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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16323/MReynoldsWT[Ser -DoB]-150731-04.pdf
7b07b7559d8284d88baca24385f458cf
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Title
A name given to the resource
Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-07-31
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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Reynolds, WT
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Mere Gen
R.A.F. Insignia
March 1944
[Page break]
From the Editor’s Chair
Editor: Cpl. Liddell. Associate Editors: Cpl. Speak. L.A.C. Bolt. Cartoonists: Cpl. Batley. A. C. Potts
While this issue has suffered some delay owing to illness and contributory causes, we hope its quality atones for the delay. We must thank you all for your splendid support of Xmas Number and accept with due modesty your approbation and helpful criticism. In this issue we have endeavoured to introduce new ideas, and at the same time rejuvenate favourite features. Morag Morrison, the “Mighty Atom”, has written a dramatic flying epic in serial form – a new venture in our Editorial policy, and once again “people in the news” have been fearlessly if somewhat ruthlessly “quizzed”. Our “John Bull Sheet” offers unlimited moaning scope and please let us have your views through our Letter Bag, together with contributions of any type.
The Editor.
[Underlined] FIVE WAAFS GAVE ME SPLIT MIND – RAF Sergeant. [/Underlined]
An ex-R.A.F. sergeant successfully appealed at Liverpool Pensions Appeal Tribunal for a pension because “great mental stress and stain” had caused him to develop a split personality.
“I was all right with my five airmen and storekeepers until they were replaced by five W.A.A.F.s” he said. The Waafs were intelligent, but it took me two months to make them realise they were not at home. It was a hard task to teach them the business. I often worked late at night correcting their mistakes”.
[underlined] P.S. [/Underlined]
N.B. As Sgt. Thacker submitted this item, we are wondering if he doesn’t feel so good himself! (Editor)
[Page break]
[Underlined] A MOONLIT MORNING [/Underlined].
A scene from a little village on the Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond.
A perfect moonlit morning, so perfect as to give a theatrical look to the familiar scene.
The wan waters of the loch lie still, below a sky of rich blue, with its full metallic moon, and a few stars here and there to emphasise her splendour. The hills rising from the lochside show dark and clear-cut. Farther off are two peaks, each with a sprinkling of snow, while at the limit of vision stands a white-mantled sentinel, its superior height hardly noticed at other times.
Across the hard white surface of the road the shadows of oak and lime are cast, in detail unbelievably clear, while overhead the birch, dainty as ever, stands etched against the blue. The sound of trampling feet on the low road breaks the stillness. Lost for a minute, it comes again, clear on the hard road, accompanied by the cheery whistling of the Pioneers marching to work.
Wisps of smoke from the morning chimneys hang motionless above the darkened houses. A few clusters of faint lights mark the sites of the camps on the hill.
Across the Loch comes the steady clip-clop of Meg’s hoofs. She is on her milk rounds, so that makes the hour just half-past seven. Passengers for the Train for Glasgow are figures, and not just shadows, this morning. Even the train itself, when it puffs in, is something more than three fiery red eyes.
J. Tweedie.
“Mere Gen” has made its assault on the Navy now. In a recent letter from Wren Walker, M.H., “B” Site, R.N.A.S. Eglinton, Co. Derry (a young lady who did sterling work on the reproduction of the Mag. before volunteering for the W.R.N.S.) she tells us that the copy her parents (Messrs. Walker) send her, goes right round the cabin and the office, and they have lots of laughs out of it.
[Page break]
[Underlined] In which we fly [/underlined]
(Serial by Morag D. Morrison)
Dedicated to ‘Mac’ and Him (R.F.C.)
It was late evening in January at a Bomber Command Station somewhere in England. Patches of heavy cloud obscured the moon at intervals making the night perfect for the fully-loaded bombers, lined up ready on the concrete runway, to do their deadly work over enemy territory.
Shadowy figures moved about the tarmac making last-minute preparations, while the bomber crews received their briefing in Operations Room and discussed the best route to be taken according to the military objective. At exactly 11.30 p.m., No. 1 machine, a four-engined [sic] Handley Page Halifax long-range bomber, piloted by Flight-Lieutenant Temple Ainsley, took off with her load of “eggs”. After circling the ‘drome to get the feel of the controls with the six members of his crew standing around him, chatting and arguing through the ‘intercomm’ he headed out east over the Channel, slowly gaining height. The crew went to their various positions and a few minutes later came the sound of machine-gun fire as the front and rear gunners tested their guns to make sure they were in perfect order. The target that night was Ermerrich aerodrome outside Emden.
On the way over Northern France they ran into quite a display of searchlights. As Temple throttled down the A.A. guns came into action. Keeping well on the edge of the searchlight circle, he zig-zagged about to avoid the white puffs which appeared ominously all round the plane with amazing accuracy. Then, suddenly, the bomber captain put the Halifax into a sweeping dive, while his front gunner poured tracer down one of the beams. A few moments later it went out – and stayed out. At 10,000 feet the pilot eased her on to an even keel, too low for the A.A. or searchlights to have any effect, and then beat it out to sea and safety for the time being, getting away with only slight damage to the starboard wing. Turning inland again, Temple climbed and set course for Emden. Thereafter it was fairly quiet up to within a few miles of their specified objective. There was no mistaking that, because the Nazis were already preparing a really hot reception round the aerodrome area. Phillips, the wireless-operator, got in touch with the home base and gave the receiving operator their position in code. Once the message was through, Temple came down to 17,000 and circled once more over the target, trying to get his bearings, despite the intense barrage. Petrie, the bomb-aimer, lay flat on the floor of the
[Page break]
nacelle, trying to pick out the camouflaged hangers, his hand ready on the bomb release button. Temple called through the ‘Intercomm’ to his crew that he was going in to have a crack at the runway first, and as he put the bomber down in a steep dive, the moon came into view from behind a cloud patch in all her full glory, showing up the hangars and a number of scattered aircraft on the runway in perfect detail. Petrie chuckled with delight at their luck and released a stick of incendiaries just before the pilot pulled the Halifax out of the dive and climbed to a safer altitude. The rear gunner reported that one of the hangars was blazing madly and that some of the machines on the runway were taking off – probably fighters. Coming round in a steep bank, Temple prepared for another quick run in, but got caught in a couple of searchlights beams. Bending down low so that the glare would not blind him for the instrument panel, the pilot manoeuvred to get free. He almost succeeded, but not before an A.A. shell burst within a foot of the starboard engine. Almost immediately it misfired, connected again for a minute, and then cut out altogether. The Halifax began to lose height. But Temple was determined to have another go at the target, even if it meant risking the lives of seven men. He handled the damaged bomber admirably. Holding her at 8,000 feet with great difficulty against a devastating barrage, his bomb aimer released the remainder of “eggs” which were high explosive only, on the runway. “Bombs gone” came the call from Petrie. A second later there was a vivid orange flash followed by an upheaval among the remaining stationary aircraft on the ‘drome. Several were blown to pieces, the petrol tanks of two others exploded, craters appeared in the runway and all that was left of one hangar was a mass of twisted girders. But that last gallant attack by the British bomber lost Temple his only slender chance of getting away to safety. Try as he might the Halifax couldn’t be coaxed to climb. Things weren’t going too well. A faint drone from the rear warned the rear-gunner of the approach of enemy fighters. “A spot of trouble coming up behind, skipper” came over the ‘Intercomm’. The A.A. Guns ceased, but the searchlights continued to play over the sky. A formation of Focke-Wulf’ F.W. 190’s bore down on the crippled bomber, their guns hosing lead into its most vulnerable spot – the tail. The Halifax’s altimeter needle flicked over the 6,000 mark and Temple was thinking of abandoning her as their only means of escape when the bomber suddenly lurched, side-slipped and dived into a spiral spin – temporarily out of control. Not content with seeing their prey going to its inevitable doom, one of the Focke-Wulfs broke formation and followed in the wake of the Halifax – typical of Nazi warfare. Temple fought to regain control in the hope of pulling her out in time to pancake. The plane responded very slightly to his pressure on the control column, the strain of which caused perspiration to stream down his face inside his oxygen mask, momentarily blinding him. And as it happened at
[Page break]
moment the pilot of the pursuing fighter was in the act of pressing the button which fired his machine guns, but the unexpected change of the bomber’s angle caused him to pause for a few seconds and in that time his fate was decreed. Although wounded, Anderson, the rear-gunner, pulled himself upright with a supreme effort and fired a long burst into the nose of the Focke-Wulf. The German fighter rocked with the impact of the bullets, then sagged, lost way and went into a steep dive, smoke pouring from the engine cowling. A minute later the Halifax crash landed into a belt of trees which surrounded the bombed aerodrome of Emmerich.
