signalled 2nd TAF HQ that the radar was declared 'non operational-training in visual conditions only due to technical problems'. Phew!, that really did get things moving. I knew through the 'grapevine' that new UK produced headsets were becoming available and that the C in C of Coastal Command had authorised the local purchase of replacements for his radars...that was good enough for me and was part of my argument and I flatly refused to change the status of our radar until something similar was done. As with Douglas Bader the result was dramatic. Within a week all the stops had been pulled out and I received replacements direct from the manufacturers completely by passing the normal stores
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procedure. All I had to do was to pass the invoices back through stores to confirm that I had got them and turn in the old one's for write off. We were operational immediately but I got a hell of a lot of 'stick' for it. Bader might have got away with it but I didn't. I had upset too many people along the line by taking a short cut and there were no thanks for my achievment [sic] .
In the late summer I did another liaison visit that was most interesting; to our Fighter Control Centre at Udem....in the war-time bunker that the Luftwaffe had used to track our bomber streams and direct their fighters although of course it had been modified to our sytem [sic] . It was similar to our UK fighter Control Centres that I had been in although it just felt different but what was interesting was the fact that there were a lot of Luftwaffe personnel around as a new generation was being trained by us. It led to to [sic] another liaison visit later when a few of us went to a radar controlled Luftwaffe ack-ack unit somewhere towards Wesel. Now that was interesting; less than ten miles from where a similar unit had shot us down in 1945 and very enlightening.
The winter was nearly upon us when I eventually received notice that the car was ready for collection so off I went to Mannheim only to find that as far as I was concerned it was not. It was lacking all sorts of bits and some parts were still unpainted so I returned without it. There was an angry exchange of letters between myself and Hamburg and claims for costs until I was eventually told it was positively ready so off I went again. Then the s……hit the fan. Hardly anything more had been done and although I phoned the Hamburg office and got the OK to take it subject to a settlement the repairers would not release it until it was paid for. Oh boy oh boy!, what fun and games. More phoning, Hamburg making arrangements to transfer money via banks, a night stop for me and eventually it was released so off set for the 230 mile return journey, and not before time. It was a good job that I had fuelled to the brim as the weather did not look at all promising. I soon connected with the Autobahn and had not gone more than 30 miles when I ran into a snowstorm that turned into a blizzard, just what I wanted!, although it
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slowed things down considerably and the traffic thinned out as snow came down in about the heaviest fall I had ever encountered. It was very soon some two or three inches deep and going was getting difficult although mostly I was in virgin snow and still getting a grip. I pressed on nevertheless having in mind that it looked as if I was going to have to make another night stop somewhere but then found that in the confusion of the poor visibility in the ten lane junction near Frankfurt I had picked up the wrong lane and was on my way North-East, towards Wuppertal!. There was only one thing to do and that was backtrack. Although the snow had stopped leaving a depth of about 4ins. it would have been quite impossible to go across country so it was back 20 miles and then find my way through the network of the ten lane junction again until I was on track for Cologne once more. By that time it had got dark and I was somewhat relieved to be heading in the right direction at last and was working out my ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) when there was a hold up. It took some time for the traffic to creep forward and over the brow of a hill before I could see what had caused it all. There was a large articulated lorry on it's side blocking most of the carriageway and the police were only allowing one vehicle at a time down the hill past it as by now the snow had become impacted and it was a bit like an ice rink. When my turn came to make the descent I was amazed to find that the firemen and the 'wreckers' were actually cutting the lorry to pieces with blow torches to remove it in sections and was very relieved when I was finally in the clear again and heading for home. It took a total of twelve hours to do the journey. I had left in daylight and arrived with the dawn feeling hungry and very very tired. It was just "Hello, don't ask qestions [sic] and Goodnight”.
I finally came too, refreshed, reported that I was back and started the negotiations with Hamburg to restore the car to it's new state which I estimated would cost another £300 and they paid up in full. That was not the end of it though....
Winter soon descended with a vengance [sic] . It got cold and then colder. The bottom fell out of the thermometer and one morning, in common with many others I found the car locks frozen. Possibly
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like others I poured almost boiling water on in an attempt to unlock it but it froze as it hit the car and it was several days before the temperature went up a little to allow everything to release. then a great deal of the new paintwork came away with the defrosting!. I was very cross to say the least but I had it all renewed within the allowance that had been made by the insurance company. That still was not the end of it………but then the winter really set in.
Even the underground pipes froze in places and the works department produced a device that had not been used for years. It was a mobile motor driven generator producing a low voltage high amperage current that was attached to the fire hydrants and when the power was switched on it virtually heated the pipes up and they thawed. I had never seen anything like it before but at least the Fire service was kept in business. Even in the readiness areas the immersion heaters in the fire vehicles were needed to avoid freezing up. I put the fire dept to work to flood and freeze a fairly large depression of grassed area which produced an ice rink for several weeks. The centre of it was nearly two feet of solid ice and it was so cold that even the moat around Well castle in Holland was frozen to a depth of over two feet. Nevertheless we were still in business until it snowed again. We had been waiting for it and all the snow clearing machinery had been brought out and made ready but when it did start it made what I had been through when I brought the car back look like a little flurry. It snowed and snowed continually until there was a good ten to twelve inches over the whole airfield; and not the sort that would go away!.
With no flying possible we started to tackle it with everything we could muster to get the airfield clear. One machine had flame heaters for melting an icy surface, a hopper with finely graded sand with a worm feed which distributed the sand on the melted surface before it froze again. Result; a sandpaper type surface that was ideal for braking on at the upwind end of the runway. That's the way I figured it but everyone had different ideas particularly among those who had taken charge of the operation. It was attempted on snow, it was overworked and eventually it had a major breakdown. The various teams pushed and shoved snow all over the place with the snow ploughs and one crew even
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managed to put a twelve foot bank right in the runway threshold!. The equipment was the best with four wheel drive MAM diesel trucks with chains, and the blades could be swung either way for a left or a right cut, two splendid 'Snow-go’s' with flail intakes and plume blowers but the whole lot was being used piecemeal. Some ploughs had been used as bulldozers and a lot of snow was just being shifted from one place to another without opening up areas. After 24 hours of quite useless effort I stuck my neck out and produced a sketch plan of my own and there was very little argument. Obviously I couldn't make a bigger cock-up than had already been made and it was accepted. I assembled six ploughs in echelon with a half blade overlap followed by the two Snow-go’s and working on a plan to shift the snow [underlined] away [/underlined] from the taxyways [sic] we were off. It worked like a charm and mountains of snow was being cleared without blocking up other access points. At the end of the first cut I took the whole lot into a dispersal to swing the blades for the next run in the opposite direction when the CO turned up and 'suggested' that I would be better employed clearing snow instead of messing about changing the angle of the blades. He was not amused when I 'suggested' that "I was doing it my way" but really, there was no basis for any argument. I had already cleared half of a mile long taxyway [sic] in one sweep which was more than anyone else had done in the last 24 hours so with his permission I would like to carry on and prove a point, and perhaps he should judge my efforts by the result, particularly as others had not achieved much. How to get on and influence people!!!!, but I was cold and tired and past caring.
However, it did work as I expected and we were the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared 'open' despite the fact that after I had left a colleague in charge whilst I went for a meal on my return found that he had managed to put 200 tons of snow back where I had just cleared it from. At least I had justified my plan and we were invariably the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared clear after subsequent falls of snow. There was only one way to do it and I spent hours out on the airfield in -15 to-20 degrees. I followed it up with a written 'Snow Clearing Plan' with sketches and techniques to show how the basic plan could be adapted for any airfield and it turned up
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in print later. There were no thanks, just hard work and chilblains although there was a certain amount of satisfaction in having done something practical and useful. It was a relief when the deep freeze gave way to the first signs of Spring though and thoughts turned to planning the last holiday we were likely to get in that area. Before that happened an urgent problem put Dorothy into the Military Hospital at Vegberg near Rhiendalen for about ten days and we very nearly did not get the holiday but the planning was well advanced so we decided to go for it.
We had been fortunate in purchasing a slightly used but almost complete camping outfit so the destination was the Costa Brava in Spain. There were several dummy run exercises in the garden for putting up the tent until everyone knew what they had to do and the day came when all was assembled, loaded on the car and off we went.
Up to that point in time we had done no long distance travelling since the car had been repaired although there had been no problems. They started when we reached the area around Frankfurt when we were on long hill climbs when there were signs of overheating in the clutch and the most terrible noises from the gear box. With a little experimentation I found that the heat and the noise could be reduced by holding the highest gear for as long as possible which was not easy as the car was so heavily loaded. Eventually the decision was made after our first night stop at Frieburg that we would press on to the half way point at Geneva and that if it did not improve we would turn about. Strangely enough it was only lower gear hill climbs that produced the problem and in fact when we tried the odd run unloaded it was OK. We pressed on although I still had no idea what was causing it. I just wanted to be on holiday.
Actually we nearly abandoned it for other reasons. Dorothy did not like camping!. Not after our first night stop anyway. It was the way we had pitched the tent on a very slight slope in the semi-darkness and the natural movement in our sleep that found us up against the sides of the tent. That and the noises of the frogs at the lakeside did not exactly induce sleep.
Somehow we managed to retain some sense of humour even when in the early hours of the morning Dorothy had twisted herself up in her sleeping bag and I was awoken by gurgling noises and
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"get this b……zip out of my mouth"!!!!. That and the fact that it had started to rain heavily did not improve matters. It did not stop us moving out though. With a wet tent on top that then weighed twice as much as when we started!.
The next stop was Geneva where we were aiming for a camp site on the banks of Lake Lemon and it rained nearly all the way. What fun!. We had to put up a wet tent and I very nearly turned about at that point. Nevertheless, there was a pleasant little restaurant not far from the site and we indulged ourselves to the point of feeling a lot more comfortable by the time we turned in.
It had at least stopped raining but everywhere was clinging cold mist and these were the conditions when we packed up and moved out again, heading for Orange in the south of France where we were planning to stay with friends. We just ploughed on and on and on in those conditions through the Swiss mountains not seeing much more than the road is front of us until we got into France and the weather cleared up at last. We had a comfortable night stop in real beds and managed to get the tent up to dry out. We had arrived just in time for the May Day celebrations and had a great time dancing and drinking in the square on the fringe of the ampthitheatre [sic] . I think somehow that managed to bring us back to some sort of normallity [sic] .
Rested, well fed and with a dry tent packed off we went the following day heading for Spain and for a long time the weather was fine until shortly after we stopped for a break in Perpignan. Then it started to rain again. That was just what I wanted through the Pyrenees! and there was still a long way to go.
By the time we got to the border we were enjoying a full blown thunderstorm with lightning, thunder and lashing rain but the French customs just waived us on and we only made a short stop at the Spanish customs. Just long enough for the customs officer to determine that we were a British family on a camping holiday. That brought forth peals of laughter and he brought all his mates out to join in the fun. What's the Spanish for "blood silly British"??!!!!. We just laughed with them and pressed on but I was getting very very tired by that time and we had another good laugh before we finally stopped for the night.
Some time after we had left the border post we were being........
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followed by a German registered mini-bus and the damn fool driver made several dangerous attempts to overtake. Why he could not have been satisfied in following someone who was doing the 'pathfinding' for him I do not know so when we came to the edge of a town I thought that I would give him the opportunity to pass as I groped my way through a left and a right turn and several inches of water which almost obscured the line of the road. The mini-bus driver thought his chance had come as he surged past on what he thought was the road straight ahead and finished up along a shopping boulevard and came to a grinding halt mixed up with cafe’ tables and chairs!. He certainly paid for his impatience but enough was enough. If we got to Tossa-de-Mar that night we would still have put the tent up so with about 60 mls to go we decided that a comfortable night stop in a Hotel in Gerona would be a good idea. It was!. A meal, a drink and I crashed out.
The weather had cleared up by the morning and it was only about 30 mls to our destination through the winding roads of the area lined with carbuncled cork oaks. We were on site, tent up, and prepared to stay for at least ten days.
I think it was worth the effort. With a family of five I don't think we could have done it any other way even though there had been a few problems on our 1062 mile journey. We were not the only people ever to have had problems. One of our neighbours in the previous year had undertaken a motoring holiday to the North through Hamburg and on to Denmark and Sweden but had lost most of their baggage when their roof rack had seperated [sic] from the car and was very nearly pulped. There is no guarantee that all will go according to plan even with the more modern form of air transport to exciting places; not when several days may be lost sitting around an airport lounge or the hotel has been double booked. We had ten supurb [sic] days bathing, taking in the sights, and cruising around. The strange thing was that the car behaved itself so it didn't seem worth doing anything about. Perhaps one of the most interesting roads that we took was the coastal mountainous route from Tossa de Mar to San Feli'u. Only about twelve miles as the crow fly's but with most spectacular scenery and [underlined] 365 [/underlined] hairpin bends which actually doubled the road miles but it was interesting to say the least. We cruised the
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Costa Brava taking in the sights, eating and relaxing where it took our fancy, had a day in Barcelona and the scenic route through the Sierra de Montseny area to return stopping at numerous unspoiled villages where we were welcomed with open arms. Today there is always the tendency to want to dash from place to place along the new coastal motorway system and miss a great deal of the real Spain but we lapped it up. We even got used to the Spanish style of driving!. especially in the wrigly [sic] mountain areas. The locals had a tendency to maintain the maximum speed come what may, with the result that they approached blind corners at high speed, on the wrong side of the road, blasting away on the horn. The theory was that if there was no answering blast from anyone approaching from the opposite direction then it was safe to continue fast; and on the wrong side!!!. A bit dodgy nevertheless.
We have many recollections of that holiday, like the first time one of the girls took to the water in her new bikini only to find that as soon as it got wet it went transparent. A bit embarrassing for a sixteen year old, and we found that there were quite a few British on holiday there including one RAF couple who actually lived in Gogh. We made the most of it anyway and the day finally came when we had to be homeward bound.
The weather had generally improved and after getting back into France we took a different and very scenic route through the foothills of the Cevennes to Lyon and on to Bescancon and Belfort to finally pick up the motorway system northbound and home only making two stops en route. I was glad to get home. Being the only driver on a journey like that does impose a certain amount of strain but I was soon back to work and an opportunity to find out what had caused the heat and the noise but everything seemed OK until I checked the gear box oil level. Absolutely empty!!. I cross checked the detailed worksheet that the workshop had provided (in German of course) which showed that they had for some reason stripped both the engine and the gearbox and meticulously recorded every nut and bolt removed and/or replaced.....except the replacement of the gearbox oil. I think that possibly the only reason the gear box survived some 6000 miles without lubricant was because I had treated all the original lubricant with a propriety molybdenum after it's running
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in but to say I was annoyed is an understatement. It resulted in an absolutely stinking letter to the insurance company, who typically, would not accept the complaint without comment from the workshop.....and the workshop made every excuse in the book to avoid the issue. I gave it up in the end as I had just been notified of my next posting with nearly six months notice. Unheard of for me. I was going to Valley in North Wales so there was not much more time to finish our touring. We did the area towards Berlin to visit friends at Gutersloh who had visited us previously. That was the chap that had also been a POW with me, and at Wyton, and Marham, who had visited the Reichwald War Cemetery with me and whilst walking around was telling me how he was the only survivor of his crew when they had been shot down a year earlier than myself in a Halifax, near Krefeld. Naturally he wondered where his crew had been buried as we viewed some of the 5000 aircrew graves when he stopped with a gasp. There they were, all six of them in one row!!. Talk about "There but for the Grace of God go I"!. I retired to a respectful distance to allow him to compose himself. Whilst we were that way we visited the Mohne Dam and the Sorp and back at Laarbruch we visited Amsterdam and did the tourist thing by canal bus. We visited the amazing scenic park of De Efteling and another place in Holland which was an inland sort of water park. Probably the for-runner of Centre Parks, Bad Boekelo. Inland but just like the sea-side with fine sand and lots and lots of safe water fun. The first time we had come across the wave making machine but it will always stick in my mind for one incident. Everyone was lolling about and Dorothy was returning with some ice-cream with her sandles [sic] producing spurts of sand as she walked. Just as she approached a young Dutchmen in a reclining position who was inspecting the inside of a sandwitch [sic] , one of the spurts of sand left the toe of her sandles [sic] and joined the mustard, splat!!!. He looked up in amazement and then burst into laughter as we all did. So much the easier way of dealing with it and he shared our sandwiches!. We finally found the area of the windmills. There is only one area where they are plentiful and that is in the canal area east of Rotterdam. Kinderdyke. One of the few areas where national dress is often worn and very photogenic. About the last interesting event that I recall
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in Air Traffic Control matters was at the commencement of a flying excerise [sic] when our Javelins were sitting on the Operational Readiness platforms at the end of the runway hooked up to the Fighter Control network as we were so that we were able to listen out on the net but I was not prepared for what came out of the box…….. “Achtung……. Achtung……. XXXXXX(callsigns) shcramble [sic] ……shcramble [sic] ."…followed by the interception instructions. It was the first time the Luftwaffe controllers had been placed in the 'hot seat' and I must confess that it raised a few eyebrows among among [sic] a few of Bomber Harris's 'old lags" who formed about 50% of our controllers. As ironic as it was we had no option but to move with the times.
We were coming to the end of our visits to our favourite cafe at Nijmegen. A delightful family run establishment where no order was too much trouble for the somewhat rotund proprietor. We invariably topped off our shopping expeditions there and it was one place where I saw muscles [sic] served up as a meal on their own....in a large enamelled washing up bowl!. I like muscles [sic] but enough to fill a kit-bag in one go would be bit too much for me but one of the national dishes I believe. I wouldn't like to cope with that if any of then was a bit 'off'.
With plenty of time to sort things out and having been told that quarters would not be immediately available I managed to arrange a rental at Amlwych [sic] on the North side of Anglesey and our friends who were also posted to Valley more or less at the same tine arranged a rental in Holyhead. Of course there was packing to arrange. Goods in store in St.Ives to be transported to Amlwych [sic] , travel arrangements to be made etc, etc. The process was no longer a daunting prospect, we had done it often enough!, and eventually we cleared the station and we were on our way.
Dorothy and the girls went under service arrangements and flew from Wildenwrath on their way to Worthing and I set off with the car loaded to the hilt via the Hook and Harwich. It was an absolutely dreadful crossing in a Force 9 gale. People were being sick all over the place, and it was virtually impossible to sleep. All the berths had been booked and a good good [sic] many others and myself were making the best of deck chairs lashed to the decks. The usual seats and benches offered very little comfort as people were being thrown off of them all over the
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place and the bar and kitchens shut early as it was so difficult to cope with the pitching and the tossing. There were some very unhappy looking passengers around when we docked in the morning and I must confess that at times during the night it would not have worried me if we had foundered....I think I just wanted to die!. Nevertheless we started to dissembark [sic] and I was not in a hurry but one Army Officer who had obviously been well ahead of me had allowed his discomfort and his haste to get the better of him. It does not pay to get 'stroppy' with Custom Officials!.
He was standing by his car, tearing his hair out as they were removing absolutely everything from it which had been as loaded as mine. And I mean everything!. They had removed the seats, emptied every compartment and opened every package. It was strewn all around the car. I felt bad enough as it was so I declared every cigarette, gram of tobacco, and drop of booze and when they had deducted my allowance only asked for a nominal payment on the excess!: There was a little fuss over the car which I had already re-registered and re-placed the UK plates. They reckoned that I had jumped the gun but the documentation was all in order although there was some other documentation that was not quite right that at least we had a laugh about. I was bringing back our Budgie and [inserted] I [/inserted] had pinned it's import licence to the cage. Trouble was there was only half a licence, the other half was in the Budgie!. There was enough of to get by with and I was off to Worthing.
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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
Water under the bridge
Description
An account of the resource
Part 1. "By the Seat of his Pants". Covers from Alan Gamble's years as a schoolboy in Worthing in the late 1930's, up to joining the RAF in 1943, where he trained as a wireless operator in Blackpool. He joined 620 Squadron, which was equipped mainly with Stirlings and based initially at Leicester East, then Chedburgh, before it moved to Fairford in 1944. He flew 29 bombing and mine laying sorties over Germany and elsewhere. At Fairford '620' also supported SOE and participated in the Horsa glider operation at Arnhem.
Part 2, "No Problem Sport".Covers Alan Gamble's short flying history over France in 1945 before being shot down, and his experiences as a POW in southern Germany and subsequent liberation. The manuscript of Part 2 appears to be complete except for one or more pages missing about two thirds of the way through. This is at the beginning or the end of a fragment bound by metal clips, and could easily have become detached as the outside pages of some fragments' in Part 3 were also lost. It is therefore possible that only one page is missing.
Part 3. "Nil Desperandum".Covers Alan Gamble's post war experiences up to about 1963. This has not been read.
The manuscript of Part 3 is missing pages 24-86, 120 and 170, the latter two being the outside pages of bound fragments. (Page numbering here has assisted in reconstruction).
Additional information about this item was kindly provided by the donor.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
A T Gamble
Format
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Multipage printed 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
BGambleATGambleATv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--Suffolk
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
England--Wiltshire
England--Norfolk
Wales--Gwynedd
Wales--Porthmadog
England--Cumbria
England--Barrow-in-Furness
England--Oxfordshire
Germany
Germany--Krefeld
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--North Friesland Region
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Hamburg
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Turin
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
France
France--Modane
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Jordan
Jordan--Amman
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-06-13
1943-06-17
1943-06-22
1943-07-03
1943-07-24
1943-08-10
1943-08-12
1943-08-17
1943-08-27
1943-08-31
1943-10-03
1943-11-03
1945-01
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
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.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
214 Squadron
3 Group
620 Squadron
622 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
C-47
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Defiant
Do 217
Dominie
Dulag Luft
evading
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
gremlin
ground personnel
Halifax
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
meteorological officer
military discipline
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
petrol bowser
prisoner of war
Proctor
promotion
RAF Barrow in Furness
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Marham
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Turweston
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
service vehicle
Stirling
strafing
tractor
training
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/480/8363/ABrooksR151029.2.mp3
d0d059fc3e408586027f57552f30d5d2
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
Brooks, Edward
Edward Brooks
E Brooks
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Brooks, E
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Rita Brooks. Widow of Flight Lieutentant Edward Brooks DFC, DFM who flew operations with 12 and 460 Squadrons.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Rita Brooks and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AS Right we’re in business. We’re ready to start. Ok, thank you.
RB Right. My late husband was Flight Lieutenant Edward Brooks DFC, DFM. Now Ted hadn’t meant to join the RAF. He’d already started work as an office boy in London and had joined the Home Guard, but he wanted to join the Army. So he went to the army recruiting office and all was going well, until with the innocence of youth, he stated that he wish to join the Oxford and Bucks, the regiment in which his uncle Company Sergeant Major Edward Brooks had been awarded the Victoria Cross in 1917. The recruiting sergeant looked up and said : ‘You can’t pick and choose sonny.” To which Ted replied : ‘Right, I’ll go and join the RAF.’ This he promptly did. His date of enlistment February 1941. But he was dismayed to learn that they were unable to take him immediately, but they gave him a lapel badge to indicate that he’d enlisted and that they would let him know. The months passed and although he must have been very busy, working during the day and Home Guard duties at night, he just wanted to be in the service, so after several months had elapsed he wrote to the Air Ministry [Shuffle of paper]. Two months later, two weeks later he was at Uxbridge. There followed the initial three months training course at Blackpool. There they were billeted in a former seaside boarding house. They had to surrender their ration books to the landlady and they were always hungry. Their meals were served in the dining room, but they soon realised that the Corporal in charge of the bul- billet had all his meals in the kitchen with the landlady, and was enjoying much better fare. On the day they all left, to register their dissatisfaction [turning of page] they nailed a kipper to the underside of the dining room table. Another memory of Blackpool was, before leaving they were lined up, sleeves rolled up and given multiple vaccinations. Then they were allowed to go home on leave before their next posting. Ted collapsed on arriving home and taken by ambulance to RAF Henley hospital, they lived nearby, where Vaccine Fever was diagnosed, and where he spent most of his leave. The chapter Ted contributed to “Lancaster At War Two” as wireless operator follows his training up to OTU where he said he met the RAAF. At some time during those previous months his mother, always concerned for her sons comfort, was worried that his regulations shirts were too rough. So she bought him officer’s shirts which she sent to him and which he wore on a night out to the local town. He was, however, picked up by the MPs and put on a charge for this offence. This was quickly followed by an individual posting to Northern Ireland to serve on a small anti-aircraft observation unit miles from anywhere. The isolation of this unit and the ever-present threat of the IRA made him sleep with his rifle alongside. They were a small group of young lads unused to cooking for themselves, so each one took their turn to be cook for the day buying meat and vegetables from the local farmers. Stew was the main meal of the day but Ted was horrified to see how it was being cooked. Meat and vegetables were thrown into a large saucepan, potatoes, carrots etc just as they had been lifted from the ground complete with the soil. Ted said that he’d do the cooking. Then to OTU at Litchfield where they crewed up. Five of the crew were Australian with the pilot being Murray Brown. I had the privilege of knowing Murray Brown and John Clarke, his 460 Squadron pilot in post war years when they visited the UK. The crew were posted to 12 Squadron at Wickenby, a satellite station of Binbrook. The Commanding Officer was Group Captain Huey Edwards, who was the CO of Binbrook [alarm sounding in background]. Many post war years later, Ted saw an article by Group Captain Basil Crummy[?] who said he was Wickenby’s first CO. Ted said he’s confirm the facts by writing to Sir Huey Edwards VC who kindly wrote at some length explaining that for a short while he was in charge of Binbrook, Wickenby and one other station, Basil Crummy taking over from him soon after. I realised a little while ago that these letters from Sir Huey should be in an appropriate archive, and I donated them to the RAAF Museum, Melbourne. And so Ted’s first com- tour commenced on 13th May 1943. The target being Bochum. The operation had to be abandoned after crossing the enemy coast due to an outer engine catching fire , and they had decided that would have to ditch but Murray went into a steep dive and mercifully the fire went out. When looking through their list of t- targets it illustrated Bomber Commands Battle of the Ruhr, known to the crews as Happy Valley. Also Peenemunde, Berlin, Cologne, Turin, Genoa and Hamburg. [Turning of paper]. Many years later in the 1950s we sailed along the River Elbe to Hamburg. As we reached our moorings Ted looked at the other bank where there was a large sign Blohm and Voss. Ted said that the shipyard had been their aiming point. Their tour finished with Stuttgart on 8th October 1943. After returning from Mannheim they were on their crew bus on their way from dispersal to the interrogation room when it collided with a petrol tanker which had broken down on the perimeter track. They were all pitched forward off their seats and were dazed for some seconds, Ted had been smoking at the time but when he came to he realised that it was still in his mouth but broken in half. They hadn’t realised, however, that a member of the crew had been pitched out they continued. Some considerable time later when he[stuttered] he they continued but some con - considerable time later [stutters] he appeared in the briefing room and amongst other things was asked for his escape rations. He said : ‘He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t as he’d had to eat them on the long trek back.’ On their leave on the 22nd of October 43, the crew made a BBC broadcast entitled : “Lancaster crew describes an operation.” I found in Ted’s papers a receipt from the BBC for three pound. Ted was then posted to Lindholme instructing. He said that one night in the mess Squadron Leader John Clarke came up to him and said that he was forming a crew to do a second tour, would Ted like to join him? ‘Yes,’ he said and so to his posting to Binbrook and 460 Squadron. The first operation there was the 22nd/23rd May on Dortmund and the last 16th September, Rhine which was the night of on [incomplete]. [Turning of page] The pattern of this tour was essentially supporting the invasion. On D-Day 5th/6th June 44, their target was the Normandy coastal bat- batteries in which over a thousand aircraft were involved. Their target being the battery St Martin de Varreville. The following night the important six way junction near, road junction near Bayeux and the Forest de Cereza. There followed oil plants, flying bomb sites culminating in their final operation 16th/17th September Arnhem. Bomber Commands main operations that night were in support of the following days landings. Several surrounding airfields were to be bombed 46- 460’s target was Rhine. However John Clarke’s crew was selected to remain behind after bombing Rhine [cough]. They were secretly briefed to carry out a low level reconnaissance over Arnhem, and told because of the importance [sneeze] of this assignment the radio equipment would be modified to take quartz crystals, so that the tuning would be spot on to transmit their observations. Just as Ted was about to enter the aircraft the Signals Officer drew up thrusting two small objects into his hands. ‘I don’t know how to use them,’ said Ted. ‘Neither do I,’ said he, ‘but you’ve plenty of time to find out.’ So ended his operational career. During this time, I’m not sure whether it was 12 or 460 Ted had been feeling very unwell during the day but they were told that would be taking two high ranking army officers on their night’s operations as they wished to observe the German anti-aircraft defences. During the flight Ted felt very sick but there was no suitable receptacle. He looked down and by his position he saw two upturned army caps, these he suitably filled and then despatched them down the flare shute. On landing the two chaps searched for their caps but they were told by the crew that very strange things happen at night. He always suffered from severe migraines in post war years, this he attributed to the fact that on one trip shrapnel had penetrated the fuselage and severed his oxygen tube. He didn’t tell his pilot at the time as he knew it’d been very dangerous to reduce height and did not do so until it was safe. However he said the pain in his head was just unimaginable. After Binbrook, I believe it was back to Lindholme, there they would take ground crews to see the destruction in Germany. On one separate occasion the flu had to [laugh] the crew had to fly to the Luftwaffe base on the Island of Sylt, purpose unknown. They dined in the mess with the German officers and I understand it was rather a tense situation. After time he flew to Brussels but burnt a tyre, burst a tyre on landing. They were there one month before a replacement tyre was obtained. He said that he had volunteered for Tiger Force and that he had crewed up. I believe that this was the plan for the RAF and USAF bombing campaign of Ger- of Japan. And I found confirmation of this in his 460 records. Finally, in summer 1946 he was demobbed at Swinderby. You will note that in the 12 Squadron crew list I didn’t named the mid-upper gummer gunner. This is because on July 28th/29th they were briefed for Cologne and during the outward flight he had collapsed very distressed and had to be physically restrained by other crew members. The operation had to be abandoned and they returned to base after dropping their bombs in the sea. [Sharp turn of page]. After that they had several replacement MUGs. He finally left the service in August 1945 from RAF Swinderby.
AS Thank you very much.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Rita Brooks
Creator
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Adam Sadler
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-10-29
Format
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00:14:54 audio recording
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ABrooksR151029
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.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Second generation
Description
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Rita’s late husband was Flight Lieutenant Edward Brooks DFC, DFM. He was in the Home Guard before he enlisted with the Royal Air Force in February 1941, and sometime later went to RAF Uxbridge. Following his training at Blackpool the recruits were billeted in a former seaside boarding house. Whilst at Blackpool they had their vaccinations before going home on leave. On reaching home Ted collapsed and was diagnosed with vaccine fever and he spent most of his leave in RAF Kenley hospital.
Ted was trained as a wireless operator and was posted to Northern Ireland to serve on a small antiaircraft observation unit. Next he went to Operational Training Units at RAF Litchfield where they crewed up. His crew was posted to 12 Squadron at RAF Wickenby. Ted’s first tour commenced on 13 May 1943. The operation had to be cancelled due to an engine catching fire. The pilot managed to extinguish the fire by going into a steep dive. Targets included the Ruhr, Berlin, Peenemünde, Cologne, Turin, Genoa and Hamburg. On the 8 October 1943 the tour ended with an operation to Stuttgart. On their leave on 22 October 1943 the crew made a BBC broadcast entitled 'Lancaster crew describes an operation'. Ted was then posted to RAF Lindholme as an instructor but then joined a second crew and was posted to RAF Binbrook with 460 Squadron. On D-Day they supported the landings by bombing batteries. In August 1945 Ted finally left the service from RAF Swinderby.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Northern Ireland
France
Germany
England--Lincolnshire
England--London
England--Staffordshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Stuttgart
Italy--Genoa
Italy--Turin
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
Germany--Peenemünde
Italy
Great Britain
Great Britain
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
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1943-05-13
1943-10-22
1943-10-08
1945-08
1941-02
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
12 Squadron
460 Squadron
aircrew
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Cook’s tour
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
RAF Binbrook
RAF Kenley
RAF Lichfield
RAF Lindholme
RAF Uxbridge
RAF Wickenby
Tiger force
training
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/568/8836/AFittP150519.2.mp3
81db65d296c732124d3b40d329ce903a
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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Fitt, Peter
P Fitt
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Fitt, P
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Flight Lieutenant Peter Fitt (Royal Air Force) and two photographs. He flew operations as a wireless operator with 467 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Fitt and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-05-19
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.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AS: So that is now recording –
PF: Right.
AS: Right, as I’ve explained, this is an interview with Peter Fitt, Flight Lieutenant Signaller, from the Royal Air Force Bomber Command during the war. The interview’s carried out by Adam Sutch at Cromer, on the 19th of May 2015. The interview is also for the International Bomber Command Centre digital archive, and also present is Peter’s daughter, Jane.
PF: Yep, right.
AS: Peter, thanks ever so much for agreeing to be interviewed, I’d like to set the scene by asking you to describe your life before joining the Air Force. A little bit about your home, your parents, brothers and whatnot?
PF: Well, well that’s very quick. I was in horticulture so, and my father was a head gardener, and he was keen – I wasn’t – he was keen on me going into horticulture. I wanted to go into the Air Force, ‘cause I was still at the grammar school and there was opportunities to, to join the Air Force, but I – it didn’t materialise, and I was a bit angry at the time, but it didn’t matter, when your children, you get on with these sort of things, and the war came along [chuckles]. Course I went into the Air Force, and that was that, I’d, I became aircrew and I flew on operations during the war, against Germany, and in Lancasters like the one up there, and that’s [laughing] about all I can say apart from describing every trip which is – I don’t want to do that.
AS: No, no of course. When you were growing up, whereabouts was this? Where did you grow up? In Norwich?
PF: Where did I grow up? Oh yeah well, I went to Thetford Grammar School, and I left –
Jane: Where were you born?
PF: Oh, where was I born? Yes, well I was born at Earlham Hall here in, in Norwich where my father was head gardener, and erm, see the connection to horticulture [chuckles], and then I – where was I until you, I –
Jane: Then you went to Breccles Hall.
PF: Ah yes, then I –
Jane: But your father moved –
PF: My father, my father moved as head gardener at Breccles Hall and I was four I think when we moved, I went the local council school, and then I went to Thetford Grammar School when I was eleven, and that’s where I was until I, until I left. Got the usual thing one gets from grammar schools, a school certificate and things like that, and [pause] then it was – a war was declared and I always wanted to go into the Air Force, and my father wouldn’t let me go, and, ‘cause when I was at Thetford Grammar School, there was chances every year, the Air Ministry used to come send people round and, canvassing for chaps to go into the Air Force, but he wouldn’t let me, so when the time came along when he didn’t have anything to do with it, and of course I went into the Air Force [chuckles].
AS: What, what year would that be? What, what month and year?
PF: This would be at the outbreak of war, round about ’39 time.
AS: Okay, so what, what did you want to do in the Air Force? What was your plan when you joined?
PF: Well, my plan was, when, when I joined was to be a pilot and, let me think, I gotta get some things straight. I was at Uxbridge, and oh, there wasn’t a vacancy at the next pilot school, he gave, they gave me an excuse anyhow, perhaps they didn’t want me or what, however I didn’t get, I didn’t get my course, and I carried on and I wanted to be aircrew, so I became a wireless operator [chuckles], a diddy dit dah dit man.
Jane: Was it Bicester?
PF: Pardon?
Jane: You went to Blackpool to learn Morse code.
PF: Yes, that’s where I started – yes well – yes at Blackpool and Yatesbury for wireless operating.
AS: Could we go back a bit? What did you do, what, to join the Air Force? Did you –
PF: What was I before the war?
AS: Sorry?
PF: What was I before the war?
AS: No, what did you do to join the Air Force? Did you go to a recruiting office or, or, or what?
PF: Well, I, I just went to the St Martineau Hall in Norwich here, and I joined the Air Force from there, ‘cause I was working at Crown Point, during [unclear] horticulture actually, and I was at Crown Point, I lived in the boffy there, and, so I naturally went to the recruiting station in Norwich and joined the Air Force.
AS: And that was it, you just –
PF: That was it. And I was in, I think I was in the Air Force for a fortnight and I was flying in a fortnight or so.
AS: Good lord. When, where, after the recruiting office, can you describe to me a little bit about the process of joining the Air Force? So, what they did to you, where you went, how you were messed about, that sort of stuff?
PF: Well, I was messed about quite a bit, by waiting to go – be – [pause] to, to sign on as it were, and I had to go to a place called St Martineau Hall, is that right?
Jane: No that’s County Hall. Martineau Lane is where County Hall building is now.
PF: Where who is?
Lucy: Norfolk County Council building is actually on Martineau Lane.
PF: Oh, are they? Oh yeah, oh of course –
Lucy: That’s where the archive centre is actually –
PF: Well that’s why I joined the Air Force there, and signed on, because I, I was determined to go into the Air Force, my father – I was at the grammar school, I had a chance to go in the Air Force when I was fifteen, course they use to take boys from grammar schools, and I, he wouldn’t let me do it, so the time came, when I was all on my own, so I did it, and I went into the Air Force and that was it. I was, I was a wireless operator – trained as a wireless operator. I did my first tour of ops as a sergeant, a flight sergeant, and then I was, I was commissioned, and then I got a permanent commission and I was a flight lieutenant, and so that was my life in the Air Force. I was a signals, I was a signals leader in the in, and so that was my lot – my life was spelt and spent in the signals actually.
AS: Great. Let’s just wind back – we’ll get onto operational flying for sure – let’s wind back to how they got you into the Air Force. So where did they, where did they send you for kitting out, and what was the process of actually becoming an airman?
PF: Oh, what was the process?
AS: Yeah.
PF: Well, I, I of course volunteered here in Norwich, forgotten the name of the street now, and I just went and signed on there, and within a few days I’d been called up, and I was at Uxbridge [chuckles] in a uniform, much to my parents’ horror. You can imagine my mother [chuckles].
AS: Absolutely. And this, this was as selected for aircrew already, or was this basic training to start with? Basic recruit training?
PF: Yes, that’s right, yeah. It was recruit training and as I was going in for the signals, I was naturally pushed to places where you could – you got used to the life, and the Morse code and all that sort of thing. However, that’s roughly how it worked, is it – was that all you wanted to know? I can’t give you a lot of detail.
AS: No, no, we’re fine –
PF: My logbook is up there somewhere –
AS: We’re doing well. Perhaps we could do it from your logbook to an extent. So, when you’d done your recruit training, and you were selected for aircrew, what happened then, for your signals training? Were you selected for signals straight away, or given some sort of tests?
PF: Well, I wanted to be a pilot, and I tried to be a pilot – I went through numerous selection things, and every time they said, ‘well Mr Fitt, we recommend you to go to Yatesbury’, I think it was to Number Two Radio School, and go in for, and go in for signals. Become a radio operator aircrew, which I did of course, and I was a signals leader and I went right up the ladder in the signals side, but – there we are. But I was a flight lieutenant, signals leader. What is it, Jane?
Jane: [Unclear]
AS: Thank you. Yes, so Yatesbury was your initial contact with signal, was it?
PF: Yes, well no, it wasn’t really. Blackpool was, Blackpool not only was a recruiting centre where I had to go when I first joined in 1940, but it was done by One Radio School or something, so I had a little bit of wireless training there, but my main wireless training was done at, in Number Two Radio School in Yatesbury in Wiltshire. That’s where I started – I did all my training right the way through to OTU crewing up, and or not – I was on operations in early ’43, 1943, and I had a Norfolk pilot which was rather good [chuckles] from Ormesby [chuckles] –
AS: So, can you tell us – the period – you joined up sort of ’39, ’40, and the period between then and going on operations, were you being trained all that time?
PF: All that time yes, on radio, yes. But that, not – to answer your question correctly – not all that time. There was three or four months where I found myself at Royal Air Force Watton, two miles from where my parents lived, so that was very, that was very handy, and I was there as a radio – as a wireless operator. Well it wasn’t bad because I was, I was in keeping with the Morse code and all that sort of thing, and then from there, that’s where the whole career started, and I was flying and I crewed up and I did my tour of ops in 1943, I made thirty trips and went back again in – oh God I can’t remember, 1945, in between time I was at, back to Yatesbury as, ‘cause I was commissioned, so I went back as officer in charge of the wireless flights, so I [unclear, chuckles].
AS: When you went to Watton, early on –
PF: Ah yes, I was – that was before I was commissioned. I was there as a ground operator actually, as a wireless operator, and Watton near – my parents lived three miles down the road [chuckles].
AS: As a, as a ground wireless operator, were you involved with DF-ing aircraft? What were your duties?
PF: No, I could have been, but it was purely SHQ, station headquarters, radio operating, which was station to station. It wasn’t for very long, and I was back in aircrew training again.
AS: Okay. Did you do very much flying whilst you were training?
PF: Yes, I did, I did a tour of ops in 1943, doing my thirty trips, and I went back again, on my second tour – I can’t remember the date – what was the – have you got my logbook there, Jane?
Jane: Yep, yeah it was –
AS: When you were training as a wireless operator, did you do much flying or was it mostly on the ground?
PF: Oh yes I did, we flew in Proctors and Dominis at Yatesbury funnily enough –
AS: Really?
PF: And, yeah that’s all it amounted to and that wasn’t – these aeroplanes were fixed up with four-five sets, and you just went up there with an instructor and that was that.
AS: Mhm. And you learnt Morse code obviously, what –
PF: Yes, I had to do eighteen words a minute, for a start before you ever did anything, and then I became a signals leader, and I had to do twenty-one words a minute for that. But I never – you never use twenty-one words a minute. Twenty-one words a minute is very, is very fast Morse and it’s usually about eighteen is the comfortable Morse speed.
AS: Aside from the Morse, what else did your training consist of? Processes and procedures?
PF: Well, I [pause] fault detection, fault finding, if anything went, if anything went wrong with the transmitter or receiver, you were taught to look for different things to, try and trace it through. Didn’t always work, however, but you had to do it. FF - fault finding.
AS: Mhm. How about wireless bearings and things like that?
PF: Oh yes well that was all part and parcel of your work, and I had to take bearings knowing where and how to call up, using the, you know the Morse code getting a bearing, and that was your job really. That was – and getting, what was it [pause], oh God, I’ve forgotten the name of them now, getting QDMs [chuckles], you’re nodding your head as if you know what I’m talking –
AS: I know some of them, I know the important ones. I know QDM and QFE and one or two other things. Did you get involved with these flimsies at all? Little papers with secret information about station call signs and things like that. Was that part of the stuff you went flying with?
PF: Well, we always had, we always had a, carried a – what did we call them – a flimsy, which was, could be eaten if you were [pause] caught by the enemy, that contained all the wireless information, station frequencies and call signs that you required, so that was what happened. And most of us, you – you’re doing it yourself. [Pause] there was a picture somewhere – where is it? Oh there it is, of me sitting at my 11-54-55 there.
AS: That’s in a Lancaster, isn’t it?
PF: Yeah it –
AS: Yeah.
PF: You know the sets, did you? The 54-55 –
AS: Not a lot no –
PF: No, I didn’t know whether you were a wireless man.
AS: I – my father was a wireless man, not me. [Pause] was it all work? Did you get quite a lot of leave when you were training?
PF: Well, no – we got, at the end of each course we got leave, but there was no fixed leave like when, what we got on the squadron, and we were operating, you used to get seven days leave every six weeks, and that was, that was very useful, ‘cause I was married then, and yes and [pause] what else was there? Yes, that was about all, we were just lucky, only because I was aircrew.
AS: Before you got to aircrew, still on the training, apart from Morse speed examinations, did you have to take any other sort of technical examinations? Written –
PF: We had, had examinations on fault finding and [pause] repair work and, you know – what’s the word for, you know, there is a word that one uses, not second-hand, [pause] when you have a breakdown on a car, you –
Jane: Maintenance journal?
AS: No, no it doesn’t matter, I know what he means –
PF: You know what I’m trying to say.
AS: Yeah. Repair’s a good, repair’s a good word, yeah, it is. Okay. The chaps you trained with, did you form close bonds with them during training, as a unit?
PF: When, what? I’m not with you –
AS: When you were training as a wireless operator –
PF: Yeah –
AS: Did you form close friendships with others on the course? Other trainees?
PF: Well, no, we didn’t, well yeah, I think we got – one or two of us found ourselves on a squadron, but some weren’t fortunate, I think it just depends on your ability and how good you were at Morse and things like that [chuckles].
AS: Yeah. Again, during training, did you ever fly out over the Irish Sea on training flights?
PF: No, honestly, I never flew over the Irish Sea period.
AS: Okay. Now I have a special interest in asking, because of an organisation called The Training Flying Control Centre, but if you didn’t fly over there, we’ll pass that one.
PF: No, no I can’t get into that, because I wouldn’t know anything about it.
AS: When you’d finished your training, you’re entitled to your aircrew badge. Did you have a big parade with dignitaries, or did they send you to the stores to get it? What happened?
PF: No, no we had a – I was at Yatesbury and we had a proper passing out parade, which was purposely laid on for the benefit of the, what’s the word, esprit de corps, and that was it. A parade and an inspection by the CO, who would pin your brevet on [chuckles].
AS: And at that point, were you promoted?
PF: Well, immediately I became aircrew, I became a sergeant, then I was a flight sergeant, and then I applied for a commission and I was commissioned [pause] in the September, I think it was, and I became a signals leader, and I became a flight lieutenant, and I became a signals leader on a squadron, and so that was my history in, where signals are concerned.
AS: When you passed out and got your flying brevet, did you choose to go to Bomber Command or were you just sent?
PF: I was posted to Bomber Command. I was quite happy about it, because I didn’t fancy going into Fighter Command or, or into these fighter bombers, like Blenheims and Bostons, that wasn’t my cup of tea. I imagined myself like that sitting in the cabin [chuckles] and with, a large, with seven other members of the crew, and I was quite happy about that. That’s how I continued, I became a signals leader and a, what else, all sorts of things, a leading, you know how it goes, and the pay was good, leave was good, I was at Mildenhall only about twenty minutes away from my home[chuckles].
AS: So did, once you’d passed out, did you go straight to a squadron or, what happened then?
PF: Oh, we’re back in training? Well, I did operational training on a Wellington, on Wimpies –
AS: Whereabouts?
PF: Finningley, and Doncaster. Then I went to the squadron, via a, oh God, I can’t think of words, a conversion –
AS: Heavy conversion unit.
PF: Heavy conversion unit. At, can’t think, Winthorpe I think it was. Gosh, this is going back a bit, but it’s in my logbook, doesn’t matter, I don’t want to look it up, and that was the, my history in the Air Force. So, I was connected with signals all the time, even when I’d finished operational flying, I went as a signals leader somewhere. I was mainly at Mildenhall which was a bit of luck.
Jane: Can I just ask you, what about RAF Cranwell? When were you there then?
PF: Yeah, I was, I went to a course at Cranwell while I was at Mildenhall, Jane. Yes, Jane’s reminding me I had to go to Cranwell, mainly because I was commissioned, and they were feeding a, pilot officers into Cranwell to give you a taste of bullshit you know [chuckles], how it is and that’s how I, that’s how I got to Cranwell.
AS: Okay. What did you think of the Wellingtons that you were training on at the OTU?
PF: Well, the Wellington was, it was a wonderful aeroplane, it was so reliable and erm – I did all my training on Wellingtons until we were told we were going onto Lancasters, and that we would be going onto Manchesters to convert, and that was my routine, and on Manchesters and on Lancs and that was that.
AS: And at the OTU – was it the OTU you met your crew?
PF: Yes, I was crewed up at the OTU. We were still on Wellingtons then, and that was at Finningley.
AS: Can you tell me a little bit about the crewing up process? What you were looking for in a crew?
PF: Oh yes well, that, it was left to you, the courses arrived at the OTU, the operational training unit, and we were all called to a meeting [pause], the whole caboodle, and then we were told by the CO that we were all going to be put in so and so and so and so, some large room or dining room or something like that, and then we gotta leave it and you must crew up. So that’s the way we crewed up, we just, how did I crew up? Well Dennis was in – I recognised Dennis as a Norfolk accent, so that’s how I got my pilot, and the rest came from there, the others were just dillying around and that was that, we crewed up. We stayed together all those years, all those months rather, because we did a tour in about nine months. So that’s history.
AS: How long was the OTU process, and what time of year was it? Was it swift, or did you get weather problems or –
PF: Oh yes, we did have weather problems, particularly when we were having to do forced cross countries, and the weather was pretty lousy, and that was in sort of November, December time. And this was at, this was at Bircotes which was a satellite at Finningley in Yorkshire, and that was that. I did my OTU, went to, we crewed up at OTU, crewed up with five and we all went on Wellingtons, and we were then posted to [pause] an HCU, a heavy conversion unit where we converted, and this was at Swinderby, and we converted onto Lancasters, and that’s the history of the thing. I never flew on anything else, only on Lancs with the same crew.
AS: Can you remember what sort of training exercises you would do at the OTU? Things like nav-exes or bulls-eyes?
PF: Oh yes, going back to the OTU, that was before the conversion courses, well it was, mainly cross countries at night to get you used to the navigator and the navigator getting used to you and your wireless operating [pause] speciality, if that’s the right word, expertise is the word really, and that was that. That’s what I did, we crewed up and five of us were sent to – we crewed up in five, in Wellingtons and then we were posted to RAF Swinderby where we converted onto Lancasters, with, had to have two more crew, that was an engineer and another gunner added to the five, so that made seven, and then we trained there and we went to the squadron and we were on operations, just like that.
AS: How did you interact with the navigator?
PF: At, at the what, process?
AS: When you were airborne, how did you interact with the navigator? Providing him information, or -
PF: Well, Bert and I, Bert Tischington was the navigator, we got on very well together. We trained on Wimpies as a crew of five, Wellingtons that is, and so we got to know each other very well and we, so we never looked back. We did a tour of ops, complete tour on Lancs [coughs] ‘scuse me [coughs] good God. And that was that [chuckles]. Oh dear, excuse me.
AS: Yeah of course [pause]. Did you have to learn other things that you hadn’t learned in training when you were actually preparing for operations? Things like Z-procedure, using the wireless for landing? Did you get involved with that at all?
PF: I wasn’t involved with that at all. [Pause] my main job was with the navigator really, ‘cause we were training for long distance stuff with Lancs, ‘cause that’s where we were destined to get onto Lancaster squadron where we, which we were, we went to I should say, so henceforth, I was on Lancs until the end of the war I suppose, [pause] but it was just like that up there [chuckles].
AS: Right, we’ll pause the tape for a little while if that’s okay –
PF: I’m sorry, you’ll what?
[Tape paused and restarted]
PF: [Unclear] – with my logbook –
AS: Peter, I’d like to go back to the OTU a bit –
PF: Yeah, that’s fine, I’m going back to [unclear] if I can find it, Bottesford, so back still further [long pause, chuckles]. Oh dear, there’s a note I’ve written here, the mess and the modern, and the modern obliterations in this logbook, are necessary because my son Tim, when he was a little boy, pretended he was like his father and started filling my, filling all the bits and pieces in the logbook [laugh] ‘cause there’s a mess. So, I, I had to put a note in there about that. So, what are we, am I –
AS: We’re looking up OTU on the Wellingtons.
PF: Oh right, oh gosh –
AS: You alright?
PF: Yeah, in a minute. I’ve just got, my back was killing me. Ah, oh. So, OTU, that would be 1942, oh gosh this is going back a bit [turning pages], October ’42, yeah, I’m getting near [long pause]. Here we are, 25 OTU Finningley, 16th of September 1942.
AS: That’s your first flight at the OUT, is it?
PF: Yep –
AS: As a crew?
PF: As a crew, yeah.
AS: Yeah. And did your captain immediately take you off as a crew, or did he do some flying with somebody else first?
PF: Oh no, we all met as sprogs, nobody, no crews – we were assem – we were all, we were all assembling in a very big hall, and we got given four, five hours to crew up, and how did I crew up? Only because of being a Norfolk man, because Dennis Claxton was a baker at Ormesby, came along in his old broad Norfolk accent and said, ‘hello Peter, will you fly with me?’ I thought, oh my God, and I said, ‘yes of course I will’, and as I said, cause that’s how we crewed up, and I flew with him right through the war really. He was a good pilot. Claxton, his father was a baker at Ormesby.
AS: Were you all sergeants to start with?
PF: Yes, then I became a flight sergeant, and among the very few members of aircrew as a wireless operator, I had to take examinations would you believe, to get any, any promotion, in the wireless world of course, and until I became a grade one, I couldn’t get any promotion, so I was, I was messed about a bit. However, I got, I did it and I got my promotions and I became a flight sergeant, and then I was commissioned, and so I, and a signals leader, so I never looked back really. I had a good life, I enjoyed, particularly while I was at Mildenhall, this is after the war, this was in between tours, it wasn’t after the war. I finished my first tour and I was about to go back on my second tour at Mildenhall. I was near to home, I was near my wife, who lived just outside in a place called Ownedge, just outside Bedford, and so I was quite happy there really.
AS: You’ve still got your logbook open at the OTU, how much, how much flying did you do? Can you track that back?
PF: Yeah, well, I’ll tell you in a minute, I did [long pause], oh that’s the [unclear] synopsis, Finningley. Was that, Jane?
AS: Yes.
Jane: Sorry –
PF: At 25 OTU Finningley, I did [pause], there’s loads of it, oh dear, all at sea, yeah, one hour and half hours [long pause] I did twenty, in this instance, it was twenty-nine daylight and six at night. So this has, this has got to be more. [Pause] oh here we are, Bircotes now, so that was the next station, still on OTU, so that puts me up to ninety-five, nearly one hundred hours at OTU.
AS: Wow.
PF: And so it goes on. Oh, this was on the conversion, and then I went – a hundred and fifteen hours, including the OTU on Wellingtons and conversion on Manchesters to Lancasters, ‘cause it was only fourteen hours [chuckles], oh God.
AS: Were you a –
PF: What we, what we looking for do you know?
AS: Well, we’ve answered it actually, the hours, yeah –
PF: Oh, have we? Oh, fair enough. It was a bit complicated, looking up logbooks.
AS: Yeah. Were you straight wireless or did you do air gunner training as well?
PF: I did very little air – I didn’t want anything to do with air gunnering. I was quite happy with signals and I was, I was, would be a signals leader and things like that, so I, quite honestly, I had nothing to do with gunnering. I perhaps should have been a gunnery leader but I didn’t want to know [chuckles].
AS: That’s fair. Did you do any bulls-eye exercises?
PF: Oh yes, lots of bulls-eyes.
AS: What did they involve?
PF: Pardon?
AS: What did they involve?
PF: Long night cross country runs, let’s just look back. OTU Finningley that would be [pause], just give you an idea how long they were, ooh er [long pause], look I’ve got notes everywhere [long pause]. Why are logbooks so complicated when you look back through? Bottesford, that’s all good, I want training [long pause].
AS: No, so the bulls-eyes were at Bottesford were they?
PF: What, just a minute, I’ll just try and get back to Bottesford, I should be there in a sec, because I remember writing – oh that’s 1660 Conversion Unit, that was after that, so it’s got to be here. Bulls-eye here we are. I did a bulls-eye [pause] with Warrant Officer Buzz [unclear] as pilot [pause], five and a half hours from RAF Bircotes which is a satellite at Finningley. Oh you know it, don’t you?
AS: Yeah.
PF: Yeah, so that’s it. Well, that was when I was first flying with Dennis Claxton, who was my pilot during the, during the Lancs time, who lives out here at, he was a baker at Hemsby.
AS: Was, this was winter time, wasn’t it? OTU and HCU?
PF: Yeah, it was 15th of November, yeah.
AS: Yeah. Did the weather cause many problems, many interruptions, or many losses? Did you lose many aircraft in training?
PF: We, yes, we did, because of bad navigation. We didn’t have the things like Gee and that then, and navigation was pretty [pause], what’s the word –
AS: Haphazard?
PF: Basic, yeah. The, you hadn’t got the, what you had later, the radar bit, the Gee box, to get your fixers. No, I was there as a radio operator and I had to get my navigator fixers on numerous occasions, you know. Get a WT fix.
AS: And what speed did you get down to? How quickly could you do that?
PF: Well that took an age, it used to take them an age to wind my training aerial out for a start, and then there was the getting through, well it would take me about half an hour to get a fix I should think. Main time spent cranking the bloody lot of, the aerial in because it was airmen dear, and that means I had to have a training aerial. You’re nodding your head as if you understood [chuckles]. Oh dear, that’s history, that’s the first time anybody’s asked me that question, you know, but –
AS: It must have been hard work in flying kit and on your knees, was it? Winding down?
PF: Yeah, that wasn’t, in the cockpit you had to – it was usually in the, the winding gear was in the panelling of the aeroplane, and that was pretty knuckling, what’s the word [pause], knocking the skin off your knuckles –
AS: Grazing your knuckles, yeah. Did you ever lose one? Forget to wind it up?
PF: No, I didn’t. I must admit, I never, I always – because we had to write it in on the log, and we got seriously chastised, if we hadn’t done it and so we were always very careful, ‘cause they said they were gonna start charging us for any aerials that we lose, and there were not a lot of chaps lost them. What’s that, dear?
Jane: Actually that’s, I haven’t seen that before. I can’t remember the actual picture; I don’t know where the original is –
PF: Oh my God, this is ancient. That was one of the first pictures taken, when, oh God, what was it? When we first joined the Old Ed fifty, 541, my wife’s name was Edna, she was called Ed, and of course up there, it was ED541, so that was Ed-541, that one [chuckles]. So, four-six-seven Wimpies away –
AS: So that on the wall, I understand now, that on the wall is a painting of your aircraft, A-Able isn’t it?
PF: That’s right, yeah.
AS: Now I understand.
PF: Yeah, that was my, that was my first aeroplane that we were allocated for, on operations, here we are, ED541 July 1943, now that’s, that must have been that picture then, yeah, ‘cause I started operating in nine, nine, July, August, yeah that’s right. Oh dear, I get confused about these dates –
AS: We can go through your logbook later for the, for the operations if you like. When you were training, perhaps moving from the OTU to the HCU, did you start meeting equipment in operational aeroplanes that you hadn’t seen before?
PF: Oh yes.
AS: Can you tell me about that?
PF: We had, well not so much from the HFDF from the normal 11-54-55 Marconi stuff that I was using for Morse and communication generally, that was the same, that never altered, the things that were altering were the Gees and H2S, and all the up-to-date radar equipment, that was always changing, but that had nothing to do with me, I was quite happy with my, my Morse code [chuckles].
AS: Did you have things like Fishpond to look after?
PF: Yes, we did, but I didn’t have to look after it, the navigator looked after that. It was, he, we didn’t have it at – we were training on, with it, we never used it on operations or anything like that, but we did, we did have it, that was H2S two-three-one, I can’t remember the damn things now. [Pause] I would have remembered had I had to operate it, but I didn’t have to operate it. I had enough work to do of my own.
AS: It’s quite busy, was it? You didn’t just take off and fly round and come back again?
PF: Oh no, no, I mean, you had to take your broadcast every half hour, and that was numbered so you had to make sure you got that down in your logbook, erm, oh yes there was, there was never a dull moment, not where a wireless operator was concerned, because you were busy nearly all the time, from the time you took off to the time you landed.
AS: So, what sort of things would you be, would be coming in and going out? Position reports or-
PF: For start, things coming in would be your half hourly broadcast, which you had to rec – you had to log, and that was usually [unclear] text, it was numbered, and then after that, it was mainly work. We were always given exercises to do and, with ground stations, with, in particular DF stations, getting QDFs, QDMs, all that sort of thing, and, so there was never a dull moment where I was concerned. As a matter of fact, I suppose I was pleased in a way, because I had plenty to do, I didn’t have a chance to think about anything else. The navigator always kept me busy.
AS: When you knew you were posted to Bomber Command, how did you feel?
PF: Well, I was pleased in a way because we were told we were going onto Lancs, and the Lancaster had just been introduced, so everybody was keen to get onto a Lanc squadron, and as it happened, I was lucky and we got on one, and that was, that was quite good. So that was, that answers your question doesn’t it really?
AS: Yeah. When you were crewed up, formed as a crew, you were all sergeants, were you living together in a mess, or in huts or –
PF: Oh yes, we all lived in – there was, there was an aircrew sergeants mess, because all aircrew were sergeants then, not when I first joined up and flew, there was an LAC erm, yes there was a special mess for the aircrew sergeants.
AS: And did you live as a crew?
PF: Pardon?
AS: Did you live all together as a crew, or –
PF: Oh yes. When we first crewed up, we were always messed together in the same, and always, always in the same hut, and that went on for, through the OTU, through the conversion units when we went from Wellingtons to Lancasters [pause], to when we arrived at the squadron and converted onto Lancasters.
AS: Did it get [pause] –
PF: Sorry?
AS: Did it get too much sometimes, being with the same people all the time, in the air and on the –
PF: No, we were very pleased in a way that we had our own crew, we were like a family really, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way really. Dennis, my pilot, was, lived at, he had a, he was a baker at Ormesby, Hemsby and his wife and my wife were very good friends, and we were all very close knit, we were close knit as a crew. Yes, that was all, that was all good fun really, if you could call it fun.
AS: What were the losses like during training? Were there many aircraft lost?
PF: Oh no, there wasn’t. We were, touching wood, no, there were very few losses while we were training. There were losses when, for example, on OTU, on operational training units where crews got lost and went down in the mountains somewhere you know, if we, if we were doing foreign cross countries and things like that where we did for training. So yes, that used, that used to happen, but not, not very often fortunately.
AS: Mhm. Did you form close links with your ground crew as well as your aircrew mates?
PF: Oh yes, oh yes, we did. We have a very – while we were on operations, I, we, we flew on ops from Bottesford near Nottingham, and we got very close to our ground crews. We used to entertain them a lot, and we used to go out, always meet in the pubs and things like that, and yes, that was, yes, we were, answering your question, yes, we were quite close.
AS: Whose aeroplane was it? Was it your aeroplane or their aeroplane?
PF: Well, that depends, it was theirs in their camp and then ours in our camp.
AS: How did they maintain it? Was it mostly working outside?
PF: Oh yes, it was all outside. They did the daily inspections, the special inspections, and that was all done on the, what do you call it, the dispersal on the airfield.
AS: So, what, what was the daily routine before, before flight? What would you do before flight with your equipment?