To be continued.
[Underlined] “Quote” [/Underlined]
How often do you use familiar expressions without giving a thought to their origin? Here are one or two of the better known and their sources. How many did you know?
“Mind your Ps and Qs. [sic] 17th century public house expression, indicating “mind your pints and quarts”
To be or not to be, That is the question. Hamlet. (Shakespeare)
Here’s looking at you! Casablanca! (We apologise for this Hollywood intrusion)
‘Tis a wise father that knoweth his own child! Merchant of Venice.
If I should die, think only, think of me. “The Soldier” (Rupert Brooke)
It is a far far better thing that I do now than I have ever done before. “Tale of two Cities” (Charles Dickens)
A thing of beauty is a joy forever”. Keets.
[page break]
[Underlined] “Quote” [/Underlined] (continued)
“More sinned against than sinning” Hamlet.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet!” Coriolanus.
And now abideth these three, faith, hope, charity, but the greatest of these is charity 1. Corinthians. Chap. 13. v.13
Ancient fight unnoticed as the breath we draw. Kipling.
The sets must be left in a tidy condition, and a chit put in for a change in “Day off”. The Gospel according to W.O. Alcorn.
[Underlined] India calling. [/Underlined.]
S/Ldr. Cushion, lately O.C. of this station, writes from Ceylon to congratulate us on “Mere Gen”, and sends good wishes to all at the old Station! Among other things he mentioned running into that bunch of trouble Cornelius (Casanova) somewhere in Calcutta, and points out very gently that life out there with camp conditions, palm leaf sides and roofs to the quarters is in very sharp contrast to conditions on the Branston front!
[Page Break]
[Underlined] Leap Year [/Underlined]
While we shudder for the welfare of those airmen still in a “single” state of blessedness, in view of the matrimonial weapon placed in the hands of our emancipated, yet alter-minded Waaf owing to the incidence of Leap Year, we look forward to the news of the Fall of some Airman. A rather interesting sidelight on Leap Year proposals was given us recently by Frank Potts through the medium of his grandmother. Apparently the custom was that, if a girl taking advantage of the calendar and the weakness of man, proposed and was rejected, her rejector [sic] was in duty bound to buy her a pair of gloves, while she in turn showed him her pink petticoat!
We pass this information on for what it is worth, but we hope you young people don’t attempt to modernise this custom!
[Underlined] Our Letter Bag [/Underlined]
The Editor.
It is a matter of regret that the Hostel Xmas parties were marked by two surprising features. The first, and perhaps the least disturbing, was the regrettable lack of organisation, and the second was the surprising indifference displayed by some airmen and airwomen. The height of this indifference was reached when certain people with deplorable bad taste, left the Hostel party to attend some other neighbouring party!
Five Waaf.
Sir,
Could some effort be made to persuade the Lincolnshire Road Car Coy. to allow us to return to Branston on the 10.15 bus? If, as we understand, their objection is based on their assertion that Branston personnel deprive “Through” passengers to Blankey/Digby of transport, we can readily and concretely refute this charge. Here’s hoping.
All at the Hostel.
(We understand the O.C is making representations in the matter. Editor.)
[Page Break]
[Underlined] Letter bag (continued) [/Underlined]
Sir,
A very commendable Xmas number was to our way of thinking marred by a rather deprecating article headed “The road to Promotion”. We carefully read and re-read this, and as mere “duration” minions can only interpret the gist of this diatribe as being a not too cleverly camouflaged detraction from the efforts we non-regular personnel are making. Admittedly, there was a reluctant admission that we had done splendidly, [underlined] but [underlined] – (and it is to these buts that we offer battle) – we have not done splendidly because we are [underlined] highly efficient [/underlined] but because we are doing our best after a short period of training! This, coupled with an immediate reference to our faults, enumerated as incapability, lack of pride in our jobs, tendency to discard faulty equipment (a charge which even if substantiated could not be levelled at the tradesman, but at his immediate C.O. whose policy this was) and an expectancy of promotion without exertion, removed all doubts G.H.F.H. was not on our side! It is a matter of historical record that non-regulars have in this war held pride of place operationally, scientifically and academically, with peace-time personal, and it must be remembered that the majority of us had already established ourselves in some civilian calling before taking up our new service task. Perhaps in sagacious if embittered conclusion, we ought to remind G.H.F.H. that there is a war on!
[Underlined] Yesterday [/Underlined]
As I fell asleep one winter’s night,
The room was filled with a soft blue light,
And there in this transparent hue,
I saw myself that once I knew.
Though it seemed a body, a soul I saw,
Or a mind, with its secrets laid bare and raw,
Yet naked as birth it knew no guile,
Shone sweetness and innocence all the while.
Years as a stream of water passed,
Still the spirit in my room held fast,
Then I saw myself as I am to-day,
Fell on my knees for I wanted to pray.
Let something of innocence, a ray of light,
Stay with me from the once-was night,
Let not my childiness [sic] be gone,
With years let innocence live on. Mee.
[Page Break]
“Crikey”
[Picture]
[underlined] 2that’s a Flight Sergeant [/underlined]
Than Was2!
With apologies to Shell.
[Page break]
[Two pictures]
“a rank injustice”
[Page break]
[Underlined] STATIONALITIES.[sic] [/Underlined]
[Underlined] W.O. Alcorn [/underlined]
Pride of place in this month’s Stationalities [sic] goes to W.O. Alcorn who since our last issue has been promoted from F/Sgt. to W.O. and in addition has become the first Waddite to be mentioned in despatches. To mark this double event we have asked our cartoonist to draw a special cartoon.
Congratulations Flight – er, beg your pardon, Sir.
[Underlined] Arrivals. [/Underlined]
We extend a cordial Branstonian welcome to the following persons who have recently joined our ranks:-
A.C.Ws. Crossley, Pell, Whitwham.
Cpls. Bennett and Stevens.
[Underlined] Departures. [/Underlined]
L.A.C.W. Kathleen (Kasher) Langley left us on the 6th February on her discharge from the W.A.A.F. and we feel sure that her many friends will join us in wishing her good health and good luck. Cheerio, Kasher!
[Underlined] Births. [Underlined] Congratulations to
Mrs. Monica Bell ( Ex Waddite) on the birth of a daughter.
L.A.C. Fred Bolt on the firth [sic] of a Son – William Fred.
Cpl. Liddell on the birth of a son – Keith, and our best wishes for Mrs. Liddell’s speedy return to health.
[Underlined] Marriages [/Underlined]
In our last issue we had only time to shoot a little “Quiz” flack at Sgt. And Mrs. Norman. We take this opportunity of recording our first “combined” operation in marriage when Sgt. M. Norman was married to L.A.C.W. Phyl Carr at St. John’s Church, Welling, Kent, on 22.12.43. We wish them a long and happy life together.