PF: Well, I had, I had to check the, all the radio equipment, intercom, anything which was radio or radar, I had to check it worked alright. And the radio, the RT, the radio telephone part.
AS: So, I think we’ve done quite a bit about OTU and HCU. Did you say your HCU, you were actually on Manchesters?
PF: Well, I flew on Manchesters – when I finished on, let me give you the story, when we finished operational training on Wellingtons, we knew we were going to be posted to a conversion unit because we were going to go onto heavy bombers, and we knew that before we got onto them we would have to fly Manchesters, that was the Lanc with two engines if you can perhaps remember, and, so we went onto Lancs – onto Manchesters and then Lancs in that, in that order and that all went quite smoothly. I must say, it was, it was exciting going onto a Lancaster after a bloody old, twopy, old Wimpy, [pause] it was like getting into a – well as Dennis our pilot said, it was like getting into a Spitfire, though he’d never flown a Spitfire [chuckles]. He guessed as much because the Lanc was so much faster than the Wimpy, and more manoeuvrable of course.
AS: When you were learning to fly the Lancaster, before you go to the squadron, was the, was the aeroplane to an operational standard, with all the equipment that was in it?
PF: Oh yes.
AS: Okay. Did you have to learn different operational techniques as well as this equipment when you were at the HCU, or had your training taken care of the –
PF: Oh yes, yes it did –
AS: It did. So, you were –
PF: Pretty well [unclear] up, yeah.
AS: Gemmed up with the operational techniques –
PF: Yep, yeah indeed.
AS: Okay. So, did you pass out of the HCU? Was there a parade?
PF: Er, no, there wasn’t. We were – it was just very ordinary; we were only five or six weeks from OTU to HCU. I was at Swinderby – God, we were there and we were gone and we were on the squadron. As a matter of fact, we were nearly operating, it was that quick. Much to our horror, but there –
AS: Shall we pause it there for a moment?
PF: Okay.
[Tape paused and restarted]
AS: This is a taped interview with Flight Lieutenant Peter Fitt, carried out by Adam Sutch, on the 19th of May 2015 for the International Bomber Command Centre. Peter Fitt was on 467 Squadron for his first tour of operations, and perhaps Peter, I could, I could start by asking what happened when you came to the squadron before you went on ops, when you arrived as a crew?
PF: Right, well, first of all, I want to go back a bit to OTU, Operational Training Unit, where we crewed up. We all arrived there as individual pilots, navigators and wireless operators, air gunners, and – [interrupted] – is somebody coming?
Other: Sorry, would either of you like a hot drink?
[Tape paused and restarted]
AS: Right, let’s start again Peter shall we, now the tea lady’s gone –
PF: Yeah, yeah, you carry on –
AS: You were going back to the OTU when you crewed up, just before you got on the squadron.
PF: Yeah, yeah, yes, and that was 1942 I believe, would that be right?
AS: ’42, ’43, yeah, I think, we did before, so you left, left –
PF: Yes, yes it would be ’42, because I started off – I did my ops in ’43, and this is OTU we’re talking about, yes ’42, August ’42.
AS: Yeah, okay. And what can you remember about your OTU time?
PF: My OTU time was a bit strange, we all arrived at the sta – were posted to this RAF Finningley actually, in Yorkshire, and we all mingled in the, hmm, whatever it was, an old hangar or something, and one officer came along and he spoke to us and said, ‘well I’ve got you all gathered here because we want you – this is the OTU and we want you to crew up, and that’s, it’s got to be up to you. You can mingle with each other and find a pilot and a pilot will find a wireless operator and the wireless operator will find an air gunner’ sort of thing, you just sort it out yourselves’, they don’t print one up to say you’ll fly with so and so, you just sort it all out, and you’re given two or three days to do that, which we did, and I, I crewed up quite easily because it was a Norfolk man, a Norfolk baker from Ormesby, he came over and said, ‘you’re Norfolk, aren’t you?’ I said – he’s real, broad Norfolk – I said ‘yes’ and ‘I am’, and he – I can tell you because he had a real broad Norfolk accent, and he said, ‘why, I’m a pilot’, and he said, ‘I was wondering whether you would, you would, as we’re Norfolkites, you can come be my wireless operator’, ‘yes’, I said, ‘I’d love to’, and in the meantime, he’d sorted out the rest of the crew, so there was five of us. We were crewing up for Wellingtons actually, at OTU, on which we – the aeroplane we did our OTUs on, and so that’s how I crewed up. And then we, we did three months there I suppose – this is RAF Finningley in Yorkshire, and then we were posted to – oh God, I can’t remember the name of the bloody place now, not Finningley, Swinderby, where we went, transferred to four engined aeroplanes, so that was the beginning on the, on the Lancaster episodes, the aeroplanes we flew in for the rest of the war. Now that was, that was, that was rather all good fun, well wasn’t good fun it was bloody dangerous but, but, erm, it was all part of the adventure, wasn’t it?
AS: Exciting, exciting.
PF: So there, that was, so we crewed up and we, we stayed together all those years – we did a mini two tours of ops – this is late ’42 I’m talking about – and we were still flying in ’44, ’45 together, and, and the war came to an end and we kept meeting you know, ‘cause of, Den was a, he was a baker from Ormesby actually, and we used to – we all got, you all get very, very friendly, you know, and the whole families become friendly, and so that was, that was quite a nice episode in my life. It was a bit dangerous for me, during ops but I, Dennis was a good pilot and the rest of the crew were good, and we were, yeah, that was, that was quite an exciting time. I often think back on it, and we, we have our crew reunions still, and that’s jolly nice to get together again.
AS: What sort of skipper was Sergeant Claxton, Dennis Claxton?
PF: What sort –
AS: Yeah, was he a disciplinarian, or relaxed, or?
PF: No, no, he was a typical, what did we say, ordinary bloke who liked driving, a chauffeur if you like, he was conscientious, he always knew what he wanted, he always knew what to ask the navigator, he always knew what to ask us all actually, if he wanted to know anything, and, and yeah, he was quite knowledgeable, and a good pilot. That’s what we were after, we wanted someone who really knew the aeroplane and could throw out a boat when, if we were attacked or anything like that, and he was that good, so we were happy. As a matter of fact, I was a – no, poor Dennis died five or six years ago, his wife is still alive, and she comes and sees me here sometimes which is, which is rather nice.
AS: Absolutely, continuity.
PF: And, and of course – my wife, well she’s dead now, but my wife used to like Iris, which was Dennis’, the pilot’s wife, and they became very friendly – well, we all became friends actually.
AS: So, you finished HCU on Manchesters and Lancasters, and –
PF: I, I finished what?
AS: HCU. Heavy Conversion Unit.
PF: Yeah.
AS: On Manchesters and Lancasters was it?
PF: Yeah, Manchesters and Lancs, yeah.
AS: Yeah. And then you were posted to F –
PF: This, this was at Swinderby where we, we, we er went onto four engines, in the Lanc, and from Swinderby. And from Swinderby we, we – now what, I’m just trying to think of what that was called, when you converted to four engines, not a confighter, it was, it had a, it had a special name –
AS: HCU was it? Heavy Conversion Unit?
PF: Heavy Conversion, well done, you, you’re a gen-king you know.
AS: [Laughing] just, just lucky.
PF: Yeah, yeah on HCU –
AS: HCU, yeah.
PF: And, and Dennis converted to – and he took to the Lancs, he thought it was a great aeroplane, and he was a good pilot, and erm, so that, and we were together all that time. On two tours.
AS: On the aeroplane, did you feel a very great difference when it was loaded and not?
PF: No, no. It was a bit – Dennis used to say it’s a bit, you know, he had to be a bit more careful on takeoff because there was a lot more power, and they used to have to – he said, ‘I’m not supposed put, to go into S-gear’, but he said, ‘I bloody will go into S-gear’, ‘cause he said, ‘I wanna get off safely’, and so he did, that – that S-gear was. It’s called S-gear was a special gear that you, you put the throttles in and that connects to the engine [chuckles], and as the throttles are connected there it does something, it gives you that extra power –
AS: More power, yeah. So, you were posted to 467 Squadron I think?
PF: Yes. We went to – we were posted to – we finished Swinderby, that’s Conversion Unit, and we were posted to [slight pause] Bottesford and, near Nottingham, where we were – joined an Australian squadron, 467 Squadron, and I was with them for a complete – I did my first tour there with them.
AS: Did it feel like an Australian squadron? Were many of the aircrew Australian?
PF: They were nearly, they were nearly all Australian, yes it did feel like, you know – that’s a nice way of putting it, they were real Aussies and that was, that made it rather nice. And erm, so I was very pleased I served on an Aussie squadron and [pause] it was, it was nice, and – what is the word when you’re a mixture, I can’t think of a name but it was, it was very good. And I, I enjoyed myself there, as one can enjoy yourself while you’re risking your bloody neck at night, but it was, that was – I had a very good crew, Dennis Claxton, my baker from Ormesby, he was good, he was a good pilot [pauses] and I hoped I was an average radio operator for, get my navigator some good bearings.
AS: You brought them back.
PF: Brought them back? Oh yeah.
AS: When you were on the squadron, did you do a lot of training flying still?
PF: Did I what?
AS: Do a lot of training flying still, while on the squadron?
PF: No, no, no. The only training you did on the squadron – well it was training I suppose, ‘cause they were called training flights, and that was, you would do cross countries, mainly for navigation, for the navigator and the wireless operator and, for the pilot of course, so that was what we did, yes. Cross countries. We used to call them – they were called bulls-eyes and you used to do a lot of bulls-eyes. Well, they were good really because they make you accurate at, and careful what you’re doing.
AS: Were the skies full of aeroplanes doing the same thing, over England?
PF: Over where, not –
AS: Over England, while you were training. Did you find it really crowded skies, or?
PF: No, no, ‘cause I was trained at night. I was, I was, we were trained for night flying, and we did our training at night, so we didn’t really see a lot of other aeroplanes anyhow. The only time you saw them was when you were taking off and when you joined the circuit to land, when you got back. But that was, that was good training, and well I, I mustn’t say I enjoyed it – that’s not quite the right word, but it was interesting, and I was quite happy [chuckles], I had a good crew, our Dennis was a good pilot, and [pause] we, we survived.
AS: Did you encounter night fighters at all?
PF: Yes, yes, we were, we were attacked several times, mainly by Junkers 88s actually. I thought they [unclear], we thought they’d been Messerschmitt 109 Es and Fs but it wasn’t, it was, we were always attacked by Junkers 88s, which is quite a heavy aircraft is a – it’s nearly as a big as a Wellington, and we just couldn’t imagine them using them as night fighters but they were.
AS: But obviously not brought down, your pilot’s skills and your gunner’s skills –
PF: No, no we evaded all attacks, and the gunners and that, we didn’t – the gunners didn’t shoot any down, any attackers down but I think they were sufficiently awake enough and aware to let the German know that we were around, we knew he was there, sort of thing.
AS: How about the – I know it wasn’t your trade, but how about the navigation equipment when you were doing your first tour? Did you have Gee and H2S by then?
PF: Ooh yes, we had Gee, ooh yes, I had – well I know I was a wireless op, but I had to know all, how to use the Gee and the H2S and all those sorts of things, which were very good, I mean we’d all, could literally be lost without, without them, and they were inc, incredibly good. H2S in particular.
AS: Mhm, did –
PF: Now don’t ask me what H2S stands for, because I don’t know, I never knew, I never did ask. I bet you’ve got to tell me actually –
AS: Not at all, now I don’t, I don’t know, I don’t know. In your logbook here, you’ve got a, an Astra recall, or Astro recall, as a, do you know what that’s all about?
PF: Ah yes, that was [interrupted]. Is somebody [unclear].
Other: Hiya, [unclear], I’ve come to change your water jug.
PF: Okay, alright.
Other: Thank you.
PF: Thank you. Erm, what were we talking about, Astra recall? The, they, they’re two separate words actually. Astra meaning we were doing navigation by stars, by, and what was the other word?
AS: Recall.
PF: Recall, recall was to do with diversions and things like that, but that, that’s what that was. Astra navigation, the navigator didn’t like it and I had to help him and I wasn’t keen on it either. The, the, when you’re in cramped conditions and, you’ve got to keep referring to tables and cross referencing all the time makes – it’s hard work.
AS: Hmm. From your station in the aeroplane, could you see very much? Could you see out? Did you want to see out?
PF: Well, yes, I did want to – I liked to see out, there’s something – it’s nice to know that the world is passing by and if you were being attacked, you see it coming. Well, you know, I sat just behind the [pause] wireless operator, well, well you can’t quite see, there was a, there was an astrodome just behind the main cockpit coppola, well that’s what, that’s where I sat under that. That’s why there’s – there was always good light there. That’s where the warmth was, and it was, that was a good position, next to the navigator and course we used to work together.
AS: What were your fears on, on ops really at night?
PF: What was what?
AS: Your fears on ops?
PF: Well, well my fears were pretty awful really, I dreaded it. Well I think we all did, that was, it was alright, go to briefing and you, you were told the target and what to do and what not to do, and that’s frightening when you know the target, ‘cause it was usually a hotspot, and warned about night – it’s all very alarming, but once you get airborne, you’re, thing’s aren’t quite so bad until you get attacked [chuckles], but on the whole I, we were, we were very fortunate, we were, I mean we were only attacked once by night fighters. Used to get, we used to get anti-aircraft [unclear] of course, but the dread of course were night fighters ‘cause the Germans had a very good set-up.
AS: Could you sense or see other aeroplanes in the bomber stream around you?
PF: No, but you knew they were there because of the, of the turbulence you know, and the, and the airmen being in, being in people’s prop turbulence that used to, used to shake you about a bit. That’s the only indication you, you, you had. We were attacked two or three times but we – the gunners were alert enough to shoot away as it were.
AS: I see your first operation was to the Gironde in France –
PF: That’s right, yeah.
AS: What were you doing there?
PF: Laying mines. That, that – all freshmen aircrew, their first, their first raid over enemy territory was a gardening trip, and gardening was laying mines [chuckles], and the Gironde was one that, that was my first, that was my first trip, and that was, that was laying mines in the Gironde River, just off Bordeaux actually.
AS: So, these would be solo trips, would they? Just send one aircraft to, to lay mines, or?
PF: Well, well no, there would be, there would be squadrons doing it, and, and, but it wasn’t mass [pause], wasn’t mass operations, but there were several aircraft doing it, to keep their, their [pause] fighters, things, alive.
AS: Hmm, yeah. Another thing you’ve got here is SBA, local flying, is that standard beam approach?
PF: Yeah, yeah.
AS: Did that involve you at all, or, as the wireless man, or?
PF: No, it didn’t involve me in any shape or form, even though I was the wireless operator. It was, it was only the bomb aimer and the pilot’s concern because the bomb aimer was the first, virtually the second pilot because we didn’t carry a second pilot on Lancs, but we, but the bomb aimer took the part of the second pilot [chuckles].
AS: Okay. And did, he knew enough to fly the aeroplane?
PF: He knew enough to fly the aircraft. Whether he would have had enough – I don’t think Taffey would have been able to land, land it, but he would get you back, and you could do a ditch in the sea if you wanted – if you couldn’t land.
AS: Could I talk about some of the aids? Did you have any contact with Darky?
PF: Well, that, that rings a bell, Darky – now that was to do with RT, wasn’t it?
AS: Yeah, yeah.
PF: Now, now what was Darky? Oh gosh that’s right, on the [pause] forefront of my mind [pause] –
AS: Darky was local transmitters at, at observical posts and aerodromes, and if you were lost you could call up –
PF: Yes, yes oh God, yeah, I remember. I remember, yes, Darky very well.
AS: And did you use it?
PF: No, no, fortunately we never had to [pause]. We had a good navigator and we had Gee which we used to use a lot, and we erm, we didn’t have to use anything else. And none, none of us did courses on that while we got through.
AS: What – sounds like a silly question really, but what was the tension like as you approached the target?
PF: What was the what?
AS: The tension like in the crew as you approached the target?
PF: Well, as a matter of fact – it’s funny you should ask that question because that does cross my mind many times, ‘cause nearly everybody asks you that question. The funny part about it is, that when you’re approaching the target, all fear seems to have gone and dissipated, and you, you, everybody was looking out to find, to look at, to find the target and see what the defences were like and what attack we were going to do, and, and bearing in mind. what you’d been told to do, so yes, yes, that was, that was – rephrase your question because I was getting a bit out of touch with it.
AS: No, no I just – I wondered whether the tension really grew as you were approaching the target, but you’ve told me that the fear left you.
PF: Oh, I see, you mean as you approached the target, did the tension increase? No it didn’t, funnily enough, it rather dissipated, mainly I suppose because you, you were there, you’d seen what you were going to do. The defences hadn’t erupted and all you got was a target which was coloured red, which had obviously been bombed earlier, and that was, that was it, it never crossed our, never crossed our minds. Well, it never crossed my mind because I was a wireless operator and I was busy, and I never, I never even looked out. I was, I had, I was busy on the – ‘cause we had all sorts of messages coming in and that, so I had to listen all the time.
AS: Yes, so you listened on the main sets. Did you also control the RT, or, the radio telephone? You were on the radio telephone as well.
PF: Yes, yes, we were but the pilot used the RT, radio tele, used that for landing and takeoff purposes –
AS: Okay.
PF: But apart from that, there were, there were, the RT was never used.
AS: Hmm. How about the master bomber?
PF: Oh, the master bomber? Yeah well, we, that [pause] he was, it was all done by, by voice actually, and – to be quite honest, we were never impressed with it. It was a bit of a, of guidance you know, but sometimes he was a bit out, and sometimes he couldn’t find the place, but, on the whole, I suppose it worked because the, with their know-how and, and our own know-how.
AS: And you could hear it? You could hear what the master bomber was saying?
PF: Oh yes, it was very clear. Clear as crystal.
AS: Hm. So you were, you were on 467, that’s 5 Group, isn’t it?
PF: That was in 5 Group, yeah.
AS: 5 Group were a bit special, weren’t they?
PF: They were the, THE group, yeah. If you hadn’t have said that, I was going to say that.
AS: [Laughing] Sorry.
PF: But I’m glad you said it, so, you knew about it.
AS: Yeah.
PF: Yes, we used to get all the posh jobs as we’d call them, the posh and dangerous ones.
AS: And one of those that you got was Peenemunde.
PF: Peenemunde, yes, I was on that raid.
AS: Could, could you tell us a little bit about that?
PF: [Pause] yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you [long pause]. Oh, you’ve got my logbook there.
AS: Yeah, yeah, I got –
PF: I just gotta think of the date, what was it, was it August something, wasn’t it?
AS: I’m just looking actually –
PF: It’s ‘40, ’43 [pause.
AS: Do you know, I can’t find it. You’ll probably quicker than I would. Berlin, Berlin [long pause]. There we go, August, spot on, 12th of August.
PF: Yeah, I remember that very well. That was the [unclear], that was the most effective raid of the war, you know, everybody was so accurate, and trained to be accurate, and it was a very efficient raid result.
AS: How much did they tell you at briefing about Peenemunde and why you were going there? What did they tell you?
PF: Well, I’m just trying to think [pause]. We were told of course that, that, that they were specialising in speciality model aircraft to bomb London, and well, we knew that and that did make us more attentive to detail and sorted out, which we did.
AS: Is it true that the, the aircrew were told that if they didn’t do it the first time, they’d have to go back the next night, or is that just a story?
PF: Oh yeah that happened to me several times. Air-chief Marshal, our boss man in 5 Group was, erm, oh God, why has his name escaped me –
AS: Ralph Cochrane?
PF: Pardon?
AS: Was it Cochrane?
PF: Was it who?
AS: Cochrane. Ralph Cochrane.
PF: Oh yeah Ralph Cochrane, that’s the chap, well done, you know more about what I did –
AS: I wouldn’t say that sir, I wouldn’t say that at all.
PF: I just forgot, I just forgot his name, and, and, he was, he wanted you to do everything right, and he was like that and, ‘if you don’t bloody well get it tonight, you’ll go tomorrow night and you’ll go the next night’, and so on, he talked just like that. It was if he was talking to a class of kids, you know, and, yes, he was a very efficient man, and we had – we didn’t applaud him, we appreciated him, his air [unclear] and things like that. Yeah, I remember the briefing for the Peenemunde raid.
AS: Is it like we see on the films, where everyone sits down and the station commander comes in and they pull back the curtain – was it like that?
PF: It was like that, yeah, yeah, but it wasn’t quite so, not quite so dramatic as that [laughs] you know.
AS: How many briefings were there?
PF: Well, that was just – there was only one main briefing, but the navigators, the pilots and the navigators always had to go half an hour early to have their separate briefing, which was – I don’t know why, and the rest of the crews went afterwards to the main briefing. But we all had – as I was signals and we all had our separate briefings by our own leaders.
AS: So, what was the procedure then? The aeroplanes would be test flown, flying test –
PF: Would be –
AS: You’d have a flying test, a night flying test with the aeroplane –
PF: Oh yes, and then an active course, yes, yeah.
AS: Yeah, and then you’d have your briefing, and –
PF: Yes well, the, the, it wasn’t quite as close as we are saying it. For example, if, if the operations were on the Friday night, or any particular night, you would do your flying – we had a special word for them and it escapes, it escapes me, not NFT, something like that – you’d go and do that in the morning somewhere and check everything was alright, and that would be your, your [unclear] practical briefing. And then we’d go to the main briefing and having done all that we, you knew exactly where you were.
AS: And then you’d have, have a meal, or -
PF: We’d have a meal, our eggs and bacon, twice. Eggs and bacon before and eggs and bacon afterwards [laugh], and, yes so that was, that was a very exciting life but it was bloody dangerous, and you got, you get a bit worried about it, particularly if you’re married and that, but there.
AS: How did you get out to the aeroplane?
PF: We were taken out by, by bus, ministry, you know, Air Force busses. They were specially, they were specially made for that purpose. They used to take the crews. They, you had enough space for all the parachutes and the stuff to go inside your – me and my pigeons, I had to carry, we had to carry pigeons, that sounds good doesn’t it [chuckles], and, that, that was it. We would then be taken out to our aircraft, ground crew would be waiting for us, we would be ushered into our seats, and they would carry the stuff in for us, and that was that, and the pilot would get the engines started and run up and we’d all, we’d all do our bits and pieces. I’d do mine and away we go.
AS: Tell me about the pigeons. I mean, they weren’t to eat, were they?
PF: Pardon?
AS: They weren’t there to be eaten, were they? Tell me about the pigeons.
PF: [Pause] it was quite a joke really. They, it used to be one to tell your children. We had to carry pigeons and they’d say, ‘what, you had pigeons, did they tell you where to go Dad’ [chuckles]. I’d say, ‘yeah, we’d let them out and then we’d say Berlin and we’ll follow you’ [laughs]. What was I saying? Yes, we had, we had pigeons.
AS: Whereabouts did you keep them?
PF: What, my – I was responsible for them as the wireless operator, and right behind me were the armour-plated doors, which was ideal for me really, but behind the armour-plated door was a rest couch – oh I thought I saw them earlier – and erm, that’s where we used to place them on that, just right, they all fitted there nicely.
AS: So by the time you’d got to the aeroplane, was it all bombed up and fuelled up?
PF: Oh yes, it was, they were all done up in the morning, if you were taking off in the evening. All the bombing up – everything would have been ready in the morning. That was, that was very, very efficient, and then we would go to the briefing in the afternoon and then take off in the evening.
AS: Hm. Did you feel that you had enough fuel all the time, for the distances and trips that you –
PF: Oh yeah well, we had a, our engine – we all had, every crew had an engineer, and that was his responsibility to make sure that the bowsers had put the right amount of petrol in, and they got the [pause], they got it all laid on so that if the, if the pilot wanted to change engines or something, they did sometimes, that could all be done by stopping an engine and starting another up sort of thing.
AS: Okay.
PF: That was all very complicated but all was very well organised. Everybody knew what they had to do.
AS: Yeah. So, you, you’d done your Gironde mine laying trip, and then you went to Saint Nazaire. Was that the same sort of thing?
PF: Yes, same thing, yeah.
AS: Dropping –
PF: Yeah, well I’m just trying to – why was that? It was because that was the – of course, Saint Nazaire is on the Gironde River, so that was, it was something to do with that trip.
AS: And then the big one, the Big B, operation to Berlin.
PF: Yeah. That was the Big B yeah, they were big trips. Dangerous ones, the losses were always heavy. Well, they were mainly night fighters – Hitler made sure that his beloved Berlin and all that area round there was well guarded by night fighters, which were the Junkers 88, which was a very efficient aeroplane, and they caused us proper problem.
AS: Hm. Did you lose a lot on the squadron to –
PF: Pardon?
AS: Did you lose a lot on the squadron to night fighters?
PF: No we didn’t, funnily enough. We used to have losses to ack-ack and the odd fighter, but that was, there was nothing catastrophic from fighters.
AS: But over the period you were on ops from March 1943, were the losses heavy? Severe?
PF: They were. I wouldn’t say they were severe, they were heavy. I didn’t know what the statistics are on this, I can’t remember them, but – oh you could, people used to hear it on the radio and they would say something about aircraft missing; that used to be an indication of what the night was like. Some nights were pretty awful, mainly due to night fighters.
AS: And could you get a sense of this at the squadron as well? People just disappearing?
PF: Yeah.
AS: Hm. And then, then two days later, you went to Berlin again, and it says ‘bombs dropped on Flensburg’. What was that all about?
PF: Oh yeah, that was a, that was a – that wasn’t a catastrophe, but it was an embarrassment. Let me think now. Oh yes, we were set off and we were briefed to bomb Berlin, and crossing over, oh gosh, what’s the name of, Jutland area, you know –
AS: Oh I – Denmark there.
PF: Denmark?
AS: Yeah.
PF: Yeah. The, there, to the right of Denmark is Flensburg, which is German obviously, and if you drifted off course, you got it in the neck from Flensburg. Well, that was what was happening. And yeah, that was a dicey old area, and we never, I never liked the Berlin trips, ‘cause that was, it was a long way there and you had to go through, like Flensburg, and so many other hazards, there was no sort of sitting back and relaxing and saying ‘oh well, let’s go’ [chuckles].
AS: Did you always feel yourselves well informed about where the German hazards were? Where the flack was –
PF: Oh yes we were. The briefing was very accurate and – no we never had anything, no faults to find with that.
AS: And how about –
PF: And our intelligence was very good too.
AS: How about the debrief when you got back? Was that – what happened in the debrief? Was that a long time or just very cursory or?
PF: No, no that was, it was done quite quickly. We, we just, we landed dead on time as always, found your way back to the debriefing room and sat yourself down at a table, and the debriefing officer would come along and start asking us the routine questions, and that was that, you know. Nothing in particular about it, we just wanted to get back to the mess and have a meal.
AS: Can you remember what –
PF: Our eggs and bacon [chuckles].
AS: Okay. Can you remember what some of the questions were? I know it’s a long time ago, but what were they interested in?
PF: They were interested in the concentration of anti-aircraft from the guns, and particularly the fighters. That’s what they were interested in, because they were becoming a menace, and to trace what airfield they were coming from so they could take care of them with a separate force. But that was the, that was the main thing was night fighters, and he had a very good, he was, Hitler had a very good night fighter force, or Goering I should say.
AS: A moment ago, you talked about getting back and landing dead on time. What was the procedure as you approached the English coast to return?
PF: What, what was the procedure? Well, well actually, we were on tracks that the briefing officer had given you and, so they always knew exactly where you were going to do. If you were off track as it were, you, I, we would just let them know that we were off track.
AS: And then you’d spot, what, you’d spot the pundit light for –
PF: Yeah, yeah, a pundit or a something, a light, strip of light and that would, you’d pick it up and that would give an indication. Everything was so well organised.
AS: You, when you got back to base, what happened then? When you were in the circuit, did they stack you up or, or?
PF: No, no they didn’t stack us up at all, they would get us down as soon as possible, which was right, and we would land and the transport would be there, the aircrew bus would be there to pick you up. We used to have a bus would you believe? And take us back to the debriefing. They’d sow us with coffee [unclear] and that was that. Everybody thankful to be back, having looked round the room to see who was missing [chuckles]. I’m laughing about it, I shouldn’t –
AS: Yeah, but as you said before, you lived in your self-contained crew world.
PF: Yeah.
AS: Yeah. This – you’ve got quite a lot of trips to, to Italy, and I noticed you –
PF: Yes, yeah. I did eight Italian trips.
AS: You got the Italian Star for that.
PF: What’s that?
AS: Was that what you got the Italian Star for?
PF: Oh yes.
AS: So, what were the Italian trips like? Did you go over the Alps?
PF: It was – mostly yes, mostly. Not all trips took us over the Alps but the majority did, and they were quite – we used to like the Italy trips, ‘cause they were quite uneventful. You had all that track across France and there were very few night fighters, which was, which was the problem, attacking Germany or France, and there were very little problems then. It wasn’t until we got nearer to the industrial areas that the night fighters, night fighter problem increased. [Knocking] come in.
Other: Peter, returning back with the water.
PF: Alright, yes, thank you.
Other: Here we are.
PF: Yes, thank you.
Other: You’re welcome.
AS: Yeah, so Italy was a long time but a comparatively easy trip, was it?
PF: Oh yes, the Italian trips, we [chuckles] used to like – when we’d arrive into the briefing room and you looked up on the wall and there’d be the big map up, and you’d see the, that Italy was the target, were the targets and sigh of relief because the, you know, going all the way across France, there were very few night fighters and, not until you got to the Italian area that they become concentrated. But Italy trips were always good. We always looked forward to those.
AS: Did you end up coming back in daylight from them, or was there enough time to –
PF: Mostly we got back in daylight, no in, at night time I should say, but we used to do – oh God, what were they [pause], we used to do trips and there was a name for them and that, that’s slipped my mind [pause]. They were virtually daylight raids, but we were given courses across Germany and France which, which weren’t defended heavily, but, yes, we used to, but that, on the whole we used to like these light trips as we called them [chuckles].
AS: And there were some others, some really difficult trips, some really difficult trips like the Ruhr trips, like Essen and –
PF: Oh yeah, the Ruhr trips were, Happy Valley as we called them, were very severe and strong. We used to hate Happy Valley, because the, the ack-ack concentration – Hitler had done it to please his own people actually, that all, the whole Ruhr Valley was saturated with anti-aircraft guns [pause]. But we did most, that was most of the operation with the, on the Ruhr Valley you know, Happy Valley – you see that? Oh God, handkerchief, oh there it is [long pause].
AS: Are there any particular moments that really stick in your mind of, of carrying out this campaign? Airborne moments?
PF: Well, I, I’m just trying to think. I had an idea you were going to ask me a question like that [long pause].
AS: Were any of you wounded at all?
PF: I was never, fortunately I was never wounded, I was never, we were never hit. We were knocked about a bit by German night fighters, but they weren’t very heavy attack, heavily, they weren’t heavy attacks because our gunners were good enough to keep them at bay. So no, to answer your question, no we, we, it wasn’t a problem. Thank God, because that could – he had an extremely good night fighter force.
AS: And you, you flew the same aircraft, A-Able?.
PF: On A-Able, yeah. There’s a painting of her up there. Er yes, we, we were fortunate enough to have our own aeroplane right through the, my tour.
AS: And did she always start on four engines and come back on four engines?
PF: Yeah –
AS: Mechanically very reliable, yeah?
PF: Yeah, but sometimes the pilot had to give an engine a rest, and we’d come back, perhaps come back on three, but on the whole we managed. Well, it’s nice to know we had – the old Lanc would fly well on two engines.
AS: And on, on takeoff, was that a particularly worrying time with –
PF: Was what?
AS: On takeoff, with, full of full and bombs and –
PF: Well, what, well yes it was, but it was a touch and go sort of thing. The, the tanks, the petrol tanks would be full up and the bomb racks would be full, so you had a, what did we used to call it, a maximum load, or it was called something else, a maximum effort I think it was called, and, and we managed to get through okay.
AS: Were you, had you got married by the time you were on operations?
PF: Pardon?
AS: Had you got married by the time you were on operations, on 467?
PF: I was, I was on operations in ’43, and no, I got married in ’44.
AS: Okay, so when you’d finished ops.
PF: No, and I – when I went back on my second tour, when the second, after the second front had started, that was in ’45, then, yeah I did my second tour, which was in ’45, yeah. I don’t know what when I was leading to, I’m sorry.
AS: No, no, we were talking about when you got married. Did you feel differently on your second tour, when you were married on ops?
PF: No, no I didn’t. We, you treated – it was a job, you know, and that’s how you looked at it, and kept your fingers crossed. I was very fortunate but I, when I, ‘cause I did, my first tour was pretty grim, but I wasn’t, but I wasn’t married then, but apart from that we had a reasonably efficient –
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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Interview with Peter Fitt
Creator
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Adam Sutch
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-05-19
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AFittP150519
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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.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Format
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01:49:04 audio recording
Description
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Peter was born in Norwich. His father was a head gardener and wanted him to follow that occupation and so refused to let him join the RAF. With the advent of war the situation changed and Peter volunteered at a recruiting station and after selection tests was accepted as a wireless operator. Peter completed his ground training at No. 2 radio school At RAF Yatesbury and air training at RAF Watton which ended with a passing out parade.
Sent to an operational training unit to fly Wellingtons, he remembers the high rate of losses due to accidents, particularly of flying into high ground. Crewed up at RAF Finningly in September 1942, he was converted onto Manchesters and then Lancasters at the heavy conversion unit at RAF Swinderby. He describes in detail the equipment available to him, which made for a very busy job, and remembers that all the codes were written on 'flimsies' which could be swallowed in an emergency.
Sent to 467 Squadron which, as a special unit, Peter felt were given the "posh and dangerous" jobs. He completed a full tour including minelaying to the Gironde and St. Nazaire, Berlin and also eight trips to Italy, which he considers were easy compared to 'happy valley', as the Ruhr valley was known . One special trip was to Peenemunde and the crews were warned that if they didn't do the job properly, then they would be sent back every night until it was completed. He recalls being attacked by night fighters but the gunners kept them at bay and so completed his full tour in the same aircraft, A-Able.
On completion of his tour Peter was commissioned and put in charge of the wireless flight until 1945 when he commenced his second tour which was terminated with the cessation of hostilities.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Norfolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
France
France--Gironde Estuary
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Peenemünde
Italy
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Terry Holmes
Vivienne Tincombe
467 Squadron
aircrew
animal
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
briefing
crewing up
fear
Gee
H2S
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Manchester
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operational Training Unit
RAF Bottesford
RAF Finningley
RAF Swinderby
RAF Yatesbury
training
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/209/3348/ABellJR150727.2.mp3
9d02f41eac38212c78457bf9772c6f97
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Title
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Bell, John Richard
John Richard Bell
John R Bell
John Bell
J R Bell
J Bell
Description
An account of the resource
Two oral history interviews with Wing Commander John Richard Bell DFC (-2024). He was a bomb aimer with 619 and 617 Squadrons in Flying Officer Bob Knights’ crew.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-07-27
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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Bell, JR-UK
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
The interview is taking place at Mr Bell’s home in Storrington on 27th July 2015. During this interview Mr Bell recounts his experiences as a bomb aimer in 617 Squadron.
JB: I and my crew begged Wing Commander Cheshire when we asked if we could join his squadron and he was sat in his office, very nice man to talk to, we were an experienced crew and he still wanted to know why we wanted to join his squadron, so we told him that we would like to be flying a little lower, nearer the ground, but he said ‘oh, but we’re not going to be doing that any more, we’re operating normally’ which of course they were but they were operating mainly over targets in northern France, practically to the build up to the invasion obviously and one installation that I remember on operation was against the [unclear] works at Limoges which was the first time that Leonard Cheshire had marked the target with his own flares and, er, having found that marking was essential he came over the factory at about two to three hundred feet and dropped twice, to drop flares on the target and to ensure that the French workers in the factory could get out and get into the shelter, the word being that we should try to avoid killing French workers during our bombing campaign. He was a very compassionate man and very easy to talk to and very good, very easy to get on with, he didn’t stand on ceremony and he didn’t order you to do things, he just asked you to follow him, whatever he was prepared to do, he was an exceptional man, an exceptional leader. Early in 1944 the Allies became aware of [unclear] reconnaissance of some large structures, concrete structures being built in the Pas de Calais area of France. They did not know what they were at that time although they suspected they were something to do with the V weapons programme which had been discovered after the attacks on Peenemunde. Following the attack on Peenemunde it was known that the Germans were developing two weapons, a rocket programme and also a pilot’s - aeroplane programme carrying, each carrying one tonne of explosive warheads. The V1 launch site was discovered in the Pas de Calais area early in 1944 and also at that time the two large concrete structures which the Allies were not sure of their purpose but felt they were probably connected to the rocket – V2 Rocket programme. The V1 sites were attacked by Bomber Command throughout the next three months of 1944 and the construction of the - what became known as the V2 programme, the two sites, one in the Eperlecques Forest and one near Saint-Omer at [unclear] were watched as the building progressed but they were large concrete structures and could not be attacked, although they were attacked with conventional weapons but not put out of action until the 617 Squadron was equipped with the Tallboy in June 1944. The site at [unclear] near Saint-Omer consisted of a chalk quarry with a cliff at the far end of the quarry and on the top of the cliff we saw the construction of a concrete dome, obviously built there to protect the workings within the cliff. 617 Squadron were assigned to attack it on – several times in June and July, I think about four times altogether, mainly because of cloud interfering on two occasions and Tallboys were used to destroy all the facilities of the site and in fact one landed close to this concrete dome which obviously destroyed the foundations of the structure. One of the operations I was on was the 17th July 1944 and it was a clear day and we approached the site from the north-west and from a long way away I could see quite clearly, from the bomb aimer’s position, the dome covering the installation in the quarry. We approached at the normal speed of close on one hundred and eighty to two hundred miles an hour and at a height of around eighteen thousand feet. I signed up er [pause]
AP: It’s OK John, just keep -
JB: I switched on the bomb sight and carried out all of the normal procedures for the bombing run and directed the pilot to - on the bombing run. This took some time, we were on the run for at least five minutes and the - I had the dome in my bomb sight for all of that time and at the appropriate moment the bomb was automatically released. It was a clear day and I saw the bomb – the Tallboy going down and I followed it all the way down to the target and it exploded just beside the dome, there was an enormous explosion, so that was recorded as an almost - a direct hit and in fact I did shout out ‘Bullseye’ to the crew to let them know that we’d had a pretty good hit.
AP: And the consequence of what happened, about what it did, can you talk a little bit about what – later on you discovered that -
JB: Later, much later, we discovered that the foundations of the dome - the supports of the dome had been severely disrupted and it had tilted to one side. Obviously the site was then unusable, other Tallboys had bombed the whole of the site and the whole facility was useless by then. On the 25th of July 1944 the squadron continued its attacks on the V weapons sites in the Pas de Calais, we bombed the first V2 site that we’d seen at the Eperlecques Forest and this was a large concrete structure which would have taken a great deal of destruction by Tallboys to put it out of action. It - there were several direct hits on the target on that particular day and eventually the installation was put out of action by our attacks and only the oxygen-producing facility was maintained there. Both sites were never able to launch V2s as they were programmed to do. A third construction site was discovered at a village called Mimoyecques, also in the Pas de Calais area, and it was noted that there were a number of concrete underground installations with a pattern of openings in the tops of the structures. The purpose was not known although it was thought that they were – it was going to be used for the launch of some sort of rocket projectile. The whole site was bombed by the main force of Bomber Command and also by 617 Squadron and their Tallboys were able to penetrate deep into the earth and destroy the foundations of these concrete structures, thereby putting it out of action. It was only discovered - the true purpose of the site was discovered after the Armies – the Allied Armies moved through following D-Day and found that it was a site designed to launch projectiles with a warhead of several kilograms towards London and the number of missiles that would have been launched could have been as high as three thousand a day. The intention of the site was to bombard London with projectiles from these - from this supergun, each carrying a warhead of around thirty kilos of explosive and the intention was from the number of projectiles that they could launch would result in some three thousand shells, so-called shells landing in London every hour and the destruction of the site obviously saved London from an enormous barrage of artillery from long range. This site at Mimoyecques was extremely difficult to bomb because it was all buried underground and there was very little to see on the surface except two concrete structures but er – and of course the whole of the site had been bombed pretty heavily by the normal weapons by aircraft from Bomber Command and the United States Airforce so the 617 crews had difficulty in seeing the site but nevertheless were accurate enough with their Tallboys. On July 6th 1944 617 Squadron aircraft, led by the CO, Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire, attacked the site at Mimoyecques with Tallboys and completely destroyed the site. This operation on the V3 site at Mimoyecques was Wing Commander Cheshire’s one hundredth bombing operation throughout his bombing career from 1941 onwards and he was stood down from bombing following that day, he was then awarded the Victoria Cross for completing all the operations and for his valour in doing so and his leadership and he was followed in command of the squadron by Wing Commander [unclear] Tate, Wing Commander Tate. In 1941 Barnes Wallis who had given great thought to the bombing of various targets in Germany, particularly those underground or buried installations, and he saw the need for a bomb other than a blast bomb, which was currently in use, a bomb to penetrate the earth and explode below causing some sort of an earthquake. His thought at that time was for a very large bomber flying at forty thousand feet and carrying a ten tonne bomb which of course was quite impractical at that time, but in 1943 the launch of the Air Ministry brought out his project again and asked him to design something that could be carried by perhaps the aircraft of the day, the Lancaster, and so he designed what became known as the Tallboy and he designed it in three sizes – four thousand pounds, twelve thousand pounds and twenty-two thousand pounds, all at that time called Tallboys. The four thousand pound was tested and was found not to be as stable as they thought it should be so the fins on the tail were turned to five degrees from the vertical and this helped to - the bomb to spin as it was dropped thereby giving it great stability and the twelve thousand pounder then became known as the Tallboy and the twenty-two thousand pounder was called the Grand Slam, the twelve thousand pounder was issued to 617 Squadron immediately after D-Day and the first operation was against the Saumur tunnel on I think the 9th of June 1944 and the – it was a complete success in destroying the tunnel and from then on the squadron operated almost solely with Tallboys and later with the Grand Slam, the weapons being central in the destruction of the V weapon sites and any other installation that had been buried below the ground. It had also of course - was later found very – found to be the ideal weapon for destroying bridges and canals so a great weapon by Barnes Wallis again used by the squadron. On the 5th August 1944 we carried out a daylight attack on the U-Boat pens at Brest. This was in bright daylight, sunny day, and I can remember dropping my Tallboy onto the area of the pens and I think it hit fairly close by. My memory of the day is that there was an enormous amount of flak, very heavy flak over the target area but we were, we were not hit, we escaped. My job in the crew in the Lancaster was as a bomb aimer and also as front gunner if need be and my job was to guide the pilot towards the target and then to concentrate on dropping the bombs on whatever the target was and dropping them as accurate as possible and my abiding picture of the whole of all the operations I did, particularly those over Germany at night, was of approaching the target area - the city that was under attack or was about to be attacked and to be met with a wall of anti-aircraft fire. The German gunners would fire their shells into a box at around twenty thousand feet, which was the height we were aiming at, aiming to be at, and we just had to fly through that. It was a pretty awesome sight to behold some miles before we reached the target but by concentrating on what we had to do we just had to ignore it, there was no way you could ig – you could dodge anti-aircraft shells, you just have to fly through them and hope that you’re not going to be hit even by a small amount of shrapnel which of course could damage a vital part of the aeroplane but we were very fortunate that all our operations – that we got through all of them unscathed. Following the raid on the German dams 617 Squadron later became, became used to operate on many other targets for which it was equipped with a bomb sight, a new bomb sight, the stabilising automatic bomb site, also known as SABS. This was a precision-built bomb sight and it was not, it was not used in any other – by any other squadron, mainly because it was difficult to build and very few were actually made. The invention and design of the Tallboy weapon by Barnes Wallis was the – a most important weapon that arrived at the right time in 1944. It was the only weapon that could have destroyed the targets against which it was used, conventional weapons at that time were blast weapons and would have had little or no effect on the structures that the Tallboy attacked and it was, it was essential of course to use it against targets which were buried underground and also, er, heavily armoured targets like battleships, the [targets ?] could never have been bombed by anything else other than a Tallboy so the Tallboy was really the crux of the whole bombing campaign from 1944 onwards to, to hasten the end of the war by destroying those targets which the Germans hoped to use to counter the invasion forces, it just was the [emphasis] weapon that was needed at the right time. The Tallboy was carried in the bomb bay and supported in there by a strap which had – the connection of the strap was electrically operated by the bomb sight at the critical moment. The top of the bomb had a hole drilled in it and in the roof of the bomb bay was a metal plug and the plug was – so when the bomb was hoisted into the bomb bay it married up with the plug and the strap was fitted underneath it and that secured it into the bomb bay. At a critical moment the bomb sight automatically triggered the release mechanism for the bomb, the strap separated and the bomb dropped out. The wireless operator’s job was to go back and wind in the two straps – two parts of the strap. The one thing about the Tallboy was that it was expensive to produce and they could not be produced very quickly so they were in limited supply and we were told that if you can’t drop the bomb, if you can’t see the target, don’t drop it, just don’t drop them all over France said Leonard Cheshire and we were instructed to bring them back which we did on several occasions when cloud obscured the target and – or smoke and if we couldn’t see it clearly then we would bring the Tallboy back and landing with a twelve thousand pounder was not funny and one had to be very careful – the pilot land very carefully which he did of course and there were never any accidents with them as there were never any accidents with the crews that brought back the twenty-two thousand pound Grand Slam when they couldn’t drop it so the aircraft was built to carry it and we never had any problem with it. Following the raid on Brest on the 5th August I completed – that completed my 50 missions constituting two tours of operations that I could retire from operating now and attend to further duties in training other crews in the training, training line. The squadron went on to other targets on U-Boat pens and military and, and naval targets throughout the rest of the war.
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/.
Identifier
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ABellJR150727
Title
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Interview with John Richard Bell
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
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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00:21:47 audio recording
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending OH summary. Allocated T Holmes
Creator
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Andrew Panton
Date
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2015-07-27
Description
An account of the resource
John Bell completed 50 operations as a bomb aimer with 617 Squadron before becoming an instructor.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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France
Germany
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
France--Mimoyecques
France--Saint-Omer (Pas-de-Calais)
France--Saumur
Germany--Peenemünde
France--Watten
Temporal Coverage
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1944
1945
Contributor
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Gill Kavanagh
617 Squadron
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of the Mimoyecques V-3 site (6 July 1944)
Bombing of the Saumur tunnel (8/9 June 1944)
bombing of the Watten V-2 site (19 June 1944)
bombing of the Wizernes V-2 site (20, 22, 24 June 1944)
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
Grand Slam
Lancaster
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Tallboy
V-1
V-2
V-3
V-weapon
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/510/8412/PDunnG1501.2.BMP
505c4b2651ad5389c9a6458077b498ac
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/510/8412/ADunnG150405.1.mp3
d86cd9b1133884331255b8b76f63465f
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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Dunn, George
George Charles Dunn
G C Dunn
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Dunn, GC
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. Two oral history interviews with George Dunn DFC (1922 1333537, 149315 Royal Air Force), a photograph a document and two log books. He flew operations as a pilot with 10, 76, and 608 Squadrons then transferred to 1409 Meteorological Flight.
There is a sub collection of his photographs from Egypt.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2017-03-08
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.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AP: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre, the interviewer is Andrew Panton, the interviewee is George Dunn, Mr Dunn was a RAF Pilot who flew various types of aircraft during the Second World War, the interview is taking place at Princess Marina House in Rustington West Sussex, on the 5th April 2015.
GD: My name is George Dunn, I was seventeen years of age when the war broke out and I was born at Whitstable on the North Kent coast, so I saw quite a lot of the Battle of Britain and being facing the Thames Estuary all the hoards of German bombers that were coming in to bomb London, when the London Blitz started, at, I joined the local defence volunteers, and then that became the Home Guard, and when I reached the age of eighteen I volunteered for aircrew. I was interviewed up at Chatham and I originally registered for wireless operator/air gunner, but they said to me would I consider pilot training, which I agreed, and after a written exam and a selection board, I was advised that I could take up pilot training. First aircraft I flew was a Tiger Moth because I did all my training in Canada, the first place was at Saskatchewan, a little place called Caron west of Moose Jaw and from there I went on to A V Roe Anson’s at a place called Weyburn again in Saskatchewan. When I came back to the UK in September 1942 I was then posted to Chipping Norton which was a satellite of Little Risington on airspeed Oxford’s this was to acclimatise us to the flying conditions in this country, we had been used to flying with full town lights and city lights, but this was of course flying in blackout conditions. From there I was posted to Lossiemouth which was number 20 OTU, and formed my crew, and we did my OTU on Wellington’s.
AP: So can you say a little bit about the Wellington Bomber, how you found it to fly and what you did [inaudible word]
GD: Well the Wellington Bomber I found was a nice aircraft it wasn’t difficult to fly and we had quite an easy course on it.
AP: What about op’s with the Wellington? Can you remember any?
GD: No I didn’t do any operations on Wellington’s
AP: So from the Wellington, where did you go next?
GD: From Wellington’s I was sent to Heavy Conversion Unit which was at Rufforth just outside York, on Halifax aircraft.
AP: And was that your first op aircraft?
GD: No, surprisingly enough, normally if you went to a Heavy Conversion Unit, you had, you flew a certain number of hours and then you were seconded to a squadron where you had to do two operations with an experienced crew, but in my case I was sent to number 10 squadron at Melbourne to do my two second dickey trips as they were called and believe it or not I had not set foot in a Halifax aircraft until that first raid. First raid was Essen, which was rather a heavy place to go to, to start with but we got through that alright and the following night I did my second, second dickey trip to Kiel, so I got two fairly good targets under my belt to start with.
AP: And could you talk a bit about the experiences you had on those trips, I mean did you engage fighters, flak, ack ack searchlights?
GD: What when I was on my own crew?
AP: yes.
GD: Yes, our first trip as a crew was to Dortmund, and right throughout our tour we were fairly lucky we were never attacked by a fighter but we were coned at one stage.
AP: So can you talk about what that means?
GD: Yes, coning is when you initially get trapped by a blue searchlight, a radar searchlight and once that’s on to you the white searchlights form a cone so you could be, you might call it sitting like a fairy on a Christmas Tree, and the only suitable manoeuvre to get out of a coning, is by a corkscrew method, if you can do that then you’re ok, but on this occasion we managed to get away from the cone.
AP: And
GD: Yes if you are coned the thing is, is to keep your eyes on your instruments, don’t look outside because you will get blinded by the light. On the 17th, 18th August 1943 I was based at Holme on Spalding Moor south east of York and on this particular afternoon the first thing we noticed when we got to the briefing room were there were extra service police on the door which we thought was rather unusual, and when we got into the briefing room and they drew the curtains across we saw this red ribbon going all the way up to Denmark up the North sea, across Denmark, missing the North German coast because of the heavy flak and then we saw this tiny little place on the Baltic coast, and we thought what, what’s going on there, what’s this all about, never heard of it. When we were briefed we were only told that it was a secret research station connected with radar, at no time were we given any indication of the real work that was going on there. The chilling remark that was made at the end of the briefing was that the target was so important that it should be destroyed that night, otherwise we were told quite firmly that we would go back the following night, the night after that until it was destroyed, and you can imagine the feeling we had knowing what reception we would get if we had to go back on the night after. After the briefing of course we went back to our usual pre-op dinner or meal, bacon and eggs usually, and eventually to the parachute room picked our parachutes up, and into the crew room, dispose of all our wallets and anything that might identify us, and took off, reached our climbing height, and proceeded through the Yorkshire coast up towards Denmark. Included in the main force was a low number of Mosquito’s which were used as a spoof raid on Berlin, this was to make sure that the German authorities were thinking that the main force was going to Berlin, and of course as we got nearer the main force veered off to Peenemunde, and the Mosquito’s carried on to Berlin. This caused quite a lot of consternation amongst the German aircrew controllers because they weren’t sure where the main force were, and when the German night fighters were alerted they had no idea what was going on, the German ground controllers were in a bit of a state and one German pilot realising what was going on proceeded to Peenemunde without being told, so of course by the time the German fighters had got there the raid was virtually half over. We were fortunate we did our run in from the Island of Roden which was about a five minute run in from the North, and we went in on the first wave, the target was well marked we went in at about seven thousand feet it was a brilliant moonlight night and my bomb aimer got quite excited because this was the first time that he had actually been able to identify the target because normally we were bombing from eighteen or nineteen thousand feet, so this was quite an occasion, and I can remember telling him don’t get too excited just concentrate on what you are doing. So we moved in no trouble at all the flak was very very light we were able to, despite the pathfinder markers we were able to identify our aiming point visually, dropped our bombs and came out without any problem. We were very lucky that we were in the first wave because we were able to bomb and get away from the target before the fighters arrived, in the original plan, four group which I was a member of, was scheduled to go in on the last wave, but because they were frightened of smoke from the ground generators obscuring our aiming point we were reverted to the first wave which was very fortunate but not so fortunate for those who were transferred back from the first wave to the last. There were three aiming points on Peenemunde itself and our aiming point was the living quarters of the scientists and the technicians, and one wag on our squadron said there would be a prize given to the first aircraft back with a scientists spectacles hanging from its undercarriage. Once you begin your final run in you are really under the control of the bomb aimer because he, he’s the one that can only see the actual line of path to the target so he will be giving you instructions, such as, right, left left, right right, steady, until you actually came to the point where he’d say bombs gone. We were only told that it was a, as I said before, a secret RADAR station, and it was some time afterwards before that it was revealed that it was for rocket research. So, of course the best thing was that the day after, it was only after a Spitfire reconnaissance which evaluated the amount of damage that we knew with some relief that we were not going to have to go back that night. The aftermath of course was what was the overall result and it was generally recognised that the rocket programme was put back by at least two months, and in his book Crusade to Europe, General Eisenhower said that the second front would have been seriously compromised had the Peenemunde raid not taken place when it did. It is possible that the raid on Peenemunde could have taken place a lot earlier, because in May 1940 a note was pushed through the door of the British Naval attaché in Oslo, from the writer claiming to have very important information connected with German activities, and if the intelligence people were interested would they put a coded letter or word in the broadcasts that were made usually to the resistance, this was done and another letter was pushed through the door and the sort of information the writer indicated that they had, was to the intelligence people so ludicrous that they thought it must be a hoax, and it was ignored, and it was many many, well this was 1940, it was some years later when snippets of information came through and two German Generals who were in a , they were prisoners of war, were in a bugged room and amongst the things that they discussed was that they couldn’t understand why Peenemunde had never been bombed, this of course brought it to the notice of the authorities and from then on every endeavour was made to secure other bits and pieces of information, to ascertain whether this was true. The final answer to the problem I think was when a WRAF intelligence officer very keenly spotted a launching ramp on one of the reconnaissance photographs, and this really was the, was the result of good reconnaissance, and it really gave the answer that there really was something going on at Peenemunde, and from then on of course a committee was formed Mr Churchill appointed Duncan Sands to chair this committee and eventually after a few meetings it was then that they decided that this would, Peenemunde would have to be bombed. Of course one of the things was how were they going to do it, Air Vice Marshal Cochrane of five group who’s group had been used to some time and distance bombing wanted to go in with about, I think about 150 Lancaster’s, it was also discussed that a small force of Mosquito’s would go in, but Sir Arthur Harris the chief of Bomber Command, he felt that if a raid was going to take place it would have to be successful one hundred percent at the first go, and he made the decision that it was going to be a maximum effort, so all groups of the Bomber Command were going to take part. Consequently almost six hundred aircraft were sent, probably the decision was right because the place was destroyed, virtually destroyed on the first raid. Four days after the raid on Peenemunde, the place was visited by Hitler, Goebbels, Himmler, and Albert Speer the armaments manager and they, after a survey Hitler himself decided that the place would not continue to operate, at least on the scale that it had done, and it was then that the whole project was moved to various places particularly the Harz Mountains. Of course the success of the raid was not achieved without some loss and unfortunately the total aircraft loss was forty and two hundred and twenty aircrew were killed, mostly occurred in the last two waves of the, of the raid so as I said before we were very very lucky that we had been moved from the last wave to the first wave, because we were virtually in and out without any problem. Of course the success in some ways of flying on operations is the team work, the crew have got to work together and I was very fortunate I had a very good crew, we originally formed up at OTU at Lossiemouth, it was a question of one person getting to know another. I well remember my bomb aimer coming up to me and saying “have you crewed up yet?” and I said “no” “how about crewing up with me” “yeah sure do you know any navigators?” “Yes I know a navigator” and that’s how it went on, so we finished up with five, and later on we acquired a Mid-upper gunner and a Flight Engineer who was actually allocated to us. We were lucky in this respect because my Flight Engineer’s Wife and Mother ran a pub just outside Horsforth in Leeds so on our nights off all seven of us used to pile into a Morris Eight, and go off to a night out and as you can imagine the customers made a great fuss of us, and we were never short of free drinks. [laughter] I can well remember the only time when my navigator did suffer from, I don’t know what it was, but he suddenly came up on the intercom and said “ Skipper were about ten miles off course” and my reply was “well look we can’t be, I’ve been steering this course that you gave me without any deviation, so get your finger out and get us back on course, otherwise I’ll get the bomb aimer to take over the navigation” this really put the wind up him and he, he got us back on course, don’t ask me why but whether he’d made a mistake with his GEE box fixing it turned out ok at the end. Of course most of our navigation was dead reckoning but the saviour that we had, but it was only I think to about five degrees east that the GEE box from where we could get a fix on our position enabled us to keep to a reasonable course. Of course whilst the aircrew got most of the glory, it was the auxiliary staff that really supported us people like the parachute packers, the ground crew, as far as we were concerned we had an excellent ground crew on our aircraft, everything was tickety boo, the windscreen was all polished they went completely out of their way to make sure that the aircraft we were flying was in one hundred percent condition, and the only way we could reward them was taking them down to the pub on the occasional evening and buying them a few beers, it was our way of saying thank you to them. I well remember that on our last night our very last raid which was a castle, outside the control tower there was a whole host of personnel waving to us a lot of air cadets and when we got to the runway for our final take off the crowd round the caravan way, the crowd outside the caravan the controller which gave you a green light when it was ready for you to take off, and then finally opening the throttles for what you knew was going to be your final operation, and wondering how it was going to go, but of course at that time you were really concentrating on getting the aircraft safely off the ground. I well remember, I don’t know which raid it was but probably my fault we had not secured the front escape hatch properly, and on take off it blew open, my oxygen mask, tube rather was ripped off and I had to borrow the mid-upper gunners oxygen tube, he had rather an uncomfortable flight trying to breathe his oxygen having given up his tube to me, but we did get over it, and we did manage to close the escape hatch with some difficulty, I must take full responsibility for that error. Yes on that final flight when you got the green light knowing that this was going to be your final operation, you had that feeling of great support from those people that were standing there, they knew that it was your final op, and they were willing you to go on and come back safely and that was, that was really comforting, but of course you were more or less concentrating on the take off at that time because that was a very dangerous time for a fully laden, fully fuelled, fully bombed aircraft, until what you reach was known as safety speed, where it was, you were then able to climb to your normal altitude.
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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Interview with George Dunn
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Andrew Panton
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
2015-04-05
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ADunnG150405, PDunnG1501
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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.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Format
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00:25:12 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
George was born at Whitstable and was 17 when war was declared. He joined the local Defence Volunteers which became the Home Guard. When he reached 18 he volunteered for air crew. He was interviewed at Chatham and sat an exam and selection board to train as a pilot. All of his training was in Canada and his first aircraft was a Tiger Moth. When he returned to England, he was posted to RAF Chipping Norton on Oxfords flying in black-out conditions. From there he was posted to RAF Lossiemouth, operational training unit on Wellingtons. He was then sent to a Heavy Conversion Unit at RAF Rufforth on Halifaxes. George was posted to 10 Squadron at RAF Melbourne. He flew operations to Essen, Kiel and Dortmund. On 17/18 August 1943, while based at RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor, he took part on the bombing operation to Peenemünde rocket research station.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Canada
Germany
England--Chatham (Kent)
England--Kent
England--Oxfordshire
England--Yorkshire
Scotland--Moray
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Essen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-08-17
1943-08-18
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
10 Squadron
20 OTU
aircrew
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
civil defence
crewing up
Gee
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Home Guard
military ethos
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Chipping Norton
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Melbourne
RAF Rufforth
searchlight
Tiger Moth
training
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/747/40648/BBarffAColingEFv1.1.pdf
ca6ec78a0413aa7061aef552e3fc1f62
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
Coling, Eric
E Coling
Description
An account of the resource
10 items. The collection concerns Eric Frederick Coling (1921 - 2018 1481171 Royal Air Force) and contains his memoir, photographs, log book, service documents, letters and an oral history interview. Eric flew operations as a bomb aimer with 50 Squadron before ditching, drifting for several days and time and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection was catalogued by Lynn Corrigan.
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
2018-01-10
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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Coling, E
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
Eric Coling memoir
"Just a lad with a hole in his jersey"
Description
An account of the resource
Time in the RAF including selection as an observer, enrolment at Lord's Cricket Ground, navigational dead reckoning and meteorology training in Eastbourne and Paignton. Time spent on navigational sorties in Grahamstown, South Africa in Ansons and bombing training in Oxfords. Meeting Winifred Scott after she had been dancing at the MECCA ballroom whilst he was at an Operational Training Unit at RAF Upper Heyford. Training as a bomb aimer, crewing up with navigator Bunny Ridsdale, wireless operator Alex Noble, Canadian pilot Ron Code and rear gunner Ray Moad, flying Vickers Wellingtons, including a leaflet drop over Nantes. Move to 1660 Conversion Unit at RAF Swinderby and joining mid-upper gunner Johnny Boyton and flight engineer Spike Langford and flying Manchesters followed by the four-engined Avro Lancaster. Move to No.5 Group, 50 Squadron at RAF Skellingthorpe, serving under Wing Commander Robert McFarlane. Operations to Hamburg, where window was used for the first time, Mannheim, Nuremberg, Milan, operation Hydra at Peenemünde and the ‘Battle of Berlin’. Best man at sister, Muriel's wedding, who worked for the Ministry of Information at the Government Code and Cypher school at Bletchley Park. Further training in formation and low-level flying. Aircraft 'L-Love' hit by flak and landing at RAF Kirmington. Mine laying outside Gdynia harbour, Poland. Attack by JU88's and ditching in the sea. loss of Bunny Ridsdale, rescue by Danish fishermen, detention by German naval officer and transfer to Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe Interrogation Centre, and transfer to Stalag 4b, as prisoner of war. Meeting American forces, transfer to Brussels in a DC-3 and repatriation to Great Britain in a sterling. Marriage to Winifred Scott, in St. Peter's Church, Harrogate, with Johnny Boyton as best man. Work with London, Midlands & Scottish railway and later move to Tanzania to work for East African Railways.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Andy Barff
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2014-10
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
South Africa
Great Britain
England
England--Lincolnshire
France
France--Nantes
Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Milan
Poland
Poland--Gdynia
Tanzania
South Africa--Makhanda
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 Canadian Air Force
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
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Fourteen page printed document with photographs
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
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BBarffAColingEFv1
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
16 OTU
1660 HCU
50 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
crewing up
ditching
Dulag Luft
Gee
H2S
Heavy Conversion Unit
Ju 88
Lancaster
love and romance
Manchester
Master Bomber
mine laying
observer
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
RAF Kirmington
RAF Padgate
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Swinderby
RAF Upper Heyford
recruitment
training
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/508/8409/PDixonAS1501.2.jpg
f02964fdfafb37d33692b060246c6078
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/508/8409/ADixonAS151106.2.mp3
54a81115d09ad9d86498297a44c1d90e
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
Dixon, Alec Stuart
A S Dixon
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Dixon, AS
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Alec Stuart Dixon (178872 Royal Air Force).