Our best wishes go to L.A.C.W. Bunny Ryan on the occasion of her marriage to the Rev. J.H.J.D. Galbraith M.A.C.F., on Jan 29th at All Saints Church, Kings Langley, Herts.
[Page Break]
[Underlined] STATIONALITIES (continued) [/Underlined]
[Underlined] Promotions. [/Underlined]
Or perhaps this should read “Apology” for we owe one to Cpl. Eric Brame whom we omitted to mention in our list of promotions in our December Issue. Congrats, Eric.
[Underlined] C.M.F. Ex-Waddites. [/Underlined]
We hear that ex-Waddites L.A.C’s Bromley, Christie and Marsh have been exalted to the rank of Cpl. and we send to them and to all our comrades in the C.M.F. our best wishes for 1944.
[Underlined] Sick [/Underlined].
[Underlined] L.A.C. Black. [/Underlined] Our latest news of Hugh Black is that he is in a civvie hospital in Oxford and that his arm is progressing favourably.
[Underlined] Christmas Carols. [/Underlined]
We feel that we should give the “Honourable mention” to L.A.C. Stan Akers and all who took part in the Carol Party at Christmas when the sum of £30 was raised for the Prisoners of War Fund. Congrats to Stan and his Silver Songsters.
[Underlined] Postings. [/Underlined]
We must make special mention of the posting of those two stalwart “Normans” – Cpls. Laycock and Royle. Good luck and Godspeed wherever you may go.
[Page Break]
[Underlined] “Raffology” [/Underlined]
[Two pictures]
[Page break]
[picture]
[Page break]
[picture]
[Page break]
[picture]
[Page break]
[picture]
[Page break]
[Underlined] THE SCOTT COUNTRY. [/Underlined]
The Border counties of Scotland, sometimes known as “The Scott Country” are full of charm and interest. The countryside is not merely one of great natural loveliness; it is rich in historic and romantic associations as well. First of all, we will visit Melrose, a quiet town lying in the very heart of the borderland under the protecting guardianship of the three mountain peaks, “The Eildon Three”. The river Tweed, like a broad, silver ribbon, winds down its picturesque valley. The Great Minstrel who is so closely identified with it has said:-
“If thou woulds’t [sic] view fair Melrose right,
Go visit it by pale moonlight.”
That we cannot do. By day, however, it is every whit [sic] as enchanting. It is region renowned in ballad, legend, song and story and glorified by the genius of Scotland’s Wizard of romance, Sir Walter Scott. His “Lay of the Last Minstrel” has filled the Border country with romantic notes whose echo never dies away. Abbotsford, the great romancer’s lovely Tweedside Home, is a castle of enchantment. Everything is practically as he left it in 1832. In it are a wealth of relics and mementoes, each with its strange and thrilling tale. Here are the keys of Loch Leven Castle which were thrown into the Loch when Queen Mary escaped, the sword of Montrose, the gun of Rob Roy and the drinking glass of Robert Burns. There are two superb armchairs, the gift of Constable, carved with groups of children, fruit and flowers in the Italian style; they came from Rome and are much admired. In the grounds is the effigy of his favourite dog, Madia; the head of Tom Purdie, carved by one of the masons who built Abbottsford, and a host of other features of interest.
Returning to the inside of the house, we visit the library which has an oak ceiling and contains countless treasures and relics, a chair carved in bogwood presented by the Pope; Napoleon’s writing case, taken from his carriage at Waterloo; momentoes [sic] of Flora Macdonald, Rob Roy, Robert Burns and Mary Queen of Scots, locks of Nelson’s and Wellington’s hair; several pictures of the poet’s home and 20,000 volumes.
The story of Abbotsford is a tragic drama in itself. No sooner was the great house finished and the dream of Sir Walter’s life complete; than the crash of ruin fell on his fortunes. The dreamer proved himself as great a hero as any his pen had portrayed. The effort cost him his life, but it made him the most heroic literary figure in the world. He died in his beloved home on the 22nd of September 1832. And in the peace of St. Mary’s aisle in Dryburgh Abbey, amid verdant lawns sheltered by ancient trees and caressed by the soft twining of honeysuckle and clematis, repose the remains of one of Scotland’s greatest sons.
Morag D. Morrison.
[Page break]
[Underlined] OUR “JOHN BULL SHEET. [/Underlined]
From time to time we are appalled at the paradoxical inconsistent happenings that are incredibly enough being enacted in this 5th year of war. In order to allow you to cite such cases (after several appeals by individuals)we have introduced a new feature – “The John Bull Sheet” into our columns and though its medium you can voice such experiences as you consider are worthy of ridicule, criticism or appreciation! Here are the first batch.
An L.A.C. musician, giving his services free in the dance band, at a Sergeants’ dance, approached a Waaf of his acquaintance for a dance at the interval. In the middle of the dance the S.W.O. (bless ‘em all) approached him aggressively and ordered him from the floor! Surely this was completely unnecessary and showed a deporable [sic] lack of taste and good manners on the part of a senior N.C.O. who at least owed his rank if not himself a greater degree of courteous self control, and that it is time that this rank complex which is more deeply rooted than ever in certain mushroom-like promotres [sic], should be checked, and finally that it is always well to remember that the war won’t last for ever!
Our second effort appears to have been cribbed from a letter sent to the Daily Mirror live letter box. In this an ex-soldier, 1914-18, states that as a coppersmith, post war days found him unemployed and virtually destitute. Came ’39 and with it immediate employment in his own craft and in consequence he was able to marry, furnish a home and save money. In conclusion he asks with naïve bewilderment – who is responsible for this fortuitous change in my affairs – Hitler? Our reader asks “Is there an answer to this?”
Blackpool Watch Committee recently had two important items on their agenda. The first business was a motion to increase the Chief Constable’s salary from £750 to £1000 a year. After 10 minutes this was agreed to. The second business was to consider the award of some form of a pension to a former Blackpool policeman, who had volunteered for paratroop duties, and as a result of active service, had been discharged from the Army, and was unable to continue in his former position as a policeman. After 90 minutes heated dissension, by a small majority it was agreed that he should be award a temporary allowance of 6/- per week! So much is heard of empty phrases like “equality of sacrifice”, “democratic progressiveness” etc. that we wonder !!
[Page break]
[Underlined] Competition Page [/Underlined]
In an effort to revive our interest in one another – be it inimical or amicable, we offer you a rather unusual competition. If you were to be shipwrecked on some remote desert isle and had to choose 8 companions from among personnel on this station, that is 4 Waaf and 4 airmen to share your isolation, whom would you select? On the entry forms (issued separately) you are to put down your own name followed by the 8 selected and at the side of these a brief remark as to why you made such a choice, viz. A.C. Plonk – Reliability. A.C.W. Blank – Cheerful personality, etc. There will be two prizes awarded for the best entries received, and a general summary of the answers printed in the next Mag.
BE [Underlined] BREVITIES [/Underlined].
[Underlined] Cpl. Jewell [/Underlined] states with feeling how superior (in all spheres) air-borne troops are to R.A.F. personnel.
[Underlined] Gen. (Quiz) [/underlined] wanted on that exclusive Guffite “Lindy Lee” Newton! All contributions in confidence to Editor.
[Underlined] Platonic Friendships. [/Underlined] Wanted by several Waddone personnel since recent posting of Waaf.
[Underlined] Will Someone [/Underlined] (preferably a Yank) teach Margaret Pickup how to ride a bicycle?
[Underlined] Joyce Porter [/Underlined] offers life-story with all its trimmings, to any enterprising Editor (except Editor of this Mag!)
[Underlined] Congratulations [/Underlined] to “Joe” Links on his recent marriage.