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AH: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Anna Hoyles. The interviewee is Alec Dixon. The interview is taking place at Mr Dixon’s home in Cleethorpes on the 6th of November 2015.
AD: Well, we start when I was nineteen and I thought there was going to be a war so I thought I’d better get myself the best job of all. Be a pilot. And there was an opportunity because the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve had opened up Waltham Aerodrome as a training centre so I applied for the interview. There were three wing commanders I had to convince that I was the type of person that would make a good pilot and I succeeded in that but my entry was delayed because of a tooth that needed filling. When I got, when I finally got signed up it was on May the 3rd I think, when I signed up for flying at Waltham. The aircraft I was flying was on Miles Magisters and we attended every weekend for flying and during the week we attended the town centre for lectures on various subjects and this continued right through to August when there was the stunning announcement that we were to be all called up and Waltham Aerodrome would be closed down. This did happen and we all hung around waiting for something to happen that would accelerate our training. We were all posted down to Hastings where, if the Germans had had any sense when we were there it was absolutely full of potential pilots and if they sent a stream of bombers down the sea front they’d wipe the air force out without any trouble at all. Anyway, they didn’t do it. They weren’t as bright as they thought they were. From Hastings I went to Burnaston in Derbyshire and continued single-engined training and from there I moved to Little Rissington where I went on the twin-engined aircraft and during that procedure we were asked what we wanted to fly on ops and I opted to fly for the latest thing they had which was the Beaufort torpedo bomber. I thought that sounded rather good and anyway when I’d finished my training on Ansons I was posted to Silloth and there I was trained as a Hudson pilot and when I say trained as a Hudson pilot they had a particularly, method of crewing. Normally you get a pilot, second pilot, navigator, flight engineer, wireless operator and air gunners but a Hudson pilot the two pilots had to be trained on all those things. We used to fly one trip, one pilot would fly, the next trip the other pilot would fly. The second pilot would then be a bomb aimer. Maybe the flight engineer. He had, he had to be good at aldis, the lamp and at Morse. Very high specification and also operate the gunner, the gunnery turret or the side swivel gun. We had Vickers, no, yeah a Vickers gas operated. On completion of my training I went to a squadron at Leuchars in Scotland where the task was reconnoitring the Norwegian coast, the Baltic, and any shipping sailing in that area. For the first few trips I flew the squadron leader who was the flight commander. Anyway, we didn’t stay there very long and when we got over to Limavady, no, to Aldergrove. Aldergrove in Ireland which has a runway which is more like a, I forget the name of the thing. Switchback ride. It was, it leaned over on one side and back on the other and I was pleased to get to Limavady where we only had a mountain to negotiate on the circuit. There we did convoy escort and looking for submarines and that and one day I was flying, I was due to be pilot and my navigator, the other pilot hadn’t turned up and it so happened that he’d been collared by the CO, Wing Commander [Curnow] and we were after the Bismarck so I said, ‘Well you’ll want me won’t you?’ He said, ‘Oh yes. You can man the side gun.’ So there were three pilots on board and we set off and straight across Ireland. We didn’t take any notice of the neutrality of the country. We went straight on course to the station that we’d been, or a spot where we were told to patrol. I think we could see the Bismark quite a long long way away and then we caught up with a Heinkel and it turned tail and started running away from us. The CO chased it. Fired the front guns at it. Didn’t do any good. We drew alongside. Not quite near enough and [pumped lead?] at each other. I was shooting at the starboard engine on the Heinkel and I think I saw a puff of smoke come out but anyway the, my co-pilot had decided that we were running out of petrol so we’d better break off the chase and get back to Ireland which we did. Straight across neutral Ireland and that was that. Sometime later, I did quite a number of trips on the Atlantic convoy business and then one day on DROs they were asking for volunteers for PRU, Photographic Reconnaissance Unit and the chap who interviewed me said, ‘It’s more than likely you’ll go on to the new Mosquito.’ So I thought well that would be smashing. And there was a bit of a hold up in me leaving, leaving the squadron and when I got there they’d filled the course up with applicants and I was excluded so instead of hanging around they said would you like to do the Spitfires? And the Spitfire on PRU was rather a splendid aeroplane. They’d removed the guns from, and the ammunition boxes and all that from the wings and fitted it with petrol tanks which gave us a range you start here and you can go six hundred miles and come back. Twelve hundred miles altogether. Nearly about nearly six hours flying depending on the height you were flying at and everything. And it was, I was posted. When I finished the CO said, ‘Have you flown a spitfire before?’ I said, ‘No. I’m a Hudson man,’ and he said, ‘Well there’s the handbook, go and sit in the aeroplane, on the flight line and I’ll see you at 2 o’clock and ask you questions about it.’ So I had to learn all the controls and everything and he came up, ran me through and said, ‘Well you’re alright then. Off you go.’ Now, I’d been told that the Spitfire was very light on the stick fore and aft and on a Hudson it was a two handed job shoving it forward to get the tail up to get speed for take-off and I’m afraid my delicate touch [laughs] didn’t suit the Spitfire at that time. I went down the runway nearly like a camel and off on my first trip which was the, some channel ports, Languedoc aerodrome which was to the northwest of Brest, Brest [pause] and Brest and I photographed there and nothing happened. And I did most of my photography at twenty eight thousand feet which is the best suited for the cameras to give the most detail and down the coast again to where was I going then. Oh, St Nazaire. St Nazair, [?] [Dulon?] quite a lot of small places. Right down to Bordeaux and the River Gironde and then to, along to the Spanish coast and go down on the way to [?] on the Mediterranean. I never got as far as that but I used to take photographs of between, along the French Franco Spanish border in case people wanted escape routes and I thought they’d be helpful. Nobody ever said anything about, about it being useful but it might have been. And then back to base which was, you know an uneventful event and we occasionally saw the odd fighter aircraft but a Spitfire at that time was fitted with a special engine which you were allowed to use full throttle for twelve minutes and it gave some phenomenal speeds. A normal indicated speed was about a hundred and eighty knots which had to be converted according to temperature and that so you had to do all your own navigation and it was fairly easy getting the right places on the coast. Coming back, we usually came back inland photographing any aerodromes that might be there and always photograph the coast as you went out ready for the invasion. I did quite, quite [coughs], quite a few trips and then on one trip I was, we did occasionally get flak but on one trip over Brest they put up a bloody big barrage and I could hear the shrapnel hit my tail, or the fuselage behind but I had three miles a minute, a hundred and eighty miles an hour. A hundred and eighty yeah, three miles a minute. I soon finished the run along Brest harbour, turned left and went into overdrive because radio in England had said there were some bandits about. I thought that’s just what I want, cheer somebody up tell them there’s some bandits. Anyway, all of sudden the windscreen covered in oil, the canopy in oil and I couldn’t see a thing so I thought this is really a cheerful trip and I tried opening the canopy which I did and got my goggles all oiled up so I had to get, lean over to the other side of the cockpit to get looking through about a two inch gap but it didn’t give me much view and all the way back St Eval. When I got to St Eval I was feeling pretty tired and when I made my approach I was, and due to the fact that I couldn’t gauge things right because of the oil on the windscreen I came in a bit too high and landed a too far down the runway. Well that was alright. I’ll put my brakes on. I put my brakes on. Course they’d got oil on them as well and they didn’t work. I knew there was a hedge at the end of the runway so I just trickled along, switched the engine off so that it didn’t put a load on the engine, or the propeller, ran in to the hedge, tipped gently on the nose and wondered how to get out. I needn’t have bothered. There was a jeep alongside me and the flight commander and what not helped me out and that was that. They decided then that I should go to Fraserburgh as an instructor which I did and at Fraserburgh, this is another [laughs] the medical officer apparently got a bit of dual from the dual flying with an instructor and I was asked to take him up one day and I did do and we were coming in to land and I thought he’s going to be short on runway but just couldn’t tell but what I didn’t know was that the concrete runway was about ten inches higher than the ground preceding it and he touched down about a couple of feet on the grass, wiped the undercarriage off and there was another thing to explain. Anyway, they decided it wasn’t my fault and anyway he shouldn’t have been flying and it was all hushed up and off we went. When I left Fraserburgh I went into the village with my friend and at night we used to catch the train back to the camp and the driver didn’t turn up so my friend, he knew how to drive a train so he waited until the departure time and drove it back to the station and everybody got out all, no late coming back, you know, absent, or without leave sort of thing. That was quite an interesting event. But anyway, we went down to Dyce and there Aberdeen was the town and there was also a railway station just outside the entrance to the camp and we quite often, we’d overstay and sleep on the train in Aberdeen station and get back ready. The flight office was just around the corner from the entrance which was next to the station ready for flying. From there I was posted to Gibraltar and there I flew a Gladiator and a Lysander on meteorological flight and it was a devil to land at Gibraltar in the Gladiator because if the wind was in a certain direction from the southwest, yeah, southwest, the rock used to divide it and you would be coming downwind at one end and into wind at the other and the Gladiator would fly on, fly on in a breeze and wouldn’t touch down so it was quite, quite an experience as a pilot. From there, I only did a short spell there and I went on another course to, I forget the name of the aerodrome near Edinburgh, on a refresher course where I managed to get an above average assessment and posted to the Middle East. To [pause] Cairo where I had quite a smashing time and then from there I was posted to [Al Shamir?] in Palestine as a staff pilot and flying Navigators around Palestine and quite a cushy job. And then I decided I should go back. Oh I was recommended for a commission there. I was a young warrant officer at the time and I passed my commission and I was posted to an operational squadron in, due to invade Greece but when I got there the boat had left and I had to wait for transport to get me to Greece. At Greece we chased the Germans up Greece and past Salonica and from Salonica we set out one morning to bomb the marshalling yards at somebody slimovic or something like that. Peculiar name. And on the way I had engine trouble and the engine kept cutting and I couldn’t maintain speed in the squadron so the CO said you’d better turn around and go back if you can and the misfiring became more obvious and I picked out a piece of ground that looked a bit boggy and I thought well if I land in there wheels up I should be alright and I did do and I got out the aeroplane. Started walking. I don’t know why I walked in that direction but I did. Two men popped out from behind a hedge with guns levelled at me and I was, ‘Englesi. Englesi.’ They looked rather doubtful. Anyway I managed to convince them because we were dressed in battle dress which was grey and similar to the German stuff and the Germans had wings on their right hand side and we had ours on the left and we went to the village. Well they took us to the schoolmaster’s house and he spoke a bit of English and we all sat down nattering away and that night they all came, quite a few of the village came around and they have a system there where when they’ve made the wine and they then make a very potent brew. I don’t know what they call it but the idea is you toss it down and then they have a plate of jam on the table and you just stick your fist in it and then slam the jam down your throat. It’s the only way you can drink it and you can imagine after about a half a dozen of these everybody’s face was covered in jam and I woke up the next morning very [fit?] [laughs] from which I was very pleased with a terrible headache. Anyway, I set off to walk back to Salonica. I managed to get a ride on a horse and cart for a short while. In the meantime I’m carrying my parachute and everything with me and eventually when I got near Salonica which I don’t know whether it was the same day or the next day. I can’t really remember and that was the end of that episode and the Germans were still running away up in Macedonia which incidentally was where this place I’d had the drinks at and I saw the CO when I got back and he said, ‘I’ll send you on another course.’ And back to Egypt to take a single-engine pilot’s gunnery and bombing course. Instructor’s course. So I did that, completed that and found out that my squadron had been disbanded. It was getting quite late on in the war and I was posted to 43 squadron which was in Italy and I packed all my gear, called in at the aerodrome. They said I couldn’t take my gear with me. I said, ‘If I can’t take my gear with me I’m not going.’ Anyway, I got, got my way to Italy and just in time to do my last operational flight. It was because in Italy the Italians surrendered on May the 3rd which was the day I’d joined six years earlier of continuous flying. And when I’d been commissioned I was, it was a sort of an agreement that I would stay on in the RAF after the war and probably take up a permanent commission and I thought that was good but after the excitement, as you might call it, and interest of wartime it seemed damned silly playing games for something you’d been doing for real for six years and I decided that I would take the option of being demobbed in the normal way which happened to be sometime before Christmas in ‘45 would it be? Yeah. Forty. Yeah in ’45 and I was home for Christmas and my favourite drinking place was the Lifeboat Hotel on the seafront and whilst I was going in there one night and I heard my name called and the sister of one of my friends introduced Audrey. My wife-to-be to me. And I think it must have been instant attraction. Love. Whatever. She’s a wonderful girl.
[machine paused]
AD: [?] in the mess and the CO came in and said, ‘I want six of you to disarm a German group,’ and we went there and we found there was an SS and a load of Italians. I don’t think they were on full strength. I don’t know how many there were. So we marched them forward, pistols here, rifles here, grenades there and I think they were quite happy to see the end of the war. From then on, I’d given my intention of leaving the air force and I came off flying and did the adjutant’s job while he was on leave. I think I sent too many people on leave. We got into trouble for that. [laughs] And then I was home. I’d missed a bit, got a lot of that mixed up, meeting Audrey in, in The Lifeboat. From there I went back to my job. I took some shares in the business and we decided we’d build a bungalow or something. A friend of mine was a builder and he built three bungalows. This one, the next one and the one. Had a garden a hundred yards long to start with and then the Corporation took so much for road widening, grass verges.
[phone ringing. Machine paused]
AH: Carry on.
AD: Yes. So we made plans. We made plans to get married. We married on April the 24th 1948 which was a Saturday and we moved in to here for our honeymoon. We couldn’t afford to go away after paying deposits and that and started married life together which has been great ever since. Except she’s getting a bit bossy nowadays. [laughs] Don’t put that. Yeah.
[pause]
AD: Oh I didn’t tell you about when we were in Greece we used to fly over to Crete which was occupied by German troops. Landed in Heraklion. The aerodrome about midway from the main town and there the Wellington would land unload, some hundred pound bombs. We’d stick them underneath the Spit, take off and go and bomb the, what we were told was an ammunition dump. As we were getting near to the end of the war and nobody particularly fancied bombing an ammunition dump from the normal height that we bombed targets at. I’m afraid we, nothing happened. It was all false information to start with. Everybody was very happy and then that’s when we went back to Salonica and that’s the end of the war.
AH: How did you get home to England?
AD: Oh back to England. There was another story there. We went by train through Switzerland, France -
Other: I’ll switch this light on. It’s getting a bit dark.
AD: Calais and there we were camped for a night and caught the boat the next morning. There were six officers I think. Six. And probably about two hundred men and we sort of paraded on the front and the, called all the officers in to the office. Searched us all. Searched the kit and nobody discovered anything so that was fine and we got out and they just marched the men straight through without any, I thought rather discriminatory. Reversed some way or other. Do you want any more?
AH: And did you get leave when you got home?
AD: Oh yes. Yeah, I got, I was on leave for my overseas tour and demobilisation tour so I became a civvy for quite a while before returning to work where I’d, after a while I discovered that the firm were not quite on the straight path with me so I left and started my own business in the same line and then the owner of the business died and there were three accountants who were friends of his, who lent him the money to start the business and they were naturally interested in getting their money back so they approached me and asked me if I would take charge and go back to my old company which I did and we built up a really good business. Grimsby Corporation, Cleethorpes Corporation, Grimsby Rural District. Most of the solicitors including the big ones and most of the garages including main dealers. All under contract to us. Stationery Office. We even did the American Air Force at East Kirkby and so I continued until I was sixty five and I hung on three months and let the other two, and three run the business. And since then I’ve been gardening and enjoying life until I went blind. And it’s been a slow process. At first I couldn’t believe that I was registered blind. Macular degeneration. And it rapidly got worse and worse and worse. Practically total. And that’s the end of the story. Anything I missed Daniel?
DS: I think -
AD: [?] An engine failure on take-off and the aircraft swung and I managed to hold it after it had swung so far and run off the runway on to the grass because the rest of the squadron were ready to take off and unfortunately I didn’t know they’d dug a small trench parallel with the runway. The wheels got stuck and we swung around even more and I shouted evacuate ‘cause we were loaded with mines. Not mines, depth charges but I was too late they’d already clustered around the door, opened it and were out so I got myself out as well and that was the end of that. When I was flying I think I flew about ten different aircrafts. Different aircraft. I managed to have about five accidents on them. None of which were my fault thank goodness and that’s about it.
AH: Was it a shock? Was it strange to come home and not fly anymore?
AD: No. Not really. I was enjoying myself. New girlfriend. Plans. I’m busy with them. You know, running my own business and then joining in with my old firm. No. It seemed quite the natural thing to do. I have flown since. I had a lot of photographs that it’d, I don’t know whether I ought to tell you this really because it’s all water under the bridge. Might delete it later. Benson held a reunion for sixty years in existence, a PRU and I was invited there and asked if I had any photographs taken on operations which I had a photograph album full. So I stripped most of them out, handed them in and never got them back. And Daniel I met, here’s another strange coincidence. I met Daniel in Marks and Spencers. I was sitting near the entrance and this bloke came in and sat, he was waiting as well and we got in to conversation and found that he was air force and I was and we’ve been friends ever since. Jolly good.
AH: What did you enjoy flying most?
AD: What did I enjoy flying most? I don’t think anybody can fly anything better than a Spitfire. Mosquito was alright but it gave a lot of trouble. They only had one, its prototype, and it gave a lot of trouble and of course was extended and extended. Eventually they got things right. The Gladiator was a nice aeroplane to fly. As an aeroplane it was very sharp on turns and it was nicely aerobatic. You could do rolls and whatnot which you weren’t supposed to do if you were on a Met flight flying but you have to do something to make it interesting. Yeah. A Spitfire I’d plump for. I flew. I’ll tell you what I flew. Miles Magister. Anson. Oxford. Hudson. Mosquito one trip. Boulton Paul Defiant. A German aircraft I picked up when we went into Greece. An Auster. I’m sure there was one or two more. The Spit was definitely the best aeroplane to fly. I think most Spitfire pilots would tell you that. Oh, I flew a Hurricane as well. You tend to forget these things you know. I’m the same as any other ninety six year old. I can remember some things but not others. I thought I had a good memory but I’m beginning to think it’s not as good as my wife’s. She’s got family relations tied down no end. Tells me stuff from years back that I can’t remember. It’s a pity really. Pity? No. Not pity. It’s very unsettling.
[pause]
AD: Yeah.
[pause]
AD: Anyway. That’s about it dear.
AH: Thank you.
[machine paused]
AD: The essential to the German army that they had the use of that otherwise they had to give way to the Russians.
DS: But I think Coventry and the blitz were previous to that so -
AD: Oh it was tit for tat.
DS: Yeah.
AD: It was the same with London wasn’t it? There were no civilians in the war. Everybody was in it except those wide boys who lived on the black market and I think everybody patronised them. They were essential to keeping the job going really. Very unfairly but -
AH: Had you always wanted to be a pilot? Was it -
AD: Yes. My uncle was in the Royal Flying Corps during World War One and he had a garage and a cycle shop and motorbike agencies in Cleethorpes and I wanted to go and work for him when I left school but he had to get somebody in. The business had got too big and there wasn’t room for me. My mother died when I was about six or seven and a simple dose of antibiotics if it had been invented would have probably [pause]. Yeah.
[pause]
AD: Yeah. I often wondered what it was like being on a bomber crew. I think they were a very brave lot.
AH: Did you know any?
AD: Hmmn?
AH: Did you know any?
AD: Oh I lost quite a lot of friends. You see there were eighty of us I think at the beginning of the war and I’ve never met more than a dozen people afterwards. I’ve forgotten most of their names. You wouldn’t think you could do would you but you do.
[pause]
AD: Yeah. I remember when I was at St Eval. Ted Phillipson had joined me who was my, we used to motorbike together. He was a great friend. He turned up at St Eval. I didn’t see him but I had a phone call and I arranged to see him at his digs when he’d returned from a trip down to patrol the bay in a Whitley and I was going down to Bordeaux and back and it would take him all day doing it and he didn’t turn up. His body was washed ashore.
[pause]
AD: Oh dear.
[pause]
AD: That was a painting done by a friend of mine and he personalised it by putting, I forget whether it was a squadron in Greece or Italy. All PRU machines were, flush riveting and filled in and smoothed and a dull finish. Blue. And we had some pink ones which we used for low level photography. Bruneval being one fine example. You know the German radar station on the French coast. We wanted to find out all about it. Sent a PR Spit on a cloudy day, photographed the, and brought it back and did they ever send a raiding party across?
DS: I’m not sure.
AD: I’m not sure. Anyway, it ceased to be of the use that it was before it was done. You know, important little things like that in PR used to happen and all taken in as part of a day’s work.
AH: What was it like flying off to - ?
AD: Hmmn?
AH: What was it like going somewhere to photograph?
AD: Well I always had a faith that I would survive. Self-confidence. And it’s a belief without being religious but you are, believe that the Gods will look after you. If you haven’t got that you can suffer all kinds of things. It didn’t bother me a great deal because I was sufficiently confident. Perhaps over confident. I don’t know. Anyway, I survived. And I’m also very lucky what the Gods did. Anyway, I hope you got something out of all that lot.
AH: That’s lovely. Thank you.
[machine paused]
AD: Funny thing was we were never debriefed. You know when crews got back from an operation they always saw an intelligence officer and were debriefed as to what had happened. All the little incidents, whatnot. We were just told the target is this place, that place, that place. The was briefing before we had, and I used to have a map with return home points in case you got in to trouble and when we got back nobody asked you if anything had happened. You never bothered, nobody bothered very much about telling anybody they’d been shot at, chased or, I think it was regarded as [a bit in for a dig?] It might sound as if you’ve been boasting or something like that because the photographs were the whole purpose of the trip. They were the evidence that you’d been there, you’d done a good job. What more could you tell them? Nothing about their job of interpretation. I did hear later on in the, after, was it after the war? Yes it was after the war. The Germans had a photographic unit and of course they had some special Leica lenses that we didn’t have and they used to get some really clear photographs but we only had the first phase interpretation. They looked as if there was nothing obvious. They were just put, stored under February the 4th, 4:30 so and so and that was all they did whereas on PRU at Medmenham there was a second phase, a third phase of interpretation which is why that rocket at Peenemunde was suddenly discovered on one of the photographs on the third stage. It had been missed on the first and second and then that resulted in a bombing raid on Peenemunde. It was quite a satisfying job. Allowed you a great deal of freedom and licence. I remember when I finished my course on learning to fly the Spitfire the CO said, ‘I want you to go now and learn the coast from the Thames to the Humber and then next week we’ll do the south coast.’ And I flew up and I thought Humber? Well that’s where I live. So get up to Cleethorpes and have a look around. I can see the street and I went down to about a hundred feet and flew over it, pulled up and thought I’ll go around again and I went down and years later I met a bloke who lived in, opposite and he said he was upstairs looking out and he could see me in the cockpit. I was so low I must have caused a lot of consternation on the street then. The trouble was my father didn’t see me. He was ill in bed. Never recovered. There’s been a lot on radio recently about going back into the past. Wondering how it affects you. Yeah. Really got to try and find yourself haven’t you? [pause] And you’ll be wanting to go home now, won’t you?
AH: It’s very interesting. Did you have any brothers or sisters?
AD: I had a sister [she’s not?] two nephews. Keep in touch with them. My mother’s name was Dixon before she married and quite a big family but I think there was some trouble with things.
[pause]
AH: Thank you.
[machine paused]
AH: This is a continuation of the interview conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre with Mr Alec Dixon. The interviewer is Anna Hoyles and the interview took place at Mr Dixon’s home in Cleethorpes on the 6th of November 2015.
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
Interview with Alec Stuart Dixon
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Anna Hoyles
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
2015-11-06
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ADixonAS151106, PDixonAS1501
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
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.
Language
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eng
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
Format
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01:12:07 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Alec Stuart Dixon volunteered for the Royal Air Force via the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve. After training he flew Beauforts and Ansons, then trained as a Hudson pilot. He flew convoy escort operations and reconnaissance flights looking for submarines and the Bismarck. Recollects flying over neutral Ireland. Alec volunteered for Photographic Reconnaissance Unit and flew over France, the Spanish border the Mediterranean and Peenemünde. Followed sustained damage on one operation he became an instructor, was posted to Gibraltar flying a Gladiator and a Lysander on meteorological flights. Successive posts were Cairo, then Palestine and Italy with 43 Squadron. After the end of the war, he returned to his old workplace then started a company with friends.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Egypt
Egypt--Cairo
France
Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
Gibraltar
Great Britain
Ireland
Italy
Mediterranean Sea
Middle East--Palestine
North Africa
43 Squadron
aerial photograph
aircrew
Anson
Bismarck
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
demobilisation
faith
Hudson
Lysander
Photographic Reconnaissance Unit
pilot
RAF Silloth
RAF St Eval
reconnaissance photograph
recruitment
Spitfire
submarine
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2180/38310/S102SqnRAF19170809v10002.2.pdf
7de236dd7c2d3ae2dbe1de6bac5ac35c
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
102 Squadron Collection
Description
An account of the resource
Thirty-one items.
The collection concerns material from the 102 Squadron Association and contains part of a Tee Emm magazine, documents, photographs, accounts of Ceylonese in the RAF, a biography, poems, a log book, cartoons, intelligence and operational reports, an operations order and an account by a United States Army Air Force officers secret trip to Great Britain to arrange facilities for American forces.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Harry Bartlett and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-05-23
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.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
102 Squadron Association
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 dedication to AVM Ekanayake Edward (Rohan) Amerasekera DFC & Bar, R.Cy.A.F
Description
An account of the resource
Biography of Rohan Amerasekera. Consist of early life, war service in the RAF including training eventually as as a navigator. Operational tours on 158 Squadron and 35 Squadrons. Lists his crew. Awarded Distinguished Flying Cross in January 1944. Final operational tour with 640 Squadron, lists two crew he flew with. Returned to 158 Squadron and awarded bar to DFC in may 1945. Continues with some personal recollections, promotions and courses. Concludes with return to Sri Lanka and service in the Royal Ceylonese Air Force.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Charles M Ameresekera
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-09-30
1941-11-03
1941-12-13
1942-02-20
1942-05-02
1942-09-26
1942-11-30
1943-06-13
1943-07-29
1943-09
1943-10-04
1943-11
1944-01-29
1944-08-16
1944-10
1944-11
1944-12
1945
1946
1951
1953
1955
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Sri Lanka
Great Britain
England--London
England--Berkshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany
Germany--Wuppertal
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Aachen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Mönchengladbach
France
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Germany--Neuss
France--Calais
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Chemnitz
England--Huntingdonshire
Germany--Ruhr (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
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Five page printed document
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
S102SqnRAF19170809v10002
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
158 Squadron
35 Squadron
640 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
flight engineer
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
navigator
pilot
RAF Abingdon
RAF Graveley
RAF Lissett
training
Whitley
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2180/38312/S102SqnRAF19170809v10006.1.pdf
962c58b2f564a417acc1720c99f2e0f6
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
102 Squadron Collection
Description
An account of the resource
Thirty-one items.
The collection concerns material from the 102 Squadron Association and contains part of a Tee Emm magazine, documents, photographs, accounts of Ceylonese in the RAF, a biography, poems, a log book, cartoons, intelligence and operational reports, an operations order and an account by a United States Army Air Force officers secret trip to Great Britain to arrange facilities for American forces.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Harry Bartlett and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-05-23
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.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
102 Squadron Association
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
AVM Ekanayake Edward (Rohan) Amerasekera DFC & Bar, R.Cy.A.F.
Description
An account of the resource
Biography of Rohan Amerasekera. Consist of early life, war service in the RAF including training eventually as as a navigator. Operational tours on 158 Squadron and 35 Squadrons. Lists his crew. Awarded Distinguished Flying Cross in January 1944. Final operational tour with 640 Squadron, lists two crew he flew with. Returned to 158 Squadron and awarded bar to DFC in may 1945. Continues with some personal recollections, promotions and courses. Concludes with return to Sri Lanka and service in the Royal Ceylonese Air Force. Notes that he was the first Ceylonese Commander of the Royal Ceylon Air Force and he died in 1974.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Charles M Ameresekere
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-09-30
1941-11-03
1941-12-13
1942-02-20
1942-05-02
1942-09-26
1942-11-30
1943-06-13
1943-07-29
1943-09
1943-10-04
1943-11
1944-01-29
1944-08-16
1944-10
1944-11
1944-12
1945
1946
1951
1953
1955
1962
1970
1974-03-20
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Sri Lanka
Great Britain
England--London
England--Berkshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany
Germany--Wuppertal
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Aachen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Mönchengladbach
France
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Germany--Neuss
France--Calais
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Germany--Essen
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Chemnitz
England--Huntingdonshire
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Ruhr (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
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Four page printed document
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
S102SqnRAF19170809v10006
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
158 Squadron
35 Squadron
640 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
flight engineer
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
navigator
pilot
RAF Abingdon
RAF Graveley
RAF Lissett
training
Whitley
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1303/18066/PDeverellCRE1901.2.jpg
950416d1c0bc8ddd5d7e83d96d0bcca5
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1303/18066/ADeverellCRE190722.2.mp3
011ccd66271ee51e3abd56830e71714f
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
Deverell, Colin
Colin Ray Edwin Deverell
C R E Deverell
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Colin Deverell (b. 1923). He flew operations as a flight engineer with 51 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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
2019-07-22
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
Deverell, CRE
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CJ: This is Chris Johnson and I am interviewing Colin Deverell today for the International Bomber Command Centre’s Digital Archive. We are at Colin’s home and it is Monday the 22nd of July 2019, and thank you Colin for agreeing to talk to me today. Also present is Colin’s daughter, Liz. So Colin perhaps we could start by you telling me about where and when you were born and something about your family please.
CD: Yes, well I was born in Thornton Heath, Croydon, on the 28th of November 1923, at number 13 Camden Way. It was a council house. I had a father who was on the buses as an inspector and a mother who worked jolly hard at home doing the washing and everything else in those days. I went to school locally, Elementary school, Ingram Road, that was quite close. It was quite a good school actually. And later on, I failed, I have to say I failed the grammar school, the exam for the grammar school, so I failed that and I went to a secondary school so that was up until I was aged fourteen, when I left. Okay. And then on from there, and on from there what to do as a job. This is the trouble with boys, they didn’t know what they wanted to do you see, but I was very keen on aircraft but at that stage you couldn’t get anywhere with aircraft but I went to, worked at a firm called Oliver Typewriter Company, Oliver typewriters – I have one upstairs actually - and I was making those and that was the best bit of engineering I did really, to learn how to, how to drill through metal, how to put a thread in a hole for a bolt and things like that and stamping out pieces for the typewriter, you know, all the arms that come down, everything like that. So that was, that got me into Imperial Airways, my father worked hard to get me in to Imperial Airways in some way and became a rigger, just an amateur rigger, you know, to start off. Well the reason I’d got there was because I had got all this information from the typewriters, engineering, and I learnt a lot from these aircraft, putting parts into the aircraft, doing this, that and the other, dogsbody, making coffee for the people that worked there, that’s what boys had to do and I watched other engineers soldering wires together and that sort of thing so I learnt from that you see, and that went on, until, well that was all these Handley Page aircraft, big bi-planes with four engines, fixed propellers that didn’t move at all and it flew at about four thousand miles, er four thousand feet at about a hundred and ten, hundred and twenty miles an hour and took two and a half hours to get to Paris. So the steward on board, they had stewards then, cooked them a meal, all of them a meal, they had proper meals. So that was a nice little trip for them at four thousand feet. Well that went on until the war started and I’m afraid it went out of business of course and I was there till about November 1939 and I was told well I’m afraid the apprentice had come to an end, so that was the end of that and I lost my job as well so I had to find something else. I searched round and a lot of little firms at Croydon aerodrome, lot of hangars down there, one of them was called Rollason Aircraft Services, and I went there and yes I got a job there, I was drilling and all sorts of things, working on bi-planes Hawker Hectors, Demons and Audaxes and all obsolete aircraft and that was a wonderful period. Of course the war was on unfortunately. So what happened, by July, July the 10th, 1940 the bombing started on airfields and Biggin Hill and Kempston and Kenley and all these got a bashing. Croydon got it on the 15th of August, 15th of August 1940 at 7pm in the evening. These Messerschmidt 110s came over and there’s a picture up there, and I’m sorry to say, well I was underneath an Airspeed Oxford, it’s a twin-engined wooden aircraft, now we had to get this aircraft out - this was seven o’clock in the evening - we had to get this aircraft out of the hangar by the morning because they were bringing some Hurricanes in that needed repairs, so I was underneath there with another chap doing some wiring when all these bombs came down. At the back of our factory there was a Bourgeois scent factory and about fifty girls got killed there, we lost about, there were sixty were killed or injured in Rollasons, so I was, I mean how lucky can I be [emphasis] to be underneath that aircraft, glass, metal came down, the glass went through the wood, it’s a wooden aircraft, through the wood, into the metal tanks, into the metal tanks to glass [emphasis], thick glass, yeah, so I think I would have died, I wouldn’t have been here if I had been outside. But I don’t know if you want more information on that but thing is, I was covered in muck and glass and stuff, you know, and severely dazed, the place was on fire, the little canteen had been bombed and there was a bottle of Tizer - I found a bottle of Tizer - and took the screw off and poured it over me head and I don’t recommend that to anybody because it’s very sticky! So I had a sticky head, so that’s my Tizer. Anyway, I had a new bike, my father bought me a new bike for two pound seven and sixpence, two pound seven and sixpence, and I thought to myself where’s my bike. Well this, you know it went on through the evening, we were told to go down to the air raid shelter and went down there and after a few minutes told to come up again, because the siren hadn’t gone, you know, before the raid. No one knew it was happening. Nobody, nobody on the gun, cause a Bofurs gun there, nobody there to operate it to shoot aircraft down. Anyway, so I got on, oh I found my bike leaning against the wall and it was all right so I cycled home and at that stage we were living in Thornton Road, Croydon, a little flat there, and when I got round there I saw my mother leaning out of the window actually, cause she knew the place was being bombed you see, she thought I’d have had it. I mean seven o’clock it happened, it was ten o’clock when I got home. Just imagine, how pleased she was to see me. Sadly for her we were bombed, the house was damaged quite badly and she died on Christmas Day in 1940, all the ceiling in the kitchen came down on her head and damaged her brain, so I lost my mother quite early in my life, which was very sad really. Anyway, I moved to another, to a friend of mine in Streatham, and that’s when I went to this new school, and then eventually. Sorry, I’m going back a bit here, but that’s when I left to go to erm, the, oh sorry, when I went, oh the yeah, sorry, after the raid we, they treated me very well – Rollasons - I went back to them, I was very dazed as you can imagine, being bombed as a boy, I was only fifteen and I went to the office they said and well we’ll keep you on pay for the time being and we’ll let you know what happens. So I went home again and eventually we were told we were going to Hanworth aerodrome in Middlesex, funny little aerodrome actually, it was just a sort of almost a private, just grass, you know. They had a few Fairey Battles there. Anyway, we still continued repairing Hurricanes, but they felt there were one or two bi-planes left over from Croydon, they put these on a lorry and I remember sitting in the cockpit of a, I think it was a Hawker Demon and went all the way from Croydon to Hanworth and I was waving to people as I went by like that, [laugh] and I think they thought it was quite funny. [Laugh] I mean it’s all obsolete aircraft. But you know, went back on to Hurricanes. How did we get there, you know, each day, as I was living in Thornton Heath still, in Thornton Road. They had put a coach on for us, from West Croydon station and any of us living there, took a tram for a penny, a tram in those days, for a penny, up to West Croydon station, went over and sat in the coach and it took us to this aerodrome, and at the end of the day they brought us back again, another penny on the tram back home. So that’s how it went on. That went on all the way through 1941 and I thought to myself I want to join, I’m going to join the RAF to get my own back, my mother died, you know, so I had a sort of grievance feeling about all this. So I went to the Croydon, the Croydon agency and they said well, we’re sending chaps down, down the coal mines as well as the army. I said no, no, I’m working on aircraft, I want something to do with aircraft, I want to train as a pilot. Don’t they all, she said, I remember, she said don’t they all! And there was a three month waiting list, okay, for, to train as a pilot, but she said we’re desperately in need of flight engineers, and they did have them on Imperial Airways actually, so it goes back a long way, on four-engined aircraft. So yes, okay, I’ll do that, so within the week I was called up. I was, I went to Lords Cricket ground, that was fun! “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here” was the sign up there. We picked up all sorts of stuff there and we, we went to, were put into flats, in Viceroy Court which is just outside a zoo, so we could hear the monkeys laughing at us and we were there for a couple weeks, or something like that. We went to Torquay from there, Torquay and did all the physical training: clay pigeon shooting, physical training, running, sports, anything, you know, just to keep our mind off things. But I used to like the running, cross country running as I got used to that, you know. Clay pigeon shooting – I got good at that - swimming I was never very good at, but anyway we’ll pass over that won’t we. One of the things we had to do was go to the quayside there, and there was a place there, it was about the height of the ceiling down to the water. And the idea was to jump off there with a Mae West on you see, and to swim to the shore. I wasn’t very happy about that, you can imagine, though I did it and I managed to get to the shore, so that was fine, but I never have been a very good swimmer. Anyway, so I joined up and within a week I was, sorry, I’m getting muddled here, I went down to Torquay, that’s it, Torquay, and I was there for six weeks, did all these familiar things, the running and the sports and everything else. And then as flight engineers we had to train at St Athan in South Wales and we had to choose between a Lancaster, oh no, Stirling, Lancaster, Halifax and the flying boat. The flying boat, what was that?
CJ: Sunderland?
CD: Sunderland, Sunderland. So it was three, four, yes, there were four we could choose from. I don’t know why, but I liked the idea of the Stirling: it had radial engines, I knew something about those you see, so I decided to train on those. So that’s what I did at St Athan, I trained on these Stirlings. It was, you know, a full day, a really full day, training and I was there, I was there for some weeks, I can’t think how long we were there now. Anyway that was in ‘40, ‘42, yes. The Stirling was a strange sort of aircraft really, it was all electric, all the other aircraft were hydraulic controlled and even the undercarriage you had wiring and a solenoid, which introduced a control there I think you’d call it and the flaps. We had fourteen petrol tanks and this was the flight engineer’s job, he had to look after those, all different amounts in each tank, you can just imagine. It was all levers and wheels, nothing, no buttons you know, like you have today and with the undercarriage the pilot switched the switch down, just as we were coming in to land, to get the undercarriage down. No, let’s start off by going up. So if we, the undercarriage was down obviously, we’d take off, the switch goes, switch up, and a lever up like that and the undercarriage should then come up, if it doesn’t the flight engineer would have to go back to the middle of the aircraft, to the control machine there and you had to wind the undercarriage up and it could be up to five hundred, five hundred turns! Yeah, so that’s, occasionally I did the flight in Stirlings, I had to just start it off. This is where you had to be careful, if you started it off, you see, and you said to the pilot try it now and he switched it up or down, whatever it is, the undercarriage, it would go round and round, and the handle and you’d break your wrist and some flight engineers did break their wrists doing that. So you had to tell the pilot: do not touch that switch till I tell you to! So that’s all, that was the operations. You’re in flight coming down, so switch down, lever down, undercarriage should come down, if not, put the switch back again, go back to the and wind it for a little while, then tell, take your hand away and take the handle out and tell the skipper to switch the, there, switch it down, [unclear] so it was quite a complicated business really, so I don’t think anyone recommended the idea of electric aircraft, but they’re all electric now, aren’t they, everything’s electric, even cars! So that’s what we had to do. It’s a very long, long aircraft. There’s an elsan at the back of the aircraft if you wanted to go to the toilet, but who would want to go all the way back there in the dark to the toilet and then be shot at by a fighter, sitting on the toilet so we never did use it, we found other means. It was fairly slow really, I mean we used to cruise at about a hundred and seventy miles an hour, whereas a Lancaster could do much more than that. And height, height was a problem: we could only go up to ten thousand feet, so anyone going to Tunis, Milan, which they did in the Stirlings, over the mountains of course, so ten thousand feet was about the limit really. And of course you took all the flak, you know, if it was Stirlings and Lancasters, as Lancasters we would be up there, we used to be up at seventeen thousand feet in a Lancaster, and the Stirlings were down here, ten thousand feet and they got loads of flak. They lost more Stirlings, including the number that actually flew, they lost far more Stirlings, so that’s the, that was my choice. We went to Chedburgh for training on the aircraft as the flight engineer, and the pilot and we had the instructors with us, we took off and did all that we needed to do at Chedburgh. And then eventually we were appointed to a squadron and on this occasion it was Wratting Common, which is quite close. I don’t know if you have, no, anyway Wratting Common was the place. Oh! Terrible place, it was all mud, it had been raining like mad and it was all mud everywhere and on one occasion I walked through the WAAF quarters as it was much drier and I was told off, oooh you can’t do that, mustn’t do that, ooh no! Anyway, the first operation we did was to the Frisian Islands, the Frisian Islands off Germany there, dropping mines, that was uneventful, came back. The second trip was to Kiel, Kiel Harbour, yup. And we had mines to go down there because the u-boats were in there, you know, and I think probably they hadn’t got the pens completely ready so I think we probably did knock out some of the submarines there. So that was the second. Now the third trip was to Lorient, l o r i e n t Lorient on the south coast of France. Lorient was a place where they had u-boat pens and they had built them there, and they were very, very thick concrete so how they thought we could, well we would, we dropped mines, we were hoping that the submarines coming back would hit one, I mean that’s what it was all about really, but the bombs wouldn’t have done anything to them. But what happened with us there, we nearly got the chop there, because off the island, I think it was about a mile, two miles, two miles off, there was an island called Isle de Croix, Island of the Cross, and our bomb aimer, he took over you see, when we were going to drop the mines, the idea was to go around the island, but we went over the island, quite low down actually and there were all these Bofors guns there, these, like onions, red hot onions on chains coming up each side of us. How they missed us I do not know! We got over the island safely and then we had to go round the island again, round [emphasis] the island and then drop these mines. But that was a close, very close, but that was what the sprog crews do, the wrong thing, you see, that’s why you always get the chop in the early days, I’m afraid. Now what did I do after that? I think we went on to Lancasters after that, we did a conversion, that was it at Tuddenham or Wratting Common. I’ve got an idea that might have been Wratting Common. The Stirling was taken off because the chop rate was so heavy; they couldn’t continue like that, and it didn’t carry much of a bomb load anyway. So that was the end of that. But of course they were in use quite a bit later on – I’ll tell you about that. So what we do we went on to Lancasters, which was what we really wanted really because we knew it was much faster, it went up much higher, seventeen thousand feet was quite usual, we thought we’d be out of the range of their flak, we hoped, so that was what we did. Actually I went to Derby with my pilot to do I think it was a couple of days on the Merlin engine, so that was quite useful and I did that without going on leave. Some went on leave you see, but I decided I wanted to learn something about the Merlin, so that was done, I came back. What was my first trip, was a – can you switch off a minute?
CJ: So what was your first operation when you’d converted to Lancasters?
CD: Well, it took us by surprise actually, it was Duisburg in the Ruhr. Course that was a very important area round there: they were producing aircraft, tanks and everything else. So on the 25th June ‘43 we went to the Ruhr valley, Duisburg which we knew would be heavily defended. We took off from about ten pm and made for the Dutch coast where we met some flak, fifteen thousand feet ahead of us we could see lots of activity in the air as we approached the Ruhr. The Ruhr was important for Germans because it was full of heavy industry and so we need to prang it hard. We had on board four thousand pound bomb, shaped like a large cannister, and ten one thousand pound bombs and loads of incendiaries. The Pathfinders were dropping their coloured flares and the Master Bomber told us to bomb a certain colour – I can’t remember which colour it was – anyway we were now approaching the target when all hell was let loose as flak and searchlights were each side of us, we could hear shrapnel hitting the sides of our aircraft, this is the dreaded moment as the skipper opened the bomb doors, at this stage we were unable to manoeuvre: we just had to keep straight and pray. Skipper says to our two gunners, Dave Maver and Ronnie Pritchard, watch out for any night fighters, not that we could do much about it at this stage. The bomb aimer now took over: left, left, steady, right, steady, at this stage the chewing of gum was speeding up, it was sheer terror. Bombs gone says Epi, our bomb aimer. Skipper closes bomb doors and our chewing reduced in intensity. Our pilot banks to starboard and loses height to get out of the way of searchlights and flak, this is another time when night fighters are looking for us. Our navigator gives a new course for the Dutch coast, but we do a dog leg, zigzags to avoid the enemy fighters. We were watching aircraft going down in flames which makes us all a bit nervy, well it’s not like a holiday flight to Tenerife is it! - I said in brackets - We saw a small aircraft to port and a bit above us but we did not think it had been, had seen, had seen us, this was a German aircraft we thought because just twin engines but then he suddenly disappeared, we were in thick cloud and it was raining. Let’s hope we don’t collide with another aircraft. As for me as flight engineer, I was trying to keep a fuel log in the dark and with all the activity going on it was not easy. I kept a note of throttle changes because that makes all the difference to the amount of fuel one uses, plus temperature outside at our height. As we had eight – I’ve got fourteen – as we had eight [emphasis] tanks I didn’t want one to go dry, causing an engine to stop and possibly create an air lock in the system: my name would have been mud. I also kept control of the engines in orders from my skipper. I’m able to tell you that we got back safely to base and I found out later that my petrol calculations were just about right, we landed back at four thirty am, that was six and a half hours. Just over four hundred Lancs and Halifaxes took part and we lost six point one percent of the force, twenty five aircraft. Later we understood that reconnaissance had shown that much of the industry in Duisburg had been destroyed. We lost one aircraft on our squadron. On 27th of June we were due to go to Cologne, so, on 27th June 1943 we were briefed to go to Cologne in the Ruhr, but it was called off at the last moment because of foul weather over target. We briefed again on 28th of June with a slightly different route to try and fool the enemy. Over the Dutch coast the Germans had dropped chandeliers to light up the sky and so we expected to be mauled by the German night fighters. We climbed to eighteen thousand feet hoping to avoid them, but no such luck, a fighter came up on our rear, probably an Me110, a twin-engined fighter. Ronnie, our rear gunner called to the skipper: corkscrew port skip which my pilot did immediately and we went down to ten thousand feet and came up again in the corkscrew to fourteen thousand feet. Tracer bullets had gone just over the top of us at the beginning of the corkscrew, but when we settled down at fourteen thousand feet, we felt we had lost him, a really nasty moment and very nearly the end of us. We pressed on to Cologne and ran in to thick cloud, the Master Bomber told us to bomb a certain colour and we couldn’t see them. we could see some fires below so we dropped out bombs and incendiaries on those fires and hoped for the best. We returned to England mostly in cloud and landed at about five am. We were shocked to learn that forty aircraft failed to return. The next three nights we were on shorter trips to France. Marshalling yards in Paris and a place called Wizernes where they were making these V2s I believe, if I remember rightly and it was heavily defended. Dusseldorf, went to Dusseldorf on 12th of July. Dudsseldorf was another heavily defended place, because all industry, and if you killed people down there, they were probably working in the industry anyway you see. It was a heavily defended town because of the amount of industry there. We went through the usual procedures briefing and a meal et cetera, I think take off was around ten pm. We met flak and searchlights over over France I remember, and even more so as we entered Germany. Our skipper told us, the gunners, to look out for night fighters as they were bound to be operating. Eventually we could see ahead the Pathfinder’s flares and as usual in the Ruhr, a wall flak and searchlights. As flight engineer I had to do several jobs at the same time: keep looking out of the cabin for the position of the searchlights, help the skipper with the engine controls, keep a close watch on the fuel we were using, and write up my log so that I would know when to change the petrol tanks; all this on twelve shillings per day, and as a bonus we were threatened by death at any moment. Ah well, I did volunteer! Yes, one of the raids we went to was Stuttgart, this was another heavily, sorry, have to cut that out, yes, we pressed on to Stuttgart and dropped our bombs on target. We bombed the coloured flares dropped by the Pathfinders, skipper did a sharp turn to starboard and nearly hit another Lancaster, it was only just a few feet away from us, as it climbed in front of us. We climbed to seventeen thousand feet in clear skies when suddenly Ronnie Pritchard, our rear gunner, shouted over the intercon: corkscrew to port skipper and down we went to twelve thousand feet. It was another case of an Me110 was still on our tail, so up we went to starboard and then down again to port. I think we’ve lost him. Another thing, this sort of activity was not good for ones stomach! And also try to work out the fuel we’d used, anyway, I did the best I could. But that was a pretty grim trip because we nearly crashed into this other Lancaster. Yeah, yeah. On 17th of August 1943 we were given a very important mission. Apparently our spy planes had detected some rockets at a place called Peenemunde, in northern Germany. It had been known for some time that the Germans had been producing hard water at Peenemunde, which is used in atomic weapons, but of course these weapons had not been produced by any nation at that time. But the future would have looked bleak if they had been able to carry on their research, the powers that he, told Bomber Harris, oh the powers that be that he had told Bomber Harris that Peenemunde must be obliterated. Almost six hundred bombers, almost six hundred bombers would take part and we expected heavy losses as we felt it must be defended. We flew by night of course, and the flight arrangement was as follows: two hundred Stirlings would go in first at eight thousand feet, followed by four hundred Lancasters at ten thousand feet. The Pathfinders would be there first, dropping flares to light up the area. By good fortune a feint was going on over Berlin, with twin engine Mosquitoes, the Germans thought Berlin therefore was the main target and sent their night fighters there. The Stirlings went in to Peenemunde and dropped their bombs, and then turned for home without any losses. the German night fighters realised their mistake and turned back to Peenemunde just as the Lancasters went in to bomb the place. I remember a great deal of chaos, as aircraft after aircraft was shot down. It was, [sigh] it was very unnerving to see so many Lancasters on fire, we dropped our bombs on the target and fled the area and got back safely. Forty Lancasters - actually it was forty two – forty two Lancasters were shot down that night, ten percent of the force. Analysis later showed the bombing effort had been reasonably successful. Spy planes would keep an eye on the place in case another attack was necessary. My squadron lost one Lancaster out of twelve despatched. On the next night we were on the flight list again. At briefing found we found subject was Bremen. Well, that was fairly cushy compared with Peenemunde. Yeah. At Peenemunde was a very important town for us to destroy because the V2s they were producing would have been ready before D-Day, and you can just imagine what would have happened if that had happened: the D-day wouldn’t have been possible, you know. As it was, on D-Day one never saw a German fighter because they mostly had been destroyed, but Peenemunde was the, the town to get, we never had to go back there because they moved the whole lot to somewhere else in Germany which we kept bombing later on, but that was the most important one for D-Day, was Peenemunde, okay. At a briefing on the 23rd of August 1943, we learned the worst, yes, the worst, yes, it was to be the first big night raid on Berlin, by six hundred and fifty Lancasters and Halifaxes. Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering, had said that no foreign aircraft would be allowed to fly over the capital of the Third Reich, well we’ll have to see if he’s right. We were all rather depressed about this operation as we knew that Berlin was considered to be the most heavily defended of all German towns. We were taken out to the aircraft at nine pm and I remember we sat around the aircraft waiting for start up time and nobody hardly spoke a word. We took off at nine thirty pm and we would be amongst the first wave into the attack. Berlin’s thirty five mile area was dotted with lights, so that it was hard to distinguish the bursts of anti-aircraft shells below from the coloured markers dropped by the Pathfinders. The first thing we had to do was fly through a wall of searchlights, hundreds [emphasis] of them in colours and clusters. Behind all that was an even fiercer light glowing red, green and blue and over there millions of flares hanging in the sky, A huge mass of fires below. If this is Hell, then I have been there. Flak is bursting all around us at fifteen thousand feet, there is one comfort, and that is not hearing the shells bursting outside because of the roar of the four Merlin engines. We flew on and it was like running straight into the most gigantic display of soundless fireworks in the world. The searchlights are coming nearer now all the time. As one cone split then it comes together again. They seem to splay out then stop, then come together again and as they do there’s a Lancaster right in the centre. Skipper puts the nose down, more power he asks, and I increase the throttle and we are pelting along at a furious rate as we are coming out of the searchlight belt more flak is coming up from the minor defences. A huge explosion near our aircraft: it shakes like mad. Skipper asks everybody to report that they are okay. I thought that the aircraft must have been hit somewhere but everything seemed to be working as far as I could tell: engine revs okay, oil pressure okay, petrol gauge okay. Would we get out of this hell alive? Hello skipper, navigator here, half a minute to dropping zone, okay says skipper, bomb doors open, bomb aimer now takes over, okay, steady, right a bit, bombs gone, bomb doors closed, keep weaving skipper, lots of flak coming up, I tell him, going to starboard something hits us, but we don’t know what or where. I report to skipper that a Jerry fighter has just passed over us from port to starboard, our mid-upper gunner also reported a fighter, we keep going out of the main area of searchlights. I take a look at the furious fires below and masses of flak and Pathfinder flares, a mass of other Lancasters and other Halifaxes has to get through. Looking back we can see aircraft going down in flames, thank god we are out of the main firestorm I say to myself. Skipper through the intercom tells everyone to watch out for night fighters as they are bound to be active. I give my log a good check in as we couldn’t be short of fuel at this stage, but everything seems to be okay, the oil pressure was a bit low on two starboard engines, I wondered if flak had damaged them. I report this to our skipper, keep an eye on it he said. Away back over the Baltic, so different to the way we came. There seemed to be flak coming up from all over the place so we are not out of trouble. We knew there were fighters about as they were dropping flares. Suddenly Ronnie, our rear gunner said corkscrew starboard skip, down we went and I fell, I fell out of my seat and hit my head and was stunned for a bit. Up we came to port as tracer skimmed the side of our aircraft, Ronnie took a pot at the German fighter but I don’t think he hit him. We levelled out at eight thousand feet and we were now in cloud and we stayed in it to dodge the fighter. We came out of the cloud over the Channel, oil pressures on starboard engines were getting too low, so it was decided to land at Woodbridge, just on the border of Suffolk, it had a long runway for situations like ours. We landed at five fifteen am after a horrendous night. I thought that Bomber Harris might well obliterate Bomber Command as well as Berlin! Our aircraft had been damaged by flak, including two engines so it was unserviceable. We were taken by coach back to, was this, this is where we went wrong, this is says Wratting Common but it should be Tuddenham I think. The squadron lost another Lancaster, a total of fifty eight heavy bombers were lost that night, fifty eight, and so ended our first trip, and our last I hoped, to Berlin, the big city as it was called. Our aircraft would be out of service for a week, but we were given a new aircraft that had not been flown on ops. Our wireless operator Charlie Higgins didn’t like the idea as he was terribly superstitious, hence the rabbit’s foot in my pocket. Charlie had to come round to the new aircraft, or leave the crew. He came round to it. Right, now this is the crunch, our thirtieth and final operation, but what a momentous time it has been over the last few months: a lot of airmen have died. Once again we were briefed on 28th of August and we were out at the aircraft when it was cancelled. And so back to the de-clothing area, this was always very stressful and our nerves start to give us trouble by a slight shake and very noticeable when holding a cigarette. The 29th of August 1943 was to be our last trip and hopefully we will return. Briefing was at four pm, we all sat down and then stood up when the Group Captain entered the briefing room at four pm. The door then locked, he stood on the stage and said Captain answer for your crew, and beware if you’re not there, you’re in trouble, anybody not there would be in dead trouble. The curtain pulled back and lo and behold the target was Stettin, on the Baltic, a very long trip and so I’ll have to be very accurate with my petrol calculations. Stettin was a large port and apparently the Germans were bringing men and war weapons back from Norway to put to the war in Russia. The idea was for us to blast the ships in port and anything we saw moving. It was going to be a long night with full petrol tanks and loads of bombs, or, no incendiaries, just bombs. Take off at nine pm. Stettin was partly on the way to Berlin, but a bit further to the west and a somewhat longer trip, we hoped the Germans would think we were going to Berlin and send their fighters there. We went through thick cloud at first, but over Germany it was clear skies and we had to watch out for the German fighters. We got caught in searchlights but the skipper managed to weave and corkscrew out of them. Heavy flak, shrapnel shells hitting our aircraft, we dropped our bombs by the reflection of the water, so there were no Pathfinders for this raid. We managed to leave the area safely and flew into the cloud again where it was pouring with rain, better than being attacked by a night fighter when flying in in clear skies. Sadly our Squadron Commander, Squadron Leader Warner failed to return from this op to Stettin, a total of twenty three Lancasters were lost out of three hundred and fifty on the operation. And now my crew sort of split up for a time here, we went on two week post-operational leave. Now, after, I returned to Scotland after some leave and did several weeks as flight engineer instructor. One day, my friend Jack Ralph, a pilot, came up to me and said as his flight engineer had been injured, by shrapnel I believe, would I be willing to do, to be his flight engineer as he only had four operations to do. Jack was somewhat older then I was at the time as he was thirty and I was still nineteen and he had a lot of experience and had earned the DFC. Without thinking of the possible consequences, I said yes. Being so young I didn’t really see the dangers ahead, anyway that was my decision. Jack’s crew accepted me okay and that was the main thing. My first operational briefing with Jack was on 23rd of September 1943, Mannheim, a big industrial town, well in, that was the usual thing; fifteen Lancasters were lost there, and then Hannover, I think we lost an aircraft there. Turn it off just a moment. At this stage in my tour of operations – thirty two to date - I was becoming decidedly jittery, a nervous twitch perhaps. I felt I was getting to the end of what I could take, nevertheless I never showed this in my behaviour, but it was just that I felt it inwardly, after all I was still only nineteen years old. Us bomber chaps often wrote poetry, some have been published and at this moment I would like to quote one of mine. I found it amongst my papers a few years ago, and it was written by me during my tour of operations in 1943. It might seem a bit naive now but it was how I felt at the time. Viz: “What think you airman when you fly so proudly there in heaven’s sky? Do you exalt in your great might as you go onwards through the night? I think of death beneath my wings, and of the load my bomber brings. My spirit flinches from the thought, that of this carnage may come naught. I pray that soon the day will come when at the rising of the sun that man will offer man his hand and peace prevail throughout the land. I face up to my moments’ task, but three things God, of thee I ask: please help my flesh and mind to stand the strain and protect me Lord this once again. And if this cannot be your plan, give me the strength to die a man.” So that. I wasn’t sleeping too well at this particular time, and I had a sort of of foreboding about the future, it was only one more operation to do, strange how the mind works. On the morning of 18th of November, I woke in the usual way and had breakfast. I went to the aircraft and had a chat with the ground engineers. No problem with the engines, there were full tanks, two thousand one hundred and forty gallons and full bomb load. In fact I worked out that our full weight would be way [emphasis] above what it should be, but it was often like that. No chance of survival if we had engine failure on take off. Briefing was at four pm where we found that the target would be Stettin again, on the Baltic coast, a long hard journey ahead as you would know from above. I had been there before. Stettin was a very important town for Germany because it was the embarking point to Norway. Stettin was heavily defended by guns, searchlights and night fighters. At the briefing we found out that we were to use new tactics by flying low over the North Sea, under German radar with a moonlight night and then to sweep across Denmark and up to the Swedish coast and then down to Stettin, hopefully we were told we would hit Stettin from a different angle and take the Germans by surprise. As we left the briefing Jack said to me let’s hope they are right! Take off at nine pm. Fourteen Lancasters from our squadron would take part. We had our supper in the usual way and collected our rations: chocolate and chewing gum. We then collected our flying clothes, harness and parachute. The padre was there to wish us well and safe return. Well that was something to help me anyway. We were taken to the aircraft in the liberty van, as we called it, would take us in to Newmarket, it took us in to Newmarket when we were not flying. We got ourselves into the aircraft and made sure everything was in order. The skipper and I did what we called pre-flight checks, as nothing was left to chance. A very light was fired from the caravan at the end of the runway for take off. We queued up and then our turn came. Skipper opened up the throttles and then I took over to giving him full power as we were overloaded, we sped down the runway, hoping we would make it into the air-and we did. Skipper pulled the aircraft off the ground and did a circuit of the aerodrome, before speeding off and crossing at Cromer and then over the North Sea. We flew at five hundred feet towards Denmark. As we crossed the Danish coast e-boats were firing at us but fortunately missed. We were now on the way to Stettin, we saw one Lancaster crash into a windmill because it much too low. Before I continue I must mention something about Stettin. This town manufactured consumer goods, including cosmetics. At the end of 1943, there were still six million Germans employed in consumer industries. The Armament Minister, Albert Speer, his efforts to cut back consumer output were repeatedly frustrated by Hitler, personal veto. Eva Braun intervened to block an order banning permanent waves and manufacture of cosmetics. Apparently Hitler was so anxious to maintain living standards. Anyway back to our flight. After leaving Denmark we had to climb to fifteen thousand feet, because we were approaching the Swedish coast and they were neutral as far as war was concerned. We were using our new radar equipment – H2S – so our navigator was able to pick up the town of Stettin. We flew over the southern tip of Sweden and apparently the authorities complained about this to Churchill through the Swedish Embassy. We now flew south and I could see heavy flak ahead so I knew we would be in for a pasting. We could see the Pathfinders were there this time. flares and the Master Bomber was telling us to bomb a certain coloured flares. Suddenly we got caught in two cones of searchlights, but skipper Jack Ralph acted quickly and down we went to starboard and we escaped. But was a close run thing again. Flak was bursting all around. We dropped bombs okay on a mass of flames below us. We left the target area which looked like hell below. After a short time the flak seemed to quieten, so we knew night fighters were in the area. Suddenly a loud shout from rear gunner on the intercom, corkscrew port skipper, and down we went, but unfortunately the Messerschmidt 110 night fighter caught us underneath our aircraft. The tracer bullets through, ripped through the underbelly and caught our port inner engine, which caught fire. We also had a fire in the fuselage, just beyond the mid upper gunner. The hydraulic oil that feeds the turret had spilled into the fuselage and that was what was on fire. The turret in fact became useless. Skipper had brought the aircraft out of the corkscrew and levelled off at about eight thousand feet. The fighter did not follow us down. So, what were our problems at this stage of our flight? A – port inner engine on fire. B – fire in the fuselage. C – what damage had been done underneath us? D – mid upper turret not now working. C, sorry, E – losing height and another three and a half hours to home base. F – outside temperature minus forty degrees centigrade possibly too cold to bale out. G – if we are attacked again no chance of survival on three engines. H – have we enough fuel to get home? So the action we took was this: 1 – my skipper feathered the propeller on the duff engine. He operated the fire extinguisher in the engine fortunately the fire went out. All this has to be done within seconds of course. I attached an oxygen bottle and my mask and took a fire extinguisher with me. I found my way down the fuselage to the fire, which was looking quite fierce, especially everywhere was dark. I connected up my intercom and told skipper what I had found. Should we bale out he said? No, I said I think I can put the fire out – [wry chuckle] I had not brought my parachute with me from my position by the pilot! It was stacked up there. I didn’t think I had any chance of survival if the fuselage broke up anyway. Anyway I played the extinguisher on to the fire but it didn’t all go out. The aircraft was full of smoke but fortunately we all had our masks on and I used my official goggles for my eyes. There was some tarpaulin or something nearby and so I placed it on the fire but some of the flames shot up and I burnt both of my hands. I struggled with the tarpaulin and the fire went out. My hands were very painful though as you can imagine, but I wondered at that time whether the airframe had been weakened by the heat. I told the skipper what I had done and what I had, and that I had painful hands. Thank god you have put it out, he said. I crawled back to my station by the pilot. He was trying to keep the aircraft at eight thousand feet, we were then on three engines. Somehow or another I had to write my log to see how much petrol we had left. The navigator said he would be back at base, we would be back at base in three and three quarter hours, keeping in mind that the aircraft was slower on three engines, but of course only three engines were burning fuel. I worked out that our speed at that time, our height and more propeller revolutions and no more corkscrewing we would have thirty minutes fuel left on landing. My hands were now very painful but there was nothing I could do about it as we had no creams to put on them or water to plunge them in to. I kept thinking to myself, why did I volunteer for another four operations? Well, here we go, back to base. We were at eight thousand feet and flying through thick cloud and it is raining hard, we are all wearing our masks and goggles as there was still a lot of smoke in the aircraft. I wondered if any damage had been done to the aircraft framework. Was it weakened in any way? Best not to be negative, I must be positive about getting us back to base. The skipper was aware of the fuel situation, and kept the engine power to a minimum, keeping in mind that we only had three engines working. After two hours we came out of the thick cloud and all the buffeting, we were now over Holland and we could see lots of flak near the coast, so we needed to avoid that. A big aircraft flew near us and we thought it was another Lancaster, we hoped. Our navigator picked up a couple of towns on the new radar H2S, very useful because we couldn’t see anything below due to haze. I checked the fuel situation but it was difficult writing as my hands were so painful. The navigator told the skipper and myself that with our speed and outside wind we would be at base at about one hour forty five minutes. I began to sweat at that bit of information as it was longer than he had given some time before. Anyway, I worked out my fuel usage and then told my skipper that we had two hours twenty minutes fuel left so we should make it okay if something, if nothing else happened. But fortunately nothing else did happen, we got through the flak on the coast of Holland, and we were now over the North Sea headed for England and hopefully safety. Skipper got in touch with control, with the control on my squadron and told them of our situation. Would the wheels come down? We still didn’t know. Skipper was given emergency landing procedures so we crossed the East Anglian coast. We operated the landing gear and it came down okay and locked itself in the down position. In one hour fifty minutes we were down and so my petrol calculations were spot on. At this stage I was beginning to feel a bit faint what with the pain, considerable stress and smoke. When we landed most of the smoke disappeared. I got out of the aircraft at five thirty am, eight and a half hour flight and sat on the ground, exhausted. Skipper Jack Ralph lit me a cigarette, which was wonderful. Suddenly everything everywhere was quiet except for the singing of birds in some nearby trees, the dawn chorus. Two aircraft failed to return to our squadron out of fourteen at take off. Though later we found out that one aircraft had landed at another aerodrome due to damage to their aircraft. Thirty aircraft failed to return all told. I believe four hundred Lancasters went to Stettin. Jack Ralph’s tour off thirty had ended and I had done a total of thirty four operations. I was still only nineteen. What happened to me next? Once I was returned to base, well, I was then taken to the first aid area and my hands were cleaned. I was then taken to the hospital at Bury St Edmunds where I stayed for two days. My hands were treated there and it was found that the burns were first degree and so I wouldn’t need any skin grafts: that was the best news I could receive. I forget what they did, but I remember my hands being wrapped up with bandages and lint. Within three days I was back on the squadron, where I was put on light duties. The bandages were removed after two weeks and I believe, but my hands were very sore and still a bit painful, but being exposed to the air was going to be helpful. After a few weeks I received a call to see the Station Commander at certain time of day. My memory defeats me, I was a bit nervous about this, but of course I went. The Group Captain asked me about my hands, he said that I had done a wonderful job. Now I was told two wonderful things to cheer me up: first offered a commission in the Royal Air Force,, wow, me, an officer in the RAF. He told me all about it and what I would have to do as my extra duties. Also he said to go and see the Station Adjutant as he would give me all the details about buying my uniform and the money. He said I would have to start a bank account once I was an officer, just think of it, me born in a council house, I left school at fourteen and now I’d become an officer in the RAF. An even greater thrill was that I had been recommended for a decoration, namely the Distinguished Flying Medal, for helping to save the aircraft and enabling the whole crew to get back to England. That was definitely the icing on the cake. My skipper Jack Ralph was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross because he displayed leadership as he was an officer, I was a flight, yes I was a flight sergeant, I had a medal. I would meet up with Jack Ralph again in my career. Within a week I was up in London to buy my clothes. [Unlcear] Well I was informed after a time that they were wanting Stirling crews at Tuddenham, my old base. As you will have read above, I had already done some special duties during my tour and so I jumped at the idea and made an important, an appointment to see our squadron commander. He said I don’t know anything about it. Of course, of course that’s what they always say. Anyway he did check up and found it was true. I got an immediate posting back to my bomber station and I met up with my, part of my old crew, so I joined up with them. While there we got a couple of gunners, rear and mid upper, and a wireless operator. I told Doug and Dick about my adventure into the fire what I did on my last trip. I did some revision on the workings of the Stirling as I had not flow them some time. We also did some circuits and bumps. Early 1944 a briefing was arranged and I believe there were twelve crews all together. We were informed that we would have to do a lot of practice low flying over the Norfolk Flats – no hills anywhere - we were also told that the job would entail flying on moonlit nights and between five hundred and a thousand feet. Of course our particular crew had already done a few of these trips as we had already early in our tour so we knew what to expect. It was clear that D-Day was coming soon and so they wanted us, wanted to get as much more, as much equipment as possible to the resistance people, agents were being dropped in France at night from the Lysander aircraft. We started our flying practice during the day, low flying over the flats of Norfolk. We hoped that Dicks navigation and map reading would be as good as hitherto. Well he seemed to find his way around the flats okay. We did many days of this type of flying. I think they thought we were up there having fun, as for me I would have to get my petrol calculations right as I wouldn’t, it wouldn’t do to have an engine failure at five hundred feet, which is what we were going to have to do. We did low flying over long periods to get it absolutely right at night. The night came for us to do our first mission and operation. It was a full moon and clear sky on 21st of April ’44. The technique for crossing the French coast was to cross at, was to cross at eight thousand or nine thousand feet to avoid a heavily defended coast. When our skipper thought it was safe he descended to about five hundred feet. I must say that we actually went all the way down the French coast, not over Pas de Calais because the Germans were still there, so went down the French coast, round Cherbourg, down to Boulogne. It was just below Boulogne where we crossed. When our skipper thought it was safe, he descended to about five hundred feet so we’re over the coast and down we went. At five hundred feet however, all hell broke loose. There seemed to be a gun firing dead ahead and to our starboard. Skipper flung the aircraft to port and he couldn’t do much because we were so low down; we were hit on the starboard side and underneath. Fortunately the tracer was small calibre so not a lot of damage. But there was a hole in the starboard fuselage and a hole near the skipper’s foot. We think [clock chimes] we were hit underneath too, but we were all okay. To the port side of us we could see a Stirling being hit at very low altitude, maybe about two hundred feet and then crashed, fortunately the crew of that aircraft survived and were taken prisoner. Well we pressed on, very low level, as low as two hundred feet at times, towards the eastern side of France, near Lyon. We followed roads and rivers and contours of the land, we knew that we could easily get lost, and some crews did. We had a good navigator and I did a lot of map reading myself when I wasn’t watching the petrol situation, as I said before. I couldn’t let a tank go dry and an engine stall at two hundred to five hundred feet. Anyway, we arrived at the area and the next thing was to look for a torchlight shone by one of the French Resistance, Maquis. If they were caught by the Germans they were usually tortured for information about others and then shot and of course we would easily have been shot down and too low for parachutes. We found the light after circulating the area. I then went to the back of the aircraft and opened the trap door in the floor. On instructions from the pilot I pushed out the big boxes which were on parachute and as we were at five hundred feet they landed reasonably safely, I hoped. After that we made our way to the coast. That was another difficult part because if we crossed at five hundred feet, we could have been shot up by German e-boats which were all along the coast. Climbing to seven thousand to eight thousand meant that we would be easy prey for German fighter planes, but we did climb to eight thousand feet and got over the coast safely and we arrived at Tuddenham, our base, exactly eight hours later, but the undercarriage wouldn’t come down. We tried all the usual methods, like thumping the solenoid and pulling the wires, but nothing happened. I might have mentioned it earlier, just to say that as the Stirling everything, oh yes I have mentioned it by electricity, in the Lancaster it was hydraulics. The final thing to do was for me to go half way down the fuselage where there was a motor winding gear. I asked the skipper to switch off the undercarriage switch on the dashboard and then I started winding. I knew that if I had to wind it all the way down it would be five hundred and forty turns, phew! Anyway, I wound twelve times and I asked the skipper to trip the switch down and wonderful, the undercarriage started to descend and it went all the way down, and locked. What a nightmare, had it not come down and locked we would have had to belly land. We landed safely and we reported to briefing. We mentioned that a Stirling was shot down; it was reported later that it was David [unclear]. The ground engineers on our aircraft found that the undercarriage gears had been damaged by the coastal gunfire so we were lucky to get the undercarriage down. Well two nights later we were due to go again, when the moon was high, so.
CJ: So Colin, after your ten missions on Special Duties, what happened to you next?
CD: Well, I was an instructor for a time, which I got bored with; you had to have a sprog flight engineer. But by July, er, no, August, August 1944, these V2s and V1s were becoming a bit of menace. And so, they’re clever people, they said these are not operations, cause there are no German fighters about but what we want you to do is take over a sprog engineer to train him, and go behind a Mosquito. The Mosquito went in first, okay, he had this new radar called Oboe, and that was marvellous, picked out different places there, and when he dropped his bombs, the idea was we dropped ours. I think there were about four Lancasters at a time went with this Mosquito, and so that’s what we did. So we did that for, er, some time I think. I’m still on aren’t I? Yes. And then eventually that came to an end and I went back on instructors again. I went up to Leconfield, up in Yorkshire, goodness knows what I went up there for, cause I can’t remember I ever did anything! I came back again anyway, to Mildenhall. I was just really an odd bod, an instructor, that’s what I was and I was called an instructor. Oh, yes, eventually, before I went on to Transport Command, we had a, there were aircraft called a York, it was a passenger aircraft, and they wanted to find out what the centre of gravity was because of all the weight of the luggage and everything else on board. So that was my job, with a senior chap. We had all these, all these Yorks in a hangar, several of them, with the tails out, finding the centre of gravity. I can’t remember what I did now, but we found it and I think that did the job and I was made a flight lieutenant for a time, while I was on, to give me some authority. Wasn’t that nice of them! There we are, that’s what I did. But at the end, right at the end, two weeks before the end I went on Manna from Heaven. And there we are, I’ll show you a picture of that. And what we did, these little food parcels, there was sort of some rubberised, they were very good at doing things like that, I think it was probably Americanised, but rubber stuff and all these sweets, powdered milk, powdered egg and all that was inside each one of those. No parachute or anything like this. We were very low, I think we were two or three hundred feet when we went in, and they were warned to keep away because if one hits you it could knock you out you see. There’s another one coming in, another one back there. This went on for several weeks. It was known that some Germans were firing on the Yorks as they flew over, no Lancasters, we were on Lancasters then, Lancasters. They were firing on the Lancasters and the colonel was warned [emphasis] if you allow that to got on you’ll be up in court, you know. So I think it stopped after. The Dutch have never forgotten it. If you speak to a Dutchman now, they’ll tell you: the RAF did us a good thing. I think I’ve got something here from a Dutchman if you’d like to, hang on, here we are, shall I read it. After the war and after Manna from Heaven food parcels arrived, a letter from a Dutch person. “We shall never forget the nights when your squadrons passed us in the dark on the way to Germany, the mighty noise was like music for us: it told us about happier days to come. Your passing planes kept us believing in coming victory, no matter what we had to endure. We have suffered much but Britain and the RAF did not disappoint us, so we have to thank you and the British nation for our living in peace today.” So there we are, that was nice, wasn’t it. So I think -
CJ: So towards the end of the war Colin, where did you go next?
CD: In August of 1945, we as a crew of five with Jack as a captain, Jack Ralph, joined 51 Squadron at Leconfield, near Minster in Yorkshire. We were to have a period of training there on Stirlings, yes Stirlings, our old wartime friend. The powers that be were so short of passenger aircraft that they took the gun turrets out of the Stirling and put some seats down the length of the aircraft. The whole idea was to bring back servicemen from the Far East, including hopefully, some Japanese prisoners of war who had a dreadful time as prisoners. I think the Stirling had about forty seats, down the length of the fuselage with a galley for food and toilet facilities. The aircraft would fly at about eight thousand feet, no oxygen, and so it would have been quite cold and miserable. I remember saying to myself, that if the Japs don’t kill them, then perhaps the Stirling would. But at least they would be coming home and after the business of the Japanese camps I felt they would put up with anything. There was my crew, there were so many pilots back from Canada after training, and the war was over, and of course missing the war, authorities didn’t know what to do with them. Well many of them were trained as stewards, they didn’t like that really, to look after the passengers, to feed them et cetera and so we had one in our crew, but he wasn’t very happy about it. The time came for us to make our first overseas flight. We took off from Leconfield on 20th of August, and made for Stoney Cross, an airfield near the New Forest in Hampshire. We picked up all sorts of equipment, including a refrigerator which was fitted at the rear for use when we picked up passengers. On 22nd of August we took off for Luqa in Malta, which took seven hours thirty five minutes. On landing we were amazed at the bomb damage, we just wondered how they survived. We took off the next day for Castel Bonita, which was an airfield in Libya, North Africa. The temperature in the sun on arrival was one hundred and nineteen degrees Fahrenheit. [Laugh] Phew! We were able to have a quick look at Tripoli, and we were amazed at the number of ships sunk in the harbour. The ships were bombed when the Germans were there in 1942 ‘43. On the next day we took off for Tel Aviv in Palestine; this took us six hours thirty minutes. I was very impressed by, with Tel Aviv, a wealthy town and populated mostly by Jews from all over Europe. We had time to spend an afternoon on their lovely beach, but we were pestered by beach sellers who tried to sell us anything they thought we would wealth, they thought we were wealthy like the population. At that particular time there were battles going on in Jerusalem, so it was out of bounds to us RAF. Their troubles are still going on today, sadly. I mention above about the wealth in Tel Aviv, being a Jewish town, but just outside there was a village called Tel Avivski which was populated by Arabs, who were growing lemons and oranges. Their homesteads were very poor indeed, and what a contrast to Tel Aviv. The next day we took off for Basra, in Iraq which was very much in the news in recent years. The aerodrome was called Shaibah which was outside Basra. Shaibah was a terribly hot place. It was always between a hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit. It had a good population - of flies! The billets were poor and so it was a good thing we were only there one night. Tea had a peculiar taste and the food wasn’t terribly appetising. Have I painted a nice picture I say to myself. I must say that the people were very friendly and of course this was 1945 and maybe they aren’t so friendly today. Any airman ground staff could only stay in Shaibah a maximum of six months of the year because after some of them started to go mental called Shaibah blues. As flight engineer I had to supervise the refuelling of our aircraft. They used what they called a bowser and we just hoped it was filled with a hundred octane fuel to give us plenty of lift and power. At least we could get cold beer in the officers mess, just like in Ice Cold in Alex. The next day, 24th, we took off for Karachi. The badge I have on my, on my coat that I had on just now was bought in Karachi, in Pakistan although in 1945 fortunately it was still in India. The aerodrome was called Meri, Moripoor, this aerodrome was quite modern compared to Shaibah. We would be there for two days and so we had the opportunity to visit Karachi. I quite liked this town, but like all Indian town it was full of markets selling just about everything. Of course you never paid the price they asked and so quite a bit of time was spent bargaining with the vendor but he made you comfortable by giving you something soft to sit on then bring you a glass of coca cola which fell apart, no sarsaparilla, sorry, a coco cola or a glass of sarsaparilla, not so nice. I remember buying a pair of shoes which fell apart in a few days and an Indian wool rug which was very nice, I sold it at home for a good profit. The main street in Karachi was called Elphinstone Street, named after Lord Elphinstone who lived in Hastings and there’s a street named after him there too! This was the end of our first flight abroad which took us four days. On 27th of August we flew back to Stoney Cross, many passengers, mainly army personnel and they didn’t like the cold in the Stirling after being in a hot country, still I am sure they were pleased to get home at last. When we arrived back at Stoney Cross we found that we had been posted to Stradishall in Suffolk. This was, and still is, a pre-war RAF station and so at least we had food, accommodation and a batman. The batman, I had was shared with two officers in separate rooms. It was jolly good because he did lots of jobs for us, cleaning our shoes, looking after our laundry and making sure we had everything we wanted. The real benefits of being an officer! The downside was that we had to do Orderly Officer duties from time to time. One of the duties, one of the duties was checking on the food in the general mess. As I went on the Sergeant of the Day which called out ‘any complaints,’ usually there was silence but on one occasion one of the erks said, I have been given very little meat, sir. It looked very small so I got the cooks to give him another slice of meat. I think the erk had eaten quite a bit before I got it, got there. Of course the Orderly Officer was actually in charge of the RAF station when the Group Captain was away at night time too. So it was quite a responsible job if anything went wrong at the station. We had parties there, with plenty of girlfriends, lots of fun with booze. I think we’ll leave it at that now.
CJ: So on these long trips Colin, with Transport Command did you meet any interesting people?
CD: Well one of the people I did meet was at Cairo. We stopped at a hotel called the Heliopolis, Heliopolis Palace and I think we were on the third floor. Now, King Farouk, he somehow or other he didn’t like the British, I don’t know why, I don’t know why. But he would, you would see him belting through the streets in the middle of two guards in a jeep type of vehicle, you know and be crouched in there. We actually met him actually, at a reception at Helioplolis Palace and he sort of didn’t want to really say too much to us, us chaps chaps. He wasn’t a good leader, he liked pornography, he had loads of pornography, you wouldn’t believe it, stuff he had. Well eventually he was ousted of course, wasn’t he. I think it was Nasser came in after him, wasn’t it. He was dead scared of travelling around, he thought he’d be shot any moment, you know, they didn’t like him. So that’s King Farouk, I’ve met a king, okay.
CJ: So when did you leave the RAF Colin? And what did you do after that?
CD: Well I was there during that very cold winter and it soon after that actually. By May, May 1947, May 1947 I said farewell to my friends at Lyneham, I took the train to Preston in Lancashire and that was my demob station, okay. So I came out and there I am, and that’s what, various documents including identity card, ration book and some money, so that’s what I got for putting my life on the line. But still, it was better than nothing. I’ve now signed off from the RAF and I was given a sort of dowry, but I can’t remember how much it was, but I don’t think I was terribly rich. I came back to London to stay with my, an aunt for a time. I stayed at, I stayed with my grandmother in Beckenham. She had a son that was employed at the Standard Bank of South Africa and I was very friendly with him, because he played cricket and all that, in his job, and he said how about getting into shipping, the Union Castle Line near me, where I am, I know they’re looking for young men. I said yeah, that sounds interesting to me, shipping, well I don’t want to fly again and, and that’s what he did. I went up for an interview and I got the job. I think it was about two hundred and fifty pounds a year. [Laugh] I thought you see, I could train perhaps as a purser eventually and I wouldn’t mind going out to South Africa and stay out there for a bit as I was single, as easy as it was then. So that’s what I did and I started 15th May I think it was, 15th of May. First up yes, I would be employed in an office down, oh I was employed in an office down in the East India Docks for a time, Blackwall, yes, at a salary of two hundred and fifty pounds per annum. I bought a month’s season ticket on the Southern Railway at the cost of one pound fourteen shillings and that would take me from Elmer’s End to Beckenham or Cannon Street in the city. I used it seven days a week, I used it at weekends. Arrived at the office on the first day at nine fifteen am and met up with the manager at the docks office. Really old buildings, it’s real east, sorry about that, just chuck it aside, sorry. Yes, it was very, sort of worn out buildings there, everything was sort of archaic really, you know. Big, it had a big shelf to write on. And a stool. And if you’ve ever seen any Charles Dickens films, just like that really. Goes back to those days you see.
CJ: And what was your job there?
CD: Just as a clerk, to start with, just as a clerk, did a lot of writing, oh and I got the job of going down to the docks to meet the ships, with a senior man first, but then eventually I went down myself, to the West India Dock, King George the Fifth Dock, Queen Victoria Dock in London, don’t exist any more of course, and Southampton went down to Southampton. Yes. That was the most interesting part of being with the Union Castle actually, going down to the ships, so I enjoyed that. Now eventually we were hearing rumours you see, that oh they united with the Clan Line, that would have been a few years after and eventually we could see that the end of the line was coming because people were flying to South Africa and East Africa. We didn’t have an empire any more, you know, Uganda, Tanganyika and all these of places, so I decided I think I’d better change; I had two young daughters at the time and I thought I’d better think about changing. So I got a job with Beecham Research Laboratories in their offices. I did a few jobs outside in hospitals and took on that job, in Kent, that’s why I’m down here. I used to visit the consultants, so that was interesting. Yeah.
CJ: So after the war did you manage to keep in touch with any of your old crew?
CD: Yes I did. I was the secretary, we used to have reunions up at Tuddenham, Tuddenham and there’s a building there that we used to use, it was more convenient than Mildenhall really, although we used to go to Mildenhall. But I was the secretary, so I did the newsletters, it was great and yes, I was given a glass bowl at the end which is upstairs. And curiously those eventually died off and that’s very sad.
CJ: How do you feel Bomber Command veterans were treated after the war, for example by the government?
CD: We were treated very badly. We were treated very badly. Churchill never thanked us, he thanked every other, every other side of the war, Army, Navy, Coastal Command, but not Bomber Command, Fighter Command, but not Bomber Command, never Bomber Command, and yet he was the one that said early part of the war we will bomb every town in Germany and make them pay for what they’re doing to us. That’s what he said, you know, and that’s wanted us to do. But it all came to a head with Dresden, didn’t it. And of course that wasn’t Bomber Harris’ idea at all, he didn’t want to do it because it was too far for his crews, it’s really the Russian general out there. He, he told Eisenhower that the town was full of German troops and weapons, you see. And he said would you, could Bomber Command bomb the place. Eisenhower got on to Churchill and Churchill got on to Bomber Harris and Bomber Harris said well it’s just too far for my troops, I don’t want to do it. You’ve got the order to do it, you must find a way of doing it, so that they get there and back. That’s, you know, that’s the sort of attitude he had you see. So, it came about and of course it was found that it was mainly full of refugees rather than troops, so you know, but that’s the one, if you mention Bomber Command, that’s what people mention. What about Dresden, you know. But it’s no different to any other town, what about towns in England? And if he’d had his way V2s would have obliterated London completely. So yes, I don’t think we, it’s only since we’ve had the Bomber Command Memorial in Green Park that things have softened quite a bit now. People, when they hear I’ve been in Bomber Command are quite impressed, you know cause there’s not many of us about are there. So I think the attitude has changed a bit, but I was a great admirer of Churchill you know, during the war, he gave us that feeling of we were going to win, that’s what we wanted really, someone behind us, but he never stayed on at the end. I could never understand why really, never understood why. The Queen Mother always supported us and I went to the, the church in the Strand, what’s the name of that church in the Strand, I can’t remember it, anyway it’s the RAF, it’s the RAF church and it was Bomber Harris’ monument that was being built there, next to Dowding, the two of them there you see. And you wouldn’t believe it, all these layabouts were shouting at us: murderers. The Queen Mother she always supported us and said take no notice of them, I was standing right next to her, actually, take no notice of them. One chap there had got his uniform on, had red, red paint thrown over him you know, that’s how we were treated. Yeah. It was pretty grim really. And the police didn’t do much about it really, they’re just yobs he says, what can you do?
CJ: But on the other hand I gather you’ve been honoured by the French.
CD: Yes, absolutely. I have also at our do on Tuesday night I said I want to send a toast to the President of France, President Macron. So I don’t know if he ever got the message but I you’ve read the letter, yes.
CJ: This is the letter that confirms that you’ve been made a Chevalier of the Legion d’Honeur.
CD: That’s right, Nationale, Legion d’Honeur. First introduced by Napoleon in 1802 and used extensively during the Battle of Waterloo, 1815. He used it for his highest gallantry award. So whether it’s still used as a high gallantry award I don’t know. It wasn’t used in the second world war because they gave in you see right at the start. But it was used in the First World War, yeah.
CJ: So what else keeps you busy nowadays?
CD: The garden! Try to. Well I belong to Probus. I belong to, I’m the honorary president, honorary president of the Royal British Legion, in Tenterden. Church too, I go to church so I made lots and lots of friends there. We have different little dos from time to time. I go to the day centre here on a Tuesday, that’s tomorrow. They come and pick me up, they have lunch there.
CJ: You’re living in Tenterden and there’s a heritage railway I think you had some involvement.
CD: Oh Kent and East Sussex Railway! Oh yes! I’d forgotten about that. In 1967, we came to live here in 1966 you see, and in 1967 well we heard that there was a railway coming along, didn’t know much about it then, down station road, so we thought we’d go and have a look and they had a couple of little engines down there, one was called Hastings and there was another one down there as well. And I went to the meeting, they had meetings to try to get the railway started somehow. Oh, the rows that went on! You know, between the secretary and the president, and the chairman, had different views from each other, you know. They were told: if you don’t get your act together you’ll never run a railway. Of course you wouldn’t, not like that. But eventually it all settled down but interesting meetings. I’ve still got [unclear[, upstairs, amazing!
CJ: You were volunteering on the railway, you were helping?
CD: Yes, I did a signals course in 1968 I think, ‘69 something like that, ‘69, nothing like what they do today, it’s much more. But then they said we really need somebody in the booking office to get it started, so course I’m married, two children, you can’t spend too much time. Anyway, I took it on. I ordered these little tickets, cardboard tickets as you push in the machine: boom boom. It puts the date on it, you know, that’s what it was. Quite cheap as well. At that stage, 1974 it opened, 1974. Bill Deedes came down, he opened it. Just went as far as Rolvenden, that’s as far as we could get. It took another two or three years to get to Wittersham Road. Ted Heath, oh yeah, he came and opened it, Ted Heath, yeah, and to Bodiam and Northiam, so it took many many years, it was quite a few years after. Opened in 1974, about ‘88 something like that I think, it got to Bodiam. The Lottery I think paid for it, paid for part of that between Northiam and Bodiam. But they were always short of money, you know, no matter what. A new boiler costs at least ten thousand pounds you see, for an engine, everything is so costly now, I’m afraid. So that was my job. So I did do things, I didn’t just sit at home doing nothing!
CJ: Well, you’ve certainly led an interesting life, Colin, and thanks very much for talking to us today.
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
Interview with Colin Deverell
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Chris Johnson
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
2019-07-22
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. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ADeverellCRE190722, PDeverellCRE1901
Format
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01:38:13 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Colin Deverell was born in Croydon. Upon leaving school, he worked for Oliver Typewriter Company, where he gained engineering skills to become an amateur rigger for Imperial Airways, before finding employment with Rollaston Aircraft Services in 1939. His mother was killed in a bombing on Christmas Day 1940, motivating him to join the Royal Air Force in 1941 and train as a flight engineer. Deverell completed thirty operations based at RAF Wratting Common and RAF Tuddenham. He details the engineering differences between Stirlings and Lancasters and recollects the events of operations to Kiel, Lorient, Duisburg, Düsseldorf, Stuttgart, Peenemünde, Berlin, and Szczecin. He then completed a further four operations, filling in for a crew with an injured flight engineer. On his thirty-fourth operation to Szczecin, they were attacked and he burnt his hands extinguishing a fire on board. By 19, Deverell was promoted to flight lieutenant and awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal. In 1944, he undertook ten special operations that required low-flying to release boxes of equipment according to light signals from the French Resistance. In 1945, he took part in Operation Manna, before joining 51 Squadron to return servicemen from the Far East on converted Stirlings. Finally, he recalls his career following demobilisation in 1947, the treatment of Bomber Command, and attending reunions at Tuddenham. As the Honorary President of the Royal British Legion in his hometown of Tenterden, Deverell has also been awarded the Legion d’Honneur.
Contributor
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Tilly Foster
Anne-Marie Watson
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Croydon
England--Suffolk
France
France--Lorient
Germany
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Stuttgart
Poland
Poland--Szczecin
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940-07-10
1940-08-15
1940-12-25
1941
1942
1943-06-27
1943-08-17
1943-08-23
1943-08-29
1943-09-23
1944
1945-08
1946
1947-05
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
51 Squadron
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Distinguished Flying Medal
flight engineer
H2S
Lancaster
Me 110
Mosquito
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
perception of bombing war
promotion
RAF Tuddenham
RAF Wratting Common
recruitment
Resistance
searchlight
Stirling
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1009/18832/NMadgettHR190610-020001.2.jpg
24054963f22d98ce31c35ce20426ef1b
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1009/18832/NMadgettHR190610-020002.2.jpg
4dab2e0633abe8621621e150aeb650a9
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Madgett, Hedley Robert
H R Madgett
Description
An account of the resource
250 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer Hedley Madgett DFM (1922 - 1943, 147519, 1330340 Royal Air Force), a pilot with 61 Squadron. He was killed 18 August 1943 on the last operation of his tour from RAF Syerston to Peenemünde. The collection consists of letters, postcards and telegrams to his parents while he was training in the United Kingdom and Canada. In addition the collection contains memorabilia, documents from the Air Training Corps, artwork, a railway map, diaries, medals as well as his logbook, photographs of people, places and aircraft. Also contains letters of condolence to parents and a sub collection containing a photograph album with 44 items of his time training in Canada'.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Joan Madgett and Carol Gibson, and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.<br /><br /><span>Additional information on Hedley Madgett is available via the </span><a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/114690/" title="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/madgett-hr/ ">IBCC Losses Database</a><span>.</span>
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-03-17
2019-06-14
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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Madgett, H
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
RAF Bombers Tricked Enemy by a Berlin False Alarm
NAZI ‘BACKROOM BOYS’ KILLED
Key Men Died Here
[Photograph]
End of a vital German research station. Reconnaissance picture shows Peenemunde after the big R.A.F. raid there. Devastation is enormous, huge craters can be seen all over the area. Forty huts in which radiolocation and other research was done have been destroyed in this section, and another 50 burnt.
Peenemunde Raid Wiped Out Air Experts’ HQ
By COLIN BEDNALL, Daily Mail Air Correspondent
It is considered most likely that numbers of outstanding German scientists and highly skilled technicians were killed in the R.A.F.’s mass attack last week on the previously unheard-of target of Peenemunde.
These men were the sinister, dangerous, and personal foes of every Allied airman who flies over Germany. The enemy cannot replace them.
They were essentially combatants, with normal military uniforms and rankings, but they fought with deadly radiolocation and other instruments produced and often operated many miles from the scene of combat.
Until the R.A.F. descended on Peenemunde, they hunted our airmen with little risk to themselves. The plans for the attack had these “backroom boys” very much in mind.
The first hint of their success was given by a German radio announcement the day after the raid that General von Chamier-Glisezenski, inventor of many of Germany’s secret weapons, had met with a “fatal accident.”
If the truth were known, many of his colleagues and subordinates met a similar fate on the night of August 17-18.
Evidence to support this belief is provided by the picture of bomb damage at Peenemunde which appears in this page.
The Vital Point
At first glance it may look no different from any other aerial photograph of bomb damage, but the vital point to observe is the flattening of rows of plain wood and iron huts. They are very large huts.
In them at the time of the raid would be scores of “backroom boys,” either working at their secret devices or resting.
Cut off from the rest of the world and surrounded by thick forest and the sea, the Peenemunde research and radiolocation station was supposed to be beyond prying eyes – especially R.A.F. eyes. It had the appearance of an innocent, over-grown holiday camp.
It would seem probable that many of the scientists were caught at work. As was stated in [italics] The Daily Mail [/italics] after the raid, the big R.A.F. force took a course that probably caused the enemy to anticipate an attack on Berlin.
Wrong Idea
There is every probability that the enemy believed Berlin was to be the target.
The “backroom boys” at Peenemunde would have welcomed this prospect with far more relish than the citizens of the capital because it would have provided them with their finest opportunity ever of testing and experimenting with their secret devices.
Absorbed in their work and without a fear that they – and not Berlin – might be the target for the night, few, if any, would have thought of taking shelter until it was too late.
And no hut is any protection against a British “block buster.”
[cartoon]
“Don’t you think you could bring yourself to take just a teeny-weeny peep at the damage?” – by Neb
[articles]
[page break]
FRIDAY, The Daily Mail, AUGUST 27, 1943.
[underlined] NURSES HAVE TO USE MOSQUITO NETS [/underlined]
Fly Plague Empties a Hospital, 21 Child Patients Ill
By Daily Mail Reporter
TWENTY-ONE children patients and four members of the staff at Watford Isolation Hospital have been affected by dysentery attributed to flies, which swarm in the wards and kitchen. Now only ten patients remain. The rest have been evacuated.
A letter from a sister at the hospital was read at a meeting of Watford Council yesterday. “To attempt to nurse patients, especially cases of infection, under such circumstances is both disgraceful and revolting,” she wrote.
“Until I became a sister at this hospital I considered myself fit and healthy, but although I have only been a member of the staff since October 1942 I have been almost continually under a doctor’s care.
“I attribute this to the fact that I have been working in unhygienic surroundings caused by this pestilence of flies.
“It has become a daily game for the children to count the flies from hour to hour which collect on the fly papers and around the wards, and which it is necessary to change twice daily, and even more often in the kitchen.”
[underlined] STAFF THEORY [/underlined]
I visited the hospital, which is normally capable of taking 140 fever cases, last night. The white-tiled walls had just been washed with disinfectant, but a minute later the flies came back.
The nursing staff are forced to sleep under netting. In the kitchen the cook has had to seal her cupboards.
Through a glass panel I saw one patient constantly flicking the insects away. On another counterpane I counted nearly 100 of them.
Ten fly papers hung from the ceiling of the sterilising room. They had been changed twice before I arrived.
A sister said: “The pests are floating in the water when I go to bathe the children at night.”
A Ministry of Health official has inspected the building and attempts have been made to find the cause of the plague.
The hospital staff have their own theories. They believe the flies come in from refuse pits 30 yards from the building.
[underlined] DANGER TO TOWN [/underlined]
“They have been worrying us for over a year now,” the sister said.
Yet three miles away in Watford High-street the swarms are almost as bad.
The matron of the hospital, who is on holiday, is preparing a full report for the Health Ministry.
“The whole borough might be affected unless something is done,” I was told.
Watford Council passed a resolution yesterday expressing serious concern “with the appalling conditions owing to the excessive number of flies at the hospital and the terrible conditions under which the staff had been endeavouring to carry out their duties for a considerable period of time.”
They instructed the council representatives on the hospital board to do “everything within their power to get this nuisance abated at once.”
‘FOR LUCK’ MEDALS
From Queen Mary
By Daily Mail Reporter
TWO small silver-coloured medallions, slightly bigger than a sixpence, engraved on one side “FROM M.R.” and on the other “FOR LUCK,” are prizes possessions of two R.A.F. aircraftmen stationed in the West Country.
They were presented to them by an elderly lady who gave them a lift in her car. Afterwards they discovered that the lady was Queen Mary.
The aircraftmen were walking into Chippenham, Wilts. to go to a cinema when the car drew up beside them. They accepted the proferred lift.
With Queen Mary in the car – though the men did not know it then – were the Queen’s lady-in-waiting and Lord Claud Hamilton, comptroller of her household.
Queen’s Own Idea
When the car dropped the men an elderly man gave them two small packages wrapped in cellophane.
It was only when a crowd began to gather on the pavements that they realised they had been driving with Queen Mary.
An official at Marlborough House told me yesterday: “The idea of the medallions was entirely Queen Mary’s.
“It is a very small medallion, made of a silver-coloured alloy, and can be hung on a watch-chain or slipped into a pocket. It means just what it says: ‘Good Luck.’”
Flyers Meet RAF Chief
[photograph]
BRITISH and American flyers tell Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris, Chief of Bomber Command, some of their experiences during flights over Germany. They were guests at the “Not Forgotten Association” garden party in the grounds of Buckingham Palace yesterday. In chair is Warrant Officer R. Williams. Americans are S/Sgt. J. Sloan and S/Sgt. Alfred Vickers, of Chicago.
[articles]
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
Newspaper article on Peenemunde operation
Description
An account of the resource
"Nazi backroom boys killed, Pennemunde raid wiped out air experts HQ". Account of Peenmeunde operation and background to research carried out there. Surrounded by other articles and further articles on the reverse.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Colin Bednall
Daily Mail
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Format
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One newspaper cutting
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
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Text
Photograph
Identifier
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NMadgettHR190610-02
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Peenemünde
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-08-17
1943-08-18
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.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1943
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
Angela Gaffney
Steve Baldwin
Requires
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Workflow A completed
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1751/34067/SWarnerC1801861v10006.1.jpg
83a12bde89828aedc1a8768498a02f5b
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
Warner, Charles Herbert Albert
C H A Warner
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
2017-11-12
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
Warner, CHA
Description
An account of the resource
Sixteen items. The collection concerns Sergeant Charles Warner (1801861 Royal Air Force) and and Sergeant J F W Warner (976029 Royal Air Force). <br /><br />Charle Warner's collection contains correspondence, documents and photographs. He flew as a flight engineer on 101 Squadron and was shot down and killed 3 September 1943.<br /><br /> <span class="NormalTextRun SCXW196096160 BCX0">Additional information on </span><span class="SpellingError SCXW196096160 BCX0">Charles Warner</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCXW196096160 BCX0"> is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/124437/">IBCC Losses Database.</a></span><br /><br />J F W Warner's collection contains his service and release book and his decorations. He served as an engine fitter in North Africa. <br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Geoffrey Warner and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
22 Bangholm Bower Avenue
Edinburgh
8 July 1945
Dear Mrs Wilkinson
Thank you for your kind letter and I hope you will forgive me not replying sooner. I have received a letter from your brother in Italy and have just written to him telling him what I know of the night 3/4 September 1943.
Two days ago I was sent back home, on indefinite leave to await release from the service, and have applied for a job in Cambridge. Should I get this post I will be staying not very far from you and I will be very pleased to see you at any time.
Charlie had done four “ops” and we copped it on the fifth “op”. The first one was to Peenemunde on the Baltic coast, just north of [inserted] Stettin. [/inserted] It was a great raid, maybe you remember reading about it in August 1943. All the newspapers were full of it and the RAF had given them photographs of the actual fighting and the target area to print with the various accounts of the raid. Then more recently, within the last two months actually, there have been various reports praising the work the boys did that night when we ruined Jerrys secret equipment laboratories which were working on what we now know as VI and VII’s. As I said, it was a lovely night and a full moon, no clouds, just like daylight, just the night fighters paradise.
Next we went to Munchen-Gladbach in the Rhur and had a pretty rotten night – heavy cloud all the way but got our target all right. Our next trip was the big city – Berlin and after a fairly hectic night we arrived home safe and sound.
The forth was Leverkusen and the target was some chemical works.
The fifth and last as you know, Berlin again.
I know the boys had been buried at Lingen, the Germans told me, about three weeks after my capture. I don’t think we had any snaps taken of the crew after Charlie joined us at the unit, and as you possibly have never seen any of us, I am enclosing two snaps for your mother. One was taken at ATU in April 1943 and shows “Mac” the rear gunner, Jack Billington the wireless operator, myself, David Carpenter the pilot and Jim Waterman the navigator.
Neither David Browne, the midupper Gunner, nor Charlie, was with us at that time. The other snap is of my wife, son and I after being repatriated. If you could spare me a snap of Charlie, I would be extremely grateful.
Thank you for your good wishes and kind invitiation [sic] and if I get down to your part ot he [sic] counry [sic] I will certainly avail myself of it.
Yours sincerely
Donald Flett
Dublin Core
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Title
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Letter to Mrs Wilkinson from Donald Flett
Description
An account of the resource
Transcription of a letter. Writes of events on night 3/4 September 1943. Mentioned 'Charlie had done four ops before they copped it on the fifth. First op was Peenemunde, gives description of target. Mentions targets of other operations and that fifth was Berlin. Mentioned that Germans told him where crew was buried after he was captured. Writes that he was enclosing two photographs, one of the crew, for her mother as she had probably never seen them.
Creator
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D Flett
Date
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1945-07-08
Temporal Coverage
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1945-07-08
1943-09-03
1943-09-04
1943-08
1943-04
Spatial Coverage
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Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Mönchengladbach
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Lingen (Lower Saxony)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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eng
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Text
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Format
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One page printed letter
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Pending text-based transcription. Under review
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SWarnerC1801861v10006
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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.
Contributor
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Tricia Marshall
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
final resting place
killed in action
prisoner of war
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/259/3519/WhittleG.2.jpg
5db8e5ab7f504e33ee8fdd28593061a7
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/259/3519/AWhittleG150626.2.mp3
101772ee338ddf0cb41c285d70c6cb1c
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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Whittle, Geoffrey
G G Whittle
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-06-26
2016-08-22
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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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Whittle, G
Description
An account of the resource
12 items. An oral history interview with Squadron Leader Geoffrey Gordon Whittle DFM (1923 – 2016, 1397166 Royal Air Force), as well as his log books, photographs and memoirs.
Geoffrey Whittle flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron from RAF Ludford Magna.
There is a sub-collection of 25 Air Charts, mostly of Great Britain.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Denise Field and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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DE: This is an interview for the International Bomber Command Digital Archive with Squadron Leader Geoffrey Whittle, it’s the 26th of June and we are in Ruskington. So if you could tell me a little bit about your life and your experiences please?
GW: I was born in London, the outskirts of London, southern side and, I came from a family, printing background. My grandfather at one time had his own business; my father was in the national press. So I was destined with my brother to become printers as such, em. I was pulled away from school at the age of fourteen to take up an apprenticeship, which were not easily obtained unless you had an insight into the business. So I started off my career path as a trainee printer. The war came along, ‘39 and we were nicely placed when things hotted up in 1940 to be on the path to central London for the bombers. So at that time I was working in London, going in every day and was subjected to the bombing then my firm pulled out to one of its subsidiary operations in Hertfordshire in Letchworth. So I sort of missed that and I missed a further lot of the bombing. I used to get it or see it when I went home for the weekend or a little bit longer. Anyway coming up to the age of eighteen I felt that I was going to be called up. In the meantime my brother who was seven years older than me joined up immediately after the war started and was due to come home for commissioning selection on the day that Hitler started his push. That went by the board and he then became a prisoner of war at St Valerie. He was attached to the Fifty First Highland Division, that leads on to another story of my life. So I decided I was going to be called up, there was no way about it, but so ah, in 1941, so I had no desire to go into the army, no desire to go into the navy, so a sure fire way of getting into the air force and interesting of course, was to volunteer for aircrew duties. So I duly went off in October ‘41 for selection process and I was invited, I think that is the right word to use. Invited at the time to consider training as an observer, this was a precursor to the special navigation, bomber, gunnery thing that took place before the four-engined bomber came in. I was eventually called up in March of 1942 and went through the sausage machine at Regent’s Park and three weeks, what do you call it now boot camp, I suppose at Brighton and then down to Paignton for OTU, for, ITS Paignton in the summer months, it was rather an idyllic time the weather was superb, swimming every day and we had taken over the various hotels and things on the front at Paignton that was just across the beach. Oh, incidentally we were told while we were at St John’s Wood, Regent’s Park that we would not be going overseas for training. That was a little disappointing though as one had thoughts of going to South Africa or Canada but it didn’t in fact materialise. With hindsight one can see why when they were building up the ‘43 force, ‘43 and they wanted more people to go through the machine. Anyway it was from Paignton we went to Eastbourne for elementary air navigation school where we were doing all the ground work. We were eventually moved out of Eastbourne because of the nights we spent standing around the streets when the air raid warning had taken, been given and we moved up to Bridgnorth, I was only at Bridgnorth for two or three weeks and from there I went to West Freugh in Scotland, south of Stranraer on the Mull of Galloway. We arrived there the end of October the beginning of November and we had the joys of Scottish winter, in the winter time at a place called Stranraer. I have no idea what it looks like now, but it was pretty grotty, to use such a word in 1942. We did our flying and I vividly recall we had a great passing out parade there were sixty on the course. Em, great passing out parade at about four o’clock in the afternoon on the 1st of March 1943 and that same night we entrained for various OTUs that we were going to, no leave, nothing like that. So overnight travel from Scotland down to 27 OTU which was at Lichfield where one crewed up pilot and wireless operator, I think that was really the three of us and converted onto the Wellington. That is where I was fortunate enough to be picked and it was absolutely true that one has read we were put into a room, all the various categories and out of that crews appeared. I had a chap he was an old man, I was then twenty, no nineteen he must have been all of thirty four. Bill Walker, he had a lot of experience he must have had three or four hundred hours of flying because when he finished his pilot’s training he went off as a staff pilot at an air gunner’s school, great chap, chartered surveyor and we crewed up and flew the Wellington. Converted onto that on various exercises and trips until we were eventually considered competent enough to move onto the Heavy Conversion Unit which 1656 at Lindholme.
DE: The crewing up procedure, who chose who?
GW: The pilot basically, he went round, would you like to fly? I don’t know what the attraction was other than we were both over six foot tall. It made some difference, anyway that’s how it worked.
DE: Did you feel more confident with a pilot who had got more hours and was older?
GW: I don’t think we even thought about it, it was just nice that you had it. He came along, would you like to fly with me and off we went. I think at nineteen we didn’t question life so much as nineteen year- old as youngsters do nowadays. That was the form and we were going through it. So we moved to Lindholme and converted onto the Lancaster and there we met up with the rest of the crew, the flight engineer, the two gunners, and, no the bomb aimer must have been at Lichfield as well, not sure, can’t remember.
DE: Was that a similar process to get the gunners and engineer?
GW: I think so, they happened, it was a long time ago, a long time ago. We just appeared and we converted onto the Lancaster and did some day flying and did some night flying and I think it was the 21st, 25th of July, no correction 25th of June 1943 we were posted to 101 Squadron. Then they had just moved to Ludford Magna from Holme on Spalding Moor and we arrived as I have said on the 25th of June from Lindholme where we did our first operation two nights later. That was a conversion to squadron life, It was a gardening trip, you know Lavashell, minelaying so one was into the thing. And then we carried on, did various trips. The next major trip was on Cologne and then we were in the very last wave. So one saw the fires burning over Cologne a long, long before we got there but it was good initiation. Then after that it was a variety of trips to the Ruhr, Berlin, Nuremberg, Peenemunde, things like that. I can talk more about [unclear] in a minute. Then on our fifteenth operation that was on Hanover, as we were getting close to the target we were first of all coned by a searchlight and within seconds hit by anti-aircraft fire and by a night fighter which was not funny [laugh]. The port inner engine caught fire, the distance reading compass in fuselage in the back, it took one of the night fighter bullets, we had holes in the aircraft and we also had a small fire in-house in the fuselage. Anyway the flight engineer put out the fire we did a steep dive to port, when I say put out, he feathered the engine and deep dive to port and that fortunately put the fire out in the engine and also shook off the night fighter. Then he went back and started trying to put the fire out in the fuselage with a few bullets going off around him because it was affecting the ammunition trays. We were warned to stand by to bail out, Bill pulled the aircraft up back to about fifteen thousand feet and dropped the bombs and proceeded on. The fire broke out again, the rear gunner had a little problem, the flight engineer and the mid upper gunner pulled him out. We were very restricted with navigation equipment, I lost all my stuff in the dive to port, it just slid off the table. I managed to save my computer, Dalton computer and a pair of compasses, a few pencils and that was it. Anyway we stood by to bail out and being good aircrew we had a little discussion and decided, let’s try to get home, and we did. According to the reports after at the first debriefing the weather was not all that good. We got back, diverted to Lindholme, landed did a ground loop [laugh] finished up somewhere in the nether regions of Lindholme. Scrambled out of the aircraft and had to wait to be picked up. The port wheel had been punctured that was the trouble as we hit the ground we went round.
DE: Obviously the port engine had been hit.
GE: The aircraft was a write off. Anyway that was on the 25th of September, 27th of September, the 27th, the 27th. Three weeks after that the pilot and the flight engineer both received Gallantry Medals, immediate awards. Two weeks after that the wireless operator and myself each received immediate awards of a Distinguished Flying Medal and the other guys, the bomb aimer who was an officer, got the DFC and the two gunners got DFMs so we were all decorated with the immediate awards. The interesting thing about that was that the beginning of November a little later in November I was gazetted as a pilot officer with effect from the 27th of September so in fact I flew as a sergeant but was a pilot officer as indeed was Bill Walker and, so we both received medals as opposed to the officer awards. The interesting thing on that of course was the recipient of the DFC received forty pounds gratuity which went immediately to the RAF Benevolent Fund. As a sergeant we received twenty pounds which we keep and twenty pounds went a long way [laugh]. Anyway that was that and that was a memorable day.
DE: You mentioned the rear gunner had a problem, what was that?
GE: Oxygen mainly and I think and obviously overcome by fumes with the stuff burning was going down into his turret and that probably affected him some, he was recovered they pulled him out and gave him some more oxygen and then he went back into his turret. The pilot lost his controls, they had been severed. So it was all in all an interesting evening but we got back. Anyway we did not do very much flying in October. We were due to go on leave and nothing happened anyway on the next trip that I mentioned earlier I perforated my eardrum in flight and I was whipped off to hospital. Whilst I was there unfortunately my crew were shot down on the third sortie without me near Liege in Belgium on their way to Stuttgart. By that time we had acquired an extra member of the crew, the ABC operator, and so they were shot down and the pilot, the wireless operator and the navigator who replaced me did get out em, the pilot and the wireless operator became prisoners of war and the navigator in fact got back to England. All three of them have since died so I am now the sole survivor of that original crew. And that is why for very good reasons I am so interested in this Bomber Memorial because the names of the crews will go up on the walls and I think that is something they deserve. The wireless operator had a young son he was six months when he was killed and I tied up with his son twenty odd years ago and I normally see him once a year and that is very interesting and I think he likes it as well, it is a connection to his youth and a father he really did not really know. On the trips the interesting ones, Peenemunde which was quite out of the ordinary, it was done on a full moon when of course we never flew. So to be called suddenly to ops in the middle of August or July, I will have to look up my facts, was quite surprising and then usually as a navigator we didn’t get a pre main briefing, nav briefing, when so often we [unclear] our routes and basic stuff, although it was the final stuff before the main briefing the final met forecast so we could produce our flight plan. And when we arrived in the crew room, who should be sitting at the top table, one Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris [laugh]. The briefing took place and there it was when the curtains went back and this red line right across the North Sea a straight route virtually to some obscure place on the northern coast of Germany. And the bombing was at six thousand feet which was unusual. So all of these sort of things were quite intriguing but nobody would tell why we were going there, and so Arthur Harris finished up by saying ‘well I can’t tell you about the target all I will tell you, that it is vital that it is knocked out and if you don’t knock it out tonight you will go back tomorrow night and the night after and the night after until you have knocked it out’. We had the master bomber technique, first time on the main course raid, I must admit he didn’t sound over encouraging the way the markers were going down, the bombs were going down. I did really think on the way back, it was an eight hour trip, something like that em, full moon, saw a couple of aircraft shot down, I was looking out the astrodome. I really thought we would be back the next night and I must admit it was a great relief to get up somewhere around eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock next day to find out the raid had been a success. Great relief, and of course it was a great success from the point of view of slowing down the flying bombs. The impact that would have had on D-Day, let alone the civilian population. But I did experience when I went home on leave the odd V1 and V2 [laugh] not funny especially the V2, you did not hear anything but the bang. The interesting thing about the master bomber technique, they trialled it two or three weeks beforehand with a small force of one hundred and fifty Lancs from 1 Group another hundred and fifty from 5 Group and we were split up onto three targets, Genoa, Milan and Turin. 1 Group had fifty on Turin, the 5 Group had fifty on Milan if I remember correctly and twenty five each went to Genoa. The time of attack was one o’clock, ‘oh one hundred’ on Sunday morning. We were doing quite well, it was a nice night to fly, saw the Alps for the first time in one’s life and I was three or four minutes ahead of my actual time for my ETA so I would do a traditional dog leg sixty degrees one way one hundred and eighty the other, that saved three minutes. Sixty, one twenty and then we were back on track. We arrived at the target, virtually 1 am and the interesting thing was, God bless the Italians that as we were approaching the target it was quite lit up with anti-aircraft fire. Guns going off everywhere, since the first bombs went down they completely stopped [laugh]. We had quite a free run, but it was a long flight back to there and back all over France but that was interesting. As I say we trialled the master bomber technique before it was actually first used. The Berlin trip, well I was asked to do it and on that particular occasion I flew with the squadron commander and, we arrived back about five o’clock in the morning, debriefed and went straight on leave that was our scheduled leave. So I arrived back in London that evening and went out, in civilian clothes. I always changed when I went home and went to our local pub. It was quite intriguing I had a chum there that I met up with who was in uniform, the barman said to him ‘were you over Berlin last night?’ ‘No but he was’, turning to me [laugh]. The barman almost dropped dead to see somebody in civilian clothes, but that was how life was. So what happened after that, I went to hospital, the crew were shot down, came out of hospital. I was grounded for six months and started doing a bit of some instructional work around various places in Lincolnshire. All wartime airfields no longer exist, doing a little bit of navigation and things like that. Then I got my flying category back to eight thousand feet and was sent off for reselection. I went to Eastchurch and I was there on D-Day. I was playing cricket on D-Day, officers versus sergeants watching all these aeroplanes going over wondering what the hell was going on, of course we had no idea. I, asked to go onto Mosquitoes but was told my height restriction would not allow it because the minimum height restriction was twelve thousand feet so I went to Air Sea Rescue, I went down to Cornwall and the aircraft we were flying was the Warwick which was the airborne lifeboat version of the Wellington really and we had a few Sea Otters as well. When the fun moved away from, that part of France, the Cherbourg area the light aircraft moved over to Kirkeville but we were still based in Cornwall. That went on for five or six months and then we were disbanded.
DE: So what did the work entail there, was it patrols?
GW: Standing by more than anything else, I never dropped a lifeboat in my life. We never had to for the main concentration was more to the east than we were. But I say, we were disbanded eventually. So it was back again into the sausage machine and, back for training, I went to [Millom?], did a bit of flying there, then went to Half Penny Green just outside Wolverhampton. And that was then I knew I was going to go into what they called the Tiger Force on Halifaxes and probably glider towing. Then the war finished.
DE: You were on Halifaxes and glider towing because you still had the height restriction?
GW: Yes, as I say I would have done but it never happened, say the war in Europe finished and two or three months of waiting and the war in Japan finished so that was it and like so many aircrew who were non-operational at the time we were invited, what would we like to do? I was still young I was twenty two at the time I thought why would I want to work in an office or that sort of lifestyle? So I opted for the RAF Regiment and I went into the RAF Regiment, went to Germany and trained on armoured cars. I did my basic training, footslogging around here at Belton where the RAF Regiment depot was at that time. I then moved down to Oxford, Boarshill where the armoured car school was and converted onto the Humber armoured car and all the tactics attached to it and then went to Germany as the two I/C of an armoured car squadron. That was interesting, as I say I was a flight lieutenant then and went off. Anyway I was still an apprentice and I was expected to go back to it.
DE: Onto the printing?
GW: Yes back to printing. So I had to take my demob which I did. Went back, decided it was not the life for me so I went round to the RAF Regiment people in London and said, ‘what are the chances of coming back?’ and they said ‘yes we’ll have you extended service commission for four years’. So without consulting my father I gave up my apprenticeship, I cancelled my indentures and rejoined into the RAF Regiment and whilst I was there did a spell at Upavon and then I went out. Yes I did some time at the depot and went out to Upavon and from there I went out to Aden and commanded 4001 Armoured Car Flight. The obvious the Humber car flight and it still exists today in the RAF as a unit. Whilst I was in Aden the wanted, sent out requests for volunteer pilots and navigators to rejoin as aircrew, go back to aircrew, volunteer for aircrew and I did volunteer for that and I did go back. So January 1950 I em, went back into flying duties, finished up in the all-weather world, and funnily enough by that time I got my full flying category back. So that was acceptable and I went into the all-weather world flying Mosquitoes then Meteors. In between times I did the odd ground tour. From the Mosquito I went out to Egypt [unclear]. The pilot I was em, due to join up with, I incidentally when I done my conversion into Mosquitoes I flew with the chap who was taking command of the newly-formed 219 Squadron and then he was going to fly with the nav Leader when got out there, and my chap never appeared so I became station navigation officer. Still did a bit of flying with them then converted to the Meteor and did a bit there. Came home, had a ground tour then went back to flying, went again into Germany as the nav leader of 85 Squadron flying the Meteor and then the Javelin. Whilst I was there my ear blew up again and I perforated it again. So that was the end of my flying. I went to take up my staff college qualifying exam. I then went to staff college in 1959 and whilst we were there were told quite happily by the air member for personnel that the majority of us did not have a full career left in the air force because they were all coming, the younger people were coming out from Cranwell and they had to have first preferences. That was a nice thing to hear, there were about seventy or eighty of us. One or two did get to the top obviously that will always happen. So I went to Fighter Command Headquarters on staff and em, and there I decided to retire, I then had two children and there was eleven years between them and I decided that I would get out and take early retirement. So I retired from the air force in December 1961. Having had such a hatred of working in an office what did I do? I went into banking [laugh]. I saw a friend of mine from air force days who went into it and seemed to enjoy it. It was industrial banking mainly not high street stuff, it was more flowing but it wasn’t my forte. I never objected to the year I spent at it. It made me realise that there was a difference from being an officer in the Royal Air Force with people telling you or you telling people what to do and the discipline attached to it, to mixing with the great British public. It was a very good leveller, I have never objected to that, yeah, although it wasn’t my forte. So whilst I was doing that I thought this is not my scene, let’s look around, see what’s coming up. I saw one or two things and eventually I saw an advert in the paper for management officials in NAAFI the Navy Army and Air Force Institute to train. There was an age limit of thirty I was then thirty five or thirty six so I thought let’s have a go at it and see what happens. My service career will offset the age difference, which it did. So I joined NAAFI as a trainee district manager and retired from it twenty six years later as a departmental manager. In between times I spent em, I finished my training rather quickly as I was sent out to Cyprus on the emergency when the Turks invaded northern Cyprus. Stayed there for four months then I went over to Libya went home then to Libya and I spent eighteen years overseas with NAAFI of my twenty six years with them. Climbing up the promotional tree, started off as a district manager then I became a senior district manager. Then I spent a year on the island of Gan and then onto Singapore from Singapore back of all places to Cyprus [laugh] and went there as a number two to Cyprus. Then back home for a short period and then I had London region, then I went to Singapore. I think I got the sequence right, anyway I went to Singapore twice. First of all, oh, from Gan I went to Singapore on special duties and I was a useful [unclear] for them as I knew the services a lot better than many others and I was doing a lot of liaison work and exercise planning and that sort of thing. Then I went back to Singapore a second time. That’s it from Singapore I had London, interesting working with the Brigade of Guards and all that sort of thing around London. And I then went back to Singapore running the Far East show as the command supervisor. From there I went to Germany as the number two for the whole of Germany and from there into London as a departmental manager. And I retired from there, I stayed on, they were going to retire me at sixty one which was the normal age but I said, I was not ready to go, I was very friendly with the em, I was very friendly with the MD and I stayed on until just before I was sixty five. That’s a long time ago.
DE: When was that?
GW: 1988. When I retired I spent a few months not doing a great deal except getting used to being retired and that sort of thing. We bought a new house in Hampshire, I already had a house in Aldershot which we sold and I bought another one just outside of Hindhead in Hampshire. I always had an interest in local politics but something I could never indulge in because of my in and out of the country all the time. Fortunately I got tied up with the local Conservative Party and became the secretary and things like that. In 1989, one of the two district councillors from my village had to pack up for business reasons. I said I would be quite happy to stand if it was for them, I did and I got elected and that was the next phase of my life. I carried on doing that up until the end of January 19 – no not 19, the end of January 2007 when we moved here, because my daughter and son had both moved to Ruskington. My daughter moved into the army and when her husband retired, a lieutenant colonel he was working in Scotland and then they eventually went back to the house in Hampshire. Decided they knew nobody but had friends here, one day approached us in ’89, ‘we are thinking of moving to Lincolnshire will you come?’ So what do you say? And we said we would, this is what happened. Then my son came up and spent some time with his sister and also bought a house in Ruskington, so we are all living in the village. And we came here in 2007, January 2007, I resigned from my role as district councillor in Hampshire and saw the local Conservatives here and said, ‘can I be of any use to you?’ That’s another story so I have now finished eight years as a district councillor in North Kesteven. And have started my next four years as I have been elected again. So I have had eight elections and got through all of them, and here I am. Really not for the tape I suppose this bit.