[Underlined] Welcome [/Underlined] to our American friends and may they have a pleasant and profitable stay with us. “England expects that every Waaf —“
[page break]
Lost – Pump One – W.O – For The Use Of
[two pictures]
This Picture Is Dedicated To Pat Buckingham & Daisy Wiles The “Hyar [sic] Joe Whadya [sic] Know” Girls.
[Page break]
[Underlined] “WHAT HAS THE SERVICE DONE TO/FOR YOU?” [/Underlined]
In yet another “Mere Gen” Mass Psychology Quiz, we offer you the analysis of your answers to the questionnaire we circulated. To each of the following twelve questions we invited you to give the direct answer “More” or “Less”. Well, here are the tabulated results.
[Mass Psychology Quiz results]
It has been suggested that to give the direct answer “More” or “Less” was in some cases difficult, and we appreciate this and welcome the interest the questions have aroused. The results were more or less as anticipated – surprising features were (1) 3 people admitted appreciating home “Less” and (2) 56% avowed they grumbled less – we have our doots [sic]! (3) 1 person had apparently lost all interest in this life, answering “Less” to each question except No. 9. (4) while another entry showed “no change” to each question. (5) and finally, we must question with a little more than Editorial authority
[Page Break]
The statements of “Johnny” Dale and Morag Morrison that they take less interest in the opposite sex! However perhaps Service life does foist upon us a Jekyll and Hyde complex in some instances! Anyhow, thanks, everybody.
[Underlined] A MIXED GRILL. [/Underlined]
Two Englishmen met in Aberdeen. The first Englishman said to the other “No use coming to Aberdeen to make a living”. Second Englishman – “I’m not coming to make a living, I’m coming to finish my education”.
Two Scots, on seeing Nelson’s signal –
1st. “Just as usual – nae [Sic] word of Scotland”.
2nd. “Do you think Scots need to be told to do their duty?”
[Underlined] Church Notice. [/Underlined] “The speaker for the evening service will be nailed to the door”
An intimation from the same Church – “The flowers in the church will be distributed to those who are sick after the evening service”.
“You’ve got a model husband”, said the minster.
The wife looked up the dictionary – “A small imitation of the real article”.
Two Highlanders were discussing the fall of France. One said “Jock, it will be a stiff fight for us if the English give in next”.
A farm servant joined the Forces and seemed to lose his name; he was just 167. 167 do this, 167 do that. The climax was reached on Sunday. He heard the minister say, “No.167 – Art thou weary, art thou languid?”
We strongly suspect the perpetrator of this “grill” was no Sassenach! (Editor)
[Page break]
R.A.F. Newbold,
Revel (Pailton)
Hello Waddyites,
I am writing this from my lonely WAAFless (mixed blessing!) outpost of the Empire in the heart of England.
As I write I can almost feel the vibration and hear the throb of the mighty engines of our war factories (but not quite!)
It is certainly a change of scene here though, as from my comfortable billet I can look over rolling undulating country, lanes with high hedges, fields sugar-beetless, and with hardly a “tate” in sight.
I am still following events at the Mere with close interest, through the medium of your excellent mag “Mere Gen”, which I am lucky enough to have sent on to me. I have been asked to put down a few impressions and incidents which have stuck in my mind during my 2 years 9 months at Mere, so here goes.
(A) Thanks to a certain Geordie civilian for his patient initiation of me during the halcyon days of “the few” (1941) at Mere.
(B) Apropos the Radio Ops “Sines I shall never forget”. “Twasna her-r-r fault Geo-rge! [sic]” “Friends! – are there any in this world?” “What [Underlined] did [/underlined] I tell you!”
(C) My “fellow cads” breathless first-night query :-
“Know-your-lines-Geoff-how-do-you-feel-where’s-the-whisky?”
(D) “We must have bags of bodies on days next week you blokes”.
(E) “But [Underlined] darling! [/Underlined] – you know how frightfully rude these dirty big L.A.C’s are!
(F) Memories of hectic (?) days at egg-packing with the Branston R.A.F.
(G) My unbounded admiration for Bill Reynolds’ good natured stand in the face of a continuous heavy barrage from W.I.
(H) Happy recollections of good times spent at
(a) The pool – with the sun-worshipping types.
(b) The B & B – Many’s the time and oft......[sic]
(c) The Plough – Branston Booth.
The Red Lion – Dunston. Branston “Palais de Jive”.
(d) The “Hostile” – whoo-ooo! and lots more places where we sought relaxation awhile, and found it.
Thanks blokes for companionship and esprit-de-corps which I really think is difficult to surpass elsewhere. As for the WAAF – I can only echo the words of the old song “Bless ‘Em All!” Cheero.
Cpl. Geoff Hickman, Old Waddonian.
(Thanks a lot old man. Very glad to hear from one who was always a stalwart in our ranks. – Editor)
[Page break]
[Underlined] QUIZ [/Underlined]
“Gig” Young’s brazen “oomphensive” on that civilian technician left even the most seasoned campaigner breathless.
Dot Wallace defending – among other things – her title as the “most kissable Waaf of the year” made a grand come-back. But then look at the practice she has had with the crew of P for Peter.
And, by the way, the most daring diabolical Jezebel-like man poaching ever experienced went to “Glamour Girl Gledhill” who literally swooned her way into the arms of that P.O. and froze Anne! This gilded “G” swaying sensuously to the swing of her alluring ear rings admitted that she wore the latter to give her “poise”. We thought the spelling was “BOYS”!
Perhaps the most astounding affinity of the festivities was that of the usual “frigidaire” Burbury for Johnny “Zero” Sale. Frank Potts assures us that it won’t happen again!
The passage of time has revealed our Xmas Quiz to be at fault. Our reference to V. Lee and Boom Town A.J. should be amended to read “and is not A.J. brushing up his basic Gallic in order to “Hogmonhay [sic]” with Pud Rice”. However, at the material time, Vera was “bobbing” in that direction!
Cpl. Jarvis – (yes, It’s taken some time to pin you down, Chas.) seen in friendly escort of a charming blonde Dianne!
That little black-eyed bundle from “Hell’s Kitchen” Chris Paterson taking a very healthy interest in “Oh Johnnie – oh!
S/O Scott, a normally very discreet individual, somewhat challengingly described herself in our hearing as a “blameless woman”. We accept this assertion, but we would like more details of her trip to Nottingham and even more details of “John”!
Playboy Simmons doing the rounds with a striking civilian brunette.
Luscious Laura showing great concern for the Padre’s shoes at the Xmas Party. Quite a shoe-shine-boy effect!
Cowgirl Standford now in love with a far distant A.C.2 – described as a bird fancier. Or is this propaganda to stir Bernard Wynn from “evasion” into “action”?
[Page break]
Maisie Bassford on a man hunt at the Astoria!
Perhaps the most pleasing of the tail end of ’43 was the “friendship” which “embraced” Cpls. Akenhead and Robertson.
“Honey chile” Billington, after assisting Bunny Ryan to renounce single blessedness apparently got lost with the best man, a U/T parson in London. She denies she persuaded him to consider a conversion course.
Anne Thompson asks us to make public her intense disapproval of this “Quiz Biz”. We can’t understand why!
We commiserate with the Waaf who was advised by her doctor to exclude potatoes and bread from her diet! Did he realise this would have meant “day and night” starvation?
The Gledhill-Beard combine are keen to cultivate the acquaintance of any sailor. We must warn any suppliant Matelot however that it is only a means to an end – the end being the purchase of some blankets at reduced prices, through some sailor’s stores!
Andy Adamson settling well in Branston’s social whirl!
Our condolences to the airman who when taking his landlady’s dog for an airing omitted to salute the officer in charge of a passing squad, and as a “Salut”ary [sic] punishment was made to fall in plus dog, with the squad!