DE: Would you like me to pause it?
GW: If you can for a second.
[Recording paused]
DE: Okay so we are recording again. So earlier on you said you didn’t want to join the navy or the army but you wanted to join the RAF. Why not the navy or the army?
GW: I had no desire to live in slit trenches [laugh] I had a pretty good upbringing, you know life was very nice with my family and things. I didn’t really want to go and rough it in the trenches, perhaps I was too fastidious. The thought of going to sea for weeks on end and being perhaps seasick or anything like that I don’t know. I had no interest in them and perhaps I should go back and finish the story of my brother who was a captain, he was a prisoner of war, he contracted pulmonary TB whilst he was a prisoner of war and was due to be exchanged, in 1944, before the war finished. The first exchange they had of prisoners and he had a big haemorrhage and did not come home. But he came back in February 1945 and eh, he was in hospital and he came home he died, in September ‘46. So that was the saga. My brother was as big a chap as I was, an excellent swimmer and he just contracted the disease and I saw him waste away.
DE: Yes, a terrible killer.
GW: I think he attended my wedding, a picture, and that was it, two months later he was dead. So to answer your question there, I had no desire. Don’t forget there was a certain amount of glamour about flying in those days and aircrew were considered to be cuts above some of the others perhaps and nobody knew the scale of losses that Bomber Command suffered. I could never have guaranteed that I would have survived if I had gone on beyond my sixteenth trip, no way.
DE: You wanted to fly then?
GW: Oh yes I was keen on doing it and more so when I got into it, em, I enjoyed the navigation side, I really did.
DE: That was another question em, how did you end up being a navigator rather than any of the other trades?
GW: Well this was the selection process, we had to do one or two tests. I suppose my maths was a little bit better than other people, or what they were looking for at the time. After all the personnel people in London knew what was going to happen in the future and they were planning accordingly. Perhaps there was a shortage of navigators. Remember I started off as an observer and I had to wear the “O” badge and not the “N” badge because we had done a little bit of gunnery, a little bit of bombing, a little bit of photography. Just to get the feel of it, em, when one was flying in Scotland I remember flying past the Blackpool Tower and having to take a photograph and getting that settled and that sort of thing, so we dabbled in the whole lot. It was that before the four-engine bomber coming in, okay the Stirling came in, in ‘42 wasn’t it? The build-up of the Lancaster they compartmentalised, or whatever the word is, we more or less specialised in the particular role. So navigation being the big thing. The bomb aimer up the front dropped bombs, he was also the front gunner and that was it, we had to go through a selection process and took various tests, including a maths test. That was it I was invited to train as an observer, and then actually flew operationally as a navigator.
DE: I see, thank you. You went through in great detail of the times and places where your training was. What was the experience like, leaving home and joining the RAF and the training?
GW: Remember I had left home before and I was living in lodgings in Hertfordshire. So I did use the word remember after the three weeks at Regent’s Park we went and I called it boot camp. Brighton that knocked out any thoughts that you were important at all [laugh]. The drill instructors they were moronic [laugh] without a doubt. I lived in the Grand Hotel in Brighton. We used to parade on the front and of course the AOC of the Training Group 54, that was it 54 Training Group, I can’t remember, was Air Commodore Critchley the great greyhound man and racing man. Nearly all his officers were jockeys, little shorties. We used to parade and these characters would be wandering around making sure we were standing to attention [laugh] then we used to go on drill and the sergeants we had were absolute morons. Lived in the Grand Hotel with none of its splendour. We had our folding beds with three mattresses and I think we had four blankets and two sheets. Every morning we had to make our own beds, and the sheets’ width when we folded them had to be the same thickness as the blankets. So you had blanket, sheet, blanket, sheet, blanket and one blanket round it. You realised within about twenty four hours of getting there that you were never going to sleep in the sheets, because if the bed wasn’t made up the way it was supposed to be. You got back to your hotel, back to your room and there would be the bed all over the place, knocked down by the sergeants, the DIs. Lots of drill, that was boot camp. We lived like that, had to get on with it, the weakest would not survive. Paignton was glorious, I must admit, the West Country was great, the weather was great and life was great. Eastbourne, no problems really except we had many a disturbed night’s sleep, hence the move of the unit to Bridgnorth where we were transferred. Then Stranraer in winter, I can think of better places. Although we were supposed to be the darlings of the world, aircrew cadets, we slept in Nissen huts in double bunks and half the course after we got into the flying side, half the course would be flying at night the others in the morning and there were sixty of us in the hut. It wasn’t exactly glamorous living, the food was awful and then from there it was to Lichfield, don’t remember much about it, I think we got on with more of the job of flying and things. Then Hemswell of course, we were okay, no not Hemswell, Lindholme, the Heavy Conversion Unit, it was mainly flying, we were NCOs, remember up in Scotland and up until graduation we were LACs, Leading Aircraftmen. Then on graduation became sergeants.
DE: Was there a great difference to how you were treated after you became sergeants?
GW: We used the sergeants’ mess, we weren’t restricted as much as when we were airmen. Again [unclear] after the flying, we did not have many administrative duties to do as aircrew. When one was on the Squadron was flying of virtually nothing.
DE: What did you do in your time off when you weren’t flying?
GW: We enjoyed ourselves [laugh] we were young enough to do that. It was on reflection later on in life when one was a little more mature, I had the greatest admiration for my pilot who had a very young son, was married and people like that who were in their thirties and things. We had nothing to lose quite frankly. I can never recall, standing on the peri-track waiting to go out to the aircraft thinking that we wouldn’t come back. There were some that did of course, some just had their problems. But no we really didn’t think that way we didn’t have that responsibility. Okay I had parents but parents are parents aren’t. No we just got on with the job, certainly from my point of view.
DE: Do you think it was different for your pilot having a young son?
GW: I don’t know quite frankly one didn’t talk in that sort of way. We were there as a crew, we lived together except for the pilot, for the, eh bomb aimer, who was an officer he lived in the mess the rest of us lived in a Nissen hut that’s the crew. My pilot was a great smoker, first thing in the morning he would put his hand out of the bed and get a cigarette then light it and then cough and wait for the wake-up call. He em, he’d never smoke in the air, he saw, when he was on his staff job he had a Polish pilot friend who used to get into the Blenheim or whatever they were flying and light up. One day he lit up and going down the runway opening up, the aircraft just went up. Bill’s view was had the aircraft been cleared for smoking then they would have allowed it, because everybody smoked in those days, or virtually everybody. Although he was a great smoker from the first light from waking up in the morning to going to bed, he never smoked in the air. And it used to be great fun because we’d get back, we did the odd nine hours sortie, we would all as we were taxying around to dispersal we would all get back to the rear door to get out to give him the clear run as soon as he had switched off his engines and done what he had to do. He was down that fuselage like a bull in a china shop, out of the aeroplane, over to the edge of the dispersal the great cigarette on [laugh].
DE: So did you not smoke then?
GW: I used to smoke a pipe. My dear father said to me if you are going to smoke, make sure you smoke a pipe. The first time I wore uniform, St John’s Wood, Regent’s Park, we got our uniforms that afternoon, three of us came out of the flats to go the cinema at Swiss Cottage and as we were just leaving the flats up came our young course officer. We threw him up a salute we thought, great stuff this is what you have to do, gave him a salute. He called me back and said ‘young man we don’t normally salute with a pipe in our mouth’ [laugh].
DE: The problems you had with your ears, what were the RAF medical services like, the medical officers in the hospital?
GW: Oh great no troubles at all.
DE: So what was the procedure for?
GW: Well in those days it was powder basically, the second time it was an injection [laugh].
DE: What in your ears?
GW: No it was a sort of type of penicillin we used if I remember. Certainly when I blew it the second time I finished up in hospital in Wegberg. I, used to get an injection for a few days, it was mainly playing it down. I had no trouble with them.
DE: So when the problem first occurred did you first have to report to the Medical Officer?
GW: Oh yes, landed you know I reported, told them what had happened in sick quarters. I can’t remember the time scale but a couple of days later I was off to hospital. I think Northallerton the RAF hospital there. I was there for a few weeks, it was there I was commissioned; I had to be let out of hospital to go down to, to go and buy my uniform and all that sort of stuff.
DE: So apart from when you had trouble with your ears you did not have any contact with the Medical Officer for any other reasons?
GW: No, nothing else wrong with me.
DE: You mentioned one point, I think when D-Day was on, you were actually at the aircrew reselection place at Eastchurch, I have read that this was a rather infamous place?
GW: In what way?
DE: I’ve read that was where people were sent who were LMF.
GW: Could be, wouldn’t know.
DE: Did you ever know or hear of anybody?
GW: Never met anybody, no.
DE: Any rumours?
GW: Possibly, yes possibly one heard about this sort of thing. There might have been some going through and of course they would have been shunted away. No chaps that sort of teamed up with they all went off to other flying duties.
DE: I’m also quite intrigued you – after the war you also got to flying Mosquitoes and Meteors and other aircraft. Which do you think was your favourite aircraft?
GW: Of those three? Oh the Lancaster without a doubt. I wasn’t a happy bunny in the all-weather world, I thought it was a blip chasing job and not a navigation job, but we did the odd navigation exercise and cross countries, n the main chasing another aeroplane, just as a blip on the screen was not my idea of navigation.
DE: Why did you want to get into Mosquitoes towards the end of the war?
GW: Well it was something new, one didn’t realise at the time. The second time I went back I had no choice I wasn’t meant to be back to it.
DE: So why in particular the Lancaster?
GW: Well of course it was the operational time of life. Remember my time on Mosquitoes and the jets was post-war it was only training all the time. Em, the Lancaster was just such a lovely aeroplane, it was reliable, it was fast for its time, mustn’t forget that. And one was doing the job for which one was trained. I was intrigued by navigation. I did do the staff and navigation course later on in life and part of that waiting to go on the course I spent a few hours on Canberras at Basingbourne before that closed down. Filling in time and then I went to Shawbury and did the staff N course. No navigation was intriguing and doing these long flights over to Germany in those days where you did not have all the facilities you have nowadays it was [laugh] it was a challenge.
DE: I suppose it was your job to see that your way should be in the bomber stream and arrived at the right time?
GW: Yeah absolutely. Yes you had it there and you had winds forecast and it was a forecast there was no met coming back from Germany [unclear]. I think the thing was, the only radar the Lancaster had was the Gee box and that used to get swamped by the time we got over Holland, about four degrees east you might get the odd circle afterwards. The big thing was to get as many wind fixes or fixes to take wind strength and things as you were flying over there from UK to Holland and then applying your own thoughts to the met forecast that you received and working on that and then, getting down to N=navigation and time keeping.
DE: Can you describe for me the process of getting a fix for the wind?
GW: Well take it from the radar, you knew the track you were flying, remember you had your map in front of you, your chart, get a fix on the Gee box and it was not analogue, you had to read it on the screen. So speed was of the essence, you get your fix, you plot it on the chart the Gee chart, transfer it onto the other chart. You knew what time you took it, you could work out where you should have been on your course, connect it up to your fix, which incidentally would tell you where you were relative to track and that would give you your wind speed and direction. Now speed is the essence, when you first started training you thought if you could do one, all this within ten minutes it was good going. After a little while on Lancasters and little experience you could do it in a couple of minutes. That was interesting when the war finished I told you I was going onto selection stage again. That we were flying Ansons and we were filling in time, this was at Half Penny Green and flying back on the Anson I could get a fix and read a book [laugh]. Peacetime flying and filling in time, I think I did a three hour cross country and only used one side of a log so completely happy. It is like everything else you become more experienced and more skilful. We weren’t too complicated with em, navigation aids or they could be. So really all we had was the Gee box and astro, we didn’t get any of the other things I think H2S came in and stuff like that. We never got that on 101 Squadron because we were carrying the extra body and extra equipment so the weight factor ruled it out.
DE: You mentioned Harris being at the briefing for the Peenemunde raid, what did you and your crew think to Harris?
GW: [laugh] what a man they called him Butch Harris. As a nineteen year-old two things that stood out at the briefing. First of all when we were all settled in the briefing room, we used to get officers not connected with operations coming in for briefings. I suppose the equipment officer or something like that. First thing he did was to order out anybody not directly connected with the raid. When that happened the curtains went back. He wasn’t gruff, no, another thing intriguing with him, sitting on the stage he had all these aircrew in front of him, what if we had twenty aeroplanes if we had that number, probably a little less, you were thinking in terms of a hundred and forty aircrew plus the various specialists who were also involved. So you had this whole room there, the Commander in Chief Bomber Command. Took a cigarette out of his case got his lighter to light it, it wouldn’t go, perfectly happy he kept flicking it until he did get a light. I thought that to some extent showed the calibre of the man, he wasn’t embarrassed, just got on with it and then at the end you know when he had the final word, his comment you know, ‘good luck chaps, but if you don’t get it tonight, you are going back tomorrow night and the night after’. I don’t suppose really it was until after the war, I read the Max Hastings book on the bomber offensive that one realised how lucky one was to survive sixteen trips. One might have thought then, God if I had known [laugh], who knows but, that’s how it was. It was a phase of life and I have often said it to people, I said it to a lady on Monday with two young children who was flag raising things who was asking me questions. I had to say to her, that 1939 onwards, we were all involved and there was a totally different approach to life from the recent, wars that we have had and God forbid I would have hated to be in any of these wars in Iraq and Afghanistan where you could not identify your enemy from anybody else, but it only impacted on a small percentage of the population, i.e., those that were involved and their immediate families and circle and so people like myself and other. My son never served, my son in law he was in Northern Ireland but he didn’t do Iraq he was out before that. It had no direct impact on us and unless you’ve lived in the ’39 –‘45 bubble and the build up to it before and possibly as it started, it is difficult to envisage how people felt. You can possibly see that as a historian.
DE: Oh most definitely, yes. Which kind of leads me to another question. What are your feelings and thoughts about how the war and in particular how Bomber Command and Harris have been remembered?
GW: Badly, Harris was the only major commander who did not become a viscount. He was fobbed off with a Knight of Garter or something I’m not sure. Never got it anywhere [pause] and a lot of that was connected I think with Dresden and people tend to look on Dresden in a romantic light of the city as it was and not what it actually was. It was a major stumbling block for the Russians to move westwards, it was a railhead, it had armaments there and God knows and therefore it was a prime target at that time. It should have been bombed, the fact that it was destroyed, part of the game. People do not talk about Hanover sorry Hamburg and that suffered just as badly as Dresden did. I can recall when I was in Germany in ‘46 having come out of Hamburg in an armoured car, standing on it on the autobahn outside, looking back and its sheer desolation. But we do not talk about Hamburg because it was an industrial port and things like that. So, Bomber Command were badly done by, I’m never certain that we deserved a Bomber Command medal per se. I think what they have done by giving us the bar is on par with what they did for Fighter Command, Battle of Britain. So they didn’t strike any particular gong for the Battle of Britain which after all was the saving grace of the country at the time. They got us through that period when we were most vulnerable to build on things to get to where they got to in the end. They got their bars, I am perfectly happy with the bar I have got on my aircrew Europe. That did differentiate anyway Bomber Command the people who flew up to D-Day. D-Day got the aircrew Europe Star. People after D-Day got the France and Germany. So yes but I do think that Harris got the bum’s rush so to say and I think he deserved more.
DE: Thinking back to the start of your interview you did mention that you witnessed being on the wrong end of some Luftwaffe bombs in London and again V1s and V2s and then you also talked about was it Cologne and looking down seeing the fires burning because you were in the third wave.
GW: On the last wave, yes. As we approached. I didn’t mention it but this is a real thought a real target somewhere about one o’clock, or later. As we were going along before we got to the target I was thinking had I been on leave, I would have been out or thinking about going home em, at about the time we were bombing. So a little wave and I emphasise the word, a little wave of sympathy went through about doing it and then then it disappeared completely. I had no compunction after that at all. There was a war we were doing it, these targets had to be bombed. I do know some people did suffer, I met a chap at a reunion of 101 Squadron two or three years ago. He lives out at Wragby if he’s still there and he was still having nightmares and hated the Germans. I didn’t, I haven’t had nightmares I must admit. I don’t hate the Germans in fact I lived in Germany after the war as a NAAFI official and I had a Berlin operation, I was in charge of Berlin at one stage completely divorced from the Berlin budget and what went on in the zone. I remember I had a lovely secretary Frau [unclear] whose husband was a real German officer from the Prussian side and one day she was going on about being bombed out, he was in Berlin at the time, he lived in the forest, Charlottenberg area and she talked about being bombed out in 1943. I said ‘what date was that?’ and she told me, ‘I went home because I’d been to Berlin’. Next I said ‘I wasn’t over here that night’ [laugh]. That’s how we got on and we kept in touch for many years after I left Berlin. She died several years ago, no I never had any problem. It’s a phase in life and I said to somebody the other day to me the war was very good because it got me out of printing [laugh] which I did not enjoy one little bit. In those days you know young chaps didn’t have a choice in careers, it was virtually sorted out by the parents. You didn’t have the freedom that they have nowadays. To become a printer was way up on top of the working ladder. Not so sure it is nowadays with unions and who knows what, but no, for me it was a release. Also taking the chance that I did because when I packed it up I was only on a four year commission to start with and I got my permanent commission when I was there.
DE: And then got to see a bit of the world a bit?
GW: And see a lot of the world, so very privileged.
DE: Smashing, I think I have ticked all the little notes I have made. Right at the end if you could tell me your thoughts on the memorial itself that we are building.
GW: I think it is a wonderful idea. I first met the Lord Lieutenant when I, shortly after I became a district councillor and we had our annual civic service and I remember going to that. I was a very new boy, this was in 2007 and the leader of the council, Mayor Marion Brighton introduced me to him, because I had been in Bomber Command and we chatted. I remember him saying to me, I think that this was before the London memorial was built, ‘I think it should be here in Lincolnshire, not in London’. So many of the boys took their last steps in Lincolnshire, you know the twenty two thousand, too their last steps in this county. I remember saying to him, “I quite see where you are coming from sir, I called him sir, but at the end of the day London is the capital of the country and a memorial of that sort should be in London’. I admire him because he did not take any action or overt actions until that was up and then he started. I think he has done a wonderful job and he has an RAF background through his father and his grandfather ha, ha. And I think he is still doing it and I look forward to still being here on the 2nd of October. Who is going to do it or is that still hush, hush.
DE: It is still hush hush.
GW: I don’t care, just want to be here.
DE: Thanks very much.
GW: Pleasure, nice to talk to you.
DE: Oh no pressed record. This is Geoffrey Whittle again, same day same place.
GW: The daily routine on the squadron assuming you hadn’t flown the previous night. Usual thing, get up in the morning, breakfast, go down to the flight or the squadron and Ludford Magna, we lived on one side of the Louth Market Rasen road and the airfield was on the other side. So you go down to the, squadron, might be something going on locally, or not very much. But the main focus was on what was going to happen that night, so you’d be waiting for the battle order to come out. Soon as that was out and pinned up you looked to see if you were on. If you were on the op then your day was conditioned. As a navigator, we would more often than not have pre-nav briefings before the main briefing, that would be a fixed time. Go out to the aircraft and meet the ground crew, not necessary the same aeroplane every time eh, check it over, your own little bit. The gunners would go do what they wanted to do. Then back of to lunch. If I had a nav briefing in the afternoon then you would go down and do your pre-flight planning, then back to the billet. Then off course main briefing, meals main briefing that sort of things, off you go. We were flying in the summer time so all our trips were pretty late at night. Take off, your take off time was fixed then off you go and then ninety percent of the time you would be climbing over base to an operational height and the skies over Lincolnshire used to be pretty full of aeroplanes I can tell you. We developed a system of getting out of it. Saw no point in hanging around, circling with all these people doing the same thing, so we, so we used to shoot off west and climbing steadily and my job then as a navigator to get them back at height over base at the right time, then we would set course. Do the op, get back, land, debrief, breakfast, bed. Sometimes bed would not be until five of six o’clock in the morning. I told you earlier on after our Berlin trip there was no bed it was into Louth, getting the train off on leave. That was it and that went on day in and day out. Then of course we did not fly during the moon period, then you were free, you could do what you liked. There was no booking in or booking out at the guardroom, as senior NCOs and officers you could do as you liked.
DE: So where did you go?
GW: Used to go into Louth.
DE: What were the attractions in Louth?
GW: I couldn’t possibly tell you [laugh]. I could actually it was quite innocent I met a very nice young lady whose parents owned the, was it the Kings Head in Louth? It’s deteriorated, it was quite a nice hotel in these days and they also owned one in Boston. She ran the one in Louth and the parents ran the one in Boston and I would go into Louth and stay the night. Separate rooms I hasten to add. There was none of that nonsense going on in these days. Well it did go on but it didn’t go on in my life. So I would go into Louth or might stay in for the evening and go to the mess, whatever was going on, but, we were not restricted, we were free.
DE: Did you ever go to the NAAFI?
GW: Not as a sergeant. We lived on NAAFI food in Scotland I can tell you the mess food was dire, it was so appalling we had to use it. Yes as an airman I would go into the NAAFI but once one graduated if that was the right word, it was sergeants’ mess, you didn’t go to the NAAFI.
DE: Okay.
GW: They were nothing like they are today I can tell you or they were. They don’t operate in this country now.
DE: Yes quite. Okay thank you very much, I shall press stop again.
Dublin Core
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Identifier
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AWhittleG150626
Title
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Interview with Geoffrey Whittle
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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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IBCC Digital Archive
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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01:18:13 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Squadron Leader Geoffrey Whittle was born in London. After leaving school at fourteen he became an apprentice printer in the family business. He volunteered for the Royal Air Force on the outbreak of the Second World War and trained as a navigator. He served with 101 Squadron at RAF Ludford Magna. For his fifteenth operation to Hanover, he was awarded the DFM. Having suffered a perforated eardrum on his sixteenth operation, he was grounded for six months. He then flew briefly with Air Sea Rescue. At end of the war, he joined the RAF Regiment on a short-term commission but continued to serve on both ground and flying duties until retirement in 1961. He then worked with the NAAFI (Navy Army and Air Force Institutes), becoming a senior manager, until 1988. He subsequently became a councillor in Hampshire and Lincolnshire.
Creator
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Dan Ellin
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-06-26
Contributor
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Hugh Donnelly
Mal Prissick
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Peenemünde
England--Lincolnshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1943-06-25
1943-09-27
1944
1945
101 Squadron
1656 HCU
27 OTU
air sea rescue
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
briefing
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Medal
Gee
H2S
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Master Bomber
Meteor
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Navy, Army and Air Force Institute
Operational Training Unit
RAF Lindholme
RAF Ludford Magna
RAF West Freugh
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1081/11539/APragnellJ160526.2.mp3
b1d5d9b341a280f4d84f05cf037014fc
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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Pragnell, Jack
J Pragnell
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Jack Pragnell (b. 1921, Royal Air Force). He flew operations as an observer with 51 and 102 Squadron. His twin brother was killed in action 16 December 1943 flying with 432 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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
2016-05-26
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
Pragnell, J
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DK: So this is David Kavanagh on the 26th of May 2016.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Interviewing Jack Pragnell at his home. Ok. So if I just put that there. So if you just talk normally. If I keep looking over it like this I’m just checking that it’s still working.
JP: Yeah. Ok.
DK: So that’s out there. What, what I wanted to do was really just talk through your experiences before the war maybe.
JP: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
DK: What you were doing then. Why and how you joined the air force and what you did in the air force.
JP: Yeah.
DK: And then later on afterwards. So, to start with perhaps if you could just say what you were doing before the war.
JP: Well, before the war my twin brother and myself we were together all the time by the way. I’d got an identical twin.
DK: Oh right. Ok.
JP: So we worked at, at Manfield Shoe Factory. In the office. Until, well we had, we were quite poor. We had to leave school at fourteen although we were at grammar school. We caught up on night school and everything so we did all that. And then come the sort of seventeen or so when I was a bit of fed up and wanting to move couldn’t do it because I was coming on to eighteen. And nobody had got a job there.
DK: No. No.
JP: And jobs were scarce for people. So we, we did a lot. Played a lot of sport. Enjoyed life thoroughly. We were both pretty good at sport and did very well at school and we were in the Boy’s Brigade and went to camp with them. And it was a lovely time. And then come the time when conscription was being, when none of us — all I knew of conscription was the First World War.
DK: Yeah.
JP: The filth and the degradation and the death in the, in the trenches. And we sort of wanted the glory boys you know. So we said, ‘Let’s go,’ and four of us got together one afternoon. Packed up our work and went off ostensibly to join the Fleet Air Arm because we liked the uniform.
DK: Right.
JP: When we got to the depot at Dover Hall it was the RAF recruiting place. The Fleet Air Arm was at the Naval place. In a different place. So anyway, we were talked into joining the air force. We had a few tests and we were accepted on the pilot navigator thing. Three of us. One was ill and went away. He came twelve months later and was a W/op AG but he was one out. So the three of us then waited as you did. Signed on. Waited. And we went to the place where they — Cardington.
DK: Cardington.
JP: To be signed up. Funny thing there. We go through. People didn’t know the difference. Absolutely identical. So he goes, my brother goes through and I was taken ill. So I was parked in to sick quarters for a week. When I came out he’d already gone through and been accepted on the pilot navigator thing. So I follow through and did the tests and one of the doctors said, ‘Well, we saw you last week.’ I said, ‘That was my brother.’ ‘Your brother?’ I said, ‘My twin brother.’ He said, ‘What did we do?’ ‘Oh you passed him.’ ‘Alright, you’re through.’ [laughs] So then we waited. This waiting time of several months, you know as everybody had to wait. And we were called up to Babington in London there to be — no. It was in the south. To be kitted and equipped. Near Bournemouth. Equipped and marched and inoculated and equipped and marched and inoculated. Incessantly. And then we went to Stratford on Avon at ITW. My brother and myself shared the Venus Adonis Room in the Shakespeare Hotel. Absolutely stripped clean. You know what I mean. I’ve been since and had a look. It’s a different kettle of fish. So then from there, after a few weeks of this, ‘You’re going.’ Didn’t know where. We were equipped with tropical equipment and, a kit bag full of that. And one night we were, well we were then taken to West Kirby near Manchester there. We were there for, I should think maybe a week or so and suddenly one night we were taken out at night and marched into the Glasgow station and climbed on a train outside the station and straightaway to a boat. The Moortown. The tramp steamer converted. And the filthiest, dirtiest old shabby ship you never saw in your life. It was an army boat and of course we were cadets there with a white flash in our hats oh and they took the mickey out of us left, right and centre. And we had the, under the bottom. Five weeks on that boat. Trudging. We didn’t know where we were going. We set out to the middle of the Atlantic we thought. Then suddenly we turned to port. Half of them sheared off. And with that I understand they finished up in America or Canada. We then went, they said, ‘Oh you’re going to Rhodesia.’ Well, we’d heard of Rhodesia but it was a long way away. Well, we went through. We couldn’t get off the boat. We had salt showers. It was purgatory. So, and the food wasn’t great you know, out of a big cauldron. But we got there. We finished up in, we went around the Cape. We thought where the hell are we going now? Sailed around. Finished up in Durban.
DK: Right.
JP: Lovely place Durban. It was lit. The sea was dark there. All the lights and what not. But there on the sea front was a dance hall and fairy lights. It was like heaven. And we were there a couple of weeks or so and the people were marvellous to us. They were queuing at the gates to take us out. And my brother and myself being identical twins we were snapped up, you know.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And they took us all over the place. And we then got on the train. It took three days. One of these slow moving things with the old wagon at the back. We could get off and walk with it. Finished up in Bulawayo. It’s in Southern Rhodesia. Well after a few weeks there at the ITW again we were marched, we were inoculated. But we had a lovely time. People took us out. They queued at the gates to take people out. But then, being the two of us we got special treatment you know. So we had a lovely time. It was hard work. It was hard work but we still relaxed well and played well.
DK: So what sort of work were you doing in Bulawayo then?
JP: Well, that was a holding camp.
DK: Right.
JP: A sort of ITW.
DK: Right.
JP: It was, actually it was the old cattle market and we slept in the, where the cattle slept. With a blind down the front and —
DK: Yeah.
JP: Wooden sort of flooring. It was a bit primitive. And so were the quarters. But we loved it anyway.
DK: So the training you were doing there. Was that for, as a navigator or pilot?
JP: We were then on the pilots navigator.
DK: Pilot navigator.
JP: It was the top course. Yeah.
DK: Right.
JP: And we were doing navigation. We were doing star recognition. We were doing pilot recognition. We were doing aircraft. The whole gamut of night after night day after day.
DK: And did it include training as, flying?
JP: Oh that was all training. It was nothing but training with a bit of time off now and again. It was very hard graft. We loved it. We played a bit of football and a bit of, quite a bit of cricket in the spare time. Then we were picked out. ‘Right. You’re going off to pilot training.’ Went to Gwelo which was in the back woods of East London there. Of south, what’s the name? Southern Rhodesia. Well, I promptly had the bane of my life in the air force. Every so often I got tonsillitis. And it got every course I went on I had to have a few of days in dock with this tonsillitis. And I went in dock in the middle of the pilot training.
DK: Right.
JP: It was on Tiger Moths. I’d soloed but I was a bit ham-fisted. We’d only had a bike up until then. That hadn’t even got a three speed. So we trained and then they came along. The CFI came. I was behind because I’d had this week off and you could not get behind. It was push push push. This CFI, the Chief Flying Instructor came and he looked me up and down and said, ‘Well, come on.’ So I took him up. Landed him. Well, of course the tension of him being there and I was a very raw pilot. But he, he would have gone through the ceiling when we landed, you know. In a Tiger Moth on a grass field it was I thought. So I landed him. He looked me up. He said, ‘Well, what’s your navigation like?’ I said, ‘Well, quite good.’ He said, ‘I think you’ll make a better navigator than a pilot. You’ll be alright on these.’ The next step were Harvards of course. The killers.
DK: Yeah.
JP: He said, ‘You’ll kill yourself I think.’ And they were. A lot of people were. These decrepit Harvards. So, my brother got himself taken off and we were allowed to go together. We sat there and waited, oh two or three weeks until a course came and we were taken down, all the way down to East London. On the Cape.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And there we did the full observer course. Navigator, bomb aimer, air gunner. Again played a lot of sport. Again, taken around a bit. Again went out together. It was a lovely life because we did everything. See whereas if I had gone on my own I’d have had to look for a comrades.
DK: Yeah.
JP: I’d have had to look for a mate. There was two of us. We’d always got a mate.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And we were so much alike. We, well we were a part of each other. Absolutely. Dressed the same. Shared our money. Shared our clothes. Shared our uniforms. And got on ever so well together. Bane of the life of the instructors who didn’t know who they were talking to [laughs]
DK: Yeah.
JP: But anyway, we did well. We passed out from there. And then we had about three weeks at Cape Town waiting to come back. And then we came back alone. Not, we went out in convoy for the five weeks. Very slowly. Very tedious. The Prince of Wales and the other one going up and down. Of course they sailed on to the Far East and that was when they were sunk.
DK: Right.
JP: We were the last lot to see them when they went off.
DK: Yeah.
JP: But we came back alone on the Otranto. Which was a, was a merchantmen. In fact on the way back picked a boat load of survivors from [pause] from a boat from Argentina. Something Star. A meat boat.
DK: Right.
JP: And the women and children. We picked them up and brought them back. Then we got back here and due a bit of leave. And then posted to Yorkshire. To Driffield.
DK: Right.
JP: The main place there. And we were crewed up. Well. No. First of all we go on to a Conversion Unit.
DK: So which? Can you remember which Conversion Unit?
JP: In Lincolnshire somewhere.
DK: Right.
JP: It was Norfolk or Lincolnshire and I forget where it was.
DK: This would have been one —
JP: It’s a well-known one.
DK: Right. But this would have been one of the Heavy Conversion Units.
JP: Yeah. They were flying Harvards and the other things. The other four engine jobs. You know. The first ones.
DK: The Stirlings.
JP: The twin engine job. No. Not the — the two engine.
DK: The Anson.
JP: No. No. We’d done our training in Ansons.
DK: Yeah.
JP: No. Bigger ones.
DK: The Wellington.
JP: No. No. Different from them. Wimpy was there.
DK: Yeah.
JP: But the Wellingtons. They were ones that crashed a lot. They put four engines on them in the end and called them the Halifax.
DK: Right. The Manchester?
JP: Yeah. I think it was that.
DK: Manchester. Yeah.
JP: Yeah. So we as we got there we saw one plough in. Yeah. Now, the next morning they said, ‘Now look. We’re looking for bomb aimers. You’re a qualified bomb aimer and a qualified navigator. It’s equal pay. Equal terms.’ But you see then all the crews then were becoming not six crews but seven crews. And there was a great shortage of bomb aimers to add to the crews. So they asked for volunteers to go straight on ops, perhaps with the odd cross country, without doing a con-unit. So about ten of us stepped forward and within a couple of weeks we were crewed up at Driffield in a squadron. And a couple of cross country’s — ready for ops. Well then my pilot, we were the odd one in the crew then but we were in the crew. I was in the crew as a bomb aimer and in charge of the bombing and that. I didn’t have a bloody clue. So anyway the biggest bomb I’d dropped was the sort of five pounder in practice. Anyway, we soon caught up. They put us through the mill and so unfortunately they, the crew went on some operations. And the pilot went on his expertise, expert, expertise trip. You know, with a crew.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
JP: And they were missing. So the crew was broken up and I was floating around. I was lucky because looking for a bomb aimer was a crew where four of them were on their second tour. The pilot was a flight lieuy. The navigator was a flying officer. The gunner was warrant officer and a whats-its name. And they were looking for — and there was I, a youngster, shovelled into this lot.
DK: With an experienced crew.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Yeah.
JP: So I was lucky.
DK: Can, can I just check. Which squadron was this with then?
JP: 51 then.
DK: 51. Right.
JP: 51.
DK: Ok.
JP: And my brother, who was with me at the time.
DK: Yeah.
JP: On our, when we got there we had to, we knew we’d got to part. And we got a great pile of kit in the middle of the room and it was one for you, one for me. It broke my heart, you know. The first time we’d been parted or anything like. And we shared it. Now he got into a crew as well but it was a time when the Canadians were breaking away from 4 Group to form 8 Group.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And the rest of his crew were Canadian. Most of them. Four out the six. Or five out the six. And they opted to go Canadian. Well, he went with them. Now, strangely enough they were doing some operations. They were doing minelaying or what have you. And his pilot went on an expertise trip. Was missing. So, they again were crewed up. We stayed in the area and he got most of them together. They still stayed with the Canadian group but he got a bit behind then whereas I was straight on ops. I mean by January I’d done two or three ops to Lorient and places like that.
DK: So which type of aircraft were you on in 51 Squadron then?
JP: A Halifax.
DK: A Halifax. So —
JP: Halifax. It was all Halifax from then on.
DK: So all your operations were Halifax.
JP: And so was he. Yeah.
DK: Yeah.
JP: It was Yorkshire.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
JP: They were all in Yorkshire. Around about. Well Pocklington actually. Snaith.
DK: Snaith.
JP: Was the one we were at for 51. So we did, I did, we did about half a tour with 51 and we were doing well. We were one of the crack crews and I became, although I say it myself, pretty good. I went to learn. And we did, the farce of, you know observation star sort of things. Astro. Well that was a farce. A complete and utter farce. You couldn’t do it. You know the old joke goes about they were lost and the navigator, the pilot said to the navigator, ‘Go and take an astro fix will you?’ He said. So the pilot comes back, ‘Take off your hats. You’re in St Paul’s Cathedral.’ And it was about like that. That’s the old story that got around, you know. Anyway, half way through the tour we were taken from, our pilot was promoted to squadron leader so we went to Pocklington where he took over a squadron as a squadron leader. And finished my tour there. And I had a very hot tour. We all did in there. I mean I had a very very warm tour in the end of ’42 and ’43. That was the heat of the losses.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And I was one of the lucky ones.
DK: Can you remember the name of your pilot at 51?
JP: Yeah. Squadron Leader Hay.
DK: So he went on to Pocklington then with 102.
JP: Oh yes. And took the crew with him.
DK: And you went with him.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And he then went as an instructor. I understand afterwards he had a bit of a crash and nearly wrote himself off. He was a bit wild. He was a typical, you might say a very early pilot. Mad as a bloody hatter but brilliant pilot. And the navigator then stayed but the chap doing the bomb aiming, no he was doing the navigation. That’s right. And I was then then the bomb aimer. He was a second tour man. He’d done his first flying on single engine stuff in India. He hadn’t got a clue. He had not got a clue. So we got lost on the way back from [unclear] We called Mayday and we were flagged up by searchlights flagging us up to get us home. So after that he was taken out of the crew. They got a pilot, they got an officer who was already a qualified, well-qualified navigator to take over the navigation and I then took over the bomb aiming.
DK: Right.
JP: So, from then on, apart from the fact we had a very very hard tour. And we had the toughest of the tough it was good plain sailing until they finished their, about four of them finished their second tour. I’d still got ten ops on my first tour. So their second tour was twenty, mine was thirty. So I was an odd Joe and I flew with seven different pilots. Sprog pilots, experienced pilots, wing commanders, squadron, to fill the gap. I was lucky. I mean pure luck that that I came through.
DK: So, how many operations did you do all together then?
JP: Well, counting two abortive when we had to go, they counted. And in fact we’d done a bit of operational out in South Africa. Out in South Africa, looking for Jap subs. I did a total of twenty seven full ops but the other two counted and the others patched together so really it counted for the thirty ops. I say it was twenty seven. But it was about, when you take the, what they counted. And I was ill. I’d suffered from the tonsillitis. I’d been in and out of dock. And just until my last op came. My last op was to Berlin. The one before it was Peenemunde. So you can tell it wasn’t easy. So I was taken, I was booked in to go when my tour finished. So I was now, they told me when it would finish and I was ready. Waiting for this last op to come. I was to go in to the hospital the following week to have my tonsils out. They were the bane of my life. So I got to bed. Tannoy. Would I report to sick bay. They’d made a mistake. The hospital was the next day. So I go in and of course I didn’t realise my body was upset. I mean you think the tension and that. You didn’t realise. They nearly killed me. They apologised afterwards. They should not have operated. It wouldn’t stop bleeding and they had to go deep. And afterwards, after a week I was like a wraith. Lost no end of weight and, and I came [laughs] when I went out the doctor said, well he said, would you, I’d been to Berlin the night before. When I got in there it was on the news about the Berlin raid. I said to the bloke, ‘Yeah, it was pretty rough.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Well, I was there.’ ‘He was there. He was there.’ All the nurses gathered around. I was the hero [laughs] So ,so anyway it, I came home on a bit of leave.
DK: So you, so you survived a trip to Berlin and then —
JP: Yeah.
DK: Were in hospital.
JP: The next day I was having my tonsils out.
DK: Oh dear.
JP: Now, my twin brother was on the way and they’d transferred from Halifaxes to Lancs.
DK: Right.
JP: And their first Lanc trip was a Berlin which was the Berlin following the one I went on. The last Berlin in ’43. And I was on the one before when we lost a lot of aircraft. But he was on that one. The first trip in a Lanc. They were shot down and killed over Leeuwarden in Holland.
DK: Oh dear.
JP: So that was it. It broke my heart that did. I didn’t know what to do with myself. And I was shovelled around then.
DK: Can you remember which squadron your brother was with?
JP: It was [pause] an American in the Canadian air force. I did, well names have got me.
DK: Yeah. Ok.
JP: I think it was 425. It was something like that. One of the Canadian squadrons in the north.
DK: Yeah.
JP: Yorkshire. Yeah.
DK: Yeah.
JP: We met from time to time. In fact the Canadian uniform was a bit better than ours and he came down one day with a pilot’s uniform on. I said, ‘What —?’ He said, ‘Well my pilot is staying with us but he’s a Yank so he’s transferred to the Yanks. Still as a pilot.’ Getting double pay sort of thing and more comfort, ‘And this is his uniform.’ So he swapped my old one for this and I had a new uniform.
DK: Oh well.
JP: Well, I said at the last thing when we were in East London we were qualified and we got pinned things on. Our things for South African officers to come around, a general or something, and pin them on and a band played. That sort of thing. So the last, we had a course dinner, the menu’s in there. And this flight lieutenant gets up and, words of wisdom, he said, ‘Now, there’s one thing I’d like to say.’ I’ll never forget this. ‘Before we go out tomorrow on parade you’ve got to look your best,’ and he said, ‘And Pragnells get your bloody hair cut.’ [laughs] See we’d both got double crowns. When you cut that short it stands up like a hedgehog [laughs]. And they didn’t know the difference anyway. We got away with blue murder.
DK: So, what, what was your feelings about flying in the Halifax then? Was it a [unclear]
JP: Well, we worshipped the Halifax. Yeah. See, it’s a lost machine now but it did more. It towed gliders, it did Met, it did bombing, it did transport. It did everything, the Halifax. Whereas the Lanc
DK: Yeah.
JP: Faster, higher, newer, only did bombing. And of course we hadn’t got all the equipment. We had to manage with the old Mark 9 bombsight where we set our own. And it was impossible to take an astrofix because you couldn’t get it steady enough. We set the bombsight ourselves. Well inaccurate because you can’t get the exact speed. Now the Mark 10, the last few I got, the speed, the speed and that was fed in, and the height, was fed in electronically. But we had the, the what’s the name box for a few but they had all the latest equipment. We just had DR and that was it.
DK: Yeah.
JP: So, we, I mean we worshipped the Halifax. It took us there. Got us back. And now mention the Halifax you’re treated with scorn, ‘that bloody thing.’ Yet it did all. It was like the Hurricane and Spitfire. Hurricane did the work. The Spitfire got the credit because of the name.
DK: Yeah.
JP: Hurricane. Lanc got the credit because new aircraft flying higher, faster than anything and got all the credit. But we did a hell of a lot of work. In fact we got to, say about twenty thousand feet. They were above us but below us were the Stirlings and the Wimpies and the Wellingtons. We did our bombing runs on them and they did their bombing runs on us [laughs] yeah.
DK: Could you, could you actually see much at night then? Could you see?
JP: Well, it depended on the cloud.
DK: Yeah.
JP: I mean the Peenemunde raid was a one off. It was absolutely clear moonlight. It was like daylight and we went in at fifteen thousand lower. And it was a must. It frightened the life out of us. They briefed us. They said, they locked the doors and you mustn’t breathe a word. If a word gets out we’re finished. It’s got to be deadly secret to get this place where they’re making the V-2s or V-1s. And so all this. It’s dangerous. And you’re going out at a lower level. And you’ve got to go whatever the weather. If you don’t go tonight you’ve got to go to it and then it will be twice as bad because by then the Germans probably would have known.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And they did a fake run to Berlin. So we got over Denmark and we got to Flensburg and we were coned. Now to get coned was suicide. When you’ve got a bomb load and once they got you in the cone of light you couldn’t see and the only way out was to get down below the angle. So you came down with a loaded bomber and you had a job to pull out. It was almost suicide to get caught. And they either fired up the flak or get the night fighters on you. But of course we were lucky. The night fighters had all gone —
DK: Yeah.
JP: To stop this, what was going to be a trip to Berlin. And they weren’t there. So that was just an incident where I had the luck, you know.
DK: At the briefing for Peenemunde —
JP: Yeah.
DK: Did they tell you what was being made in the factories?
JP: Yes.
DK: They did.
JP: Yes. We knew about this WAAF. WAAF had seen the photograph. And the, and the Poles had already, give them credit, the Poles were the bravest of the brave. They pinched a chunk of wood and they’d got it over through Sweden. So we’d got more idea and also don’t forget our Buckinghamshire team was taking the secret doc, the secret meetings of the Germans.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
JP: They could learn. So we knew more than they thought we knew. They told us all about it and said what it was and said we’d got to wipe it out because it was the V-1 then and that was creating havoc. It was frightening. You know, putt putt putt and down it came. And it was creating a bit of panic. And when the V-2 came it didn’t even make that sound. Explode half a town you know. So, they told us we’d got to go and we’d got to get it. Now, the Yanks followed a day or two later. But the Yanks got all the credit. They weren’t even there. On that Peenemunde raid where we dropped people in to sort of stifle it and that, the RAF did it. Yeah. When we got there not a sound. It was way way way into Denmark. Past the Kattegat up in the Baltic and we went on in straight line as if we go up to Sweden or turn starboard to Germany. To Berlin. That was up there. And suddenly we were, we knew we’d got to find this place. They stuck out in the water. This sort of bulbous sort of bit of land. No searchlights. No flak. And as we turned to go in, oh then all hell was let loose. We were on the first wave. So we were through and out. Out the other side before too much trouble. But those that followed got hammered.
DK: Yeah. Could you see much of the target as you dropped your bombs at Peenemunde?
JP: No. You could see the, that raid yeah you could see the huts and the buildings.
DK: Yeah.
JP: But normally when you were at twenty five thousand and don’t forget you’re not going to a flat surface. You’re going to a sea of fire. Flames. Kites going down. Green and red, what’s the name of it on the ground and the searchlights and night fighters. So you, you didn’t see much. And it got all smoky if not cloudy. So, on a good night going in you could pick out the rivers and the main road. The [unclear] were light. They were like big white sort of lights. And the, and the woods. Well later on of course when I then went on to glider, glider towing, paratroop dropping at low level a different kettle of fish. We map read everywhere then on the shape of the woods and the rivers. But you only saw the minor ones up there. You could see enough. Well you could say look there’s a load of flak ahead. That’s probably, you look at your map, that’s probably the town of so and so. Go to starboard to avoid it. And then the pilot would say, ‘How far do you think we are Frank from — ’ and I’d sort of, ‘Ten miles.’ Alright. It was a good crew and they relied on everybody.
DK: Can you, can you still name your crew then?
JP: I can. Yeah. Well. Ron Hay was the pilot. Dougie Henderson was the rear gunner. John Garland was the w/op AG. The rear, the mid-upper gunner was a young lad who lost his life in a car, in a coach accident when we’d only had him a week or two. And then an Aussie joined us, Arthur Evans. And we were friends. And the navigator. I hardly spoke to him because he was in his little enclave and he was an officer. We were all NCOs except Doug. Well, when they finished the tour the pilot he had us in. He said, ‘Well, what can I do? Would you like me to recommend you for a commission?’ The rear gunner said yes. I said, he asked me, I said no because I was not going to get beyond my brother. Imagine. Identical twins. One walking down the street with a commission and one not. I couldn’t do it.
DK: No.
JP: So I said no. I was offered it. Only if I’d taken the chance I’d have done probably a lot better but I wouldn’t take it.
DK: Did you find that a bit difficult that your crew, some of the crew were officers?
JP: Yeah.
DK: And yourself NCO. So you wouldn’t mix socially or —
JP: Yeah. You wouldn’t mix socially unless they would. But they weren’t really allowed to. They did up to a point. We’d go out for a drink now and again but then we’d go our own way.
DK: But you didn’t see that as a problem in the crew itself.
JP: No. No. No. We were all mad and all equally sort of wanted to go. And I never saw, I did with a couple of crews I flew with, saw much panic. You see the bravery was not going on ops where you were shot down. Because you didn’t expect to be. You hoped not to be. The bravery was going the next day and the next day. I mean in successive. In there you’ll see I did four ops in five days. Absolutely tired out. It wasn’t just the op. The next day you had to go to get your aircraft ready. If there was not a malfunction you had to go and do a little flight test. Had to get all the equipment ready and be briefed all day. So you never got any sleep.
DK: No.
JP: And of course when you got to bed you were too tired to sleep and too exhilarated. There was a certain exhilaration when you got back.
DK: I was going to say how did you feel as you got out of the aircraft after, after the mission? After the operation.
JP: Happy. You know. Very contented. Very very pleased with life. And we used to, we didn’t feel boastful or anything like that. We’d got to go to be debriefed of course with the old padre there. And he used to hand out the fags and I didn’t smoke so I used to give mine away. And then we had, always looked forward to egg and chips. Egg and chips. And if any crews were missing we ate their eggs. But you wouldn’t know. See, you only knew your own crew basically. You knew the others in passing but everything was, everything was together. You trained together, you flew together and you went out together. Had a drink together. You see you were right out in the country. Not much you could do. So you got the old bike and went to the nearest pub. And if they hadn’t got any beer we’d go to the next one. And then we’d find a little social dance. That sort of thing.
DK: Yeah.
JP: You couldn’t do anything. Occasionally we got in to York. I went to Leeds a couple of times. And I believe, and I can’t remember how but I went to Sheffield once. Didn’t get on there because we hadn’t got time. We’d just go for the evening and wander around and have a drink and —
DK: And then.
JP: That was it.
DK: As you were then told the next day another operation how did you feel then as you were getting in the aircraft?
JP: Well, quite, quite glad really. You were getting through them. I remember I sort of started putting a number by my ops. And, and so they said, ‘We don’t count. We don’t count the ops. We just do them.’ But you did. In your mind. You knocked another one off. And it got more sort of you know the early, oh yeah but when you got in your twenties and people all around you were missing. You didn’t know whether they’d been shot down, whether they’d finish their tour, whether they’d left. And all this. It was come and go all the time. You couldn’t settle anywhere. Only with your own crew.
DK: Yeah.
JP: Because if you made friends because they were missing the next night. That wasn’t to say they were missing. They were posted away to somewhere else. It was a come and go. So there was that community of crew. They were more or less everything. And you got on well with them. Well most of them. Some, some you didn’t. But you were so closely knit together and there was a camaraderie about it. And I met two crews that panicked a bit. One of them supposed to be one of the, actually I flew with them a couple of times. And they’d done well on the thousand bomber raid and the pilot had got his, had got a gong out of it. So they were supposed to be a good crew. But they got behind somehow and the bomb aimer had gone, I reckon he’d gone to LMF. Lack of moral fibre. They used to take them out and strip them, you know. Lack of moral fibre they call it. Nerves didn’t count. None of this psychology or that sort of thing. You were whipped away. If you were an officer, reduced to, well kept your commission but reduced in rank to the menial jobs. If you were an NCO you lost your rank and everything else.
DK: And this crew. Did you think the bomb aimer then was, had had some problems?
JP: The bomb aimer had a lot. You see, I was the one who, well out of them I’d done a bit of flying on the Tiger and the Anson and whatnot. More than they had, some of them. And I was the one who used to help the pilot at his take off because you needed two. One to help push it up.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And I was the one that helped him on landing. And, and I was the one he referred to. Now, you see if you go to Berlin you’ve got over an eight hour trip. Well the pilot can’t get and have a quick wee. There’s nobody there. Now on one occasion he put it into George which was the automatic pilot, ‘Here you are Prag. Have a go at this.’ And I held this, frightened to death while he went and had a quick wee. But they relied on you so much.
DK: So your job also included flying the aircraft then when he needed a break.
JP: Well, it didn’t really but it depended on the pilot. He used to let me have a go now and again but when he was a, I didn’t, I wasn’t good enough to sort of take it on and like it.
DK: So, on, on a typical operation then as, as you as the bomb aimer.
JP: Yeah. Yeah.
DK: What was your role when you got on the aircraft and you took off? Are you helping the navigator?
JP: Well, the navigator. He was in his little sort of hut thing and I, I didn’t want to be a navigator because you couldn’t see what was going on. You could only hear. Whereas a bomb aimer you had the freedom of the aircraft.
DK: Right.
JP: And you were more or less in charge of that part of the aircraft in many ways.
DK: Did, did your job involve anything to do with the bombs before they went on the aircraft? Would you check them?
JP: No. The armourers did that.
DK: Right.
JP: You saw them and watched them winch them on but it was the armourers that did it. You knew how to, if it didn’t go off they’d was a little pannier thing you could undo and pull a toggle and get it, release it.
DK: Yeah.
JP: You’re not supposed to, you couldn’t bring them back because you couldn’t land with them or they’d have gone up and blown you up. And if you’d still got them when you got back you had to drop them in a dropping zone. Ours was in, in the North Sea. And —
DK: Did you have any that didn’t drop? That you, you had to —
JP: I believe, I didn’t know but the flight engineer, he was often, he was a Scotsman and he was often half drunk. He said there’s a couple of, a couple of bombs there. So I went down to look. I pulled the toggle but whether it released the bomb or not I don’t know. But I think once, yes in the North Sea there. See, you got, what’s-it Glenn Miller lost on a place like that when they came back and dropped their bombs. They reckon that’s where, how he lost his life.
DK: Yeah. As you, as you’re approaching the target then.
JP: Yeah.
DK: You’re in the front. You’re looking down.
JP: Yeah.
DK: And then what’s your role there? Do you arm the bombs and then drop them?
JP: Well, you do the map reading in. The pilot, the navigator’s supposed to get you within range and then it was yours and you do the, you see the target where the green and red flares were. And the Pathfinders above were saying bomb on the green flares because there had been an accident and the red had drifted away. Or bomb on the red. Or right between the two. So you directed it in between all the flak and the flame to where you think the target was. And you go on, you know, ‘Left. Left.’ You said, ‘Left. Left.’ And ‘Right,’ So if you said the same so you didn’t get the same tone.
DK: Right.
JP: ‘Left. Left. Steady. Steady.’ And when you were approaching you had the bomb doors open. You had to open them ready and you kept them open ‘til after you’d dropped your bomb for the photograph. As you closed the doors so the photograph was cut off. So you had to, as long as you, the time was how long your bombs would take to drop and each bomb had a different timing because they were different. Smooth or whatever. And they were different weights. So they had the speed they entered so all that had to be entered on your bombsight. So it was done automatically later but we had to enter it on a height bar and, and another knob here, another knob there. And then we got the information as we flew. And then you’d drop it as you said, ‘Bombs gone,’ And then you get the panic. ‘Get rid of them. Go.’ And you’d got you had to be cool, calm and collected until that photograph went off. The flash went off. Because that was taking, you see the bombs didn’t go down like that. They go on an arc with the speed and they were there. They’d say, oh bomb here. They’d land over by you, you see. So we had to wait that time. It seemed like an age. And you couldn’t turn around and come back because you were going in to your own people. You had to fly on over Germany and then so many miles they’d either turn. You didn’t know whether you were going to turn port or starboard to find the way out.
DK: As, as the bombs left the aircraft could you feel the aeroplane.
JP: Yeah. You felt it go. Yeah. Yeah.
DK: And what, what was the crews reaction as they’re waiting for you to drop the bombs?
JP: [laughs] Going mad. ‘Close the f’ing doors,’ [laughs] And I used to, I was the youngster you know. They were all older than I was. I was supposed to be cool, calm and collected. The pilot was good. The pilot would do everything you told him to do and yet he was probably the most experienced pilot in the Group. So we got all the big jobs. The Berlins and the Peenemunde and we got the Hamburg raid when we wiped it out with Window. It’s all in there in that book of mine. Yeah.
DK: Can I have a look at the logbook?
JP: Yeah.
[pause]
JP: Now, that’s precious. If you look in the back there’s all the stations, all stations of it and there’s a picture of myself and my brother there in that envelope.
DK: Can I?
JP: Have a look at that. Yeah.
DK: I’ll be very careful with it.
JP: That’s alright.
DK: You were alike [laughs]
JP: We were nineteen there. That was taken just after we got home from South Africa
DK: I don’t know how people told you —
JP: They didn’t.
DK: Yeah.
JP: They didn’t. You can see. You can see why we were known as, we were known as Prag by the crew.
DK: So are you on the left or the right?
JP: I think on the left.
DK: You think [laughs]
JP: From me it would be the left.
DK: Left. Right.
JP: Yeah. I think so. Yeah.
DK: Yeah. Lovely.
JP: Broke my heart when he was killed. Part of me went. And I had a hell of a time after that. I wasn’t happy.
DK: No. I can understand.
JP: It’s got all my qualifications in there of course.
DK: So I’ll read this out for the recording. So you were on Ansons here. This was in Rhodesia.
JP: Yeah. That was —
DK: East London.
JP: The Navigation.
DK: Yeah. East London.
JP: Yeah. That was South Africa.
DK: South Africa. Yeah. Yeah.
JP: And the Oxfords were bombing.
DK: So you were on Fairey Battles as well.
JP: Pardon?
DK: Battles. Fairey Battles.
JP: Yeah. That was the gunnery.
DK: Yeah.
JP: We used to fire at a drogue being towed by, what have we got here?
DK: And Oxfords.
JP: Oxfords. That was the gunnery.
DK: Yeah.
JP: That was the, you know, the bombing.
DK: That’s South Africa. So it’s 102 Squadron. And then it says 1652 Conversion Unit.
JP: Yeah. That, well we went there for a couple of weeks. That’s all. You see I didn’t get, I didn’t start until late in 1942. Yet I was doing my ops in ’42 and ’43. Yeah.
DK: And then on to 51 Squadron at Snaith.
JP: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
DK: So that’s Halifaxes.
JP: Yeah. See Pocklington was the holding unit then.
DK: Right.
JP: The head of the Group.
DK: So Lorient, so Cologne.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Wilhelmshaven.
JP: Yeah. Wilhelmshaven. Yeah.
DK: It says here Nuremberg. Engine. Engine u/s. Bombs jettisoned.
JP: Yeah. We had to come back. Yeah. We got there and more or less had to drop the bombs and had to come out. That counted as an op because we’d got more than half way I believe.
DK: So this is February 1943. And then there’s Cologne. And then St Nazaire in France.
JP: Yeah.
DK: So Berlin on the 1st of March.
JP: Yeah. I did three Berlins. And you’ll find there were ten Essens as well.
DK: Right.
JP: Three Essens in there.
DK: So the 1st of March was Berlin.
JP: Yeah.
DK: The 5th of March, Essen.
JP: Yeah.
DK: The 9th of March, Munich.
JP: Yeah.
DK: The 12th of March, Essen.
JP: Well, would you get a harder tour than that anywhere? Suicide.
DK: Well, you had a bit of a break here. It’s the 26th was Duisburg. And then 27th of March, Berlin again.
JP: Yeah.
DK: So then April. 3rd of April, Essen.
JP: Yeah.
DK: April the 4th Kiel. The 8th of April, Duisburg. The 14th of April, Stuttgart. And then they’ve given you another rest here [laughs] May 13th Bochum.
JP: Bochum.
DK: And then?
JP: Dortmund. Bochum.
DK: Yeah.
JP: Dortmund. Dusseldorf.
DK: And then 23rd of May, Dortmund.
JP: Yeah. They were all the Ruhr Valley.
DK: 25th of May, Dusseldorf. Sorry. So July the 24th was Hamburg.
JP: Yeah.
DK: So that would have been the big raid on Hamburg.
JP: That would have been the [pause] when we wiped it out with the firestorm yeah.
DK: And then 25th of July, Essen. August the 2nd , Hamburg. August the 8th Nuremberg. Milan.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Milan, Italy.
JP: We didn’t get there. We got, we couldn’t get over the, had engine trouble so we got as far as the Alps. Had to turn around and come back.
DK: So that, it actually says engine u/s. Bombs jettisoned.
JP: Yeah. Yeah.
DK: And then August the 17th Peenemunde.
JP: Yeah.
DK: And it says you landed back at Middleton St George.
JP: Yeah. Yeah. We couldn’t get in. We were fog bound. Our place.
DK: Right. And then August 22nd Leverkusen. 23rd of August, Berlin again. So that, that presumably would have been, oh it says you were then screened from operations.
JP: Yeah.
DK: September 1943.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Wow.
JP: In the further ops you will see, if you turn over, on the, when I re-mustered. I couldn’t stand Training Command after my brother was missing. And I had a row with the wing commander. So I volunteered for another thing and found out it was glider towing.
DK: That was with 298 Squadron.
JP: Yeah.
DK: Tarrant Rushton. So, you were, you were towing the gliders then.
JP: Yeah. Yeah. We took a Hamilcar in the big bugger.
DK: Hamilcars. Yeah.
[pause]
JP: Then I did an instructors course at Number 1 Air Armament School, Manby. Which was, by then, by that time the war was, we weren’t needed after that. They didn’t know what to do with us.
DK: Yeah. So, so, that’s May 1945. You’re on Wellingtons then.
JP: Yeah.
DK: What was that like? Flying Wellingtons after the Halifax.
JP: Wellington was probably the best aircraft of the war. It did everything.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And it was still going strong at the end of the war.
DK: And that was —
JP: Very strong. You know the geodetic construction.
DK: Yeah.
JP: And it stood up to any. It burned because it was fabric. You could reckon if a Wellington crashed it was going to burn. We did crash in it. Is it there we crashed? A ten minute trip.
DK: Was that at Manby?
JP: No. That was later on. During that time. So, when I was in Training Command. On one of the odd trips.
DK: Yeah. So [pause] so when, when did you leave the air force then?
JP: When? It’s in my book. My service book there.
DK: So would it have been about that time?
JP: No. It was —
Other: ’46 I think.
DK: ’46. Ok.
JP: It was a bit later. 1946 I think. Yeah.
Other: Yeah. May. May ’46.
JP: Yeah. I did just over five years.
DK: Yeah. And what did you do after that? When you —
JP: Well, I didn’t know what. I wasn’t going back to my job. I couldn’t stand the thought of a tin pot office job. And I had straight, I had a couple of months leave and about two hundred quid to spend. You know, as the generous air force. And I was walking home one day having told Manfields. They offered me a job. Offered me a good job. I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t go back indoors. So, I was walking home along St George’s Avenue which was by the technical college and out shot one of the teachers who was my old teacher when I was at school. And he’d been an officer in the cadets. So I used to meet him at the odd dance at the Salon and whatnot. And he used to speak. So he said, ‘Hello,’ he said. Well I was demobbed. He said, ‘What are you going to do?’ I said, ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a couple of hundred quid in the bank. I’ve got a couple of months leave and I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ I said, ‘I’m not going back to my old job although they said I could. It’s a waste of time. I’m not going back there.’ He said, ‘Well, why don’t you take up teaching?’ I said, ‘Well can I?’ He said, ‘Well, you’re a qualified instructor to start with.’ Which was better than a teaching diploma. He said, ‘And furthermore you were one of my bright lads,’ he said, ‘Yeah,’ he said. I said, ‘What do you do?’ He said, ‘Well, I’ll get the papers and I’ll sign. I’ll recommend you. You’ll have to get another recommendation and get the papers filled in and then wait.’ Well, I did this. Within about a fortnight I was accepted. And they sat down, ‘You don’t need to be qualified. You can start straight away.’ I was teaching within a month. A class of my own in a school. Well, I had that for about eighteen months. Then I went to college then and then after a few years I got a headship. Then a bigger headship. And that was it. Twenty odd years ahead. I was a magistrate for twenty seven years in addition.
DK: Oh right.
JP: And all sorts of other things.
DK: So how, how do you look back on your time in Bomber Command now? How do you feel about it after seventy odd years?
JP: A bit of a joke. And, you know, the bombastic sort of people there. Well one wing commander. I was introduced. When we went back for my second tour they were crewing up from all over. And I was the one who had done most. I’d done a tour of ops. None of the others had. So, we went through, ‘Now, what have you done?’ I said, ‘Well, you can ask the others. Well, I’ve done a tour of ops.’ ‘You did what?’ I said, ‘A tour of ops.’ ‘On what aircraft?’ ‘Halifaxes.’ I learned afterwards he’d flown Halifaxes. And he tapped his chest, the bombastic bugger and said, ‘And didn’t you get one of these?’ I said, ‘No. My name didn’t come with a NAAFI ration.’ He went mad. ‘These have to be earned,’ he said [laughs] He didn’t like that and I didn’t like him. I had a big row with him later though. You see I missed out through being ill. Immediately afterwards for two to three weeks I wasn’t there and that was when things were being disposed of. I was told I was getting a gong. I didn’t get it.
DK: Oh really.
JP: I was also told, I went up for commission but didn’t get it. I think it had gone before that I’d had a row. When my brother was finally reported killed my mother was suicidal. And we were on then glider towing. Now, that half of England nothing was allowed out. No phone call. No letters. No anything. You were not allowed out if you were in that, in the forces because of the secrecy of it for D-Day. This went on for several weeks. Well, my father sent a pre-paid telegram. And mum, they knew I was back on ops because his friend in the Bournemouth had told him. He’d got a friend there. But didn’t know what ops. And of course she got the wind up. Thought it was like my brother. And then she was suicidal. And I didn’t know what to do. So he wrote and said, ‘Look, you must come home.’ So, I went to the wing commander. This bombastic devil. He didn’t think much of me and I didn’t think much of him anyway. I let it be known. So I sat I’m on my own [laughs] frequently. So anyway, he, he was there in the crew room surrounded by people. I said, ‘Look, it’s important. Could I have a forty eight hour pass?’ ‘Forty eight hour pass. Why?’ I said, ‘Well, my twin brother has finally been reported killed and my mother’s suicidal.’ ‘Well, what good can you do?’ I looked him up and down. I said, ‘I’ll bloody soon show you what good I can do,’ I said, ‘For one thing my MP will know. Another thing the Daily Mirror, which was the forces favourite, that will know. And another thing you will be on the bloody grass.’ He looked at me and I turned around and walked away. I took the forty eight hour pass. And when I was home my mother made me promise not to fly again. I was heartbroken. I didn’t know what to do. I mean I was on my own. I was no longer had to, got a mate. I’d been a loner. When he was missing I became a loner because I couldn’t, couldn’t gel.
DK: No.
JP: So I went back and I said, ‘Look. I’m not flying anymore.’ Well, the crew couldn’t understand it. They could understand but they knew why. The CO, well the CO was the one I’d had the row with. But the one below him, the squadron leader, he was a lovely bloke. He was a bit older and a bit more understanding. And he had a bit more authority really. He was long established. And so I used to have to report to him every day. He said, ‘Will you fly?’ ‘No.’ He said, ‘Now look,’ he said, ‘Normally if they can’t fly they are stripped of their rank and that,’ he said, ‘Because you’ve done a tour of ops we feel we can’t do that to you but,’ he said, ‘Your crew is standing by.’ And D-Day was, turned out to be about a fortnight later. ‘Is waiting. And you’re one of the leading crews. But the crew can’t fly without you. So, at the moment the wing commander realises that he should not have said what he said. He hasn’t reported it. But Group want to know and they’ll have to.’ So anyway I was standing on my own in the navigator’s room just looking around. And nobody wanted to know me. I was a bloody pariah you know. And in comes this wing commander. And he looks me up and down. ‘Pragnell.’ ‘Yeah.’ No sir. I never called him sir again in my life. He said, ‘Well, I want to fly up to Wing.’ We thought he had a lady friend at Wing. Near Leighton Buzzard there. He used to go frequently. Perhaps it was a Group meeting. I don’t know. He says, ‘I want a crew.’ He said, ‘Will you fly?’ I looked him up and down. I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Right,’ he said , ‘We’ll get a crew together,’ and so and so. So, I had to go round and get a gunner and a what’s the name and we flew him up there. I flew him up there. Got him there. I didn’t bother to navigate. I map read him up because I was good at that by then. I’d map read over France and very good at it. So anyway I got off for the sake of the other lad I got a proper course. Flew him back. We got back to Brize Norton. That was our headquarters. And he said, ‘I know where I am.’ So, ‘Right.’ So he flew back and dropped us off and I then went back in to my crew. And then came D-Day of course. So then very shortly after D-Day, now whether it was because I was more experienced as I was or whether he didn’t like me as I think it was I was taken out of my crew within, with several others. But whole crews. To form a new Conversion Unit up near Nottingham somewhere. To train for the Far East.
DK: Right.
JP: And we, well as soon as we got there the war virtually finished so we weren’t, we were posted all over the place then. So I was taken out. Not, with this other crew and flown up to this place to help form this unit. Well, we got together, did a bit of instructing but then the runways apparently wouldn’t take the weight of the bigger aircraft. So we moved to Saltby, which you probably know. Lincolnshire way.
DK: Yeah.
JP: We went there in convoy and I was given charge of a couple of lorries. A handful of erks and a lorry load of stuff to go down and went through Burton on Trent and through there. And I got relatives in Burton on Trent so, ‘We’ll have an hour here lads.’ So we stayed there and I went and saw my relatives and had a cup of tea with them and we went back in to Saltby. And I got the best billet. Well, that didn’t last long. We moved on again. We went to Marston Moor. We went somewhere else. That’s all in there where we went to. And we weren’t wanted. Because they’d got so many like us that had finished their ops they didn’t know what to do with them.
DK: No.
JP: They made lorry drivers and engine drivers out off of lots of them. And I got a lovely little number myself. I I got in to a department. Only a flight lieutenant and he was in charge of the bombing equipment and the distribution of it. And the bomb dump was absolutely full. Old wings, parts of engines, mechanical stuff. And it was brimming over. And he gave me the job with a lorry and a couple of erks who knew what they were doing, and a driver to go out each day. And they sorted out the pick of the stuff. Expensive metals. And we’d go to York every day. We’d drop this off. And go back there the next day. Marvellous time I had. And I, and there’s all sorts of things going. You know you couldn’t get coat hangers for love or money. Now, there was, hanging all around this room where the gas capes had been there were three coat hangers on each peg. Little did the flight lieutenant know. A bit later there were only two of these coat hangers on each peg. When he came to me one day, he said, ‘Oh, you can have a coat hanger.’ ‘Oh, thank you very much.’ All my mates had got coat hangers. Another time he came and said, ‘Well we’ve got so much stuff.’ They’d got farming equipment, barbed wire, these stakes that went in and the farmers were crying out for stuff. He said, ‘We’ve invited some of the local farmers to come and have some. So,’ he said, ‘Go and see to it.’ So I went up there and there were these farmers with their tractors. ‘Well, what can I have?’ ‘I don’t know. Have what you like.’ They were loading on the barbed wire and I came in for a lot of eggs that day. It was a lovely time. I was completely in charge of myself and nobody bothered me.
DK: But the stuff was being used. It was being used usefully on the farms though wasn’t it?
JP: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
DK: Yeah.
JP: Yeah. They were very friendly actually. The farmers. It was back up in Yorkshire of course see. Where I knew. All my flying. That was Linton on Ouse this was.
DK: Right.
JP: Yeah. Yeah. At the big one up there. But the rest of it was Pocklington and Elvington and Snaith. And my twin brother was Holme on Spalding Moor and Northallerton and around there. Yeah. It was in Northallerton that one of them took my tonsils out. That was a joke. He said, ‘Well, come on. You’ve got to go.’ So I had to get up and get dressed and I got an ambulance to take me. And it was the old ambulances. No sirens. It was ring bells. And everywhere we went for a bit of fun he rang the bell. And the people were lining the street. And when we got there he rang the bell. Pulled up. People were watching. And I climbed out [laughs] I saw life.
DK: Oh dear. Ok. Well that, that —
JP: Sorry to bore you but —
DK: No. That’s, that’s great. I’ll stop it there.
JP: Yeah.
DK: That’s been marvellous. Thanks, thanks very much for your time.
Other: When you’ve stopped it —
DK: Still going.
JP: Well, if you want to —
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
Interview with Jack Pragnell
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Kavanagh
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
2016-05-26
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.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
APragnellJ160526
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
01:02:19 audio recording
Language
A language of the resource
eng
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 Air Force. Training Command
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Description
An account of the resource
Jack Pragnell and his twin brother Thomas volunteered together for the RAF and trained together. Jack flew operations as a bomb aimer with 51 Squadron. His brother joined a Canadian crew. Jack was plagued with health problems and was suddenly told his operation to have his tonsils removed would be taking place the next day. It was only during his convalescence that he realised just how the stress of operations had already affected him. His brother and his crew were shot down and killed which devastated Jack. After his tour he joined Training Command before joining 298 Squadron towing gliders.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
South Africa
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
England--Dorset
England--Yorkshire
France--Lorient
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Munich
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Italy--Milan
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
102 Squadron
298 Squadron
51 Squadron
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
fear
Halifax
Hamilcar
lack of moral fibre
RAF Pocklington
RAF Snaith
RAF Tarrant Rushton
training
Wellington
-
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
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Storey, DP
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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
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David Philip Storey
Format
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11 typewritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BStoreyDPStoreyDPv1
Coverage
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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
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/800/10781/ADellowJA170617.2.mp3
643b36b0ab4c85a5824d3d83a5adba37
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
Dellow, James Albert
Dellow, Jim Albert
J A Dellow
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Flight Lieutenant James Albert Dellow (1921, 13918226, 171266 Royal Air Force) his log books and note books. He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 44 Squadron.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by James Dellow 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
2017-06-17
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Dellow, JA
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DB: This is Denise Boneham and today I am talking to James Albert Dellow in his home at Icklingham in Suffolk. Today’s date is the 17th of the 6th 2017 and it is currently 11.10 hours.
JD: When war was declared in September 1939, I’d reached the age of eighteen years and we had to report to a government office where my name was recorded. Here we were asked to tell which branch of the armed forces we hoped to join. We were told that it didn’t mean we would definitely get our choice, but it would depend upon the requirements of the country. They would do their best to grant our request. I had opted to join the RAF for pilot training. After this we were told that when we were wanted the authorities would send us a letter. I resumed my employment which at that time was in an office in Kent. In 1941 I had to attend an RAF Medical Centre in London in June of that year. I passed A1 fit for flying and after this I was told to go back to my office job and await a call up letter which could be as long as six weeks. Eventually a call up letter came telling me that I had to report to Lord’s Cricket Ground in London which was being used as a Centre to receive recruits. It had been requisitioned by the Royal Air Force. Eventually [pause] I’ve read that, I was given my service number, uniform and other clothing. My accommodation was in a small hotel requisitioned by the RAF, and this was situated opposite the London Zoo where we had our meals prepared by RAF cooks. But we didn’t eat with the animals. About twenty other lads about my age were at the hotel. We were supervised by an RAF corporal and during our short stay in London which was two weeks we were taught to march in the quiet road where the hotel was located. We attended lectures in the hotel. We took turns in preparing equipment in case our hotel was bombed as it was still early in the war and London was still experiencing bombing raids. However, it was only a stay of two weeks in London when we were moved to other parts of the country. This move was the first stage of our training and we arrived at Scarborough, the seaside place in Yorkshire. Number 10 Initial Training Wing. And we stayed in the Crown Hotel located on rising ground facing east and enabling us to see the sea. It was a very bracing place to be. Here we attended lectures, doing a cross country run every day in all weathers. We had to learn, practice Morse. Sending and receiving messages by lamp and then by buzzer. We studied RAF law, gunnery, learning to recognise different aeroplanes using models. Enemy planes and RAF ones. That came under the aircraft recognition. I was sent to a grading course at Brough situated right next to the River Humber near Hull and I was there for about a month as a pupil pilot. This was just to see what, if we were competent in holding the joystick and being up in the air. I was supervised by a qualified pilot sitting behind me in this Tiger Moth. We had equipment, joystick, rudders and steering wheels, speaking to me through a speaking tube. I passed the course. Returned to Scarborough. However, my return there was only for a very short time. Those of us who’d passed the grading course were told we were going to continue our training overseas. Until we were on the ship we did not know where we were going until we were well on our way across the Atlantic Ocean in February of that year. Early February. Because the Atlantic was infested by many German U-boats we were on our own. Just the one ship. Not in convoy. We were escorted from Gourock in Scotland by two Royal Navy destroyers. One was each side of us listening out with their sonar for U-boats under the water. We ran in to very rough weather and many of the lads including myself experienced sea sickness which caused us to stop eating for about three days. But mine was really brought on by something which I had got from the, the kitchen where we had to get our food. It so happened that I, memory, that I’d been appointed as the runner for my people on our mess table to get the meal. And I had two billy cans, one in each hand and I had to walk the full length of the ship to the galley where the cooks were providing the food. I could smell the, [pause] smell the food. The smell of food came along the walk that I was using to get to where the cooks were, and when I got there we had in one billy can I had a big amount of stew which was put in. It looked rather oily and had about two or three peas floating on the top. And then on the, on the counter there was some lovely baked, newly baked bread loaves which had been baked that morning, and they were the main things that interested me because I was loving, wanting to eat some bread and put some, we didn’t have butter we had margarine. Now, until we were on the ship we didn’t know where we were going which I’ve already said. I’m sorry about that. I trained in a, in a Tiger Moth [pause] Something’s gone wrong. Pages turning] Here we are. The time of the year was January, late January 1942. After five days at sea we were nearing Halifax, Nova Scotia. By the time we left the ship we were put in the care of English RAF sergeant and we were put on a railway train to take us a thousand miles to Toronto in Canada. Being in wintertime darkness was upon us. However, unlike Britain at this time there was no blackout in Canada and traffic right near the port were moving along the roads with their headlights and all the lights of the streets were on. We travelled the thousand miles and we left the train and we were taken to the National Exhibition building in Toronto. This would be a similar building like the Olympia in London. This place was used as a Recruiting Centre for the Canadian recruits. And we were here for six weeks waiting to be sent to an aerodrome. The huge building could accommodate several thousand people, and I had to move later on. For pilot training I was sent to a small aerodrome situated on the shore of one of the great lakes. Lake Huron. This is an Indian name because they were the original inhabitants of Canada. I trained in a Tiger Moth training plane, and to qualify as a pilot in the war each pupil pilot had to show that he could be trusted to handle the plane on his own within ten hours of training. Once he’d done that he was expected to go up on his own. Unfortunately, I failed to do this in the, in that time and I was taken off the pilot course because they were desperate to get fully trained pilots back in Britain. I had to report to our commanding officer at this Canadian flying school. He happened to be a British squadron leader who had fought in the First World War. He could see I was upset at being taken off the pilot training course and he said to me, ‘If you want to carry on flying why don’t you become a member of the bomber.’ This I thought of and agreed and thanked him for my advice. On my return I was given two weeks leave and told to report to a Canadian aerodrome where recruits would train to be members of a bomber crew. So the two weeks leave meant that I was able to choose where I would spend it, and I decided I would try and visit my sister Eileen in America. Where she had just arrived in 1937 as a newly married lady with her husband Jim, or James and he too was working in opening a factory in America. They were living with their two little children in Pennsylvania. Altoona. At the end of my leave I returned to Canada from America and reported to Trenton, Ontario where bomber crews started their training. I became a trainee bomb aimer flying in a plane, able to carry out the duties required. In Canada I used practice bombs day and night on ground targets. I had to do aerial gunnery and at one time I flew in a Battle. An old aeroplane they called the Battle. In an open cockpit and I had to do gunnery firing at a drogue pulled by an aeroplane alongside. Our bullets were coloured so that they knew when they took the thing down that where the green bullets had landed that meant they would be mine and the other people had different colours. I qualified in all departments and it was in late November while at Moncton, New Brunswick in Canada we had to move out ready to leave Canada and travel by train all the way down in to the States. Passing down the east coast of America through the New England States, such as Boston, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. New York Harbour we arrived at, and we had to go on board the brand new ship which had only recently been launched named Queen Elizabeth. She was eighty five thousand tons in weight and we didn’t need any escorts to guard us as we crossed the sea to come back to Britain because she was so fast. She was able to zigzag through the ocean and we reached Scotland five, five days afterwards. But because the ship was so huge she couldn’t come close to shore. She had to lay in deep water while we got off the ship. We had to go down ladders at the side of the Queen Elizabeth and go on small, small ships that came up to us and here they were jumping, bumping up and down with the rough sea. In Scotland, sorry [pause] in Scotland a bomber crew was formed by us trainees. We’d been trained in Scotland. We’d been using a Whitley bomber in Scotland. But when the new plane came out called the Lancaster built to bear much heavier loads we were sent to a Conversion Unit near Lincoln city where our pilot had to learn to fly this very big four engine plane. This he did successfully after which we were put in to Number 44 Rhodesian Squadron which was using Waddington as our base where we had our own plane to bomb Germany. Before the whole crew started bombing operations three of us out of the crew namely pilot, navigator and myself, we didn’t fly with the, our own crew at all. We weren’t expected to do any work because we were observing what it was like to be over enemy territory. To see what gunfire was like, ack ack from the ground, enemy fighters, searchlights. We attended the briefing of this trip with another crew. This was Hitler’s birthday, the 20th of April and so we all reckoned it surely must be Berlin, the target. Because one never knew the target until you entered the briefing room which had to be locked and kept secret to the very last minute and you would know where you were going by the big red ribbon that started from your base and ended at the target. And this time when we looked we found that our destination on this occasion was not Berlin, but it was a sea port in the Baltic Sea Called Stettin. I flew in a Lancaster from Number 106 Squadron and while we were flying we, we flew all the way to Denmark on, over the North Sea with our propellers just churning almost the waves to keep low so that Germany couldn’t catch us on their radar which stretched all along the wall that Hitler had built. As we approached Stettin a Lancaster flying on our left side was hit by flak, that’s enemy fire, because the sea there had many flak ships which Hitler had in the sea where they were all heavily armed with guns which could reach planes and this poor chap had caught it. In no time at all a burst of flame came out from the side of the Lancaster and a huge ball of fire came out in such a short time giving no time at all for the crew to leave and so seven men perished in a split second. They were immediately cremated alive. On arrival at Stettin we saw it was already on fire and many searchlights were on the move probing the sky to locate any of our planes. Fortunately we weren’t caught by searchlights but hit, nor hit by shells from planes or ground or searchlights. We didn’t linger over the target. Once we’d dropped our bombs we changed course as our next location was our base near Nottingham with this other crew that I flew with. Again we approached Denmark and soon left this behind. Descended, flying over the sea, very low down and not to be on the German radar. On landing at our base after the trip we had to report to the intelligence officers to give them information concerning the state of the target and any other news of interest. This trip took eight hours. The target we went to as a full crew and now we had our own crew was in the Ruhr in Germany. A very dangerous part to go because it was where the bombs were made and the big firm Krupps made the armour and big guns, and it was heavily guarded. And it was on a coal field which made it easy for the factories to get their boilers heated to run the engines of their factories. It had extra searchlights and anti-aircraft guns. Here for a while we were picked out and got caught in the searchlight. I remember looking down the beam of the searchlight which wasn’t a very sensible thing to do but in our plane it was light as day, and thankfully our pilot managed to wriggle out of the other searchlights that were trying to come on to the one that was already there. Fortunately we managed to drop our bombs without incident after that and made our way back to Britain. We were getting short of petrol as the fuel gauges indicated but with luck and good navigation we looked for the red light flashing the Morse Code letters that told us the location of our base. Our base was at Dunholme Lodge because we’d had to move from, from Waddington earlier on in our tour because originally we started using, landing on grass and the heavy Lancasters eventually began to sink into them in wet weather. And so Waddington was closed for six weeks while the people that built the new runways would come in and lay down concrete. And so we were sent to a new aerodrome. A wartime one this time because Waddington had been there since 1917. It was a peacetime base but Dunholme Lodge on the other side of Lincoln city was on farmland and was a real wartime aerodrome. Everything was just metal and we, we knew that eventually it would be returned as farmland. Before land [pause] before landing our pilot told us to leave our places because this time having been hit by flak we were told to take up crash position. This meant we lay on our backs in the plane with our knees bent ready for any eventuality. As we’d been reported missing and late returning from the air we could see the ambulance and the group captain’s car by the runway. Landing on one wheel because the other one had been damaged on our trip to Peenemunde it touched the ground, we spun around. Eventually stopped still. Not anyone in the crew needed medical attention luckily, and we were all taken to the aircrew building for debriefing telling the intelligence officer all about our trip. Of all the trips we’d made, most in Germany other targets in Italy and Czechoslovakia it was on our visit to Peenemunde rocket base that we were attacked by enemy fighters who fired shells through our fuselage making holes on both sides. One engine was destroyed. A shell, a hole went through the flaps of the wings and one, fortunately we got rid of all our bombs before this happened otherwise I wouldn’t have been here now. We’d have been blown up with it. We were especially grateful to our pilot’s skill in escaping from those night fighters and our navigator Desmond for navigating us home to our base at Dunholme Lodge, which is about five miles north east of Lincoln city. It has now gone back to become a farm. My pilot and navigator each received, or were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. Other targets we visited in my tour were Dortmund, Duisburg, Pilsen in Czechoslovakia, Dusseldorf, Wuppertal, Krefeld, Mülheim, Cologne, Gelsenkirchen. We went four times to Hamburg. Then we went three times to Mannheim and then Nuremberg and eventually Berlin which was heavily defended. After our trip on bombing we were moved to become instructors but we all parted, each of us never, not knowing where our friends were going to. And so once this happened I never saw my pilot again until I saw him at a reunion which I went to at Waddington. It was only many years after the war that some of my crew met again. We were all grateful at leaving the Air Force uninjured. After a tour not one of us ever received even a scratch. And then when we were still in the Air Force I hadn’t finished yet because the war with Japan was still going on and the idea was that they would send Lancasters to India and we would continue bombing from India to Japan and, or we might do desk jobs to free long serving personnel who could come back to Britain. But when the Americans used their atom bomb and the Japanese surrendered it meant that Japan surrendered and we were saved from going any more over any country doing this job which we believed helped to preserve our country. And so I was in the Air Force for six years and the war enabled me to move around Britain. I went to Canada, the United States and India. So I found all the places interesting and we were given great hospitality everywhere we went. And although we were in Canada first of all as trainees they treated us like heroes even before we’d seen an aeroplane [pause] Now, after leaving the RAF I had to go to my civilian home. My father at this time who’d been living in a tied house in London looking after a school. My mother had been killed in the Blitz or died in the Blitz, so he was on his own and he had to move to a new house out of London which he did and informed me and I had to make my way to the new location. It was in Surrey. Near Croydon Airport. A place called Carshalton. And we soon got used to living there and of course at this time I had to get a job to earn some money and I found I’d already been promised to be taken on a teacher’s training course, and so I knew I had a job eventually. But in the meantime I was given a part time job in a office in London which I had to travel too. That didn’t last long and eventually I was on the teacher training course which was at a very nice situation in the lovely town. A seaside place called Eastbourne. This building was very comfortable in which to live. It had been a private prep school before we used it as a teacher training college. Training college was very interesting and of course we had lots of lectures. We had to do teacher training in, going out in actual schools and the first school I went to was in Eastbourne itself which had the name I cannot remember at this time. But there was primary school children, and my class that I was going to happened to be mostly Barnardo children. Barnardo boys who were orphans and they were a reasonably nice lot. But of course as a student you have to learn to make sure that you had order in the class and gradually, and as long as they knew the type of things that you wanted such as stopping, stopping talking when teacher spoke. We wanted absolute silence so everyone could listen to the teacher. And of course it meant preparing things every night. Models of things and maps to show the children and of course while you were training at the school and teaching at the school just roughly for three weeks a lecturer would come, an inspector would come in and sit at the back of the class watching you doing your job. Seeing if you could make any headway in the new job that you’d chosen to go in to. And I managed to get through this successfully. And that was the first teacher training school that I went to. And the teacher of the class of course started to be with me to begin with, but after a while he or she would go and leave me entirely on my own. The next school I had to go to was the, some distance from Eastbourne. It was near Hastings called St Leonards. And this was a very, very good church school because it was situated alongside the church itself and assemblies were actually held in the church and so the behaviour was very good because teachers accompanied the children into the church. And occasionally we would be taken in as a class to see a Communion service and attend, and the priest would kneel near us and explain everything that was going on at the altar in the church. And I enjoyed being at that particular church at St Leonard’s on Sea because it was quite a train journey as the train hugged the south coast of England going through Pevensey and Romney Marsh and then eventually St Leonards, and next door was Hastings itself. And so I got through the training course there, and again inspectors came in and summed me up and made notes about my method and how I was teaching. And then I left to return to the college. But everything wasn’t all work because after work many times I would go back into the town. This lovely seaside town. Go up to Beachy Head which can be very dangerous if you go too near the edge because being chalk it could crumble and there was about a six hundred feet drop down to the beach and there were many cases of people who had gone over accidentally. And even poor little dogs who’d been running after a ball where their master or mistress had foolishly thrown a ball towards the edge of the cliff. The poor little dog had gone running after the ball and not realising that the end of the edge of the cliff he went over and was killed. Anyway, I won’t dwell on that too much but I have had a very interesting life and met many good people and managed to keep going and keeping cheerful because that’s the main thing. You have to grit your teeth like in the war when we all gritted our teeth and tried to be cheerful. Used to sing plenty of songs, but occasionally we would go and have a nice drink in a hostelry somewhere which increased in volume especially when we were on the squadron [laughs] Anyway, here I am at ninety five years old and I don’t feel any age much except that I’m conscious of that fact that I’m so frustrated that I can’t do the things I used to and I do ache in joints and places like that. But again I emphasise I’m so happy to be free from pain like some poor people, and I could have been killed on my first trip. I could have been killed in our training because we lost many men in the crew who had been, while they were training they failed perhaps to take a turn on the petrol of their aircraft and the amount already there was just enough to get them up in the air and by not turning on the petrol of course the whole plane would fall to earth. Other people made the foolish mistake of being up above masses of cloud. They felt they were lost a bit and they thought they would go down under the cloud to see where they were not realising especially in Wales and Scotland that mountains exist and again they would meet their end while they were training. And that was what happened to so many. And again I don’t want to end on a sad note but I was very proud of fighting for my country and I felt that we mustn’t let the devil Hitler come in this place. Otherwise, we would not be here now. And the same feeling was, was felt in the, all the Services. And here I end and I wish you all well. Thank you.
[recording paused]
I failed to mention, and I have been more or less ordered [laughs] to give this information which I didn’t really want to do but I did actually get my [pause] You see my pilot Des and, Derek was the pilot, Desmond was my navigator, and I am James or Jim. And it was on the raid to the Peenemunde rocket base that we were really the only time we felt we could never get back to England because we were attacked while we had luckily had finished our bombing. The bombing had stopped because we’d dropped all our bombs. If that hadn’t happened and what I’m going to tell you did happen at that time it would have set the whole plane on fire and we would have blown up like that poor chap on the way to Stettin. But I’m in the front as a bomb aimer, lying full length on the floor looking through this Perspex with plenty of vision to allow me to look either side of the plane and down. And while I was there I must remember, remind you or tell you that because we weren’t in the first wave the first people to get to that target it already was on fire and it was like a hornet’s nest that had been stirred up because it was, we were flying at low level. Six thousand feet and the full moon, and the air was full of German night fighters and they, I’m lying full length looking through my bomb sight and other parts and I could see a stream of incendiary shells coming from underneath the plane, just below our plane and they were whizzing in front of me. And they were all coloured and lit up and they were a tremendous speed they go through. And then in the plane each crew member could talk to anyone else in the plane by our special communication that we had underneath our goggles, underneath our mouthpiece and they severed, these shells coming through our plane severed the cable that enabled us all to speak to each other and immediately we were completely separate in talk amongst everybody. So nobody could talk to a fellow member of the crew like you would do and so I literally got up from the floor, Derek my pilot was throwing the plane all over the place to escape these night fighters and searchlights, and I managed to get upstairs to the navigator who was in his little office with the light to show him how to make his courses on the maps. He had to have a light and he was shielded from letting the light out by a cover which you had to pull apart. I couldn’t speak to him through my mouthpiece so I had to lift up his earpiece and take my own thing off in front of my mouth and shout to try and beat the noise of the engine to ask him what would be the next best thing to do. How to work out how to get back to England. And anyway, this happened and I returned to my place in the front and I certainly didn’t know I’d been awarded a mention in despatches because I don’t see why I should have had one quite honestly. But I think, I was never told why I’d got it but I think it was because I managed to remain calm and didn’t fluster, and I actually made an effort to continue how to do things which I really couldn’t really do. So, anyway, by the grace of God it was Derek, my navigator and the pilot who managed to go almost on the deck, or on the ground in flying to escape the fighters and we flew away from Peenemunde flying over a Luftwaffe aerodrome which had all lit up. Quickly as we could and as best we could, we saw a lovely mass of cloud not too high above us which stretched some distance and my pilot felt that if we could just climb up to that cloud, disappear in the cloud for some time it would be a hiding place and enable us to get across part of the North Sea and get back to England. And that’s what happened. We flew in to this cloud for some time and then it didn’t last long because Derek lifted the plane slightly above the cloud and we continued flying back to England. And the navigator, the bomb aimer, the flight engineer I should have said he was the one that told my pilot that we were short of petrol and we hoped we’d make it enough petrol to get back to our base. By the grace of God that did happen. We managed to reach England and it was here that we had to decide where our base was. And in the war every aerodrome had a big mechanism of lights. All in red. And each of them was flashing letters of the hour which was changed to not let the enemy get to know which was which. We knew which our letters were for that period and we saw it, aimed for it and we were given priority to land. And as we came lower and lower we could see the group captain’s car by the runway. We saw the ambulance waiting because we’d been reported missing presumed crashed or something like that. And so we had to take up crash positions so that we wouldn’t hurt ourselves if we could help. We had to lie on our backs in the middle of the aeroplane with our legs bent to push against the metal bar there so that it would help to stop us being thrown around inside at the sudden stop. But don’t forget we were landing on one wheel. The other one was completely useless. It had been punctured in the air by shells and so we landed on this one wheel and landed at the side of the concrete runway on the grass and it spun round on the one wheel and as luck would have it not one of us was hurt. And then we came out and debriefed and gave all the information to the intelligence officer. And it was, it was later on our aircraft was photographed and I have the photographs of the damaged aeroplane in my logbook at this moment. And they’re over there actually. So that’s, that is the news. Our worst raid was over Peenemunde and I still don’t know why I on my own got a mention in despatches but I suppose it must have been given by my pilot or someone in the crew. And that’s my story. Alright.
[recording paused]
He must have been in his very early thirties and it was because his wife was so upset at him flying in dangerous jobs that it affected him and he went along to ask for, to be taken off operations. And as you know in the war they were very tough on people that left. Don’t forget all our flying was voluntary, and they took this other awful decision that anyone who came off the crew through, they would call it cowardice you would be stripped of your rank. You would be, it didn’t matter who you were, officer or anything you became an AC2 and your only job would be to clean the toilets. The lowest of the low. And this has been remarked on many times because as you know now the medical people have studied more and realise it isn’t just cowardice. It’s something that happens and anyone can get into this position. So you can’t judge people if they are in this state. You see, that poor man. Every time he saw his wife she was in a dither. That affected him didn’t it? You see. But they don’t take that in to consideration and of course we never, we never knew what happened to the poor chap. And then we had the other mid-upper gunners but eventually we got one that lasted a long time and apart from that but of course I could have said all this on my machine about who was who because our rear gunner was a young man. Sam. He was about nineteen when he joined us and he was a coal, he’d been in a coal mine. And then there was, the only officer we had in the crew was Desmond Heslop and he, the rest of us to begin with were flight sergeants. Derek, my pilot got his commission while he was still a bomber pilot. He was married and he came from Norfolk and he got his DFC as I’ve told you. Now, I did go to Bury St Edmunds Library. This was some time ago. To the Reference Library because I wanted to see what the citation was about awarding, you know. You know the citation don’t you? Why they got this award. And I wrote them in my diary as a matter of fact which is over there. I might try and locate. So Derek got his citation and Desmond, the pilot, the flying officer and Desmond the navigator unlike us, because I went on to become an instructor, ending up at RAF Silverstone which is now the racing track. That was, that was an OTU. An Operational Training Unit. And in the meantime, I found this out later, Des the navigator did not want to leave the bombing side of it. He wanted to remain damaging Germany you see. So he didn’t become an instructor as he could have done because in his, in his citation they remark on his expert navigation. So he would have been a good instructor. But unfortunately I think he went on in a Mosquito. Two engine. So in other words pilot and navigator. And he flew. I’ve got it in my [pause] I’ll get that down because he [pause]
[recording paused]
Definitely. She had a stroke through it. Through, where we were living in London was a place called Wandsworth. You may have heard about Wandsworth about two miles from the River Thames. And I can remember on the day a big fleet of German bombers, daylight flew over our house and they flew towards the Thames which was a couple of minutes, well, in flying two minutes to get there. Less than that. And then they followed the Thames all the way around to the docks. This was the beginning of the Blitz and they dropped bombs on the oil, the tanks in the docks and other things. Anything that would light and keep burning. So because they did that in daylight that fire was still raging in the evening and so at that very evening he sent bombers over the docks and they dropped stuff using the docks. They didn’t need to navigate. They could see it from miles away, you see. So, that was the beginning of the Blitz. And then gradually the bombing spread and where I lived was not far away. Quite near was a Common. You know a lovely place where you could play on grass and so on. And also not far up the road was a little, it wasn’t a big one it was a public library where I as a boy used to go there and belong to it. Get books out and help to do, to get knowledge and that kind of thing. And in April ’41 there was a very heavy bombing raid and that affected our area and they destroyed completely that little library and also houses in the street very near and in one of these houses lived a family that we knew very well. And Mr [Bazant] and his wife, his eldest daughter were killed their house destroyed and the only one that got through it in that family was the youngest daughter. So, that was the kind of thing that went on. And also the Germans that night dropped what they called parachute bombs and they were mines dangling on parachutes. Once they dropped these things they were, they didn’t fall straight to earth. They were slowed down by like baby parachutes and these floated in the air and they went where the wind took them. And as they were swaying they’d only got to touch a house and they’d go pssst, you see. That’s another thing they did. And I think it was the day after because I at that time had to evacuate to Kent because the firm I was working for temporarily before I, before I went into teaching was an insurance company that felt that they would be bombed the first day of the war. And I had, I worked a little while in London at the offices but a note came around saying the whole firm except for a skeleton staff would, they would stay in London. Very few. But the bulk of the firm which was a big one would be sent in to Kent where they’d leased a lovely big house in its own grounds. Big enough to accommodate the office and all its equipment and the rooms were turned into the offices. So, we, we were working in bedrooms with the typists and so on. The claims department was in a bedroom. All the filing was in a corridor. You know. And I was very happy down there near Tonbridge. If you know Tonbridge. And I used to travel up on the Green Line Bus every weekend when we, we either worked Saturday one week but the next week we finished on the Friday. Alternate you see. But whenever we finished I always got, at the end of this big house there was the London Road and the bus stop for the Green, what used to be called the Green Line Service. Like a country bus service. And that was a single decker which would take you from, all the way to London. To the coach station at Victoria and then I’d get a train up to where we lived and walk to my where I lived and see if my family were still alive. That was the kind of life I was living you know at the time. And then I returned to work on the Monday because I used to stay. If it was say if I finished on Friday at the office I’d arrive Friday night at home in London. Stay Friday night at home in London. Saturday in London. Even Sunday in London. But I had to get up very early in the morning to go back to Victoria to catch a train. No. Waterloo. I beg your pardon. Waterloo. To get a train to Sevenoaks and the firm down in Kent used to run a coach service from Sevenoaks which is before you get to Tonbridge. And that was the kind of life I was living you see. But when I got back on that Monday I didn’t hear anything from the family. There was only one telephone in this big house by the way. Under the stairs. But then a call came through. I’m in the claims office. Working in the claims office and the door opened and a person came through and said, ‘Can Mr Dellow please come to the phone.’ And this was very unusual. So I, my boss who was a very decent bloke he said, ‘You can go,’ he said. Off I went to the phone under the stairs and it was my father speaking to me saying, ‘I’ve got some bad news,’ he said, ‘Mum. Your mum’s very ill. Become very ill.’ And then he said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He said, ‘I can’t keep it from you,’ he said. ‘She’s died.’ And I was nineteen at the time and I must confess that I actually cried in the office. My boss was a very decent bloke and said, ‘You can’t stay like that,’ he said, ‘You go straight home now.’ And it was the most awful journey home and I met members of our friends who were going to the house where mum had died. She was still in the house and they were crying. It was an awful time. This was 1941. And my father told us what had happened. He said that although I’d seen her at the weekend and she seemed to be alright she went out shopping on the Tuesday I think it was. It may have been the Monday. She went to Clapham Junction where there was a big shopping centre. Not like they are now but I mean there were lots of shops where, it was a place she like going. It needed a bus. A little bus service. Not far. About a mile. While she was out apparently this is what, what my mother told my father when she had to go back home there and then. She couldn’t carry on shopping. So she got back. She staggered back somehow with this terrible headache she’d got. She got home and got worse in pain. Luckily, this was before the NHS of course we had our doctor, luckily enough that used to come to us when we needed him was not far away across the road where we lived. So he went across, told the doctor that my mother was very ill indoors and he came over pretty well straightaway and apparently he realised that my mother had had a stroke and that it’s what they called to do with the brain. You know the brain bursts or something or other and he said that, ‘If she lives she’d be just like a vegetable, you know. You know, you’ve got to remember that it’s better, the fact that she died.’ It sounds awful but that’s the case he said. And so that period of my life was very sad, and like you do you have to grin, well you don’t exactly grin. That’s the particular way. But I mean you’ve got to go on. You know, you’re still here aren’t you? That’s the attitude. That was the attitude of the war. Grin and bear it. Keep cheerful. Keep singing. Have singsongs and if you really must go to the pub and get sloshed [laughs]
DB: Which you did [laughs]
JD: We had a good old session up in London. This was after the war. But some I think your father was in the, no I don’t know whether he’d gone back in the Air Force or what. Anyway, now we used to get the last if you were up in London you see the last train from Victoria Station to our station near where we lived in Surrey which was Carshalton Beeches it was 11.38. Just gone half past eleven at night and luckily we caught the 11.38. And it was quite not about half hour journey in time you know normally. But having had plenty to drink and the movement of the train we both fell asleep. And when, the next thing was the door opened. The train was sealed and it was at a station you see. But it wasn’t Carshalton Beeches. It had gone on to the end of the line which was at Epsom. You know, Epsom. The races. And we had a long, long, in the black out. This was blackout there were no lights and we had to walk and got back indoors I think the Wallington clock was chiming three. It was 3 o’clock in the morning. So that kind of thing you know, you could get caught like that going to sleep on the train. So these things happened, didn’t they?
[recording paused]
It was on, on the training but they found that they found that the Manchester wasn’t at all reliable. The engines weren’t powerful enough and if, it only had two engines and if one failed you were more or less fall to earth whereas with the Lancaster you used to do training over the North Sea every morning before going to Germany. Test all the equipment. And Derek my pilot used to switch first of all one engine off. That meant we were flying on three. He’d knock another engine off. We were flying on two. He’d knock another engine off. We’d be flying on one. But if you flew on one you would gradually sink, because the one engine wasn’t quite powerful enough to keep you up at height. But most of our bombing was about twenty thousand feet and we didn’t have proper heating and we only got heat in the jacket you wore up here. Your legs would get frozen stiff. And we used to get little cartons of orange juice to take with us, and that used to get frozen solid so we couldn’t drink that. And we always took a pigeon with us in case we were crashed in, in the North Sea and we would tie a message to that pigeon’s leg you know and he’d fly back to your home base and they’d see that you were in the North Sea, and send a plane out to see if they could see you. In fact, when I was at Waddington which I think I’ve told you had to close down because of the, putting the concrete runway we were in bed in the morning, about three in the morning banging on the door. Woke up. ‘Hurry up. Go down to the crew room,’ which we did. ‘We hear a plane has landed or fallen in the North Sea you are now going on a square search,’ you know. And this was in the middle of summer and luckily although the sun was very powerful it made a mirage on the sea. If you’re up high and you’re looking at the sea for somebody, you get this shiny background of water glinting in the sun. And that very often puts you off seeing the chaps in the, in the dinghy you see. So, it wasn’t all. We never did find whoever had crashed. Which was must have been an awful experience. And if you were seen of course you would have been notified. They would send a message back to base and then they’d send people out to rescue you. But that was the only one we ever had to do. Searching for somebody in the sea.
[recording paused]
In Lincolnshire, and they’d blindfold us and go all round the roads in Lincolnshire and then you’d stop the thing somewhere miles from camp and they dropped you out and you were supposed to make your way back to base on your own. You know. That’s in case we landed, we had to land in Germany or France. Anywhere. To make us learn how to try and get back to base. We had compasses. Little compasses in our shoes and I think it was in the heel of your shoe I think it was. Yeah. All these little things. And I think I did get back to base anyway. Oh yeah. Lovely times. I enjoyed my life in the Air Force and in a way I wouldn’t have minded staying in. But there was a, I think the fact the country had spent so much money on the war. Fifteen million. We were told at that the time that the country was paying about fifteen million pounds a day to keep the war going which doesn’t sound so much these days but in those days that was a big, and then of course we borrowed money from America didn’t we? National debt which we’re paying now. I don’t know. That was, and America too I think is in debt, you know. I don’t know how these countries manage, do you? It baffles me. Money. Economics and how we keep going you know. We keep talking about an individual. lf you go over your own in the bank they pounce on you like you’re a criminal don’t they? You know. I’m limited to three hundred pounds if I go over my bank statement. Which isn’t much these days. And ever since I joined because when you become an officer all your money is paid into a bank. It’s with everyone now, isn’t it? But in those days if you weren’t commissioned you had to pay. You had pay out, go to a pay parade and stand in front of the officer who was doling out the money and when your name was called you went in front of the them at the table and saluted and he said, ‘Dellow, 1391826,’ you see. To make sure that you were the same person, and he’d give you the money which was half a crown a day to begin with. Once you went flying you got three half crowns a day which was seven and six. Still under a pound. The pound in those days you could buy so much with it. You know. Well, you had two hundred and forty pennies to the pound. It used to cost one penny on the bus to go from East Hill where I lived to Clapham Junction which was a mile. So that’s a penny a mile. That’s for the national newspaper one penny. Now what is it? Sixty pence a day, isn’t it?
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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Interview with James Albert Dellow
Creator
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Denise Boneham
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-06-17
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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.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ADellowJA170617
Conforms To
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Pending review
Format
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01:05:16 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
James ‘Jim’ Albert Dellow had to register the start of the war he as he was 18 years old. On being asked which service he would prefer, he opted for the Royal Air Force as a pilot. Whilst waiting for his call up, he worked in an insurance office in London, which was evacuated to Kent. Once called up in June 1941, he was sent to Scarborough for basic flying training in a Tiger Moth. In February 1942 he was sent to Canada for further training as a pilot, but he did not qualify and opted to become bomb aimer. He qualified in November 1942 at Trenton, Ontario. On arrival back in Great Britain, he trained on the Whitley before transferring to a heavy conversion unit based at RAF Waddington to fly Lancasters.
Posted to 44 Squadron his first flight was a Second Dicky flight with another crew to Stettin in April 1943. Though their aircraft was not hit, one flying alongside was and caught fire - there were no survivors. The worst operation that Jim recounts is one to Peenemünde. After dropping their bombs, they were attacked and damaged by a night fighter. Their pilot managed to get them back on three engines. As they landed at RAF Dunholme Lodge, only one wheel was working, and they spun off the runway crashing with no casualties. The pilot and navigator were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and Jim was mentioned in dispatches. After 30 operations Jim became an instructor based at RAF Silverstone. After the war he worked as a teacher.
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
England--Northamptonshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Kent
England--Scarborough
England--London
Canada
Ontario--Trenton
Poland
Poland--Szczecin
Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
England--Buckinghamshire
Ontario
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-06
1942-02
1942-11
1943-04
Contributor
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Nick Cornwell-Smith
Julie Williams
106 Squadron
44 Squadron
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Distinguished Flying Cross
forced landing
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
RAF Dunholme Lodge
RAF Silverstone
RAF Waddington
recruitment
searchlight
shot down
Tiger Moth
training
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/819/10802/AFerdinandoP151005.2.mp3
ea3791002b48362d4bf685008c54a6d0
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
Ferdinando, Pauline
P Ferdinando
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview withPauline Ferdinando. Her husband Harold Ferdinando was a navigator on Lancasters.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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
2015-10-05
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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Ferdinando, P
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Int: This interview is with Pauline Fernando, who is the widow of Harold, erm William, Ferdi, Ferdi for short, Fernando. Umm, it's the fifth of October at three forty three hours, and we're sitting in Pauline's home, with her son, Robert. Pauline, can you tell me how you met Ferdi, and a little bit of your relationship with him.
PF: Well, I met Ferdi at a canteen, which was opposite the bus station where they had to wait for the buses, and I came off duty, and I went to the, er, to join my mother and father in the canteen. I came out, and I had three tables, and this young man was sitting at one. And I said, 'can I help you?' and he said, 'yes, you certainly can'. And he said, 'I'm going to ask you for three, I want twelve toasted teacakes, and I'm going to marry you.' And I said, 'you must be mad, but I'll get you the toasted teacakes'. [chuckles]. He didn't tell me that his crew were coming in after, you see. And so that's why we got off to a funny start, in a way. And I went to my mother in the kitchen, and I gave her the order, and I said, 'that young man's a cookie. He's round the bend. He's going to marry me, he says.' And she was quite annoyed, and she said, 'and why shouldn't he want to marry you?' [laughs] Her chicken child. Subsequently we found out we were both only children, and I think that drew us together even more. Ferdi's mother came from Wales, and his father was an, er [slight pause] an orphan in, [aside] what do you call that big orphanage in London?
RF: Bernardo's?
PF: Bernardo's. And his mother died in childbirth, his childbirth. And that's all I know really about Ferdi's side of the family. And I was an only child, and my mother was, she was a secretary to somebody high up in the docks. And my father was an engineer, a marine engineer. So he was working on the docks at Immingham. So that's all you need to know really about the family. Because we didn't have any family, being only children, you see. And anyway, he said could he take me home. I said, 'no'. So he came in the next week, 'can I take you home?' I said, 'no'. [chuckles] This went on for six weeks, and I thought he deserves a medal for perseverance. Anyway, I let him, and we walked home, and he came in and had a cup of tea with Mummy and Daddy, and then he went, cycled back to Waltham, where he was flying from. Then he became Pauline's boyfriend, and we were always together. And he really was the love of my life. And, I really can't explain, how we got so close, in such a short time. Anyway, we, we went on picnics and things like that. And he'd never been on a picnic, and as I says, having met his mother, I know why. And he asked me to marry me then, to get engaged. And he said, 'I'm going to ask your father'. So we went home, and he asked Daddy, and Daddy said, 'No way. Not yet. She's only just seventeen'. I was, actually. So, we sort of kept quiet for a bit, and then, as it happened, I think Mummy gave him a few nudges of pillow talk [laughs], and he said, 'it's no good, can I take her to a Mess dance?' 'Yes', he said, 'but realise you're not going to get any, I want her home by ten o' clock'. I always had to be in at ten o' clock. Well, we had such a lovely time at the dance, and we got on the bus to come home, and the bus and a taxi collided. It couldn’t have been worse, could it, because the taxi driver wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't admit it, and the police were called. And there we were looking at his watch, and I said, 'it's quarter to ten'. He said, ' I know. I know what I'll do.' So he went out to the policeman, and he said, 'my young lady's in the back, and she's got to be home at ten o' clock'. And he said, 'I want to marry her, and if she's late, her father won't let me'. So he said, 'what do you want me to do, son?' He said, 'will you write a note telling them what's happened, and sign it?' And he did, too. And the next day, when my father went to work, he found this policeman at the gate, absolutely convulsed with laughter. He said, 'I've got a note for you'. And Daddy read it and said, 'oh, that's why they were late.' So he said, 'yes, that's why they were late, they were absolutely having a fit'. So he said, 'ok'. So that passed off very nicely. But I never went to a staff, one of the dances again until I was well and truly engaged [laughs]. Well. Eventually, eventually Daddy said yes, we could be engaged, but not married. Not yet. So he said, 'alright, but I shall keep on nagging you, Mr Borrow'. So he did. And we went out together, and Mummy and Daddy realised it was the right thing, and he eventually said yes. And we were over the moon. Oh, we didn't know what to do with ourselves, you know. Then he said, 'but you're not going to get married, she can't get married until she's eighteen. At least. Better still, twenty.' And I said, 'oh, you can't do that.' So, anyway. Pause.
Int: Lovely, we've got seven minutes, so far. It's lovely.
PF: It's entirely different to the first one, I bet.
RF: No, the content's pretty much the same. One or two extras you've got in there.
Int: Actually, it's better.
RF: You're more confident, I think, and obviously, having gone through it once you remembered a few more things, didn't you.
PF: Yes.
Int: So, if you carry on from about, um, how you went on during your engagement.
PF: During the engagement?
RF: Yes up to when you got married, and well, leading up to your marriage. Which is Stilburn[?]
PF: Yes, 'cos you didn't do that sort of thing.
RF: No, no, no, not carrying that carry on.
PF: [laughs] So, all this time of course, Ferdi was flying ops, and I could hear them go out, and hear them come in. And I used to ring up the station every lunch time, and spend my lunch hour finding out if S for Sugar was back. And one night it didn't come back, and I nearly died. She said, 'he's been, a German fighter followed him in, and they took off again and they'd gone to another aerodrome. But don't worry, he'll be back again tonight'. He was back again tonight, and back to Berlin. How they didn't get frightened, I don't know. I said, 'don't you get frightened of going up night after night?'. He said, 'no, why should I, I've got you to come home to'. And he said, 'I've got a long lock of your hair. What could harm me?' I thought, 'oh, my'. I thought to myself, 'my God, I wish I could be as sure', you know. I was sure really. I thought that our love would get us through. And it did, thank God. But he did an awful lot of trips; Peenemunde, and well, you see in there.
RF: Yeah, Turin.
PF: Oh, yeah. Penemunde was hard. And he went to Dresden, and he said that Dresden was horrible. But he said it wasn't the bombs that did it, it was the big wind that came up. But he said that nobody believes that. And then, so forth and so with, we went on, through a very loving courtship. We did all, we did such exciting things, like I sat at home while he held wool for me, while I did a ball of wool from a hank. And if you think what does a [unclear] do today, that's awful, awful funny, isn't it? [chuckles] And we used to go to the pier. And we went to a dance with my mother and father, and Ferdi wasn't a very good dancer. He couldn't do the round waltz, and Mummy said, 'Ill teach you the round waltz, son'. So they went round and round, and he got dizzy, and Mummy sat down on the edge of the dance- er, what do you call it, where they do the band, bandstand, and he said, 'you'll have to excuse her, I'm teaching her to waltz'. And she said, 'you cheeky little hound!' [laughs] And then, from then on there was no stopping Mum and Ferdi, they were pals, well, they'd been pals from the start, really. And, erm, he user to come in, and eventually mummy said, 'well, we have a spare room, if you're not flying tomorrow, don't go, you can stay here, if you're allowed to.' So when he wasn't flying, and he had a day off, he was there, and he'd [coughs], excuse me, he'd meet me from work, and we'd go for a walk with my dog, and all sorts of humble little things, but they had a cloud of gold round them.[sound of recorder switching off, then on] Well, really, it sounds as though he was soppy, he wasn't, he was a brave boy. And the boy turns into a man, and as a man he was even better. Sorry [through tears], but you know, way back in the old days [pause]. Is that alright?
Int: Yes, that's lovely, that's lovely. Keep going, you're doing really, really well. Doing really well. If you want to have a quick break, and think about you can. Alright?
PF: You don't want the wedding, do you?
Int: Yeah!
RF: [Chuckles]
PF: Eh?
Int: Yeah, everything.
PF: [aside to RF] What else? Can you think of all the other places he went to?
RF: Oh well, it's all in here, but I mean, well, er, I think this is normal because it always records under each -
PF: Peenemunde he didn't like doing because a lot of our boys got killed.
RF: It was a volunteered one, wasn't it.
PF: Yes.
Int: Did he do Op Manna? Did he do Op Manna, where they dropped the, dropped the food to the, er, the Dutch?
RF: Oh, after, er during the war? Just after the war, Yes, and he also did, erm.
Int: Berlin.
RF: That's it, cos he, erm -
PF: The other thing I've remembered is that when he's bombed, you see, he has the name Ferdinando, and he was born in Germany, in the first World War his father was posted overseas in the army of occupation there, and Ferdi was born there. And in the second World War he bombed the daylights out of it. But he said he, they never aimed at anything, you know, they tried not to, anyway, but he said after all, they started this war, and they bombed Coventry and they bombed London, and they didn't care about anything. So really, as they said, um, as Bomber Harris said, they are now reap the whirlwind. And they did. But to see a young, fresh-faced lad, as he was, grow into the man he was, his son can guarantee that, he was wonderful. And he stayed in af- he stayed in so many years after, and that's when we were sent to Germany as [pause] second World War's, what do you call it, army of occupation. And so, so it went on from there. And the children went with me, I went with him, and wherever he was posted, I went. And a lot of the people sent the children to boarding school, but not me. I wanted them with me, I wanted the loved ones with me. And Ferdi didn't insist on that, either. He wanted his family, and he was a family man. And he was a great sportsman, er, he played for the RAF [unclear], he actually shot for the RAF at Bisley, and he won the cup for them. When he was at Binbrook, that was. And we went, we went to different, you know, stations after the war. Wherever there was a vacancy, and someone wanted to, you know, and then of course, he became, [pause] what do they call it now, I've forgotten. You'll have to excuse the forgetfulness. When [pause], can't remember, when they took over from someone who was, you know, going somewhere else. We went right round Lincolnshire like that. Wonderful. Then we went to Bath, and we went to all sorts of places. In fact-
RF: Was it Adjutant? Was it an Adjutant?
PF: Yes, that's what it was, he was Flying Wing Adj. So he didn't do so bad. And I must admit, that I don't think that my two boys missed any, er, Command, when he was taking the salute. Never missed one. I had to stand with them in the rain, the snow, the frost, and we loved it. That was our Daddy [chuckles]. And, well, then he eventually came out of the RAF. But it was, while it was there, it was the most wonderful life. Mind you, I was lucky, I had a wonderful husband.
Int: Tell me a little bit more about his crew. Did you meet-
PF: Oh, his crew. Well one, Paddy, was the, erm, can't think what he was, er, I think he was the, er, Navigator, but Ferdi was a Navigator, but, Bomb Aimer, but also he could fly the plane. He'd been to, he was trained in Canada, to be a Pilot. [aside] oh, thank you [pause] Bomb Aimer, oh yes, this, Mike Finnelly? Was the Wireless Operator, was as nutty as fruit cake, and the Mid Upper Gunner was , I can't read this, I haven't got my glasses on, and, I don't know some of these, cos I don't know, you know, we had just a few people. The Pilot was, oh I should know that because he got a medal for it-
RF: Will Brook.
PF: Brook, that's right. Brook. Then the, er, rear gunner was Jimmy Flynn, and he came from the other side of the Island, and he was tiny, and the other was a tall one. And he, too, married a Grimsby girl. Cos he always said that the Grimsby girls were the best girls. [laughs] And the Nottingham people say that their girls are the best girls. They're all the best girls. And so it went on. And life became, to me, one load of love, affection, happiness with my children, and a wonderful life. And we were married, would have been married [aside] sixty nine years this year? Forty four we were married, yes. Well, we were married a devil of a long time. I'm only looking out the window cos. Anyway, after the honeymoon, which didn't take place, because he was called for special duties, and so we had a week in the Yorkshire Moors later on, and then all the crew got leave as well, you see. So we thought about them as well, you see [chuckles]. And it was wonderful. We, I rode on the Yorkshire Moors until he threw me [laughs] and then I had to walk home. We were going to this big hotel at, er, I can't even remember where I went on honeymoon. Anyway, we went, we stopped off to ask the way, was it Morecambe, somewhere like that, by a policeman, and he said, 'how do you get to there?' He said, 'you just got married'. I said, ' how do you know that?' He said, ' you're covered in confetti, dear.' [laughs] So I said, 'oh, I thought we'd got rid of all that.' And he said, 'take my advice, and go to the Falcon Inn on the Moors. You'll have a wonderful holiday there.' And they hadn't any room. They'd got a caravan in the grounds at the back. Of course, that sounded wonderful to us. On our own, in a caravan, oh boy. And so he said, 'but I'm not going to let you have it until you go up to the next Inn, and see if you can get in there.' So we said, 'alright.' So we walked, we drove away, we sat and had a cunnuddle, a canoodle in the car, and went back and said, 'they're full up'. Lying our heads off, we'd never even been in. And so we had eventually a honeymoon in the Yorkshire Moors. It was going to be in London, but there we are, it didn't happen. But it couldn't have been a better honeymoon [chuckles]. And so. Life went on. And we had a wonderful time, because there was a big hotel on the cliffs, and of course they were on rations. Now I don't know where these people got their rations from, but the food was fantastic. And there was a lot of civilians there, and one had a, what do you call those cars that the police always ran, the, er, Rovers. And we had a tatty little Austin Seven, that I bought for my husband as a wedding present. Cost me all of twenty quid, and I was broke after that [laughs]. And we used to stop at every dump to see if we could find anything for the car. [laughs] Because, if you ran over thirty, I used to sit holding the roof on, cos it was a cabriolet. But it went many miles. And we didn't have the children then, so, good job, wasn't it. And so. Do you want any more? Oh God, I think I'll have to-
Int: Tell me a little about your life in Immingham, during the war.
PF: Oh, yes. Well, I was a hairdresser. And, er, of course Immingham became a naval station, and er, whatsiname, er, Prince Phillip's bod. Mountbatten. Mountbatten was there, and he was loved by everybody. And he used to come in have his hair cut, and, 'cos downstairs was the lad-, no, downstairs was the gents, barbers and haircuts, and upstairs was the ladies salon, you see. And I got all sorts of people up there. The [pause] Dowager Drogheda from Ireland, and all sorts of people like that. And I used to earn an extra couple of bob if I took her dog out for a wee. So, nobody wanted to do it, it was too [unclear]. 'Pauline, you don't want to do that'. I said, 'I want the two bob'. [laughs]. Because I was saving up for a present for Ferdi. And so it went on, like that. The boys in the Navy supplied all the fruit and the stuff for my wedding cake, because my mother and father would say, 'who's going on leave tomorrow?', and they'd put their hands up, and he'd say, 'I've got a bed for two'. And so, because Immingham was, I don't know how many miles it was to Grimsby, but it had a tram, and the tram didn't get in until the first train had left, and so they lost a day of their holiday. So once Daddy found out that, he used to say every time, I mean he'd come down and there'd be sailors all over the blooming place. On the chairs, you know. But Mummy and Daddy loved people, and they couldn't do enough for the boys. So, really, [aside] you remember them, don't you? He's not going to talk to me now. Anyway, what else have I got? I got onto, the honeymoon and that was that, and then he came back and went on to Ops. Did a second tour. That was the day we got back. And so we went through all the agony of Berlin, and all the rest of the others. But, I knew he'd come back, because he'd said he would. And he did. What else do you want? I'm nearly worn out.
Int: That's okay. You're doing really, really well.
PF: I'm going to these places, I'm seeing them, that's the trouble.
Int: No, no that's ideal. You're bringing a bit of life to it because you're doing that. So, no, it's lovely. You could talk a little bit more, er about, er, about how you felt, perhaps, um, about Ferdi being on Ops, you know, how you felt when you knew he was on Ops. Or, or, if you'd prefer, you could just talk about how the war affected you, apart from, obviously, having sailors all over the shop [laughs]. How the war affected you in other ways.
PF: Yes, well, it was very. I'll start again, if you like. It was dramatic being married to an airman, but then I was only one of many, and the ladies who were married to Naval men went through even worse, I think. And of course, the poor girls who were married to soldiers who went out east, and that was murder for them. But, because I worked with one of the wives of one of ones in a prisoner of war camp in Japan, in Japanese hands, on the Death Railway, and, this is a little ad lib, I went to the cinema with my mother, and you don't probably remember the Gaumont News, no, well the news came on, and it showed you these people in the camps. How they'd got it out, I don't know. And I said, when I went back to work, 'Go see it, because I don't know what your husband looks like'. And she actually saw her husband. Actually I don't think it did her good because he was skin and bone, and the manager of the Gaumont cinema let her in every night at news night, so she could watch it. So she, she and I had a bond then. And one of those little things that you did in the war, you helped each other. It's a shame it doesn't go on now, but there we are. That was a different time, a different age. Blimey [pause], I'm ninety [pause], so really, it's a long time ago. [Pause] What else do you want? {Tape machine noises] I'm just trying to think. I don't think I can do much more because I don't remember it all.
Int: No, no, you're doing extremely well. Extremely well.
RF: I think it's quite good, actually.
Int: Yeah. And you're bringing lots of little things like, little side lines.
PF: Well, you had to help each other in the war, didn't you?
Int: Yeah.