A news flash from Cheadle “Quiztapo” tells us that Johnny Dale left behind him a trail of broken hearts, on his not so “detached” visit to our “Alma Mater”!
Joan Carruthers unusually talkative to her Yankee Cpl!
With Sgt. “Spike” Hughes in our midst again, we warn all Waaf to pay particular heed to warnings (a) Gypsy (b) Maternal!
Eunice Austen progressing by “leaps” and bounds with a paratroop N.C.O! However, she refers (in orderly room fashion) to another paramour as “Charlie” among her friends. (But of course that’s not how we got we know).
Our commiseration with Fred Palin who in an endeavour to discover the programme at the Regal Cinema, approached the shadowy figure of the commissionaire with “What’s on mate?”, to find he was addressing a R.A.F. Officer!
[Page break]
General surprise is expressed at the acceptance of a “Yankee” blind date by a certain diminutive “steady” L.A.C.W. We accept her explanation of the circumstances, condemn the influence of the two Waaf who accompanied her, and commend the efforts of the L.A.C. Harrison/Allman to prevent the date and guide her in the paths so few of us want to follow!
“Davey” Jones blushing in his own “mechanical” fashion admits the “chase” of a certain Joyce!
Cpl. Robertson having no difficulty with Waaf “transport” these days.
“Wee .Three” Mesdames Crossley, Pell and Whitwam have started a new fashion in Hut 1 by kissing each other “nightie night”! Very touching kid – don’t you fink?
Blackout conversation piece. Scene – Canwick Hill. Time 2250 hours. A Yank mutters something unintelligible and out of the inky night floats the voice of Blondie Barnes, “Can you see any green in my eye?”
L.A.C. Lott deserting his democratic principles and dancing attention on ? Very sporty – Oh, Scotty!!
Lost – one ground sheet belonging to L.A.C.W. Fitz. She would welcome its return but takes a poor view of the suggestions forthcoming as to how it might have been lost!
Bunny Galbraith taking a very commendable interest in a learned treatise on Theology. It has been rather unkindly suggested by a certain senior N.C.O. that she would be more profitably employed in the study of a handbook on “The Art of Handwriting!”
[Underlined] THEY SPEAK NOT WITH THE TONGUES OF MEN---! [/Underlined]
Some current peculiar expressions heard on the Station which we think warrant your attention.
(a) She’d make a smashing wife – but a rotten sweetheart!
(b) Dim! He’s as dim as a Toc H Lamp!
[Page break]
(c) Oh, yes. He’s in a “deserved” occupation!
(d) Now these fellows had never even heard a bullet fired in anger!
(e) He “jived” with his boots on!
(f) Now I like to call a spade a shovel!
(g) I get around – I’ve got a bike!
(h) My landlady continuously described herself as a working woman I didn’t get it, because that was the one thing she didn’t do!
(i) I used to look after the W/Commander’s cat when I was at Cheadle!
(j) Have you ever been with, or alternatively, have been done by?
(k) If you go off without a pass you’ve only two things to worry about – and S.P’s are both of them!
(l) We had cab horse rissoles at the Naafi – you eat one and the other moves up!
L.A.C Harry Davis (late cartoonist “Mere Gen”) now with the R.N.A.F. writes to say
“Thanks a million for the copy of Mere Gen only just received. It has apparently travelled all round North Africa and done a few round trips from Tunis to Algiers! Wish I were back at the Mere again helping with the “Gen” “
(Thanks a lot Harry – we haven’t forgotten you. Editor.)
[Underlined] COLLECTED JOKES [/Underlined]
Two airmen sat on a pyramid reading letters from home. “Hurrah” yelled Bill, “the wife’s had another baby son!”.
“But you haven’t been home for 3 years”.
“What’s that matter, there’s was three years between me and our George!”
[Page break]
[Underlined] COLLECTED JOKES (continued) [/Underlined]
Overheard in a Waaf Hostel —
1st Waaf. “I’m going to have my fortune told. Do you think I should see a phrenologist or a palmist?”
2nd Waaf. “I should go to a Palmist. After all, you have two hands, haven’t you, dearie”
Put the milk down, boys.
A wise man is one who has never allowed a woman to pin anything on him since he was a baby.
It’s a stiff neck that knows no turning when a short skirt passes by.
The doctor stroked his chin and looked rather worried. “H’m, this is serious” he said, “have you told your husband?”
“But doctor, I’m not married!”
“H’m. That makes it worse, have you told your young man?”
“But I haven’t got a young man – as a matter of fact doctor, I’ve never been out with a man in my life”
The doctor didn’t answer but went to look out the window – then out of the door. This went on for some time until the patient’s patience was exhausted.
“See here doctor, what’s the idea leaving me half dressed while you look up and down the street?”
“Well miss, last time this happened, three wise men came from the East – I was looking to see if they were on the way again!!!
Dublin Core
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Title
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Mere Gen March 1944
Description
An account of the resource
a 29 page duplicated magazine produced by the personnel of Branston Mere Y station. All the items are original, mainly 'in' jokes consisting of stories, jokes, poems and cartoons.
Date
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1944-03
Format
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A 29 page duplicated magazine
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Poetry
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Identifier
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MReynoldsWT[Ser#-DoB]-150731-04
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
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1944-03
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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.
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Bradley Froggatt
Steve Baldwin
arts and crafts
entertainment
ground personnel
love and romance
military living conditions
military service conditions
searchlight
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16322/MReynoldsWT[Ser -DoB]-150731-03.pdf
1bdcb59267c93477cc938d164a77310f
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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Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-07-31
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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Reynolds, WT
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[inserted] [deleted][two indecipherable words][/deleted] [/inserted]
[inserted] W. Reynolds [/inserted]
MERE GEN
1st
BIRTHDAY NUMBER
[symbol]
AUGUST 1943
[Page Break]
[Picture]
[Page Break]
[Underlined] EDITORIAL [/Underlined]
Twelve months ago a Magazine was born! Among a long-suffering public “Mere Gen” made its audacious appearance, and we who were associated with those early efforts are gratefully appreciative that, we are now in a position to comment on its maturity. While ever conscious of our literary shortcomings, we feel we have the interested goodwill of all our readers, and if the Mag. has in any small measure contributed to the general good feeling pervading our Station we are satisfied. The most pleasing feature, to our minds, has been the fact that “Mere Gen” now circulates throughout this country (having more than an average number of civilian readers – landladies excluded), and reaches our boys overseas, in Africa, India and elsewhere. Perhaps if I quote from a letter recently received from the Middle East from six ex-Waddington L.A.C’s it will suffice: “We cannot thank you in editorial terms for having been lucky enough to obtain two copies of “Mere Gen”, but we must say how pleased we were to obtain these pleasant reminders of the “Good old Waddo Days”, and we can assure you that until these two copies are beyond recognition through “wear and tear” they will be passed on to the others who are in any way connected with the Gen Joint. “
The Editor.
This is dedicated to those who “fell” In the glorious action of “The Butcher and Beast”, during the Wings for Victory Campaign.
[underlined] The Butcher And Beast (With apologies to Keats.) [/Underlined]
Souls of airman posted, Gone,
What Elysium have you known,
Where is served a merry feast,
Finer than the Butcher and Beast?
Have you tasted better beer
Than the host will serve you here?
What fruit could make you feel more smug,
What sweeter than a brimming jug
Of bitter? A generous drink
A double whisky don’t you think?
Or perhaps you’d order shandy
And, after tasting, find it brandy.
I have heard that on a night
Several airmen came home tight,
Nobody knew where they’d been,
(Continued overleaf)
[Page break]
In Branston they could not be seen,
Till a witness gave the story,
Said he saw them in their glory
Underneath the tables there,
Drinking whisky, ale and beer,
And pledging with a common call
He who hangs upon the wall.