PF: [Chuckles] And I always remember [rustling as tape machine moved]. One of the things I do remember, like the canteen, was a couple of Americans came in. And I didn't know whether they were Officer, or other ranks, I didn't know anything about them. And I served them, and the erm, my father said, 'they're not supposed to be in here, Pauline'. So I said, 'why not?', and he said, 'because they've got their own place by the, across the road'. He said, 'but they seem happy enough' Well, they tried to come in every time, because they liked it so much. [chuckles] Anyway, they wanted to meet my mother and father, you see. So I said, 'if you meet me from work, I'll take you home, and you can have supper with us'. Which was fish and chips from the fish shop. And, that, er, that's how the, how I got to know I'd been talking to a quite high up officer. I didn't know who he was from Adam. And Mummy and Daddy [unclear], and he carried on coming to see Mum and Dad all the time he was there. But you dare not say anything, like, 'oh, I'm sorry we haven't got that, we can't get it now', because the next day a bloody great tin would come up. You know, of Pineapple, or something like that. They were very, very, helpful, you know, kind and considerate. And they got a bad pasting, really, because they weren't, they weren't really as bad as they were made out to be. They were nice boys, just like ours were. And they had mothers waiting for them. Anyway, they corresponded with my mother and father until well after the war. Any how, Daddy got, in, back at the Navy, in the dockyard, he got interested in one of the divers. And you know that in those days they had big hats on, didn't they. And he went down, and he said, 'co, aren't you frightened down there?' He said, 'no, no I'm not. If you know what you're doing'. And that boy, or man he would be, again corresponded with my parents until long after the war. So you see, by bringing a little bit of kindness, you got kindness back. But that, they don't seem to realise that, these days. What you give, you get back. And that goes both ways. If you're rotten to somebody, you expect to be rotten to somebody back to you.
Int: Tell me a little bit about when war first started, and you, you must have been still at school then.
PF: Yes, I was. Of course I thought it was exciting. Of course I didn't know any better. And I can remember they had an Evening Telegraph, the Grimsby Evening Telegraph, and he stood on the corner of the main road, and he said, as Mummy and I were coming up the street, she'd been to meet me from school, and he said, 'read all about it. War's started.' And I remember that. And I remember I said to my mother,' what does he mean the war's starting, Mummy?' And she said, you'll find out soon enough, dear.' And she didn't tell me, and I gathered, slowly, and I realised that I was, you know, when I grew up, that I was part of that war. But I don't think, - Oh, I gave blood. Well I thought I was ever so brave, I gave blood. And I collected stamps for them, and all sorts of things like that. But, my father was in the Home Guard. 's a lovely story, this, because Daddy, as soon as he was, he was a Sergeant, you know, in the Home Guard, and he went out on duty, and the other sergeants said to him, 'Oh, Jack, will you go down that lane and don't let anyone go by it will you, because we don't want them in there.' So Daddy went and did as he was told, and two hours later the man came back, and he says,' Oh, good, it's not gone off, then.' He said, 'What?'. And he says, 'you've been guarding an unexploded bomb, boy.' [Laughs] And he says, 'Good God, I didn't know that'. He says, 'No, but if you'd known that, you wouldn't have stayed, would you?' [Laughs] And the other thing, when they bombed, I didn't have a bicycle, but my dad did, and I used to go everywhere on my father's bike, very un-lady-like, of course, and I went to see how my grandma was, she lived the other side of town, and I do remember this, because I'll never forget it, a little girl had got a basket, and she'd got some of these dollies and teddies and sweeties in her basket, and the warden was going very gingerly towards her and saying, 'Sweetheart, put that down, and I'll find you some more up here, and then we'll get them all together.' And he was sweating, I remember, and the little girl put it down, and she said, 'Now, I'll have to tell my mummy about this, won't I?' And he said, 'Yes.' They only had to touch them sometimes and they went off, and she'd got three of them in this little basket. So I went and saw that my grandma was alright, and er. We had a wedding reception, by the way. I do remember this. I'm back-tracking now. And, um, it was difficult to get one, to get everyone togther, you know. I mean, I had to get leave co-ordinated and, we went to the [pause], oh I've forgotten the name of the place now. Anyway, it's in Cleethorpes, and it's opposite the only, Grimsby was the only town, place, that played always away, because their football was just over the, into Cleethorpes. So, I always remember that. Anyway, we got this lovely, lovely reception, you know because it was very difficult to get food. And we all went back, we were supposed to go off to London, of course, but that was all up the creek. So we went back to my mother's house, and everybody that could went with us. And I got changed, and said, 'Where's our taxi, Mummy?' And she said, 'Oh, it's outside'. And somebody had pinched it. [laughs] And so we got on the trolley bus and went home and said, 'Oh we've got to go and collect Grandma'. And [unclear] went and collected my grandma, and she came to the wedding reception on her, you know. So, everybody was happy, and of course, we had nothing, nothing to drink, of course, you know, there was nothing there, and Mummy hadn't got food for all these people, so my Maid of Honour, Betty, said, 'I know. Everybody here like fish and chips?' And they all said yes, and I looked at my mother in law, [chuckles], and I said, 'Yes, we love them'. So she went to Charlies which was down the road, and she said, 'Can we have twenty five pieces and chips?', and he says, 'What's going on?' And so she said, 'Well, Pauline got married today'. He said, 'My little Pauline?' She said, 'Yes, she's grown up'. So he said, ' Oh, I'll have to get her something different.' So he did all that, then he came out with a big dish with two lovely plaice on it, where'd he'd got this plaice from, I don't know, and chips all the way round it, and 'Love from Charlie' on it. [laughs] And we sat down in the middle of the floor, with all our friends around us, and tucked in to fish and chips. And that was the funniest wedding reception you've ever seen, a posh one and an un-posh one. But that was our life; we were up, and down. We didn't care. [tape noises] Was that the end? [unclear] So having consumed the fish and chips, Grandma decided she'd go home, and they took her home in a taxi, and everybody went down to the Yarborough Arms to have a drink, except the old ones, you know. Needless to say Ferdi's mum and dad didn't, well my mum and dad didn't, because had to stay with them, didn't they [chuckles}, and my boss, where I worked as a hairdresser, had booked us a room in the Yarborough Hotel. It's right outside the station. And so we went to the Yarborough Hotel, we slipped away from the drinkers, and got down there, and I put the wrong name down, didn't I? {laughs] He said, 'You're not a Borritt any longer, you're a Ferdinando.' I said, 'Id forgot that'. He said, ' You go up, and I'll come up later.' So we laughed our heads off when we got up there, they'd given us twin beds. So we fooled them, we slept in both. [laughs]. And I saw, in the snowstorm, I saw off my groom, the best man, and sidesman all back to war. And I cried all the way home, because there was no buses and, in the snow, but it was the most wonderful wedding. No one could have had better, not even the Princess and the Prince. [Tape noises] And I must admit, I didn't get warm for a couple of days, because there were no windows in the church, and the organ was bombed, and the church was bombed, but my father was a choir boy in his youth, and his choir-master played piano, the grand piano for us, and we had everything that went with it. And we had Leibestraum [cries] Snivel. Because I've had Leibestraum every anniversary since, [through tears] because it is love, it's about love. Oh, I'm getting maudlin [laughs].
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Pauline Ferdinando
Creator
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Denise Boneham
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-10-05
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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.
Type
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Sound
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AFerdinandoP151005
Format
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00:40:58 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Description
An account of the resource
Pauline Fernando, widow of Harold William Fernando, reminisces her late husband. His father was posted in Germany after the First world War, where he met his wife. During the war he was stationed at Binbrook, Bath, and other stations, carrying out operations to Berlin, Peenemunde, Dresden, and Turin, followed by Operation Manna. Eventually he became a flying wing adjutant before retiring. She discusses meeting her husband and his family, family life, engagement and marriage, and wartime moral.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Somerset
Germany--Berlin
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Dresden
Italy--Turin
Italy
Germany
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
home front
love and romance
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
RAF Binbrook
-
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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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Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association
Description
An account of the resource
97 items. The collection concerns Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association and contains items including drawings by the artist Ley Kenyon.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Robert Ankerson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
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2018-01-29
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.
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RAF ex POW As Collection
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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Letter to Dorothy Wilkinson from Donald Flett
Description
An account of the resource
A letter and transcript to Charlie Warner's sister from Donald Flett. Donald was the sole survivor of the Lancaster crash.
Creator
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Donald Flett
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945-07-08
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Great Britain
England--Cambridge
Germany--Peenemünde
Poland--Szczecin
Germany--Munich
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Lingen (Lower Saxony)
Poland
Germany
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Correspondence
Format
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Three handwritten and one printed sheet
Identifier
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SAnkersonR[Ser#-DoB]v20007, SAnkersonR[Ser#-DoB]v20008, SAnkersonR[Ser#-DoB]v20009, SAnkersonR[Ser#-DoB]v20010
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription
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
Temporal Coverage
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1943-09-03
1943-09-04
Is Part Of
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Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association. Charlie Warner
air gunner
aircrew
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
final resting place
killed in action
navigator
pilot
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1009/19008/NMadgettHR190610-01.1.jpg
f81e8e220b94581f47df2ed44bb907b4
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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Madgett, Hedley Robert
H R Madgett
Description
An account of the resource
250 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer Hedley Madgett DFM (1922 - 1943, 147519, 1330340 Royal Air Force), a pilot with 61 Squadron. He was killed 18 August 1943 on the last operation of his tour from RAF Syerston to Peenemünde. The collection consists of letters, postcards and telegrams to his parents while he was training in the United Kingdom and Canada. In addition the collection contains memorabilia, documents from the Air Training Corps, artwork, a railway map, diaries, medals as well as his logbook, photographs of people, places and aircraft. Also contains letters of condolence to parents and a sub collection containing a photograph album with 44 items of his time training in Canada'.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Joan Madgett and Carol Gibson, and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.<br /><br /><span>Additional information on Hedley Madgett is available via the </span><a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/114690/" title="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/madgett-hr/ ">IBCC Losses Database</a><span>.</span>
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
2015-03-17
2019-06-14
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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Madgett, H
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[inserted] EVENING NEWS AUG 18/1943. [/inserted]
R.A.F. SHATTER ’SE[missing letters]
BIG RAID ON BALTIC COAST: 41 MISSING
‘Forts’ Wreck Two Other Vital Plants: Berlin Bombed, Too
IN the last 24 hours three huge factories vital to German armaments productions have been shattered by the Allied air forces.
R.A.F. bombers during the night flew to the Baltic coast town of Peenemunde, 60 miles north-west of Stettin, to make a heavy attack in bright moonlight on the “secret” research and development establishment there, the largest of its kind in Germany. Forty-one bombers are missing from the night’s operations.
This attack followed blows by U.S. Flying Fortresses raiding in daylight on –
Regensburg, on the Danube, site of Germany’s second largest aircraft factory, where the latest type of Messerschmitt fighters are made; and
Schweinfurt, 65 miles east of Frankfurt, where there are important ball-bearing works.
After raiding Regensburg the Fortresses flew on another 1,000 miles over the Alps to land at bases in North Africa.
The R.A.F.’s night attack was the first on Peenemunde. The Air Ministry communiqué announcing the raid went on:
[Italics] First reports indicate that the attack was well concentrated. A great number of enemy aircraft were encountered along the route. Several of these were destroyed.
Mosquitoes bombed objectives in Berlin.
Fighter Command intruders carried out many attacks on airfields and railway targets in France, the Low Countries, and North-West Germany. Four enemy aircraft were destroyed. Forty-one bombers and one fighter are missing. [/italics]
The attack on Peenemunde was made in conditions approximating to daylight. Like the U.S. attacks on Schweinfurt and Regensburg, it was a precision attack on a special objective of outstanding importance in the air war. The Peenemunde establishment deals with high-grade development work on aircraft, radiolocation and armaments.
Biggest Day of the War
These latest Allied raids, together with simultaneous attacks carried out yesterday on German airfields in Northern France and on air bases near Marseilles by bombers from North Africa, make up thhe [sic] most intensive day in the air since the war began.
To-day’s German communiqué reporting on the raids, said:
“The enemy dropped a large number of H.E. and incendiary bombs on places on the North German coast during the night. There were civilian casualties. Night fighters and A.A. guns shot down at least 37 aircraft.
“Enemy air formations which flew over Southern Germany in daylight yesterday lost 51 four engined bombers and five fighters. In two South German towns civilians suffered casualties.”
10 MILES OF SMOKE
Great Factory in Flames
The attacks by Fortresses on Regensburg and Schweinfurt celebrated the first anniversary of their initial blow at Europe.
Returning crews were jubilant over the results of the attack on Schweinfurt, reporting smoke billowing up to 10,000 feet over the target. A reconnaissance pilot later reported that smoke had risen 20,000 feet and was drifting for 10 miles.
Preliminary reports on Regensburg stated. “Regensburg appears really well pranged. Plenty craters. Smoke issuing from factory buildings.”
The Vital Targets
Brig.-Gen. Frederick L. Anderson, the Commanding General Eighth U.S. Air Force Bomber Command, said this after the raids:
”The recent attacks into Germany surely have caused the enemy to doubt the safety of any part of Axis Europe. Penetrations much deeper than any which some of our critics thought possible were but the beginning of the Daylight Battle of Germany. Germany is now wide open – no part secure.
“Between Our Jaws”
“We have celebrated this anniversary by sending out two large forces of Fortresses deep into Germany. One of these forces is continuing on south, almost a thousand more miles beyond its target, to Africa.
“We have taken up the ‘shuttle service’ across Europe, a service which was started by the R.A.F., but which both Air Forces will now carry out while demonstrating beyond all doubt that the end of German power is but a matter of time.
Allied Air Forces in Africa have now contacted those from England, and German [sic] is between their jaws.
“Although we cannot say that the end actually is in sight, the eventual end, the ultimate collapse of German resistance, due to the ever-spreading bomb cancer, certainly is obvious and inevitable.
“The real results of strategic, precision bombing can never be spectacularly or immediately apparent. But the final effects of the prolonged bombing of this kind are as inevitable as the chain of events necessary to build an enemy aeroplane. We are breaking that chain in several places and many other chains along with it.”
INVASION PRELUDE
Stockholm. Wednesday. – The Germans regard the Fortress bombardments of French airfields as the prelude to the invasion of France, say Berlin messages. – A.P.
FIRST “PRECISION BLOW” AT NIGHT
WE RAN THE GAUNTLET TO PEENEMUNDE
By Our Air Correspondent
THE important tactical feature of the attack on Peenemunde was that it was the first precision attack at night. Unlike the customary practice of saturating a target area embracing many industrial buildings, our bombers went out to bomb one particular building.
Ordinarily, identification of such a selected target at night is very difficult; to pin-point such a target at night it is necessary to wait for such conditions as bright moonlight, which gives an almost daylight effect, and clear weather.
Of course, such conditions have a disadvantage in that they expose our bombers to greater dangers from enemy night fighters. This would account for the losses last night. Peenemunde involves a round trip of nearly 1,300 miles, and our bombers would have had to run the gauntletf [sic] rom [sic] swarms of night fighters operating from the north-west coast of Germany, Denmark, and the whole Baltic area.
Selection of the works at Peenemunde fits into the present policy of reducing the offensive and defensive power of the Luftwaffe by striking at production and operational bases. Radiolocation production has been badly hit by two attacks – one on Friedrichshafen on June 20 and the other on Peenemunde last night.
[map]
[italics] Included in the air attacks of the past 36 hours have been raids on airfields and railways in the Calais-Lille-Poix area and other objectives in the Low Countries and North-West Germany. [/italics]
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Title
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Big raid on Baltic coast: 41 missing
Description
An account of the resource
Newspaper account of Peenemunde operation. Notes attack on secret research and development establishment. Followed United States Fortress attack on Regensburg and Schweinfurt. Desribes all attacks.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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1943-08-18
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One newspaper cutting
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eng
Type
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Text
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NMadgettHR190610-01
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Spatial Coverage
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Germany--Regensburg
Germany--Schweinfurt
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
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.
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Evening News
Temporal Coverage
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1943-08-18
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Claire Monk
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Workflow A completed
B-17
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Mosquito
propaganda
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1009/19015/NMadgettHR190610-11.2.jpg
67a530d230ebc021f4ea9158bff183dc
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Title
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Madgett, Hedley Robert
H R Madgett
Description
An account of the resource
250 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer Hedley Madgett DFM (1922 - 1943, 147519, 1330340 Royal Air Force), a pilot with 61 Squadron. He was killed 18 August 1943 on the last operation of his tour from RAF Syerston to Peenemünde. The collection consists of letters, postcards and telegrams to his parents while he was training in the United Kingdom and Canada. In addition the collection contains memorabilia, documents from the Air Training Corps, artwork, a railway map, diaries, medals as well as his logbook, photographs of people, places and aircraft. Also contains letters of condolence to parents and a sub collection containing a photograph album with 44 items of his time training in Canada'.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Joan Madgett and Carol Gibson, and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.<br /><br /><span>Additional information on Hedley Madgett is available via the </span><a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/114690/" title="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/madgett-hr/ ">IBCC Losses Database</a><span>.</span>
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-03-17
2019-06-14
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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.
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Madgett, H
Transcribed document
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[inserted] EVENING STANDARD 19TH AUG. 1943 [/inserted]
R.A.F. Hit New Vital Target
BOMBER COMMAND LAST NIGHT MADE A HEAVEY ATTACK ON A NEW AND VITAL TARGET – GERMANY’S LARGEST AND MOST IMPORTANT RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT ESTABLISHMENT.
This is at Pennemunde, on the Baltic coast, 60 miles north-west of Stettin. It had not been raided before.
The attack was made in bright moonlight – so bright that conditions approximated to daylight.
“First reports indicated that the attack was well concentrated, say an Air Ministry communique.
“A great number of enemy aircraft were encounters “Several of these were destroyed
“Mosquitoes bombed objective on Berlin.
“Fighter command intruders carried out many attacks on air fields and railways targets in France, the Low Countries and North-West Germany.
“Four enemy aircraft were destroyed. 41 bombers and one fighter are missing.”
This is the heaviest loss Bomber Command have borne since the night of June 21, when 44 were lost on a heave attack on Krefeld.
The attack should be considered in conjunction with the United States raids yesterday on Schweinfurt and Regensburg. All were precision blows at special objectives of outstanding importance.
The Peenemunde establishment deals with high grade development work on aircraft, radiolocation and armament.
There were also raid alerts in Northern Italy last night, for the fourth successive night, but there has been no report of any attack by home-based bombers.
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Title
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RAF hit new vital target
Description
An account of the resource
Article on attack on new and vital target - Germany's largest and most important research and development establishment - Peenemunde. Mosquitos attacked Berlin and Fighter Command intruders carried out attacks on airfields. Heaviest Bomber Command losses since 21 June 1943.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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1943-08-19
Format
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One newspaper cutting
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Identifier
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NMadgettHR190610-11
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Spatial Coverage
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Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Peenemünde
Temporal Coverage
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1943-08-17
1943-08-18
1943-08-19
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.
Creator
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Evening Standard
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Claire Monk
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Mosquito
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/747/9291/PColingE1801.2.jpg
97e5d0f04aa9913fabe0372cf5d19013
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/747/9291/AColingE180110.2.mp3
f279c932578c3e2113a72ab674384a53
Dublin Core
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Title
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Coling, Eric
E Coling
Description
An account of the resource
10 items. The collection concerns Eric Frederick Coling (1921 - 2018 1481171 Royal Air Force) and contains his memoir, photographs, log book, service documents, letters and an oral history interview. Eric flew operations as a bomb aimer with 50 Squadron before ditching, drifting for several days and time and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection was catalogued by Lynn Corrigan.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-01-10
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.
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Coling, E
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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This is Gary Rushbrooke for the International Bomber Command Centre on the 10th of January 2018 and because of illness I am going to narrate the story of Warrant Officer Eric Coling with his permission. When Eric was four his father who was a London Midland Scottish Railway guard died leaving Eric’s mother to bring him up and his sister Muriel who was eight at the time, on her own. Eric’s mother’s railway pension was ten shilling a week and her rent was also ten shillings a week so she was compelled to take in lodgers. The Railways in the 1920s made extensive use of lodging houses for workers such as guards and drivers who needed to stay overnight before returning home with another train the next day to London or Birmingham for example. To make room for lodgers Muriel had to go and live in a Railway Servant’s Orphanage in Derby and at the age of six Eric joined her. Their mother visited them once a month and they spent four weeks in August at home for a summer holiday. Eric had a tough but practical schooling at the orphanage which was home to around three hundred children. On arrival at the age of six his first lesson was if you want something doing do it yourself. The boy’s warden was an ex-Navy chief petty officer called Joe Peach who divided the boys in to four teams. Nelson, Raleigh, Drake and Collingwood. I was in Nelson. You had to work your way up within the team. Joe Peach was strict but fair. By the age of ten Eric was working in the school’s kitchen garden where they grew all their own vegetables. He learned to mend his own shoes and attend boxing classes. He was told, ‘Don’t start a fight but never walk away from one. And don’t strike the first blow but make sure your first blow counts.’ Sundays were fully devoted to religious activities. The Collect with breakfast which the children were expected to learn. Then morning service. I went to the Congregational Church because my mother was a non-conformist. We were just a small group and I enjoyed it because they made a fuss of us. Sunday School occupied the afternoon and then bible stories and choruses in the evening such as, “And the Burden of My Heart Rolled Away,” And, “I Lost It On Calvary’s Hill.” And I can still remember every word. Eric was a bright pupil and was top of the class but by fourteen was itching to leave and get a job. He went for an interview for a job on the Railway. You had to be five foot tall so Eric was measured. He was told to stand on tiptoes and then, ‘You’ll do lad,’ said the man. So, in early 1936 Eric started working in the signal box at Altofts Junction. He worked a twenty four hour shift system and forty eight hours a week. Sunday was my day off and nights and any hours worked on a Sunday were paid as overtime on top of the basic wage of sixteen shilling a week. He worked as a train recorder who assisted the signalman and logged the handovers of the trains from one box to the next. The signal box at Altofts was complex. There were three up lines, slow freight, fast freight and main, and three similar down lines plus a junction where lines spurred off towards York. The signals and points were managed by ninety interlocking levers which had to be set in the correct sequence for each train. A proud moment came when Eric was fifteen. He was earning enough money to rent his own house in Altofts. He went to see his mother telling her, ‘I’ve rented us a house and it’s got a garden at the front and one at the back as well.’ Eric settled with his mother in the new house but was soon seeking promotion with the railways. He passed exams to become a permanent pensionable LMS staff and then worked in the booking office, again on a twenty four hour shifts system selling tickets during the day and balancing the books at night. War with Germany was declared in September 1939. Eric was seventeen, and a year later he volunteered to fight. He didn’t fancy the Army or Navy so he volunteered to become Royal Air Force aircrew in January 1941. He completed the then tortuous Service bureaucracy and in April was summoned to attend an aircrew selection board at Padgate in Cheshire. On the first day there there was a prolonged searching medical. And on the second day intelligence, aptitude and spatial awareness tests followed by an interview board. Eric was then told that he had been accepted for training as an observer. Later called NavB. I was given a RAF Volunteer Reserve badge which could be worn though I was not officially in the RAF. Official enrolment happened in August when Eric was summoned to the RAF Reception Centre located at Lords Cricket Ground in St Johns Wood. He was enrolled, kitted out and then spent three to four weeks attending time filling useless lectures before his observer training started in earnest. The observer role covered navigation, bomb aiming and gunnery and in September ’41 Eric embarked on a lengthy series of training courses. Thirteen weeks initial training in Paignton. Basic military training. Survival. Followed by thirteen weeks elementary training in Eastbourne where all the basics of navigation and meteorology were taught. Navigation in those days was based on dead reckoning and astrological plotting. Dead reckoning is the most basic form of air navigation but is still a requirement for pilots today. The principle is based on knowledge of a fixed position. First the departure airfield and then any accurate way points along the route. For example, a landmark. And then current position is regularly recalculated based on heading, speed and time flown adjusted using wind calculations and other variables. Various instruments and forms of slide computers assist in the task. It took us around fifteen minutes to make an accurate star plot using a sextant. Therefore, this was of limited use in a moving aircraft. About this time Britain secretly developed Gee, a form of radio navigation based on measuring the time delay between two radio signals to establish a fix. It was susceptible to jamming by the Germans but its accuracy was just a few hundred metres over a range of up to three hundred and fifty miles and it was still in use up until the 1960s. The next stage of training took place in South Africa away from enemy aircraft and in better weather. Several weeks were spent hanging around until we sailed on a convoy from Avonmouth on the first leg of what he refers to as his Cook’s Tour. He sailed in the Highland Chieftain, one of about twenty one troop and freight ships escorted by seven to ten destroyers and cruisers. Eric slept on deck for most of the long slow voyage due to the cramped conditions, heat and sea sickness experienced below decks. Avoiding U-boat attack they refuelled in Freetown, Sierra Leone finally disembarking in Durban and then on to Johannesburg where there was more waiting before arriving at Grahamstown Airfield in June 1942. At Grahamstown, Eric could put into practice all that he had learned flying navigational sorties in Avro Ansons and bombing training in Airspeed Oxfords. He came third on the course and the top three were interviewed for a possible permanent commission by a squadron leader. Questions included, ‘Did you go to Grammar School?’ And, ‘Do you sail?’ At the end of the interview the squadron leader’s closing remark was, ‘I am not sure you’re officer material yet, Coling.’ ‘I quite agree sir,’ replied Eric. ‘I’m just a lad with a hole in his jersey.’ At the end of the year Eric set sail on the next leg of his tour on board the Empress of Scotland renamed from Empress of Japan when Japan entered the war. Just two hundred RAF personnel were transported from Durban to New York on this luxurious cruise liner at twenty six knots. A speed at which escorts were not required. The ship was defended by a single three inch gun turret fitted to the aft deck. After a layover of five weeks in the USA Empress of Scotland sadly dry for this voyage brought Eric back to the UK with two hundred GIs. Now, some two years since he volunteered Warrant Officer Coling was soon to go in to operational service. When you get up in a morning you don’t know what fate may have in store for you. I ended up in Harrogate where most of the big hotels were being used to house RAF aircrew while they waited for their next posting. I was billeted in the Grand Hotel on Cornwall Road overlooking the Valley Gardens. In the middle of January we went on two weeks leave to visit mother in Altofts and on the way walked along the line of carriages looking for a suitable seat. Finally came to a compartment which was occupied by two young ladies in corner seats and an airman in a third corner. He entered the compartment with the intention of sitting in the fourth corner but instead found himself sitting next to a most attractive young lady. Getting in to conversation Eric discovered that the girls had been to the Mecca dancing that evening. He asked his new companion, ‘Did you meet anybody that you would like to meet again?’ It turned out that she hadn’t. Shortly before the train arrived in Harrogate Eric said, ‘Well, you didn’t meet anybody that you’d like to meet again on this trip which is a pity. So would you like to meet me again?’ She immediately replied, I don’t know why but, ‘I’d love to.’ ‘Alright. Name the place and the time,’ said Eric. ‘Tomorrow night. 7 o’clock in the station concourse,’ came the reply, quick as a flash. The concourse was dimly lit whereas everywhere else was unlit due to the blackout. Eric and Winifred went for a drink and the following evening she took Eric to meet her parents. Winifred Scott would eventually become Mrs Coling so as Eric says this only goes to show that when you wake up in a morning you don’t know what fate may have in store for you. Winifred was upset when Eric was then posted to the Operational Training Unit at Upper Heyford in early March 1943 because they both knew that now he would face real danger. The OTU brought together pilots, navigators, bomb aimers and gunners. Eric had been trained as an air observer which included both navigation and bomb aiming so it was not unusual to see two observers in a crew. Eric was posted as a bomb aimer and explains, I wanted to be able to see outside. The navigator was cooped up behind a curtain which was not for me although some quite liked it. The crewing up process was done by natural selection. I met another observer, Bunny Ridsdale who was posted as a navigator. I found out he came from Castleford three miles from where I lived so we formed a team of two. I then met a wireless operator called Alex Noble who told me he was booked to meet a Canadian pilot, Ron Code and a rear gunner Ray Moad so I arranged for us to join the meeting. This took place in a pub over a few pints. We all got on so well so a mutual agreement was arrived at. Eric was now part of a crew. Training at the OTU on Vickers Wellington aircraft was intense. Lots of bombing practice both high level and low level. Long cross-country flights both by night and day. Accidents were common. During the twelve weeks Eric was at Upper Heyford four aircraft crashed with the loss of twenty three lives. One of Eric’s final flights at OTU was a night flight to Nantes in occupied France to drop leaflets designed to counter Nazi propaganda. OTU ended on the 6th of May followed by a period of leave. Eric’s next posting was to 1660 Conversion Unit at RAF Swinderby in Lincolnshire. We arrived there in early June 1943 and added a mid-upper gunner Johnny Boyton and a flight engineer Spike Langford to our crew. Both had been regular ground crew and had volunteered for aircrew. Our crew was typical of Bomber Command. Two Canadians, one Scotsman, two from Yorkshire, one from Lincolnshire and a Londoner. It was a happy and united crew living together, playing together and fighting together. We had a friendship and loyalty to each other. We first flew the twin engine Avro Manchester for six hours and moved on to the four-engined Avro Lancaster completing forty hours almost entirely at night. In early July we went down the road to 50 Squadron which was at RAF Skellingthorpe where we were welcomed by Wing Commander Robert McFarlane. He gave us a brief history of the squadron and then handed us over to a ground officer who took us to a Nissen hut which was to be our home. It had seven beds but no toilet. There was a choice of a five or six minute walk to one or there was plenty of grass outside. Of all the wartime airfields in Lincolnshire and there were a great many none can claim a closer affinity with Lincoln than Skellingthorpe. Although it was named after the nearby village it was actually within the city’s boundary. Walking distance from the centre if you missed the last bus. 50 Squadron had been in action since the early days of the war and remembered, and remained at Skellingthorpe until the end of the war. It was credited with taking part in more raids than any other heavy Bomber Command squadron. More intensive training followed before Eric’s first operational bombing raid on Hamburg on the night of 24th of July 1943. Seven hundred and forty six RAF bombers took part in the operation which was the first in which Window was used. This involved dropping thousands of tiny pieces of metal foil which jammed the enemy radar and confused the night fighters. Thanks to this only twelve aircraft were lost. They bombed Hamburg again on the 27th and 29th of July and after ten days leave Mannheim on August the 9th followed by Nuremberg the day after. They then participated in the mass bombings of Milan on the 12th and 14th of August which contributed to the surrender of Italy a few weeks later. In the spring of 1943 intelligence sources had confirmed Germany was developing long range rockets at a research and experimental centre at Peenemunde on the Baltic coast. Operation Hydra on the night of the 17th of August 1943 was a massive bombing operation against Peenemunde carried out under a full moon. Five hundred and ninety five bombers and Pathfinder aircraft were involved which marks the targets with flares. Eight Mosquitoes carried out a spoof raid on Berlin to divert enemy night fighters. We weren’t told the exact nature of the target except that it was very important and that if we didn’t do a good job we’d have to go back again tomorrow and again and again. We hoped that bright moonlight would enable the different aiming points to be visually marked by the Pathfinder force. In case it was overcast and the target obscured number 5 Group, of which 50 Squadron was part would approach using the time and distance technique in which bombs would be dropped at a set time after passing a landmark. Lancaster Pathfinder aircraft carried the H2S radar system which was the first ground mapping radar able to show areas of water and built-up areas. This aided both navigation and bomb aiming although by sending out a radar signal the aircraft gave away its location to the enemy. The story of that night we took off at 21.30, passed over Lincoln Cathedral and climbed up to eight thousand before setting course. At 22.00 hours we crossed the east coast near Mablethorpe and climbed up to eighteen thousand feet. It was important not to stray south of track and overfly the guns on the German island of Sylt close to the Danish border. We were the third wave of bombers to head for a concentration point at 05 degrees east 55.25 north. From there we set course to Rügen Island and descended to eight thousand feet ready to start our time and distance run on the target. The night was clear and I could see Peenemunde in the moonlight with the second wave already making their attack ten minutes ahead. We arrived over the target area on time and heard the master of ceremonies, Group Captain Searby on the radio telling us to aim right of the centre. Don’t aim short. Hit the centre of the greens. He was actually on board a Mosquito near the target. I then took over. Bomb doors open. Bombs fused and selected. Right a little. Steady. Bombs gone. Close bomb doors. Keep it straight and level. Wait for the photo flash. Twenty seconds later it was finished and we turned homeward on a course of two hundred and ninety degrees. German night fighters had now arrived in force but Eric and his crew luckily escaped detection. We could clearly see them attacking the other aircraft in the third wave and many were going down. The Germans now had Schrage Musik, upward firing guns on their twin engine night fighters which attack the undefended underbellies of the Allied bombers. We lost forty aircraft and two hundred and fifteen crew. This was bad enough but it would have been double without the diversionary raid on Berlin. During August 1943 Eric’s sister Muriel got married. With our father having died when we were young I was needed to give Muriel away. We’d been trying to get rid of her for a long time laughs Eric. I asked the wing commander if I could have twenty four hours leave to attend the wedding. ‘No. You can have forty eight hours leave and I’ll try to keep your crew off operations if there are any whilst you’re away,’ he replied. He was a good man recalls Eric. Muriel worked for the Ministry of Information and a few weeks earlier had been posted to the now famous Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park as a teleprinter operator.
[telephone ringing – recording paused]
The wedding of Muriel Coling to Jack Flutter took place on the 27th of August. The wedding was at St Mary Magdalen Church, Altofts whose benefactor was Lord Halifax. It was a very high church and having been brought up as a non-conformist I was getting up when everyone else was sitting down. On the same day Eric became engaged to Winifred Marjorie Scott but had to return almost immediately to RAF Skellingthorpe. Eric was now twenty one and was lucky to have survived the war so far in which so many of his colleagues had died. There is a memorial in Skellingthorpe village which reads, “My sweet brief life is over. My eyes no longer see. No Christmas trees, no summer walks, no pretty girls for me. I’ve got the chop. I’ve had it. My nightly ops are done. Yet in another hundred years I’ll still be twenty one.” After the attacks on Hamburg and Peenemunde RAF Bomber Command began to feel that it was at last becoming a truly effective way damaging both German industry and also morale. There remained a hope that bombing alone might win the war. That devastating raids might undermine the Nazi regime to such an extent that the German government would collapse. Maintaining the momentum meant taking the offensive to the heart of Germany. To Berlin. On the 23rd of August over seven hundred bombers, mainly Lancs and Halifaxes plus one hundred Pathfinder aircraft attacked the city centre of Berlin. This was the prelude to what would be known as the Battle of Berlin. The raids on Berlin were unforgettable. The route was almost direct. A seven hour twelve hundred mile round trip. After crossing the Dutch coast we made slight detours to, detours to avoid the defences of Bremen, Hanover, Brunswick and Magdeburg. All our bombers remained unmolested on the way to the target which was the Nazi High Command buildings in the centre of the city. Any illusion of peace were shattered when the fires already burning in the city first came in to view about sixty miles out. The German controllers had ordered their regular night fighters as well as free lancing single engine fighters to concentrate on Berlin. Hundreds of searchlights and flares were picking out our aircraft aiding the eighty eight millimetre anti-aircraft guns and German night fighters. I saw at least nine of our aircraft going down in flames. We weaved and corkscrewed but on the bombing run we had to stay straight and level for at least four minutes. This is where luck plays a big part and many aircraft were shot down at this stage but we escaped safely and set course for home. The battle was so furious that some German fighters were downed by their own anti-aircraft fire. By the end of the night fifty six bombers had been shot down, Bomber Command’s greatest loss in a single night up to this time and more crashed on landing. The Battle of Berlin lasted for a further eighteen raids until March 1944. In all six hundred and twenty five aircraft and their crews were lost and a further eighty crashed on landing in Britain with a further loss of life. It was like visiting the fires of hell. None of the bomber boys who went to Berlin and lived will ever forget. After the Berlin raid, which was Eric’s tenth, pilot Ron Code and radio operator Alex Noble were awarded commissions and the crew were rewarded with a new Lancaster aircraft. The crew of L for love were pleased to have her. They had been with 50 Squadron since early July and had used a number of different aircraft during their operations. L for Love was immediately pressed into service for Eric’s second raid on Berlin on August the 31st which was a smaller scale operation than the first. Although fifty aircraft were lost on the second raid to Berlin L for Love escaped unscathed. Eric explains how he and the rest of the crew were feeling at the time. Now faces that had been familiar had disappeared as though they had caught a bus or train to some unknown destination one could not help wondering if we would also be doing likewise. Flying was no longer exciting. It was just a grim job from which there was no longer an honourable discharge. September 1943 started with ten days leave followed by a week of intense training missions including formation and low flying. Bombing operations for the crew of L for Love restarted on the 22nd of September with less eventful raids on Hanover and Mannheim. On the 27th of September we took off for Hanover again and whilst crossing the Dutch coast they were hit by flak and again hit over the target, this time badly. The radio, radar and rear gun turret were put out of action but fortunately none of the crew were hit and the engines remained serviceable. The journey back over the North Sea was made at low level below cloud and purely by dead reckoning. Landfall was made near Hull which was not the best of places to be as it was protected by barrage balloons. Fuel was low so a diversion was made to Kirmington which is now Humberside Airport. Next morning we returned to Skellingthorpe where our aircraft was made serviceable and ready for its next operation. On the 29th of September, St Michael’s Day we were one of twelve aircraft from 5 Group selected to go mine laying outside Gdynia harbour in Poland where a German Naval force was expected to arrive during the next day. Each aircraft carried six two thousand pound mines and was detailed to lay it’s mines in precise positions outside the entrance to the harbour. We were warned that we would be low on fuel on return because of the very heavy payload and would probably have to land in Scotland. The flight out was uneventful and we looked with envy at the lights of Sweden on the port side. There was bright moonlight and we could pinpoint the town of Hel at the end of the long offshore Hel peninsula quite easily. We made our run at five thousand feet dropping the mines in the target area and though there was some flak from ships in the harbour it didn’t cause us any problems. However, real trouble overtook us just after crossing the Danish coast on course towards Scotland. Ray Moad, the rear gunner reported that two JU88s were trailing us and as they attacked he gave evasive action and opened fire. After a one second burst though his guns jammed and Johnny Boyton the mid-upper gunner could not get his guns on the target. Seconds later cannon shells fired from below us damaged the tail plane and set fire to both our port engines. We dived and escaped into cloud but the aircraft was almost uncontrollable. For fifteen minutes Ron Code fought to keep his aircraft airborne before we jettisoned the escape hatches and ditching, ditching stations were taken. The Lancaster was with two escape hatches on the upper surface of the fuselage along with one in the canopy over the pilot and flight engineer. When the aircraft ditched it was like hitting a brick wall and seawater rushed in through the open hatches. An immersion switch should have automatically released the dinghy from its storage bay in the upper starboard wing. However, this failed. I pulled a cord to release it manually but this also failed. Carrying an axe and an emergency pack navigator Bunny Ridsdale and I climbed out on to the starboard wing and I managed to release the dinghy cover with an axe blow. The dinghy, attached to its lanyard burst out and lodged against the tailplane. By this time the rest of the crew were on the fuselage and rushed towards the dinghy. Ron Code dived in and released the dinghy from where it was stuck under the tailplane and pushed it forward so the other crew could board it without having to dive in. By this time the Lancaster was low in the water and I shouted to Bunny to dive in. However, he couldn’t swim and he attempted to walk back along the fuselage but in the process was swept away by a wave. I dived in losing a boot in the process and reached the side of the dinghy just before the lanyard had to be cut. I was helped in as the aircraft disappeared beneath the waves. It was a black night with rain and a rough sea. We could see the red light on Bunny’s Mae West and hear his whistle but could do nothing to help him. There was about ten inches of water in the open dinghy which was enough to cover our legs. We had ditched around midnight and baled all night trying to get the water out but it was a rough sea and an uphill task. When day broke we flew our kite radio aerial and operated the hand wound generator which sent out SOS signals but to no avail. We rationed the cans of water we had and estimated we had enough for about three days. The weather improved slightly by the fourth day but we saw nothing and by now we were becoming very weak. On the fifth day, October the 4th the weather worsened and again most of us were slipping in and out of consciousness. At about 10 am the dinghy crested away and I spotted a small fishing vessel before the dinghy dropped down again. I had the signal pistol and I fired a red cartridge. Cartridge which was seen by the crew of the Danish fishing boat who rescued us. It turned out that we were in [Scrarrag?] and we, and we pleaded with them to take us to Sweden. However, the Danes were from Aalborg where there was a Luftwaffe base and their families were being held hostage so they had no choice but to return. It took about two and a half hours to reach Aalborg where a German Naval officer who was definitely hostile to us detained us. Thirty minutes later two Luftwaffe officers arrived one of whom was the pilot who had shot us down. They were friendly and shook hands all around. At the Luftwaffe camp we were given a meal and were supplied with suitable footwear. We were told that we would stay the night and in the morning would be transferred to Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe interrogation camp near Frankfurt. Back home in England Erics mother and his fiancé Winifred were told that Eric was missing but that he may have baled out safely. Eric’s personal belongings were to be returned to his mother and she was asked what should be done with Eric’s bicycle? ‘Please can it be returned to me,’ she replied. ‘He’ll need it when he gets back.’ Her faith in Eric’s survival would be rewarded eventually. On the night of the 4th of October Eric and the rest of the surviving crew had their first decent night’s sleep since the 28th of September. Breakfast next day was their first proper meal since leaving Skellingthorpe and after which they were taken to the railway station. Ron Code could hardly walk because his feet were so swollen with trench foot which had developed in the intense cold and damp of the dingy. At the station some Danish women gave them apples. Their three Luftwaffe guards who spoke little or no English did not interfere. We shared our apples with our guards and they gave us some of their food and cigarettes. They were friendly but vigilant. Our destination was Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe Interrogation Centre near Frankfurt. The journey involved a stop in Hamburg where there was noticeable hostility from other passengers towards them. We were pleased to have the protection of the three German guards. The journey continued. The journey continued overnight and they reached Frankfurt around noon. By now Ron Code couldn’t walk and was taken to hospital. Eric and the others were taken by road to Dulag Luft, strip searched and all possessions other than clothes were taken away. After this they were incarcerated in small solitary confinement cells which Eric, Eric learned could be heated to over forty five degrees as a way of softening up prisoners although he personally didn’t have to experience this. The guards never spoke and Eric feels that this was intentional. Solitary confinement in such conditions especially following a traumatic experiences created a sense of intense tension and loneliness. After four days of solitary Eric was taken to the room of an interrogating officer. Eric takes up the story when he says he spoke fluent English and adopted a friendly and sympathetic attitude but played idly with an automatic pistol. When I congratulated him on his English he told me that he had lived in Barnsley for several years. He asked me what squadron I belonged to and I replied that I wasn’t allowed to say so. He smiled and turned over a thick file on the desk. He turned it around towards me and I could read the title, “50 Squadron.” He showed me a photograph of the control tower at Skellingthorpe and read out details of the wing commanders and some squadron leaders who had served there. I told him that it appeared that he knew more about 50 Squadron than I did. He asked me what I knew about Gdynia and why we had gone there. I replied that I didn’t know the reason for the visit and hadn’t stayed long enough to have much idea of what was happening other than the flak thrown up by ships in the harbour. He said, ‘Of course, you were mining the harbour. What kind of mines were they?’ I replied that they were just mines and that I’d never been taught about them other than they explode when hit by a ship. He just smiled and said, ‘I will tell you. They were two thousand pound mines and you would not have been carrying more than five. Even a Lancaster could not carry any more in that distance.’ In fact, we had carried six but knew we would have been very short of fuel on the return to Lossiemouth. I smiled and attempted to look interested but said nothing. He did however trap me into admitting I’d been on the Peenemunde raid when he asked me why we had fired on men in the sea when they were trying to get away from the fires. I said, without thinking, ‘We didn’t fire on anybody. We were in too much of a hurry to get away.’ I was aware that as a POW all I had to give was my name, number and rank. If I had have stuck to that I’d have been in solitary for another four days. I honestly believe that I didn’t disclose any information my interrogator was unaware of. I believe that interrogating officers rarely learned much from POWs. Most information came from listening devices, stool pigeons and aircraft wreckage. Eric’s interrogation ended after forty minutes with his interrogator telling him that no POW camp would be comfortable but the less trouble he caused the less uncomfortable it would be. Eric had some experience and found he was right but without a bit of trouble life would have been more boring than it was. Next day Eric rejoined the other crew members, Ray, Johnnie and Spike and they were taken by cattle truck along with twenty other POWs to Stalag 4b near Muhlberg. Despite the search Eric still had a button compass and a handkerchief map of Germany in his pocket. The two officers in the crew, Ron Code and Alex Noble were transferred to Stalag Luft 3 at Sagan housing mainly aircrew officers, famous for being the camp from which the Great Escape took place. Luft 3 was built on sandy soil to prevent tunnelling and was designed to house habitual escapers but the guards were Luftwaffe personnel too old to fight or younger injured men so the regime was less tough than at other camps. Stalag 4b located in eastern Germany between Dresden and Leipzig was a rectangle of electrified and barbed wire with guard towers complete with searchlights and armed guards at strategic points around the camp perimeter. A road ran through the centre of the camp at the ends of which were the main gates and guard rooms. Along each side of the road were compounds containing huts filled with three tiered bunks and palliasses. Straw mattresses for about two hundred men. Each man was given a dirty blanket and the palliasses were little more than a bag of dirt. This resulted in Eric developing impetigo across all of his face which for many months was treated with German gentian violet paint. The camp was split into different compounds and the RAF kept more or less to themselves. Other compounds held several thousand Army POWs many of whom departed on working parties. A variety of French, Dutch and eventually Italian prisoners and many thousands of Russians. The majority of Russians were housed in a sub-camp, Zeithain and endured deplorable conditions in which was partly designated a hospital camp. Thousands died from malnutrition, typhus and tuberculosis. For Eric in the main camp at Muhlberg the lasting memory was the cold. Most aircrew had only the clothes they had been wearing when they were shot down which were totally inadequate for the harsh winters in eastern Germany. Each hut was fitted with a small stove and there was a ration of coal briquettes totally insufficient to warm the hut. Until the winter of 1944/45 the Germans would not allow working parties outside to collect firewood. As a result the coal store was frequently raided resulting in at least two POWs being shot and killed. Bed boards were used as fuel leaving gaps in every bed risking that the top or middle bunk occupant would fall through on to the man below. The rations were meagre. From our arrival in October and up to Christmas 1943 Red Cross parcels arrived fairly regular from Britain, USA or Canada. The Canadian ones were considered to contain the best food. Each parcel was usually shared between two prisoners. They also included fifty cigarettes, the currency of the camp with which a huge variety of things could be bought from either fellow POW or the guards. As Allied bombing disrupted communications in 1944 they became less frequent and following the Normandy invasion they more or less ceased completely. Then we were dependent on the meagre German rations and for many months lived with hunger. The POWs were aware of the progress of the war. There were several clandestine radios in the camp and newspapers were published. Single copies that were handed around. By the beginning of the 1945 it was known that the Russian Army was not far away and the excitement was intense. On the 23rd of April 1945 the camp awoke to find all the German guards had departed in the night. Shortly afterwards a few Russian troops with an officer arrived but they only remained a short time. The senior Allied officers gave orders that the POWs were to remain in the camp and await events. Despite this quite a few had already decided that they would make their own way to Allied lines. This included the bomb aimer, rear gunner and mid-upper gunner of Lancaster L for Love. The flight engineer Spike Langford decided that he would stay behind. Eric never saw him again. Outside the camp there was anarchy, explains Eric. Russians were killing Germans out of hand and devastating houses just to satisfy their hatred of the Germans. There was looting of food and goods everywhere. Most farms were desolate with the animals taken away for food. Dead bodies of Germans were to be seen in deserted houses quite a few having committed suicide. There was a mass of humanity of all descriptions some going west others travelling east. The Germans who had remained in their houses and were still unmolested welcomed RAF POWs easily recognisable by the distinctive uniforms as a safeguard against Russian intruders and Eric and his colleagues could usually find accommodation for the night. They more or less followed in the path of the Russian front-line troops who treated them with respect. By the 8th of May ‘45 they had joined up with them and were invited to celebrate VE Day with a supper of rabbit stew and a few too many glasses of vodka. Over the next few days, the following day we continued westward and soon reached the River Mulde where the railway bridge across the river had been blown up. We were able to scramble down and up the girders and then meet up with the American forces on the other side. From there we were taken to [Halle?] where some, after some four or five days we were flown to Brussels in a Dakota. We were transferred to a Stirling aircraft and landed in south east England at a flag bedecked airfield to be met by a band of ladies with tea and cakes. I finally arrived home in Altofts on the 18th of May 1945 and soon my fiancé Winifred arrived from London advising me that there was a lot to do in a very short time. Of course, this related to our wedding which took place in St Peter’s Church, Harrogate on the 22nd of June 1945. Eric and Winifred went on honeymoon to the Lake District to start a marriage that would endure sixty six years until Winifred’s death in 2011. Eric returned to the railways working for the London Midland Scottish Railway while remaining an RAF Reservist. However, in 1955 with a family that now included two small daughters Eric moved to Tanganyika now Tanzania to start a new life working for the East African Railways but that is another story. Thank you, Eric.
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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Interview with Eric Coling
Creator
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Gary Rushbrooke
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-01-10
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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.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AColingE180110, PCollingE1801
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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00:44:06 audio recording
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
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eng
Description
An account of the resource
Eric Coling’s father died when Eric was a child which left his mother to cope on her own economically. Eric and his sister were sent to live in an orphanage but their mother was able to visit monthly. When Eric left the orphanage he began working for the railway and was proudly eventually able to own his own home and reunite his family. Eric volunteered for aircrew and trained as an observer. During his weeks at the Occupational Training Unit four aircraft crashed with the loss of twenty three lives. He was posted as a bomb aimer to 50 Squadron based at RAF Skellingthorpe. On his final operation Eric’s plane was shot down and after managing to eventually inflate the dinghy the crew scrambled on board with the exception of the navigator Bernard Ridsdale who was swept away. The crew managed to survive several days at sea until they were rescued by Danish fisherman who returned with them to Denmark. Eric and his crewmates became prisoners of war.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Denmark
Germany
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--London
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Oberursel
Germany--Peenemünde
Contributor
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Julie Williams
1660 HCU
50 Squadron
aircrew
bomb aimer
crash
ditching
Dulag Luft
Heavy Conversion Unit
military service conditions
observer
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
RAF Skellingthorpe
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/259/10579/BWhittleGGWhittleGGv2.2.pdf
1cafb6bc4a0167651dc077df556d4e69
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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Whittle, Geoffrey
G G Whittle
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
2015-06-26
2016-08-22
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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Whittle, G
Description
An account of the resource
12 items. An oral history interview with Squadron Leader Geoffrey Gordon Whittle DFM (1923 – 2016, 1397166 Royal Air Force), as well as his log books, photographs and memoirs.
Geoffrey Whittle flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron from RAF Ludford Magna.
There is a sub-collection of 25 Air Charts, mostly of Great Britain.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Denise Field and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
PEENEMUNDE
The morning of 17th August 1943 was bright and warm, a good English summer day. It was also in the middle of the full moon period so the likelihood of ‘ops’ that night was far removed from our minds. It was with considerable surprise to see a ‘battle order’ issued later that morning. It was not to be the
only surprise that day. We were later to learn that the C-in-C was to be present at the briefing and that there was no pre Nav briefing when we did our flight plans, etc prior to the main briefing. The rest of the day was spent undertaking the normal activities prior to operations.
When we reported for briefing there was ‘Bomber Harris’ looking every bit the pugnacious man he was reputed to be, and to a nineteen year old, awesome. The briefing started with the C-in-C ordering everyone not connected with the operation to leave the briefing room. That done the curtains covering the large wall map were drawn apart there were puzzled looks all round as the red route marker was virtually straight across the North Sea to a small peninsula on the Northern coast of Germany. Many thoughts were why there and what was there. More surprises were to come; we were to bomb from 6000ft (very low for us at the time) and the bomb loads were not the mix we normally carried but were either primarily HE or incendiary. Furthermore there was to be a Master Bomber who would direct the operation over the Target. At no time during the briefing were we told why this target. But the briefing concluded with Sir Arthur Harris telling us the target was of national importance and had to be destroyed and that if we did not knock it out that night we would be back the next night and following nights until it was. With that he wished us good luck and left.
My crew, WO Bill Walker’s, took off at 2130hrs and set course on a night that was getting brighter and brighter, a nice night for flying but not necessarily for flying due East. As we neared the target we started our descent to 6000ft and turned South to attack from the North. We were in the third wave and the Master Bomber was in full flow telling the crews which marker flares to line up on. On the bombing run it was a new experience to hear German ordnance exploding outside the aircraft but we were lucky as we did not sustain any damage. What was discouraging though to hear the Master Bomber telling crews to ignore many of the marker flares that were being dropped. It seemed that the whole raid was in a bit of a shambles. We left the target area and climbed back to 20000ft on our way home, another long straight leg in brilliant moonlight. I took some time out on this leg and stood in the astrodome and unfortunately saw a couple of aircraft shot down. We landed back at Ludford at 0455hrs and after de-briefing to bed, when I really was convinced we would be back the following night. It was with some relief to wake up later to hear that the raid had been a success and that there would be no return trip. It later transpired that whilst the main airfield area had not been knocked out bomb creep had virtually destroyed the living area with a resultant loss of vital workers on the flying bomb project. It was considered that the raid put back the flying bomb attacks on the UK by some 12 months.
As a crew we had an uneventful trip; our test was to come the following month over Hannover.
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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Peenemünde
Description
An account of the resource
A description of the briefing by 'Bomber Harris' and attack on Peenemünde on 17 August 1943.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Geoffrey Whittle
Format
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One typewritten sheet
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BWhittleGGWhittleGGv2
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Temporal Coverage
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1943-08-17
1943-08-18
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.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Peenemünde
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
briefing
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Master Bomber
navigator
RAF Ludford Magna
target indicator
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/900/11140/PJarmyJFD1703.1.jpg
d79a334eec7e8edd1dfa7ded9dc46172
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/900/11140/AJarmyJFD170726.2.mp3
f54aa76abd3793861cf39e00fcebb13f
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
Jarmy, Jack
Jack Francis David Jarmy
J F D Jarmy
Description
An account of the resource
23 items. And oral history interview with Jack Francis David Jarmy DFC (b. 1922, 134695 Royal Air Force) his log books and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 75 and 218 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Jack Jarmy 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
2015-09-21
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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Jarmy, JFD
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
GT: Ok. This is Glen Turner from 75 Squadron Association as Secretary and a certified IBCC interviewer interviewing Mr Jack Jarmy and this is for the Digital Archives to be based at Lincoln. And Jack is with me and good evening, Jack.
JJ: Good evening.
GT: Evening. So, I’m going to ask Jack some questions on the history of Jack’s life with Bomber Command in the middle and Jack can we start please by you describing your title and your service number please?
JJ: Say again, sorry?
GT: Your service number and your title.
JJ: Service number.
GT: And your trade.
JJ: Airman’s number 1337329 and officer’s number 134695.
GT: And your trade was RAF navigator.
JJ: My trade was, originally was pilot. U/T pilot.
GT: Great. Jack, can you begin with us please by stating your date of birth, where you were born and your, your years growing up?
JJ: I was, date of birth was 26th of April ’22 in Romford, Essex and I, from the age of twelve I lived with my grandparents. No. From the age of five I lived with my grandparents because my father had died when I was five. Do I go on then to joining the RAF?
GT: Yes.
JJ: I was very keen to join the RAF and I thought initially as a wireless operator but then at the age of eighteen, the very day I was eighteen I was living outside of Portsmouth, I got on my bicycle without telling my grandparents, cycled down to Portsmouth and volunteered for training as a pilot. And I was accepted on the spot actually but I wasn’t officially called up for about another eight months or so.
GT: In, in —
JJ: 1941 that would be.
GT: Jack, how well did you do at school then before that?
JJ: I did very well actually. My last examination at Ilfracombe Grammar School I was first in every subject except one and when we were having to leave my grandparents had to move away to make some money somewhere as their capital was running out the headmaster told me that I was an absolute cert. There were two university places at Cambridge in those days and he said, ‘If you could have stayed here you’d have, without a doubt you would have got one of them.’ But I didn’t know at the time until we got to Portsmouth that I was having to leave school and help in the family shop. So that was a bit of shock needless to say.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: And I did that for three years until I was eighteen and on the very day I was eighteen as I say I went down and joined the RAF and they accepted me when they saw my Grammar School report.
GT: So, all your subjects were fabulous except one.
JJ: I was first in every subject except one.
GT: And what was that?
JJ: I think that was Religious History [laughs]
GT: Fabulous. So, once you’d gone to sign up and they’d accepted you —
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Please continue that story on how long you waited and where you joined up from there.
JJ: Yeah. I waited about, I think seven or eight months before I was called up for attestation in London and then I was in the RAF. So we went to [pause] I’ve got it here. Sorry. I have it here and I can’t bloody well read it. [pause] Terrible this. I’m on the wrong page. Sorry. Oh. [pause] Here we are. 9 Initial Training Wing at Stratford on Avon, is it? Stratford on Avon. I can’t see the dates. If you want to have a look here.
GT: No. That’s alright Jack. So, you were then —
JJ: Initial Training Wing for pilot training. About six weeks and then we went, I went to EFTS at Swindon, Cliffe Pypard where I soloed fairly quickly. And I had done about twenty hours when we were informed that the system was training. They were introducing grading school for everybody but the training would be done overseas. Either in the states, Canada or, or was Africa —?
GT: Rhodesia?
JJ: Rhodesia. That’s right. So, I went across to Canada and we got on the train for three days down to Florida. And I, the first thing they told us that the scheme we were under twenty, a good twenty percent would be washed out at Primary School, another twenty percent at basic and a further twenty percent the final school because that was the way they got, the American way they got all their gunners, navigators etcetera. So I passed out fine in the Stearman at sixty hours. Lots of aerobatics. A lot more than we did in the UK. You could throw the Stearman all over the skies. It was a wonderful biplane. Then I moved on in Montgomery Alabama for basic training and of course I’d only done about seven or eight hours I think and the course ahead of us did a cross country, their final cross country and they ran into a tornado and about twenty nine out of thirty three aircraft crashed. So I think morale was a bit down that morning and when I landed I had a German instructor, Lieutenant [Kloppenstein] and he just said, ‘Mr, you’ve had it.’ Bad landing. And I was fourteen days leave and then back to Canada.
GT: So, he cancelled you from flying training.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Because of one bad landing.
JJ: An American. Virtually one sortie I think, yeah. Twenty percent were being knocked out anyway around about then you see and I’m sure I was shaking. A friend of mine was [unclear] before so we got fourteen days leave and we went down to New Orleans. Hitch hiked down to New Orleans. Then we went back and up to Trenton, Ontario where you were re-selected. Whilst at Trenton I met two pilots who had been washed out at Carlstrom Field, Arcadia, Florida for not being sufficiently doing well and they went back to Canada then and they put them on a pilot’s course and they got their wings whilst I was washing dishes in the officer’s mess [laughs] Met them. Three months and they’d got their wings. That was the system. Anyway, I opted for a navigation course and did well on it and then came back to the UK on the Queen Elizabeth with about fourteen thousand aircrew. Mostly Americans. And we stayed in Harrogate for a few weeks waiting for OTU. I then went to Operational Training Unit. That’s right. Where we all met in a room. About ten of each grade. Navigators, pilots, wireless operators and they just said, ‘Have a chat around and sort yourselves out into crews,’ which we did.
GT: So, so, Jack if we could just confirm the dates on here.
JJ: Ok.
GT: So, I’m, I’m just looking at your logbooks.
JJ: You’ve got the dates there, I think.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: So as a navigator January 1943 and you were then arrived at number 11 OTU at Oakley.
JJ: Oakley. That’s right.
GT: Yeah. April 25th 1943. So please tell us how you crewed up.
JJ: We just walked around with a cup of tea and chatted to people and mostly the pilots would say, ‘Would you like to fly with me?’ And this New Zealand sergeant came up to me and said, ‘Would you like to fly with me, sir.’ Because I was a pilot officer [laughs] And he seemed a nice fellow you know and I said, ‘Yeah, fine.’ And then we walked around and found a bomb aimer and a wireless operator. You didn’t get engineers then until you got to Dishforth training on to four engine aircraft. We picked up an engineer there. So we did the, the Wellington training cross countries and circuits and bumps etcetera. And then we went to Dishforth. 1335 or something HCU. Heavy Conversion Unit to convert on to the Stirling.
GT: Ok. Now, again looking —
JJ: Did I say Dishforth? Sorry no.
GT: From your logbook Jack can I just help you for a moment there? I’ve got there —
JJ: Near Cambridge.
GT: Yeah. Now, you, you completed with the Wellingtons forty seven hours day and twenty eight night and then you moved to 1651.
JJ: That’s right. 1665.
GT: 1651 Conversion Unit at Waterbeach.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: And there —
JJ: Waterbeach.
GT: That was July 1943 and you converted to what?
JJ: Converted on to the Stirling at Waterbeach and then we were posted to 75 New Zealand Squadron at Mepal.
GT: And your logbook says July 25th 1943.
JJ: Was it as late as that?
GT: Yeah.
JJ: I thought it was earlier.
GT: And then, then you became —
JJ: That was probably the first flight.
GT: You began your operations then did you not? So —
JJ: Immediately. Yeah.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: That’s right.
GT: And who was the —
JJ: You just —
GT: Commanding officer at the time, Jack.
JJ: Pardon?
GT: Who was the commanding officer at the time for you?
JJ: Roy Max I’m sure. A wonderful fellow. Absolutely wonderful. I met him later on. It was the first time an officer had called me by my first name. We just walked into his office and he says, ‘Hello Jack,’ you know, ‘Pleased to meet you.’ No officer of any rank [laughs] and I’d been in for about a year had called me by my first name before. He was wonderful. We loved him. Yeah.
GT: Fabulous. And is there —
JJ: A marvellous CO you know.
GT: And you, you completed your tour of how many operations on 75?
JJ: I think it was about twenty six because we went in to, we called it Prayer Meeting about 9 o’clock every morning which was just a meeting you know. It wasn’t no prayers or anything and the CO said, ‘Flight Sergeant Mayfield —’ and there was another crew, ‘You’ve finished your tours.’ And we sort of thought, ‘You’re joking.’ And he said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘3 Group has decided you, you know you’ve done a good tour and they’d like you to, well they want you to finish your tour now.’ So we couldn’t believe it you know. We thought we’re going to live after all [laughs] which you didn’t think you were before that you know. We lost so many crews. I think we lost twenty two out of, two out of twenty two every night.
GT: 75 New Zealand squadron at the time and they were based —
JJ: Yeah.
GT: At Newmarket for you or Mepal?
JJ: No. Mepal. They’d just moved to Mepal when I joined them. Yeah.