Souls of airmen, posted, gone,
What Elysium have you known,
Where is served a merry feast,
Finer than the Butcher and Beast?
TWAMMY.
[Underlined] “I was interviewed!” [/Underlined]
Quite recently one of our literary contemporaries. the R.A.F. Journal (ahem), published an article by a well informed Group Captain, dealing with “interviews!” Unfortunately for R.A.F. mankind generally, this learned treatise merely dealt with the outlook of those who “looked down” and did the interviewing, and failed utterly to bring to light the reactions of those unfortunate enough to be interviewed. Hence this article -, because I have been interviewed!
Conscious of the slogan forewarned is forearmed etc., I heralded my intended trip to ‘Ministry’ with some misgiving, but took what I considered to be the proverbial preliminary precautions by listening intently to all and sundry who had any views on the subject – and strangely enough these people were innumerable and their suggestions manifold. I was warned to be on the lookout for trick questions, trick answers, guileless looking psychologists, fiery Air Marshalls, and advised to dispense with my civilian pullover, gird on my strongest pair of service boots (“They must squeak!” one old stager insisted), change my hair style (this from an insolent Waaf), and above all things be observant and adopt a sober, serious like mien!
In a state of complete bewilderment I stood at the portals of Ministry one sunny morning, armed with the usual buff form directing me to proceed to Room 504! I apologetically detached myself from the throng of senior officers (much beribboned and be”gonged”) surging towards the lift, and stopped humbly before a majestically clad civilian - obviously an Air Marshall in mufti but without portfolio! He questioned me sharply and an involuntary “Sir” escaped my lips before I realised that here was no other than an Air Ministry Constable - clad in “civvies” but just the same type that so persistently clamour for 1250’s at my own Station. After
[Page break]
some delay I was allotted a complex pink form indicating Air Ministry’s willingness to allow me to proceed to Room 504, and at my side stood an even more imposing but bureaucratic figure, ready to conduct me to the said room. We climbed the stairs in silence and half way up I realised with sickening horror that I had forgotten to count the number of flights of stairs, or the number of stairs, nor did I recollect the colour of the eyes of the first official I had met, while I had no idea how many doors I had passed on the way up! Not very important to you, dear reader perhaps - but these were specimens of the trick questions I had been advised would constitute part of my interview syllabus! I must have groaned audibly because my companion looked up with apparent fanatic interest. “Ah,” I thought, "here is this psychologist bloke masquerading as a minor official and all the while feverishly noting my every reaction! We stopped outside a dull room and a girl clad in a sylph like green overall with the most glorious – (But that’s another story) – well this girl purred my name interrogatively and on my stammering “Yes”, she pointed silently into the room.
At my entry a dozen or more weary N.C.O’s raised their heads momentarily and promptly relapsed into what was obviously a “brains trust” huddle. The topics they touched on were so varied and complex that I began to develop a severe feeling of inferiority, despite the fact that obviously none of the “huddlers” could answer the questions they were asking each other. I stood in splendid isolation - an isolation that might have been distressingly permanent, had not someone suddenly demanded with devastating irrelevance, “What is the chemical formula for water?” A deadly silence ensued and, hardly believing my good fortune, I muttered –“H2O”- and, well, I had become a “huddler.”
So it went on - and gradually our numbers diminished until the “green goddess” reappeared, and demanded that I should follow her. This was indeed “into battle”. A last straightening of that horribly creased tie - fastening of pocket buttons and a quick adjustment of the cap – and well – we were outside room 504 – And no sooner than I was outside than I was inside. As my hand went up in what must have been the worst salute of my career, I vaguely saw a frightening row of “high-ups” some three or four feet away, sitting behind a table, and obviously watching me with disturbing benign composure.
I found myself nervously perched on a chair facing the President of the Board, and awaiting the inevitable flak! To attempt to narrate the whole interview would defeat the object of this story, which has been written in the hope of recreating the “ethereal” atmosphere that pervades these interviews. But for the next 20 minutes life began
[Page break]
and ended with questions – Why this - why not that - did I go in for sport – what was 19 squared – who was Mr. Molotov – express 3d as a decimal of £1 – what were ailerons – what was the capital of Iceland – did I – and so on! All the while the examining body were excessively polite, and when finally I was told “That will be all,” I limped back into circulation, determined that at all events I would warn my fellow men of the iniquities of interviews! And of course I lived happily ever afterwards.
T.L
The following are the poetical outcomes of a friendly feud existing between a certain F/Sgt and an [underlined] uncertain [/underlined] Waaf, who is endowed with a Vitriolic pen!
[Underlined] F/Sgt. Alcorn. i/c Q section. [/Underlined]
Last night my lighter wouldn’t work,
So I inspected same,
To try and make a tiny spark
And so bring forth flame.
To my dismay I realised
You’d done an awful thing;
By losing all your self respect,
And stealing half my spring.
E’en though you are a flight-Sergeant
A rank of great renown,
All I can say is that I hope
Your lighter lets you down.
And may your conscience break your sleep
For weeks and weeks on end,
And now “mien herr” [two symbols]
Untrue, unworthy friend.
“TIT for TAT”
There is a WAAF who passes spare time
By thinking out a cheeky rhyme,
Whose efforts often can be seen
By those who read this Magazine.
F/Sgt. Alcorn is one of the men,
Who fell a victim to her pen,
Tweedie, Parsons, Norman & Co.,
Are others that this WAAF does know.
(Continued overleaf)
[Page break]
[Picture]
Hostel Heat-Wave- WAAF Sans Coupons
[Page break]
(“TIT for TAT” continued)
This cheeky WAAF, who’s small and dark
And always ready for a lark,
Will certainly have to watch her steps
If Murray Alcorn’s goat she gets.
But as she’s only young and small
Dad Alcorn may forgive her all
And hopes she never will regret
If she should change her name to Hett.
M.R.A., F/Sgt.
9:7:43
“The following is an unsolicited testimonial in rhyme to an unnamed Cpl., from one of our new girls!”
[Underlined] A GREAT GUY [/Underlined]
We have such a charming Leader
Who plays the game by all,
He’ll change your shift and day off
Even when on duty call.
He’s tall and dark and strong,
With eyes that ne’er miss a thing,
He laughs and jokes, Plays ping-pong,
But when he sings, oh! Bing!
The boys and girls all like him
Even should he fail to please,
Which is really very seldom
‘Cause both points of view he sees.
He takes an interest in our work
And also in our play,
When we suggest a Social night
He replies – “Just name the day!”
[Page break]
So carry on, Mr. Leader,
And we will rally round,
When the time comes to need us
In the hostel we’ll be found.
M.D. Morrison.
[Underlined] “THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON” [/Underlined]
“The following literary masterpiece is an attempt by one of our contemporaries to pacify Equipment H.Q. about a pair of U/S issue boots!”
Sir.
With ref to boots I sent to Cheadle the boot as not been burnt there was a piece of Leather rotted out of the toe as for it been cut I was going to repair it up myself if it had been possible been as the other boot was a decent boot but I found out it was complety [sic] rotten and past repair so I took the rubber heels off and put them on the boots I am wearing as they were worn off
[Underlined] People we should like to Meet! [/Underlined]
Annie Rigbye, aged 45, a church worker and Nurse who stole four pairs of sheets from an infectious diseases hospital, and gave them as wedding presents to two Clergymen, was sentenced to 6 months imprisonment at Portsmouth Quarter Sessions yesterday!
(Newspaper Report).
The British, according to one of them, have a marvellous capacity for self-criticism, as witness the case of an elderly ornament of the House of Lords, who yawned during his own speech!
Lady (30) seeks female company for walks and some fun :-
1058 Mercury.
(Advt., Leicester Mercury).
[Page Break]
[Underlined] THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIE [/Underlined]
The oldest inhabitant of Hut 2, No. 3 Wing, R.A.F. Ruddle-In-The-Wold, “a grand old man” of some 23 years, and by the grace of God the Cpl. i/c, studied his audience and then with calculating suddenness muttered contemptuously, “Waafs!” His listeners grinned appreciatively and waited for more. “I remember when we had no Waaf on the Station,” he went on – “those were the days! Simply amazing how the fellows fell for those girls – but not this fellow!” He paused and looked around to see how this remark was received, and, apparently satisfied, took up his lament once more. “Why I saw through them from the start – I could tell you endless tales of how really good, resolute airmen became mere Waaf puppets! It wasn’t as if I didn’t warn them – [Underlined] I [/underlined] knew that “Waafing” involved financial loss, loss of independence of thought, freedom of movement, endless headaches, heartaches, the cultivation of the patient art of long suffering listening, and the adoption of a “Yes dear,” “ No Dear,” complex! However, it was useless – only I remained immune from” [sic] – the Cpl. halted suddenly, as a shrill female voice demanded, “Well, are you never coming?” He turned guiltily to the speaker, an attractive but frighteningly feminine LACW, and murmured apologetically, “Yes, dear – I was just telling the boys about our engagement!”
T.L.
[Underlined] “The Night of the Storm” [/Underlined]
It was a bad night. The wind rattled the windows; shook angrily at the door; and howled around the corner with ever increasing ferocity. Inside the “Waggon” John and I were having our last pint when the door burst open and a soldier was literally blown into the bar. When he had refreshed himself with a huge swig of beer he joined us before the flickering embers of the fire, which were kept burning only by the fierce draught from under the door.
“Nasty night,” I said, by way of making conversation. “Sounds a bit spooky with the wind howling like this.”
“Yes,” He replied, “It’s bad. It was like this on the night that Conan Doyle died”.
John laughed. “That’s a funny thing to say. Whatever makes you remember that night of all nights?” he asked.
The soldier looked at us both intently for a moment, then said, “I’d good cause to remember it. We were having supper that night when my father mention that Conan Doyle had died and that he was expected to make a visitation in the spirit to some of his friends and colleagues, to prove the spiritualist doctrine of which he had been
[Page break]
a firm believer in life. The old man seemed to think it was quite possible but with my eighteen years of unbelief I ridiculed and scorned every argument he put forward. We argued to some length about it, but father stuck to his opinion, much to my annoyance, for was I not a full eighteen years old and knew all that was to be known?
Silly old codger, he was in his second childhood; how else could he believe such rubbish? I paused on my way to bed.
“If he [underlined] is [/Underlined] coming back or [underlined] can [/underlined] come back I hope he’ll visit me first.” I called over the balustrade.
“Perhaps he will,” said my father quietly.
I was soon asleep. Not all the ragings [sic] of the elements disturbed me, indeed I believe I sleep better on a bad night because of the sense of comfort which comes from being well housed. How long I slept I really couldn’t say – but it wasn’t the storm that awaked me, oh no! With a slowly awakening consciousness I heard another sound in the room. I lay still and listened. There it was again, just an indistinct whirring sound.
“Good God above- it’s Conan Doyle!! [sic]” How I sweated! Whirr! Oh, heavens, It’s coming towards me! I dived beneath the bedclothes, trembling with fear, clammy with terror. Go away! Go away! I believe! I believe! Oh, the horror of it. Alone in a darkened room with a ghost or a spirit or something that I had defied. Still I heard it. I yelled, nay, I screamed for my father.
“He’s here – Conan Doyle is here!”
“Go to sleep,” he called back. “You’ve had a night-mare.”
I lay for what seemed a thousand years - alone – alone in the dark with a ghost. No sound save for the rain beating the windows, and the howling of the wind. I reached out for the matches. The House was an old one and we had no electricity, but the gas bracket was within reach. I clutched the match box causing but a faint rattle. Whirr! Whirr! He was upon me.
“Help! Help! Father! Father!” and back beneath the bedclothes I went.
“Go to sleep, lad, you’ve had a nightmare –too much supper,” he called back.
Luckily my mother had been awakened by now and I heard her shuffling along the passage, and presently the gaslight in my room spluttered into a fitful pale blue light. Of course I couldn’t have her alone out there so I jumped out of bed imploring her all the while to be careful, for Conan Doyle was in the room.
“I’ll give him Conan Doyle,” said she. “” Disturbing our sleep like this!”
“Look out!” I yelled, and there he went right over our heads
[Page break]
[Underlined] (K) “iT” Inspection [/Underlined]
[Picture]
[Page Break]
[Picture]
“No, No! They Were Thick Flannelette Servicable [sic] Ones!!”
[Page Break]
[Picture]
[Page Break]
Gremlin Mk. VII
[Picture]
[Page Break]
[Underlined] GREMLINS [/Underlined]
You have all heard or read about Gremlins. Usually they refer to those little Imps who plague our aircrews and are known and referred to by higher authority as Gremlins MK. I to VI.
It is believed that the Gremlin MK.VII (Illustrated) was previously the Mk.IV who was grounded for failing to wear battle dress on essential occasions. Middle age spread set in and his feet grew enormously - he was medically regarded - untif [sic] for flying and now confines his activities to ground operators.
In the right hand he carries a string of atmospherics, commonly known as “x’s”, in the left hand a bunch of hamming stations which he injects into aerials just at the time one is endeavouring to receive a message.
He spends his evenings writing chits which he leaves on the desk of a certain N.C.O. who has a flair for pinning things up.
When annoyed, he destroys 295s or consigns applications which have been reposing comfortably in the Old Man’s “Pending” tray, to the W.P.B.
He is thought in some quarters to be a member of “Ted’s” Gestapo.
Prior to the arrival of WAAF he fed solely on “Pig Food” complaining the while of the landladies’ black market in “Bung”
Mk.VII has a habit of blowing hard in a direction away from or towards the station, alternating every eight hours in order that he is always in opposition.
He is a past master in “Duff-Gen” and “Guffing” and is known to have been particularly active of late on a metter [sic] generally referred to as “My tapes”
[Page Break]
[Two Pictures]
[Page Break]
[Underlined] Wings For Victory [/Underlined]
[Picture]
[Page Break]
[Underlined] WANTED! [/Underlined]
[Picture]
[Underlined] Famous Sayings Illustrated [/Underlined]
[four pictures]
[Page Break]
and down the bed. My mother paled a little for she had thought that I had been dreaming. But she’s a resolute and plucky woman and wasn’t to be beaten by any ghost. She seized a thick magazine, rolled it up and enjoining me to hold a light she swooped down behind the bed.
“Got him!” she cried and rushed to the window clasping one hand tightly. The cold wind and the rain blew in for a moment and she flung him from her into the night – a poor wee sparrow- a common house sparrow come in out of the rain. I laughed hysterically.
Conan Doyle – a little sparrow – of course it couldn’t have been him - or could it?
“Goodnight boys!”
H.S.
[Underlined] “COLLECTED JOKES” [/Underlined]
The A.T.S. girl was walking along the road on a not very enjoyable hitch-hike. The day was warm and the road dusty, so imagine her relief on coming to a clear pond completely surrounded by trees. She undressed and had a swim, and was about to get out when she noticed an army officer approaching. Like a flash she was back in the water. The officer approached without seeing her and yelled, “Camouflage Company- dismiss!”- and all the trees walked away.