GT: That was a brand new airfield.
JJ: A new airfield. There was mud everywhere, you know and we were in Nissen huts but that was alright.
GT: And it had a rather terrible nickname at the time.
JJ: They were known as the Chop Squadron in 3 Group. Everybody knew 75 for some reason as the Chop Squadron because they lost so many crews. But there was nothing wrong with the crews. They were absolutely first class wonderful chaps. Never flown with anyone better and we were just, somebody had to be unlucky and it seemed that we were whether we were the start of a raid or the end of the raid, wave or something we just [pause] I’m sure one night we lost three crews. One had done twenty seven, it sticks in my memory and they were almost finished their tour. One at twenty three and I think the other one was fourteen and I think at the time we’d done thirteen. We were then the senior crew on the squadron. But three best crews like that just went. A fighter or something must have got into them you know. They were close together. But they were first class crews you know. But it wasn’t very good for morale. We lost our radio operator after one trip actually. He went LMF and we had another w/op and two more trips he went LMF. They disappeared over night, you know. You didn’t see them to say, ‘Goodbye mate.’ One was Wally [Gee] I remember. He was twenty seven. We called him grandad. He was older than we were at twenty, twenty one but a nice lad but he got the shakes and he couldn’t do anything when we got back in the circuit and he was gone in the morning and the other one the same. There was quite a lot of LMF at the time. People couldn’t cope, you know.
GT: What, what was the feeling about the aircraft? The Stirling itself. Was there a doubt?
JJ: We liked it you know. We came back several times on three engines and once on two you know and the only trouble was you rarely got about fourteen thousand six hundred feet because you know they’d had this trouble. They’d locked off, had to lop off the wingtips. They couldn’t get them in the hangar before they went in to service. And it couldn’t get the height with the bomb load. You couldn’t get, rarely got to fifteen thousand. I think we got to fifteen thousand on the trip to Turin in the cold air over the Alps. But the rest of the time it was about fourteen six for bombing. Halifaxes at eighteen and Lancs at twenty, twenty one.
GT: Were all your operations at night?
JJ: Yeah. In the first tour.
GT: And did you encounter night fighters at all?
JJ: Oh, a lot, yes. We were, we had some very close deals you know with night fighters coming in but luckily the rear gunners were good. They seemed to go somewhere else you know. Sprayed. We always came back with holes, flak holes in the wings and everywhere. Holes everywhere in fact. But, and I think about three times we had to corkscrew with a gunner coming in and you’d lose about a thousand feet like this, you know. And if you were coned the Germans, had some searchlights that were on radar and if you were coned you had a devil of a job and you were a sitting target for the night fighters then. So you did a terrific, lost a thousand feet or so over ninety degrees down and then up and my stuff on the navigation table would all hit the roof. I was hanging on to the table. I would have hit the roof. But pencils and paper and everything went up and down on the floor but you were lucky. You avoided being shot down.
GT: That was your tail gunner yelling, ‘Skipper corkscrew left or right.’
JJ: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. He did it immediately.
GT: Could you hear him? Could you brace yourself?
JJ: Oh yes. ‘Corkscrew.’ So you grabbed the desk you know and you went over and down about a thousand feet and then up again and it seemed to work every time. You evaded the fighter or the searchlights. It happened I would think on the first tour at least six times because I remember blooming charts and everything going up to the roof. Trying to hang on.
GT: Was your skipper good at that?
JJ: Very very good. He was first class. Cool as a cucumber. No bother. He was. We had the utmost trust in him. He was a very good pilot. Very good. Yeah. Alan. Wonderful. I was so sorry I couldn’t get in touch with him at the end of the war, you know. I’d have liked to have done.
GT: Several, several other chaps have told me of a story of being on the toilet can in the back when a corkscrew happened and it wasn’t very pleasant so —
JJ: No [laughs] it wouldn’t be. No. Had to make your way down to the toilet you know in pitch darkness. Climb over the spar and feel your way down. They used to say take an oxygen bottle with you. I just took two deep breaths, you know and then had a whiff down there and then came back. Usually managed to wait until after the target area to go for a wee. I couldn’t do that nowadays.
GT: Yeah. Fabulous. So —
JJ: But they had a wonderful spirit in the crew despite all these losses. In all the crews you know. The only words you ever heard at breakfast someone would say, ‘Poor old Gerald Smith and Dick Tracey bought it last night.’ And that was what we always said. ‘Bought it last night.’ And that was it. You didn’t talk any more about it. I think you couldn’t. It would have upset you you know where they’d gone. You just hoped they’d baled out but you never knew. We never had the messages back. That was just, that’s all you ever said. So and so bought it last night. Oh God. Hard luck. Then you got on with your job. You had to.
GT: What was it like flying into Newmarket because I understand —
JJ: I didn’t fly from Newmarket. Mepal.
GT: I beg your pardon. Mepal.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: You were flying out of Mepal then and you had Witchford next door.
JJ: That’s right.
GT: So did the two airfields conflict at all?
JJ: Then when we came back we did a circuit around the two airfields. So there were about forty aircraft milling around and sometimes you had to put your lights out because there would be a Jerry around you know. A fighter. And, and often VHF was so bad then, the HF was the wireless operator would get the ok to go in and land, you know on the Morse. The voice communications were terrible then in ‘43. They improved later.
GT: Because Lincoln always had their cathedral to home by. What did Mepal have that you guys could home in on?
JJ: We had a light. A flashing light, you know. What do you call it? I can’t think of the light giving the two letters of the airfield.
GT: The aldis lamp.
JJ: You had, you had Gee. Gee was just starting up. The first Gee we had the Mark 1. It was terrible, of course. It wouldn’t, you would just set it up and ten minutes later it would go off frequency. But fairly quickly after in that first tour we got Mark 2 Gee and that was a great help and that was good for getting back to base. It was wonderful. You could just home down easily. It was really good if that was working and it usually was. It was a wonderful aid that was. We got that going out as far as the Dutch Coast and then you lost it so you could get good winds as far as the Dutch Coast and then you were on dead reckoning and guessing what the winds were from what they’d been wrong. The Met winds were always thirty degrees out and ten miles an hour but they were something to start with. But you usually got a wind, a good wind by the time you touched the Dutch coast from the Gee. We took pictures back I think about every four minutes or something like that while you’d still got it. Wonderful aid.
GT: And what about the the Ely church or the spire from the Ely side of things.
JJ: I don’t think we ever saw that.
GT: You couldn’t see it.
JJ: No.
GT: No.
JJ: No. We did training on it on our next tour with GH. I’ve got a lovely photograph with the tower right bang in the middle because I was the GH leader in the second tour on 218.
GT: Right. Well, I’ve got you completing your tour —
JJ: December.
GT: Well, November 26th was your last flight with 75 New Zealand squadron out of Mepal.
JJ: ’43.
GT: In 1943.
JJ: That’s right.
GT: Yeah. And, and from there where did you move to from there because your crew was —
JJ: I went direct. Myself and my bomb aimer both went to Lancaster Finishing School which was at Feltwell as instructors and my pilot went to another airfield not far away. I can’t remember where because later on one night we cycled over there and then got caught by a policeman coming back. Funny story. Do you want to hear that?
GT: Please. I’d love to.
JJ: Right. Jock Somerville, the bomb aimer and myself got a call from Alan Mayfield one day to say he’d just been commissioned because he was just a flight sergeant when he went to, I can’t think of the name of the airfield. It was only about six miles away. And he said, ‘I’ve just been commissioned. Can you get a bicycle and come over for Sunday tea?’ So we got the out the old [Senda] bike you know and we went off on the Sunday afternoon for tea. We didn’t drink. No one was really drunk in those days you know. All the times on the first tour I never had a drink of spirits or beer or anything. I don’t think the majority of the rest of the crew did. Alan Mayfield didn’t. It was difficult. I was in the officer’s mess and the rest of the crew were in the sergeant’s you see so you couldn’t have much to do with one another other than crew room and what not. But we all got on so well together but so we went over to Chedburgh would it have been? No. Not Chedburgh. That’s where I did my second tour. I can’t think of the name. Six miles away roughly. So we went over and then he said, ‘Well, you know, stay for dinner, you know.’ So we stayed for dinner and I think we did have a couple of beers because he’d been commissioned. So we were on our way back to Feltwell and there was a light ahead of us waving so we slowed up and there was a blooming policeman in the middle of the road. So, I don’t know whether Jock or I said, ‘Go.’ And he went one side of the policeman pedalling like mad and I went the other and we went about thirty yards and there was a barrier across the road [laughs] I had to stop. So of course, the policeman came along and you know we said, ‘Well, we’ve been a year, or you know, months bombing over Germany. We’ve just had a rest now.’ And he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ll have to take your names.’ And we thought that was the end of it. We cycled on and I was lecturing about 2 o’clock in the afternoon. There was a tap on the door and there was this blooming policeman and oh, Jock had said his name was Smith and I said it was Jones [laughs] So he said, ‘Are you Mr Jack Jones.’ And I said, ‘I’m afraid so.’ He said, ‘I’m sorry but you’re going to be summoned.’ And believe it or not we were summoned to the local court for riding a bicycle without lights at 11 o’clock at night on a country road with no, no traffic or anything at all. Well, I went into Ely Hospital to have my tonsils out then. I’d had some throat trouble. Jock went along to the court and he was fined ten shillings. And then they called my name and Jock explained that I was in hospital and the judge said, ‘Fifteen shillings.’ Well, Jock was a very fiery Scotsman and he jumped up and he said, ‘You can’t do that. We were both together and you fined me ten shillings and fifteen shillings for him.’ Well, the judge said, ‘Very well, you can find, you can pay fifteen shillings as well.’ [laughs] You can’t believe it can you? In the middle of the war.
GT: Astonishing. Jeez. So —
JJ: It was quite a joke.
GT: What a joke. Jack, I’m looking through your logbook and you joined Number 3 Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell.
JJ: Yeah. Yeah.
GT: January 8, 1944 and, and pretty much you spent all year there. Is that correct?
JJ: Yeah. Ten, ten months before I was back on ops.
GT: So how many crews would you have trained or lectured or shown?
JJ: I think the crews came for a month because they did quite a bit of circuits and bumps and then they did a couple of cross countries and then went off. Crews coming mostly from the, from Cambridge you know. There.
GT: So, you’d done a full tour on Stirlings and then went to a Lancaster Finishing School.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Where did you get your Lancaster training from or didn’t it matter?
JJ: Oh, it just, well I mean the equipment was all the same. It was no bother. You just got in. We didn’t do much. Sometimes I flew on a cross country with a crew but that was just finishing. Most of it was circuits and bumps and lecturing in the, you know, ground school lecturing. The information you could give them. How to, you know, be sure and keep on track, not to stray off because they picked up the strays and other little tips you learned from navigating, you know. How important it was to keep in the main stream and not get out of it. Things like that we used to give them. Other odds and ends. There wasn’t a lot of Ground School but they did a couple of cross countries and we had to mark them of course and you know help them with any tips or anything on navigating. It was mainly after you crossed the coast you were on your own. You hardly got a fix on anything you see. You couldn’t get anything. You couldn’t anything in the Astro. I used to do a bit of Astro coming back but not on the way out to the target. Bomb aimer would look out and he would see probably fifteen miles away flak going up. Someone had gone off track and you knew that that was some town you know or other and you could get a bearing. He’d give me a bearing on that on the astrocompass. And that was a good ground speed check or something like that you see as you went out and you just used your Met knowledge mainly to think what the winds had changed to and then you always got a good fix over the target. That’s why I never got into the astrodome except once because you got a fix there and you got your, you could get a good wind for the last three or four hundred miles you see to use on the way back.
GT: So your bomb aimer helped you with a lot of the navigational help.
JJ: With the visual. If we, if it was clear he might be able to see crossing a river on the way just if the moonlight was out. He could say, ‘We’re crossing a river now.’ And that was a great help. You could look it up on the topographical map and that would be a hell of a good help and give an estimate, ‘Oh, there’s a town over — ’ And he’d take a bearing on it with the astrocompass coming up and say I would think it was about, you know just a guess ten or twelve miles away. Well, that was a great help. One of the greatest things was you knew if you got a lot of buffeting from time to time you knew you were in the main stream then, you know. There’s about six hundred other aircraft going that way. So you were delighted to get a bump, you know. You knew you weren’t far away from the from the main stream.
GT: When you were in the main stream did you have aircraft above you and therefore they were dropping their bombs? Did you have any near misses in that way?
JJ: We had a very near miss. I’m not sure if it was first tour or second on Peenemunde. The end of the tour I think. You know there was the rocket range there. It’s the first tour wasn’t it?
GT: So that was the V-1 flying Doodlebugs.
JJ: No. The V-2.
GT: It was the V-2s was it?
JJ: V-2s they were developing there. I think they’d done the V-1 already. Is Peenemunde? I think. I thought Peenemunde was on the first tour.
GT: Ok. So, so what happened there? The bombs went past you.
JJ: We flew up nearly to Sweden and then we were bombing from eight thousand feet coming in and the Stirlings were on the first wave. Have you found Peenemunde?
GT: That’s fine. You carry on telling the story and I’ll see.
JJ: It was the first time I’d managed to get into the astrodome because it was fairly quiet flying in. There wasn’t a lot of flak or anything and I looked up and saw a Lancaster just above us probably not more than sixty or seventy feet, maybe a hundred feet with bomb doors, bomb doors open and I screamed at the pilot, ‘Turn hard starboard now, now, now.’ And he immediately went up and as the wing went up the stick of bombs went down about twenty yards. Where we’d been. And they would all have gone through us. You see, the bomb aimer’s looking ahead. Doesn’t see something here. And that was a Lancaster actually. I reckon he was early on target. He shouldn’t have been above us. We were just eight thousand feet but that was the nearest we ever had of having bombs through the wing. I certainly wouldn’t have been here now if I hadn’t gone into that astrodome. You see the mid-upper gunner is busy looking around at his level for fighters and didn’t think to look up. But it was a very close shave.
GT: Great.
JJ: It didn’t miss us by more than twenty yards I reckon. You could see every five hundred pounder going down.
GT: Your bomb loads that you had was there anything special or everything was just cookies, five hundreds?
JJ: Usually had a cookie. Four thousand. Four thousand and made up of five hundreds and incendiaries depending on what the target was, you know. Occasionally a few thousand pounders but mainly five hundreds.
GT: Did you do any special ops or was it all just standard?
JJ: No, it was all, the first tour was all standard targets. Yeah.
GT: So, from your time with Lancaster Finishing School did the crews come to you brand new from joining up or —
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Were there a mixture of experienced —
JJ: Yeah. No. Virtually no experience. They were all new trainees. There might be the odd pilot or the odd navigator doing a second tour. The odd pilot doing a second tour. But nearly everybody coming through LFS when I was there were first tour people, you know. They’d come from overseas, done OTU, conversion on to the Stirling at Cambridge and then they came to us to fly the Lancs.
GT: So once you’d finished at LFS was that your choice and did you apply for another tour?
JJ: No. You didn’t apply. You just went where you were told. Yeah.
GT: So they put you on a second tour without you asking.
JJ: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, they just came through one day. December wasn’t it? Just before Christmas and said, ‘You’re posted to 218 Squadron.’ And I was off in about a week. Had a week’s leave and away we went. But I was delighted to get on the Lanc you know. Such a good aeroplane to fly. You know the Stirling soared up at this angle and you had a job to climb in. We had faith in the Stirling but we, I don’t know we knew that we’d have been better on Lancasters, you know. We just because the height you know. You got the light flak. You got all everything at fourteen thousand five hundred feet or so.
GT: What was your main height for the Lancaster bombing raids?
JJ: They were more about eighteen. Usually about eighteen or nineteen. You could get it up to twenty one but usually bombing height was eighteen or nineteen. We did quite a lot of daylight raids in ’45 on 218 and we, we qualified as a marker, GH marker so we had two aircraft formating on us. A daylight raid you had one either side. You know, a few yards off and then you had to watch us and push the bomb tit as our bombs went and even though the bomb aimer could see the aiming point he wasn’t allowed to push the tit until I said. On the GH was very accurate. You had two intersecting lines. You kept yourself on one and then said, ‘Bomb now.’ You know and you pushed the tit for the bombs. Lots on bridges and specialised targets. Mainly on bridge crossings it was in the book there, I think. Shorter trips. And of course, we had a bit of fighter cover as well so it was a lot safer. The losses weren’t anything like they were on Stirlings in ’44. ’43/44 was a bad time for everybody wasn’t it?
GT: So, the aircraft numbers for instance. Each, each squadron generally had twelve aircraft per flight.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: So 75 Squadron had three flights of twelve. Did 218 Squadron have that many and how many did you fly?
JJ: No. Two flights I’m sure. 218.
GT: Ok. You might have gone up with twenty four aircraft a night. Or a day trip perhaps.
JJ: Say again.
GT: Did you fly with twenty four aircraft all the time?
JJ: No. You know, there was always two U/S or something or you hadn’t the crews. If you lost two crews and two new crews would arrive that day. I think on average we put up twenty. Twenty aircraft. Sometimes twenty one and very occasionally twenty two but usually it was about twenty aircraft.
GT: Can you describe for me the purpose of a pilot from a new crew arriving and going as a second dickie? Can you describe that for me?
JJ: Well, all the pilot did when you arrived on the squadron your pilot went as a second dickie with an experienced crew just to get the feel of the thing. See what it was like, you know and learn a few tips on flying and corkscrewing and that sort of thing. And then you were on your own. And you always, I think you always did two mining trips. You did what do you call it? Probably got the name in there. You did a mining trip to just off Germany. The islands there.
GT: They did some gardening.
JJ: Gardening. It’s called gardening. That’s right. So you did that low. You dropped them from I think about a thousand feet. They were on parachutes you know and you got to the area, you got quite a lot of flak on that first area. There must have been a lot of ships around us. And we, I can’t remember if it was two or four and then we did a second gardening trip down to Bordeaux and we were coming back fairly low because we’d dropped the things low. And it was a nice moonlight night and bomb aimer was sitting in the nose then and he said, ‘There’s a train down below skipper. Let’s go down and shoot it up.’ So we did and we blew it up. When we got back to debriefing the intelligence officers said, ‘Don’t you ever do that again because they’re equipping most of the trains with, you know machine guns and whatnot because the fighters had been doing a lot of this and the train had got a chap with four Bofors guns or something and you hadn’t got a chance if you flew in at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. So we thought we’d done well, you know. We were thinking everybody was going to say, ‘Well done.’ [laughs] But they said, ‘Don’t ever do it again.’
GT: You got lucky.
JJ: It was quite fun to see this train blow up.
GT: Some crews have told me that they did a whole tour without using their nose guns. Did you in your tours did they use them at all?
JJ: That’s the only time we used it. On the train. Nose and the tail. Yeah. No. We never saw anything in front. Fighters came up behind you and underneath you see. So no bomb aimer never fired those guns. He used to test them and that was all.
GT: And that was going to be my next question. Do those that man those guns in the nose was generally going to be the bomb aimer if —
JJ: The bomb aimer in the front.
GT: If he needed to.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Yeah. So going into your second tour then Jack so you were posted off to 218 Gold Coast Squadron.
JJ: Yeah. Yeah.
GT: And Gold Coast is Australian or South African?
JJ: South Africa.
GT: South African side.
JJ: I think. I’m sure it was South African.
GT: And there was a South African connection like New Zealand had.
JJ: There must have been some connection in, you know a lot earlier. They had Gold Coast in brackets for some reason or other. We never met anybody from the Gold Coast or anything. It was probably the first war. They might have provided some people. Fighters or something and they kept the name going when they resurrected it anyway.
GT: So when you were posted on did you get a choice of a crew or did you just get given?
JJ: No. I was posted. Posted there and arrived and, ‘This is your crew.’ You know. The pilot was a first tour. I was second tour and the two air gunners were second tour. Great chaps. They were a bit older than me. They were thirty one and they’d both been gunnery leaders on different, you know, in between and they were first class they were. So —
GT: Your logbook shows that you, you did, you arrived there in February 1945.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: And you continued on from your first tour of twenty one ops and you did your twenty second op on February the 7th. So —
JJ: That’s right.
GT: So was there anything outstanding about 218? Anything that you remember that was of note.
JJ: Well, I don’t want it to go in the book. The CO. Are you recording?
GT: Yes.
JJ: No. I won’t say anything.
GT: Ok. Whatever.
JJ: I’ll tell you afterwards. Yeah.
GT: Yeah. So, so you got various. I can see day and night flights here.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: And —
JJ: We had a good, we had a good crew. We had two excellent gunners and we did get the odd other attack. I think I did a Berlin trip there didn’t we? Yeah.
GT: Right. So, I’ve got your second operational tour was completed on the 24th of April 1945 and your total operational hours by day sixty eight hours and total operational nights fifty hours. Total grand operational hours a hundred and nineteen and ten minutes.
JJ: That was a full tour anyway for me and a second tour was, was that.
GT: Now, for your work you were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: Can you tell me about that please?
JJ: There’s not much to say. I think I’d probably been a good navigator. Good results, you know from our bombing and everything. So for some reason or other I was awarded the DFC. Nobody else in either of the crews was actually so I think, I think I was a good navigator. We didn’t have any problems. We had one dicey coming back trip when we were on two engines coming across France and the engineer said we were losing fuel. We’d been shot up a bit. I can’t remember which, I think we landed right at the end. Bradwell Bay. And coming across France and I managed to pick out a diversion airfield and got us there and as we’d taxied around the, as we were going in to land the engineer said the tanks are just about empty. As we taxied around the runway all four engines cut. Another five minutes and we wouldn’t be here now anyway.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: We’d have stalled out but we’d had, we knew we were losing fuel you know and we’d had fighter attacks and whatnot but we couldn’t do anything about it. We just made it to the South Coast so that was Bradwell Bay. So we went, left the aircraft and went back on the train with parachutes and everything else [laughs] nav bags and sextant.
GT: Were your aircraft replaced pretty quickly if you lost any?
JJ: Yeah. We didn’t usually fly in the same aircraft. At 218 we did. We had Queenie that had done about fifty, sixty trips and we did quite a few trips in Queenie. And she features in some of the post-war picture books, you know. That one lasted, oh it was just about the end of the war when we finished anyway. But otherwise, you know we never had an aircraft last long enough you were different aircraft nearly every, pretty well every night.
GT: Your logbook shows Queenie to be LM577 and your total operational tally of sorties was forty one.
JJ: I don’t know.
GT: Now, for me that’s, the use of the word mission was —
JJ: No.
GT: Was not correct and you guys did operations.
JJ: Yeah. We didn’t call it missions. The Americans called it missions. We never used the word mission. No. So many ops was the term. Nobody ever used missions. No.
GT: Fabulous. Alright so and then once you had finished your last operation, your forty first one there and that was April 1945 what happened to you after that? Was it VE day to come?
JJ: I was posted. No. It was just before and I was first tour, second tour you see. The rest of the crew and the gunners were second tour. They told us we’d finished our tour. The pilot and the engineer and the wireless operator hadn’t finished. They were on their first tour so they were left and they, I went on leave for a fortnight and when I came back they started dropping the food to the Dutch. So I went along to see the CO and said, ‘I’m posted up to Catterick, you know to get me out of the way. I’d like to stay and fly with my crew.’ Well, I don’t want this to go on the — turn it off.
GT: Ok.
[recording paused]
JJ: Ok. I think the flight commander or the station commander must have put up for the DFC because I got it just, just before I finished my tour and I was the only member of that crew to get one and my other crew hadn’t either. First tour. So I had to be off to Catterick to Selection Board trying to find someone to take the place of all the bank managers and people who had been doing admin jobs. So I was sent off to be adjutant at [pause] it was near Lincoln. Fighter Sector Headquarters. Wonderful. I thought my God some people have had an easy job. It was a Fighter Sector with about sixty, seventy girls and about ten airmen and a group captain, a wing commander and a squadron leader in charge of it. And they had Group Captain Arthur Donaldson as head of them. A fighter man. Wonderful chap and he insisted on having a beer every lunchtime actually [laughs] And it only lasted about three months I think and they closed the station down, you know. They didn’t need Fighter Sector Headquarters any more. And I went from there to Molesworth which was 1335 Conversion Unit for Meteors. Jets.
GT: Now we’re talking February 1946.
JJ: That’s right. And I was the first navigator to fly in a, in a jet because they converted one on the station. The engineering officer went for the first trip and I went up for the second. That was before they had dual seats in the, in the Meteors. Wonderful. Zoom. I loved it.
GT: I’m looking at your logbook and that flight was October the 16th 1946 in EE229 Meteor 1 and your pilot was Flight Lieutenant Williams. That’s pretty fair for twenty minutes. Yeah.
JJ: Yeah. I was —
GT: So with your DFC, Jack did you get handed it or did you have to go and get —
JJ: No. I got the letter from the, signed by George, you know saying I’m sorry I can’t give it to you.
GT: In person.
JJ: But well done. That sort of thing.
GT: You didn’t have to go down to the —
JJ: Didn’t have to go down to the Palace. No. No.
GT: So, did your CO just pin it on you or —
JJ: No. Just got it in the post I think. I can’t remember the CO giving it to me.
GT: God.
JJ: He might have done but he wasn’t on the squadron, you see. I’d moved on.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Admin jobs and whatnot there.
GT: So after the war had finished were you given an option to carry on? And you were what rank by then?
JJ: I was flight lieutenant then.
GT: Ok.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: So did you get given an option to stay on in the peacetime?
JJ: No. Just with your age they just said, you know, ‘You won’t be demobbed for another year or so.’ So then I went from [pause] I went down to Chivenor as adjutant. I went to I think Molesworth first. That’s right. Molesworth and Bentwaters. That’s where we had the Jet Training Unit. Yeah. And from Bentwaters, oh I had a chat on the phone to the [unclear] people at Command one day. They were very friendly you know and they said, ‘Is there anything you wanted to do?’ And I said, ‘Well, I want to get back on flying.’ They said, ‘We can’t do that but there’s a job going as adjutant down at Chivenor.’ So that was the Spitfire OTU sort of thing you know. They were still converting people then flying Spits. So I went down to Chivenor and I seemed to get on well with the CO there who hadn’t been a flying man during the war. He was a very nice man but we had several Spit accidents you know and I had to arrange funerals and things. Totally new. Never had any experience of all these jobs and one day he said, ‘Would you like to apply for a permanent commission?’ I think I’d been there about six months. He said, ‘I’ll recommend you if you like.’ So I was delighted. Didn’t really know what I was going to do when I went there. I wanted some different job than the one I’d been doing before you know and I hadn’t had any training. And I got a permanent commission while I was there you know. Group Captain Whitfield or something. Something like that. I can’t remember his name. But I don’t think I did any, I don’t think they had, they had an Oxford or something there I flew around in but not very much. I think I did about eighteen months there and I was constantly court martials and things. Talking to the [unclear] people at Command and I always said, ‘When am I going back on flying?’ And they came up one day and said, ‘We can’t get you back into Bomber Command. We don’t move people there.’ From where I was it was fighter I think or something or training but he said, ‘Would you like to go on to Hastings?’ I had to do all refresher courses because I’d been off flying for about three years. So I went to Swinderby on Wellingtons and then Hastings up at [pause] oh dear. By the Great North Road. You’ve got it there. Dishforth. And another refresher course at somewhere. Somewhere near there. Anyway, Dishforth was the Hastings course and I went to a squadron. 511 Squadron at Lyneham on the Hastings and I loved it and I’ve still got a, you know you had a grading system. You had to pass exams. I was sort of a fully fledged passenger and everything else. We did trips to Singapore. The Middle East mainly. Usually did about one trip a month or two months to Singapore. Did lots of trips to the Middle East freight and passengers. A lot of passengers.
GT: Jack, I’ve got you 241 OCU. You were there from December 31, 1949. And you —
JJ: About three months.
GT: You flew right there to the end of March 1950 and then you joined 511 Squadron.
JJ: 511 Squadron.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: That’s right.
GT: April 1950.
JJ: Yeah. Yeah.
GT: And you flew with them right through to [pause] well your logbook goes on up until 1952. So you were flying all over the world with the Hastings.
JJ: Yeah. Mainly the Far East. Not the world but I think we did one trip to America. I can’t remember now. Maybe not. I think we went to the Azores but I can’t remember. But mainly it was to the Middle East and the Far East. I went to Japan. The war was on then and we took winter vests out for the British who had been sent out in the middle of winter without any winter clothing. And we actually arrived there the day before Christmas and we said, they said, ‘Oh, you needn’t fly over on Christmas day.’ It was an American base you see. And we said, ‘Well these chaps need these vests. We’ll go.’ So on Christmas Day we flew over to Tokyo and we had to orbit for fifty minutes before we landed. The jets, American fighter jets were just around and around you know. The Korean War. We landed. They all came over because they hadn’t seen an aeroplane sitting up like this before [laughs] They were quite surprised. Wondered what it was and then we went back and went into the mess and they said, ‘Sorry they had lunch at lunchtime. There’s no food.’ [laughs] At that time funnily enough I had an American pilot on an exchange scheme, a Polish co-pilot and an Irish wireless operator and we had a bottle of whisky between us and went to bed. That was our Christmas. Christmas dinner. We hadn’t had any food over in Tokyo. You know. Too busy. But that was something to remember.
GT: So then you moved over to, I see Valettas. What squadron were you with there?
JJ: Valettas. Oh, what did I do in between?
GT: In Libya.
JJ: Libya. Yeah. I went out to, I was posted out to Castel Benito in Libya as adjutant and I was promoted there after about six months to squadron leader. So I was posted down to the Canal Zone and I was in charge of the, mainly with the Army dropping paratroops and doing the routes down to Livingstone and all over the place there for a bit. And then for some reason or other, oh that was it the senior admin officer at Shallufa down in the Canal Zone was repatriated for inefficiency or something like that and I was sent down as senior admin officer. There was a wing commander there and we had the Lincolns used to come out and do their bombing on the bombing range there. So I was there until probably about eighteen months. The station closed down and I actually handed over to the Egyptians and they’d all been trained at Cranwell. There was about six majors came along. Everybody on the station had gone except myself then and the Egyptians arrived and our lads, a few left to guard the place were flown home and I handed over to these Egyptians. So I’d laid on a lunch for them and it was a good lunch and the first thing they said was, ‘Have you got any whisky?’ And we brought out, luckily we’d got a crate of whisky left and they all had whisky. Lots of whisky with their lunch. Then we brought the flag down and put theirs up and I was off to Fayid. And I’d left my car. I’d bought a car at Castel Benito and I had to leave it there for eighteen months but the young MT officer used to look after it for me and I arrived back and the family were actually out there then. They did come out to Shallufa. The wife and the two boys about five and six. So we all flew back to Shallufa and I said, ‘I’m not putting my car on a boat and taking it home. I’m driving home.’ And I got the ok to drive all the way. Five thousand miles. North African coast, back through France and I arrived back about two days before Christmas Day. It took us six weeks and lo couldn’t get any film to take any pictures on the way but it all went fine, you know. We’d find a little hotel every night and booked into it. Oh, the young, we had a great help. The young MT officer was going out of the Service and he said, ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘You couldn’t find room for me?’ I had the Ford Zephyr. A big car. I had big cases on the top you know and I said, ‘Oh, we can squeeze you in, Norman.’ So he came with us. Well, before we got to Algiers he said, ‘You know, the engine’s making a nasty noise. I think you’d better stop.’ So I stopped and he dipped the, I didn’t know there was a dipstick for the engine oil. The oil. Gear oil. It was dry. So he said if we’d gone on another ten miles it would have seized up. So he went, he hitchhiked about twenty miles into one of the towns. I can’t think of which one. He said, ‘I couldn’t get the proper oil. I got some oil. That’ll get us to the next town.’ And it did and we got, there was a Ford dealer there you know and Northern Algiers. It wasn’t as far as that. No. I can’t remember where it was. Anyway, we got the car checked over and it was ok and filled up with the proper oil and we carried on. Crossed over from Tangier to Gib. My eldest son, it was misty, it was just before Christmas and suddenly Gibraltar appeared. I knew the skipper of the ship because I’d met him when he was on Hastings. He used to come in the mess you see. And two days later we were in what’s the [pause] Malaga. That’s right. David who was about six and a half then. He said, ‘You know dad. I’m going to join the Navy.’ It was this strip across, you know just the thing from, so I said, ‘You’re not joining the Navy until you go to university.’ But he applied to Dartmouth and was accepted. He served a year. He loved it but he said, he came home one day and he said, ‘Dad, I’m not going to be a normal Naval officer.’ It was a bit snotty you know and he liked to do what he liked and when he liked and he said, ‘I think I want to come out.’ So I saw his CO who said, he was doing engineering he said, ‘If he doesn’t come out within three months they won’t let him out because he was doing all the, getting all this training.’ He’d just done the service training. So anyway, we didn’t have to pay much but we got him out and he applied for university and all three accepted him. He went to Swansea and got a good degree in engineering and he’s the one who’s in America now. Seventy years old. Still working. Loving it.
GT: Well —
JJ: Teaching you know modern electronics and whatnot to everybody.
GT: Well, military is obviously in your family Jack and I’m looking at your logbook from 1954 in Shallufa and I can see the aircraft types range from the Hastings to the Valetta, Beaufighter and Pembroke.
JJ: Oh, we had the Beaufighter at Shallufa.
So the, well where was that from?
JJ: Used to go down and the CO flew in and I went with him and we used to go down and get fruit and veg from Akaba because the Egyptians wouldn’t let us buy any local fruit and veg. The NAAFI. So we used to go and fill it up there. Probably got a bit of whisky as well I think.
GT: So, by, by March 1955 you were back in England and it says here you were based in [Khormaksar?]. What aircraft types did you work on from there and where did you move to?
JJ: I went to 18 Group when I came back from first of all from the Middle East. I can’t remember which station. 18 Group were the headquarters at near Rosyth. Pitreavie Castle. That was it. It was the headquarters and it controlled all the aircraft in the Atlantic you know. All the Shackletons and everybody else in the Atlantic. Anti-submarine warfare. And there again I said, ‘Can I get back flying on Transport Command?’ And again the [unclear] people said, ‘We can’t. The Air Ministry do that. But if you like we can get you on to Shackletons.’ So I jumped at it and I went up to Kinloss and did the Shackleton course and I went to Ballykelly as a flight commander then for about two years.
GT: Two years on Shackletons.
JJ: Yeah. Great. We used to do, well fifteen hour trips mainly. One a month fifteen hours which was pretty wearying and you worked all the time. You didn’t just fly around. You had a rendezvous out with a submarine somewhere in the Atlantic you know and probably a ship and you got sonar buoys tracking the submarine. You did exercises with them out, two or three hundred miles out or more in the Atlantic and you used to get the odd ship, trip to Gibraltar as a bonus occasionally. But it was all anti-submarine work all the time you know tracking Russian submarines. Very interesting work photographing them if there were warships out. Fly alongside and wave [laughs]
GT: So, your logbook reads that you were on 204 Squadron for most of that time.
JJ: That’s right. I was flight commander.
GT: And then your last entry in your logbook is from MOTU, St Mawgan.
JJ: That’s right. I was posted down at OC Ground Training at St Mawgan. Again the Shackleton.
GT: And your last flight —
JJ: Operational Conversion Unit. Yeah.
GT: And your last flight showing 29 June 1966.
JJ: What was that in?
GT: Shackletons.
JJ: Shackleton. Yeah.
GT: And your final hours total two thousand two hundred and fifty two hours fifty minutes by day, and night six hundred and ninety three twenty five minutes. That’s, that’s a huge sum of hours there Jack.
JJ: Quite a lot isn’t it. Yeah.
GT: Total.
JJ: Yeah. It was a lovely aeroplane to fly in, the Shackleton you know. It was reliable and and the crew we had five radio, five radio operators and two that rotated the jobs. One on radar, one on tracking the sonar buoys, another one looking out and observing. One probably in the galleys [laughs] And I forget what the other one did but it was enjoyable flying you know. Good crew flying.
GT: So when did you retire from the RAF?
JJ: I went out from St Mawgan to Cyprus as OC of the ops room there. Most of our aircraft we had to control the Vulcans at [pause] what’s the place?
GT: Akrotiri?
JJ: Akrotiri. That’s right. Actually, I had all the Vulcan. I had top secret. It was more than top secret. It was something else. I had the safe with all the plans for a war with Russia. Even the air commodore wasn’t allowed to look at it, believe it or not. The air commodore. And I used to give him, he wanted, he only lived across the road like that in a big thing, you know and he used to come across to the Ops Room every morning for briefing. And then he found out in the UK they had television so they sent me back to Bomber Command to do a quick course on television presenting and we got television in and so I briefed him just across the road. Pointed to the targets every morning on the television. I can’t believe it. Absolute waste of money and we used to like to see him as well because he’d have a chat. He sat in his office with his briefing on the screen. Oh dear.
GT: So the ultimate for you was —
JJ: And from there I was OC. I went out with short notice from St Mawgan. The previous squadron leader was someone I knew. He had been CO of ASWDU, Air Sea Warfare Development Unit at Londonderry. Yeah, where, I did a tour there as well. He was a very efficient chap and he fell out with the group captain and he packed him up one weekend and sent him home. Said he wanted another officer. So I was, went out because they wanted a maritime man out there. I went out at about a week’s notice to, to Headquarters and took over the ops room there. And then I was coming out. I was due out at forty nine. So I put in an application to stay in you know to normal retiring age sixty years and they came back and said they couldn’t give me a flying job, you know. You know, flying. But they offered me to transfer to the supply branch so I went as OC. I did the course, and it was funny there were two of us. Two. A pole and myself had been wartime and the other, I think eighteen students were all university. Fellas and girls and we came top of the course. We didn’t know a thing about it but you see they were out at dances every night and enjoying themselves in the pubs and we were sitting, we sat together and swatted. Anyway, we came top of the course which was very satisfying and I went to the Helicopter Conversion Unit which was good because I never put that in my logbook, you know. I had the odd flight there and worked with them and I found it was the easiest job I’d had in the Air Force. Being OC Supply for a big unit, you know. I thought my golly some people have had an easy time. And from there I was very keen to settle in Scotland and I applied for any chance of a job at Kinloss. About the only place and they said no. But they offered me a job at Carlisle. OC packaging. So I went on another course and learned about packaging and I packed everything from a split pin to an aircraft wing you know at Carlisle. And again it was good. They were all civilian. They just had one squadron leader and then they were all civilians. The rest were people in the hangars you know. But we got on well again and I found it a piece of cake you know from flying days with all the troubles and things that happened when you were flying. It was, it was easy going. Yeah. Quite fun. So that was my career.
GT: And this, you retired from Carlisle.
JJ: I retired from Carlisle.
GT: And what year was that, Jack?
JJ: I tried to get a job, fifty five and thirty two. Seventy seven. I tried to get a job and I thought I’m in packaging you know. Equipment. I went to a big furniture place in Carlisle and I told him what I’d been doing and I said, ‘You know, we’ve got the computer and we put in automatic supply when something is sold and whatever.’ Well, they hadn’t got any and he said, ‘I’m afraid you’re too experienced.’ He was afraid I was going to take over his job. I said, ‘I’m quite happy to do a menial job. I just want a job to do something.’ So he said, ‘I’m sorry. No.’ He thought I was after his. And then I decided well I’d met Joyce. My wife and I hadn’t been getting on for a long time. You’re not putting this on tape are you?
GT: No. So ok, you met Joyce and —
JJ: I met Joyce and we got married after about three years. But the reason I haven’t been, you’ve got nothing on there I would have loved to have gone to New Zealand, you know. All the New Zealand people I knew I loved them. I got on so well with them and I loved fishing and I would have loved to have gone to South Island with a caravan but because I married after I left the Air Force Joyce wouldn’t get any pension from the RAF. They changed it now but not retrospective. So if I passed out you know as I very well could have done at any time on I didn’t tell them why. I just said no. I don’t want to go. She would have got about a hundred and ten pounds a week to live on you know. No pension from the RAF and no pension from her husband who had died. He was a bank manager. So she would have had about a hundred pounds, you know. I threw away thoughts about going to New Zealand.
GT: Did you keep in contact with any, one of the people from earlier crews like 75 or 218?
JJ: No. I tried to but they said their wartime crews you see. I wrote to the New Zealand government to ask for flight, well he’d been a pilot officer then and gave his name and they said they were sorry they couldn’t disclose. Perhaps they thought there might have been something funny. I don’t know. Then I wrote to the MOD about my bomb aimer, Jock earlier than that and they said they couldn’t give me any information and I presumed he’d been killed because he went back. He went back to 75, Jock Somerville for his second tour and I never knew that until I met his son Simon all these years afterwards and he’d survived and we could have seen. We were such good pals you know flying together. So that put paid really to any keeping in touch with people.
GT: Any, any other stories you can think of from your wartime Bomber Command?
JJ: I don’t think so really. Nothing at the moment. No.
GT: So you joined up for Bomber Command —
JJ: There was plenty of, you know, excitement. We invariably I should think every three trips you were attacked by a fighter or you had searchlights on you or something like that you know and you were corkscrewing and pretty worried and short of fuel. Fuel troubles you know from flak in the tanks and whatnot. Losing fuel flying back short. Diverted. Bad weather when you got back. You were always a bit worried. Quite a lot of aircraft they put oil drums out on the, I forget the diversion airfield now. Flare path you know and you could get in there if you pushed the fog out a few yards. But, well, I would think you know one flight in three you were a bit worried when you got back you know getting down and getting short of fuel and that sort of thing. One thing I’ll never understand that our squadron, 75 we only had a tot of brandy on two occasions after a long trip to Berlin. I think both occasions I think it was and yet you hear people from other squadrons used to get it regularly you know. A nip of brandy when you finished debriefing, yeah and went off to bed. But you see we were in Nissen huts on 75. I think there were five either side officers. Well invariably you know you probably got back 3 o’clock in the morning or something like that. You’d just get to sleep and the lights would go on and the adj would come in with the station warrant officer collecting up somebody’s kit. You know. It happened almost every trip you know. You could guarantee it. It was terrible really. So many people. You see there weren’t a lot of, there weren’t many commissioned navigators. The pilots, a lot of them there were still a lot of sergeant pilots you see. I had a sergeant pilot as well. But so there weren’t many commissioned people in Nissen huts you know but most of the pilots, most of them were pilots and they’d come in and just collect. The only good thing was that the New Zealanders used to get food parcels. They used to get oysters and I was afraid I didn’t fancy oysters then. Joyce loves them. I still don’t really like them. I tried one. And fruit cake. And we used to have these lovely fruit cakes around the little fire in the middle of the room you know. Had a job to get the fuel for it in the cold weather but the lads used to dish out this fruit cake all around and, which was lovely. Always remember that fruit cake from New Zealand. But everybody got on so well you know. You were, they were great people. I just loved them all I would have loved to have emigrated to New Zealand. If I’d had, if I hadn’t got the, you know the job, the permanent commission I would have definitely gone I think.
GT: You’ll be pleased to know that Roy Max’s medals have been loaned to us in New Zealand by his wife.
JJ: Oh good.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Good. Marvellous. Wonderful. Now, Dickie Broadbent was my flight commander. Did you ever know him?
GT: I met Dickie Broadbent quite a bit.
JJ: I say I, I only spoke to him on the phone. I’d have loved to have gone down and met him somehow but the following year I think he died. I can’t remember the other flight commander’s name or, the bombing leader was a great fellow. We used to have long chats. He and another fellow before he joined the Air Force they used to go off into the mountains shooting deer. They’d go for about four months and they’d live on deer meat and porridge stuff that they made up for four months. And they said for the other month remaining they made enough money they kept some of the tails or something and others they took photos or what. Anyway, they were able to prove how many deer they’d shot and he said, ‘In that four months we both made enough money —' he wasn’t married, ‘To live it up in a good hotel for the other eight months of the year.’ Wonderful, wasn’t it?
GT: Yeah.
JJ: I saw a programme a couple of years ago. They don’t do that now. They go in helicopters and shoot them because there are far too many aren’t there?
GT: Yeah.
JJ: South Island. Yeah.
GT: Well, the farmer —
JJ: He was a great lad. I can’t remember his name now. He was the bombing leader and gunnery leader you know. I can’t think of his name. I used to have long chats with him about New Zealand you know. Particularly the island fishing. They’d take their fishing rod as well of course up there and they’d sleep on this for four months he said and then live it up in a hotel for the other eight months.
GT: So your aircraft preference? The Lancaster or the Stirling or the Shackleton?
JJ: Say again? The —
GT: Your preference.
JJ: Preference? I think the Lancaster you know. We had the utmost faith in it. I think it was mainly because the losses were so heavy on the Stirling. We still liked it, you know. We were, we were quite heavy on it and it got us back as I say a lot of times. Very often on three engines. More often than not on three engines all the way back. One would seize up or something or get shot up with a night fighter but we always got back alright. And we, we came back on two on one occasion whereas the Lanc would fly on two grand you know. You could almost fly on one once you got rid of the bombs. And of course, two years later or a year and a half later the equipment was more reliable. We had Air Position Indicators, and we had [pause] What did we have on the Shack? The API, the Air Position Indicator was a great help when they brought that out so you didn’t have to give a manual plot all the time you see what you were steering to get your winds. You wanted your manual plot and in a fix that would give you wind. But the API would give you an air position where you’d be if there was no wind you see. Work from the air pressure and whatnot of the pitot head. That was the great thing and we did and the last few trips on the Lancaster we had the oh, the radar. What did you call it?
GT: H2S?
JJ: H2S as well. And that was a great help navigation. You know you could pick up rivers and things like that. Made it so much easier at night. You’d see when you were crossing the river and it was wonderful check on ground speed and everything and small towns as well. You could work out where you were with that. So that was, that was that was the great thing about the Lanc. Having that. Once we got the H2S, we didn’t get it until about halfway through the tour I think but when we got it it was great. But the thing I remember the most was the good comradeship always, you know. No matter rank. NCOs didn’t mean any different you know when you were together. It didn’t matter if you were a sergeant or you were a squadron leader you were all doing your job and fine, you know. In the Shack we used first names for all the sergeant AO operator. You know, air signallers etcetera in the airplane. We used, we’d use the first names and then they brought in you must say, ‘Pilot to nav.’ You mustn’t use your name. That was getting on after the war you see on the Shackletons you’d got the people in Cranwell trained in MOD who said we’d got to get back to the old systems ,you know. Keep people apart.
GT: So Jack you’ve had a marvellous career in the RAF.
JJ: I enjoyed everything too. That’s the great thing you know. I was never unhappy. I wasn’t very happy on the flying you know. When you’re on ops you think God am I going to get back or not, you know. If I’m always thought if I’m lucky I’ll bale out. Try and get back or in a POW camp but I never expected. I wouldn’t have put any money on finishing a tour you know because chaps were disappearing every night really. First class chaps you know. Just couldn’t believe it. It was upward firing young guns cannon that the Jerries had were fatal you know. Particularly in the last year of the war. God. Remember was it Nuremberg we lost about ninety bombers I think, one night. Terrible. They got something wrong. Met winds or something and it was a clear night and they just shot them down. I went to Nuremberg and we did a, Joyce and I last year did a trip on the Rhine and we went to Nuremberg and I must say they showed all the pictures you know and I thought my God I can’t believe how they’d built it all up. Skyscrapers are going, you know. Wonderful.
GT: Did you think about the damage that was happening underneath you? Was it just a job or —
JJ: I didn’t think about the damage. I used to feel for the folks and families down there, you know. You’d think, God, what are we doing this to them for? You know. Because you know although you had, although you had an aiming point and hundreds of people were getting killed and injured as well and you used to think about that. I think night time when you’re in bed you thought oh poor blighters you know. What a crazy world this is. Sort of getting nowhere by pulverising the place to death and families you know getting blown apart. I used to think about that a lot actually. I think probably everybody did but you just had your job to do. Oh, I’ll show you those two pictures.
GT: Now, Jack, what, what did you have? Bomber Harris, he was your leader.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: What was thought of him?
JJ: We thought he was a good man. He was doing a good job.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: And and who did you have visit? Did you have anybody visit you on the squadron like the King or —
JJ: No. I always seem to be falling over nowadays. I lose my balance. No. We didn’t. We had, oh no that was after the war. I was on a fighter station and was it [ ] we got sort of five minutest notice. But annual inspections you know you get a fortnight to prepare and everything was on the top line but this fighter man you’d suddenly get a message to say he’s on his way down in a Spitfire. He just came down and he said, ‘I’d like to go and see the airmen’s mess.’ That was just after the war. He came down to Bentwaters I think. A very cheery nice fellow. But he, you know they couldn’t, you couldn’t fool him what was happening on the station. He did that all over the place apparently. They got the message on the VHF about a quarter of an hour before he arrived. He just walked down and invariably went along to the airmen’s mess and sergeant’s mess and wandered around for a bit and then cheerio and back again. It was good leadership wasn’t it?
GT: Yeah. Did they mention anything about Tiger Force to you?
JJ: No. This was for the Far East wasn’t it?
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Yeah. No. I finished my second tour you see so I, but the rest of the squadron thought they were probably going out. Yeah.
GT: Well, Jack I think we’ve covered a huge part of your —
JJ: I hope its been a help.
GT: Your career.
JJ: But a very good memory now you know for names etcetera but I enjoyed chatting to you anyway.
GT: Well, thank you Jack because this this will go into the archives at in Lincoln.
JJ: I think. And polish it up and —
GT: Yeah and it’s been it’s been an honour to sit and chat with you.
JJ: Yeah.
GT: For the time that you served.
JJ: Thank you.
GT: And it’s been marvellous so —
JJ: Thank you.
GT: I’m going to sign off now. This is Glen Turner who has been interviewing Mr Jack Jarmy and Jack whereabouts do you live?
JJ: Now?
GT: Gatehouse of Fleet.
JJ: Gatehouse of Fleet near Dumfries.
GT: Near Castle Douglas, Dumfriesshire.
JJ: In Scotland. So this is the 25th of July 2017 and my interview with Jack Jarmy is now concluded and this is Glen Turner saying thank you Jack very much for your service.
GT: Ok.
JJ: And your, your time tonight.
GT: Thank you. I hope it’s been useful.
JJ: Very much so.
GT: Ok. This is now the end of our interview.
JJ: Yeah. Yeah. Ok.
GT: Please show me your photographs, Jack.
JJ: My photographs as well.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: I’ve got no photographs of 75 but I’ve got two you weren’t supposed to pinch your bombing —
GT: Oh photographs.
JJ: The flash.
GT: The photoflash.
JJ: I’ve got one there.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: You can see where it is and that was the target. You can see it was.
GT: Obliterated. Yeah.
JJ: Just about.
GT: Flashed out.
JJ: Yeah. And I’ve got one picture of the old that I got somewhere or other. The Stirling. Only one. You know, you just couldn’t get photographs or anything. This is Canada. And there’s one more. That’s right. Is it Castel or something.
GT: Yes. It is. It’s got Castel there. Yeah.
JJ: Yeah. And this was Ely when I was doing afterwards on the Shackletons for the [pause] No. Sorry, 218 Squadron that must have been. Yeah. GH bombing. Yeah.
GT: Yeah. Well that’s March ’45 you’ve got.
JJ: That was the target. That’s right. Yeah. That was the target and we qualified on that. On that picture and I managed to get that. There was something about 75 I cut out. I can’t read it now. My eyes aren’t very good.
GT: Ok. I’ll take a photograph of that tomorrow because it’s quite, quite small. So where you see that’s wrong too because it’s got the wrong crown on it.
JJ: Yeah. I see.
GT: Yeah. So where was this one? In Belgium.
JJ: They must have given us that in Belgium. Yeah. Yeah.
GT: That’s a shame.
JJ: That’s the —
GT: That’s a window with —
JJ: Yes. That’s right. When we went to this Belgian sergeant had resurrected and dug a swamp with a crowd of people obviously and got the Stirling out and they invited us over then, you know. Civic function. And they gave us a lovely time for about four days or so.
GT: What year was that Jack?
JJ: Now, it was the first year we were here so it’s, or the second year. Thirty years ago. Thirty years ago. Yeah. And that was a Stirling but I don’t know from which squadron it was but it was Mepal that arranged the trip.
GT: Ah. Ok.
JJ: You see. We went with a bunch of people from Mepal. That was in the Canal Zone and a Daily Mail reporter. That was when I was OC admin.
GT: Wow. [pause] Great photos.
JJ: Don’t know what those cuttings are. Must be something from the paper. I don’t know what there was.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: Cuttings from the paper. [pause] I don’t know what that was.
GT: It’s great It’s great that you’ve got some photographs. That you ended up on a four engine jobby again. Very good, Jack. And let’s just confirm the time for us. It is quarter past eleven at night
JJ: Ten past yeah
GT: Oh gosh. Well obviously, you’ve got a day tomorrow so we’d better —
JJ: Well just, we’ve got to get this freezer you know.
GT: Yeah.
JJ: No rush. We never go to bed before about 11 o’clock. Joyce is a night bird. She’ll stay up longer that I do.
GT: Well, those are probably —
JJ: Oh, I think that bit fell out.
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
Interview with Jack Jarmy
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Glen Turner
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
2017-07-26
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.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
AJarmyJFD170726, PJarmyJFD1703
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
01:38:26 audio recording
Language
A language of the resource
eng
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
Description
An account of the resource
Jack Jarmey was born in Romford Essex. At the age of five. following the death of his father, Jack moved to live with his grandparents in Illfracolme. Despite excellent results in all his subjects at Grammar School Jack left school at 15 to work in the family business. On his eighteenth birthday Jack signed up to join the Royal Air Force as a pilot and commenced training at No 9 Initial Training Wing at Stratford-upon-Avon followed by elementary flying training school at Swindon. Flying training continued in Florida and Montgomery Alabama flying Stearmans. Following a bad landing Jack was cancelled from flying training and transferred to Trenton Ontario for navigator training. On completion of training he returned to the UK onboard the Queen Elizabeth with 14,000 other aircrew. Jack joined No 11 operational training unit at RAF Oakley in April 1943 flying Wellingtons and completed his training at No 1651 heavy conversion unit at RAF Waterbeach flying Stirlings. Posted to 75 Squadron at RAF Mepal in July 1943, Jack completed 26 operations. He commented on the much-improved Gee Mk2 navigation system which he said was very accurate up to the Dutch coast. He also recalled being in the astrodome during the operation on Peenemünde and called on his pilot to corkscrew as he could see a Lancaster above them with their bomb doors open, the Stirling he explained had a much lower flying ceiling than the Lancaster. On completion of his first tour Jack trained crews at No 3 Lancaster finishing school at RAF Feltwell for ten months before joining 218 Squadron in early 1945 for a second tour of operations flying Lancasters. Jack commented on the increased accuracy of Gee-H navigation with multiple aircraft in formation with the Gee-H equipped aircraft during daylight operations. Jack had completed a total of 41 operations and remained in the RAF following a permanent commission. He served in a number of administrative and flying roles in the Far East and the UK including Shackeltons at RAF Ballykelly on anti-submarine maritime patrols, finally retiring in 1977.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
United States
Alabama
Alabama--Montgomery
Canada
Ontario
Ontario--Trenton
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Norfolk
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany
Germany--Peenemünde
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Jim Sheach
Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-04-25
1943-07-25
1944-01-08
1945-02
1945-04-24
1977
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending revision of OH transcription
11 OTU
1651 HCU
218 Squadron
75 Squadron
aircrew
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Gee
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
navigator
Operational Training Unit
RAF Feltwell
RAF Mepal
RAF Oakley
RAF Shallufa
RAF Waterbeach
Shackleton
Stearman
Stirling
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/116/1664/LMillingE656624v1.2.pdf
5b83c5391137a31be69a332248348ee1
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
Milling, Edward
E Milling
Description
An account of the resource
20 Items. The collection concerns Sergeant Edward Milling DFM (656624 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, correspondence, newspaper cuttings and four photographs. Edward Milling was a navigator with 103 and 166 Squadrons at RAF Elsham Wolds and RAF Kirmington. He was killed 27/28 September 1943 when his Lancaster crashed in Germany while on an operation to Hannover. <br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bren Bridges and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive Staff.<br /><br />Additional information on Edward Milling is available via the <a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/116227/">IBCC Losses Database</a>.
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
2016-03-31
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
Milling, E
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
Edward Milling's observer's and air gunner's flying log book
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
England--Lincolnshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Munich
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Remscheid
Germany--Wuppertal
Italy--Turin
Germany--Mönchengladbach
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1943-03-04
1943-03-05
1943-05-12
1943-05-13
1943-05-14
1943-05-23
1943-05-24
1943-06-11
1943-06-12
1943-06-13
1943-06-21
1943-06-22
1943-06-23
1943-06-24
1943-06-25
1943-06-26
1943-07-08
1943-07-09
1943-07-10
1943-07-12
1943-07-13
1943-07-24
1943-07-25
1943-07-27
1943-07-28
1943-07-29
1943-07-30
1943-07-31
1943-08-02
1943-08-03
1943-08-17
1943-08-18
1943-08-22
1943-08-23
1943-08-24
1943-08-27
1943-08-28
1943-08-30
1943-08-31
1943-09-01
1943-09-03
1943-09-04
1943-09-06
1943-09-07
1943-09-22
1943-09-23
1943-09-24
1943-09-27
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LMillingE656624v1
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
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Description
An account of the resource
Log book for Sergeant Edward Milling from 16 August 1942 to 27 September 1943. Navigator Sergeant E Milling was stationed with 103 Squadron at RAF Elsham Wolds, and 166 Squadron at RAF Kirmington, where he flew Lancasters. The log book details 27 operations over Germany and Italy: Berlin, Bochum, Cologne, Dortmund, Duisberg, Düsseldorf, Gelsenkirchen, Hamburg, Hannover, Krefeld, Leverkusen, Mannheim, Mönchengladbach, Mulheim, Munich, Nuremberg, Peenemünde, Remscheid, Turin, Wuppertal. His pilot on operations was Warrant Officer Chesterton. The final three entries are made by the commanding officer reporting that Sergeant Milling's aircraft failed to return from Hannover. Stamped “DEATH PRESUMED”.
103 Squadron
1656 HCU
166 Squadron
30 OTU
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Heavy Conversion Unit
killed in action
Lancaster
missing in action
navigator
Operational Training Unit
RAF Elsham Wolds
RAF Hixon
RAF Kirmington
RAF Lindholme
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/185/3629/LSayerT591744v1.1.pdf
83e258c6faf6ed7815681549299d9b06
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
Sayer, Tom
Tom Sayer
T Sayer
Description
An account of the resource
13 items. An oral history interview with Flying Officer Thomas Sayer DFM (1922 - 2021, 591744 54901 Royal Air Force), two log books, service material, newspaper cuttings and photographs. After training as a pilot in the United States of America, Tom Sayer flew Halifaxes with 102 Squadron at RAF Pocklington. He was commissioned in 1944 and became an instructor.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Tom Sayer and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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
2016-02-17
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. 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
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Sayer, T
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
Tom Sayer's Royal Canadian Air Force pilot's flying log book. Book one
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LSayerT591744v1
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 Air Force. Coastal Command
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
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
one booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943-02-22
1943-02-25
1943-02-28
1943-03-03
1943-03-06
1943-03-09
1943-03-12
1943-03-15
1943-04-30
1943-05-25
1943-05-26
1943-05-27
1943-05-28
1943-05-29
1943-05-30
1943-06-11
1943-06-12
1943-06-19
1943-06-20
1943-06-21
1943-06-22
1943-07-13
1943-07-14
1943-07-15
1943-07-16
1943-07-24
1943-07-25
1943-07-26
1943-07-30
1943-07-31
1943-08-09
1943-08-10
1943-08-11
1943-08-12
1943-08-13
1943-08-17
1943-08-18
1943-08-23
1943-08-24
1943-08-25
1943-08-27
1943-08-28
1943-08-30
1943-08-31
1943-09-01
1943-09-05
1943-09-06
1943-09-27
1943-09-28
1943-09-29
1943-09-30
1943-10-04
1943-10-05
1943-10-08
1943-10-09
1944-07-18
1944-07-19
1944-09-01
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
France
Germany
Great Britain
United States
Alabama
Florida
England--Gloucestershire
England--Yorkshire
Georgia--Atlanta
France--Le Creusot
France--Montbéliard
Germany--Aachen
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Munich
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Wuppertal
Italy--Milan
Germany--Düsseldorf
England--Cornwall (County)
Italy
Georgia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Description
An account of the resource
Royal Canadian Air Force pilot's flying log book for Sergeant Tom Sayer from 28 July 1941 to 17 December 1944. Detailing training and operations flown with Coastal Command and Bomber Command. After training in the United States and Canada he served at RAF Linton on Ouse, RAF Marston Moor, RAF Pocklington. Aircraft flown were Stearman, Vultee, Harvard, Oxford, Blenheim, Whitley, Halifax, Anson, Horsa and Stirling. He carried out a total of 35 complete operations as a pilot, eight antisubmarine patrols with 10 OTU from RAF St Eval, one with 76 Squadron from RAF Marston Moor and 25 with 102 Squadron from RAF Pocklington on the following targets in France, Germany and Italy: Aachen, Berlin, Bochum, Dusseldorf, Essen, Frankfurt, Hamburg, Hannover, Krefeld, Le Creusot, Leverkusen, Mannheim, Milan, Montbeliard, Munich, Nuremberg, Peenemunde and Wuppertal. His first or second pilots on operations were Sergeant Carrie, Sergeant Hewlett, Sergeant Lewis, Pilot Officer Mann, Sergeant Green, Flying Officer Phillips, Sergeant Davis, Sergeant Henderson, Sergeant Thorpe, Sergeant Miller, Flight Sergeant Cummings and Flying Officer Kay. He then became an instructor and glider tug pilot. The log book is well annotated and contains printed training material. He completed one additional special operation 18 July 1944 with 620 Squadron from RAF Fairford ‘(SAS. 3 chutists, 24 containers 4 paniers [sic])’ and 1 September 1944 from RAF Ringway ‘parachute jump 600’ singly into lake.’
10 OTU
102 Squadron
1652 HCU
17 OTU
620 Squadron
76 Squadron
81 OTU
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
Blenheim
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
Flying Training School
Halifax
Halifax Mk 1
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Halifax Mk 5
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Horsa
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Fairford
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Leconfield
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Ossington
RAF Pocklington
RAF Ringway
RAF Sleap
RAF St Eval
RAF Stanton Harcourt
RAF Tilstock
RAF Upwood
Stearman
Stirling
submarine
training
Whitley