During the blitz on London an Ack-Ack Battery was stationed, complete with field-kitchen, in a very posh district in the city. When the refuse bin was full the cook was at a loss how to discard it, so he went out into the road and asked a passing Chinaman if he could tell him of a refuse dump. “Yes,” said the Chinaman, “I’ll give you a hand with it.” Eventually they went up a flight of steps into a luxuriously furnished room. The curtains were of thick velvet, the walls adorned by exquisite oriental pictures and embroideries, and the floor was covered with a marvellous thick carpet of rare pattern and design. “Empty him here,” said the Chinaman, indicating the carpet. “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said the soldier, “It’s sacrilege,” but as the guide insisted, the refuse was dumped in the centre of the room and the tins cleaned out with an expensive silk cushion. The soldier was puzzled by all this, and as they walked down the steps together he said, “Excuse me, but is this an old Chinese custom?”
“No,” replied the Chinaman. “This is the Japanese Embassy!!!”
Just after the Russian Revolution in 1917 the provisional Government headed by Kerevsky [sic] printed 40 Rouble notes to help their
[Page Break]
internal finances. The notes were badly printed and bore neither date nor serial number with the result that scores of imitations were soon in circulation. Counterfeit money became so common that even in the midst of revolution one of the forgers couldn’t resist a joke. On one side of the note was printed the notice “Imitation will be punished according to law.” The Joker printed on the reverse side of his notes the inscription “Ours are as good as yours.”
After a long absence the traveller returned to his native village, and the first person he met on arrival was the village idiot. “Well, George, and how are you these days?” he said, shaking hands.
“Oh, I be alright,” answered that worthy, “I’ve been married ten years and have eleven children - but we aren’t going to have any more!”
“Why not?” enquired the traveller.
“Oh, we’ve found out what’s been causing it!!!”
“And how did you come to leave your last job?”
“- My sentence expired!”
H.S
[Underlined] QUIZ [/Underlined]
The persistent devotion displayed by a certain bachelor Cpl. to the “local” is perhaps in itself a fitting tribute to the quality of the beer! or would the landlord have a daughter fair?
L.A.C. Brian Tighe pursuing a “back to the land” campaign, with a very attractive “ear ringed” land girl!
Is it not a fact that when an airman found Sgt. Jones’ identity discs in a “leafy glade”, she admitted losing them whilst out picking flowers? (What are you giving us, Ella? – Editor).
It is a matter of general regret among his associates that a certain editorial Corporal (hitherto immune from “Quiz” flak) has of late been subject to “fitz” although apparently still feeling “youngish.”
We wonder why “Pixie” Brentley spent the night at Grantham!
Cpl. Clark whilst inebriated with the Wings for Victory “spirit” defied this column to bring out the skeleton in her cupboard. We accept the challenge and now appeal for your co-operation in the matter!
(Continued overleaf)
[Page break]
To start with, is it not a fact that her engagement was broken because of lack of letters of endearment, and now is she seeking sun bathing consolation with a certain “Jock”?
That intrepid civilian on ‘ops’ again! An early morning impassioned appeal to a certain Waaf (Jean) brought the reply, “Now, George, you know I’ll have to ask my Dad fust [sic], before you can take me to the pictures!”
Is a certain “Jitterbugging” A.G. from Fiskerton likely to supplant our inimitable P.T. Leader? (Alias “Muscle” Howard!)
Cpl. Jarvis is proving to be an almost impeccable host to a certain distinguished and attractive visitor in our midst!
As one who has been a frequent but deserving victim of “Quiz”, we offer our very sincere good wishes to Wendy Lee on her marriage, and at the same time deplore the loss of such good “copy.”
L.A.C.W. Austin appears to have been meeting quite a spot of “Ack-Ack” lately!
Joan Carruthers has apparently not ended her affair with that youthful but persistent civilian admirer.
Comment of L.A.C. Jim Rylance on the WAAF dance. “”O.K., but too many Waaf and not enough women there!” (We don’t get it! –Ed.)
Although it is admittedly difficult to cultivate the acquaintance of a “free” man these days, Cpl. Ripley’s latest efforts are most commendable.
Cpl. Jean Grantham denies that those intimate unmentionables she has been engaged upon are the first step towards her trousseau.
We would like more details of Jack Gaffney’s adventures with the “lass from Streatham Hill,” whilst on leave in London.
With the advent of the latest batch of Waaf, we regret to report that Austerity Allman has been revealed as a positive Quisling!
Harry Cordock seen to be taking more than a passing interest in our visiting Waaf M/T Driver.
[Page break]
At Cpl. Scott’s “Swan-song party” Sgt. Hughes was guilty of a deplorable piece of “Waaf poaching!”
Congratulations to Johnnie Jones- now in her 17th week of that success “Eric or Little by Little!”
Who is the L.A.C.W. with the rabbit-like appellation, who things it “awfully good fun to be frightfully pooah [sic],” but would like to have “brains as well as looks!”
A certain “Guffite” with hypocritical views on ‘ops’ is annoying this column with her own quisling-like supposedly surreptitious activities. You have been warned!
Cpl. Robertson’s passionate affinity for the bathing pool throughout July is perhaps attributable to the presence there of a certain glamorous “June”!
At the Bank Holiday Dance “Water Baby Dale” took unto himself the nefarious Nocton Menace! An early award of the D.F.M. is expected for such gallantry!
[Underlined] CRICKET [/underlined]
Who said the Waafs couldn’t play cricket? Our Amazons’ eleven challenged and defeated the airmen at Nocton on 15th June by one run. The Waaf batted first and obtained the formidable total of eleven runs, the airmen putting on several bowlers in an attempt to secure some cheap wickets. Joan Davies and Doreen Cole stood up well to the bowling, and ran out top scorers. Then the airmen took the crease, and could make no headway against the smashing “overs” of Peggy Morris and Doreen Cole. Of course, the men were handicapped by having to double the Waaf score and walk all their runs. Bert “Hutch” looked set for a nice stand but was unfortunately “walked out” after scoring five and was the airmen’s top scorer. The score had reached 21 - only two from victory, when Freddie Bolt’s leg stump was up-ended by a ‘snorter’ of a first ball from Eva Akenhead, who was mobbed by the gallery of spectators at the Pavilion end for thus snatching victory from the jaws of impending defeat.
Vice is invariably the outcome of an overdose of virtue!
[Page break]
[Three pictures]
[Page break]
[Underlined] STATIONALITIES [sic] [/underlined]
[Underlined] ARRIVALS: [/Underlined]
We extend a cordial Branstonian welcome to the undermentioned airwomen who have arrived since our last issue:-
Cpls. Clark and Atkinson, L.A.C.W’s Brentley, Young, Standford, Ryan, Fitzpatrick, Billington, Newport, Newell, Wolff, Morrison, Rollo and Baker-Pearce.
[Underlined] DEPARTURES: [/Underlined]
F/Sgts Scrimshaw, Murray and Thomas have returned to their former station, and Cpl. Scott and A.C.W. Norma Kerr have also left us during the past month. We wish them all good luck and pleasant company.
[Underlined] WEDDINGS: [/underlined]
On 19th June, L.A.C.W. Joan M. Moore was married to Mr. Malcolm Mather at Attenborough Church. The wedding was attended by members of the W.A.A.F. from the Bride’s former station.
Our Medical Orderly, L.A.C.W. Audrey Alderson Is now Mrs. Beasley. She was married to Sgt. F.C. Beasley of the 10th Air Formation Signals at Lincoln on 24th June.
Congratulations and Good Wishes to them all.
[Underlined] SYMPATHY: [/Underlined]
We extend our sincere sympathy to L.A.C.W. Dot Wallace on the loss of her mother.
To L.A.C. Johnny Dale whose home was damaged during an enemy raid recently.
[underined] Ex-BRANSTONIANS: [/Underlined]
L.A.C. Harry Davies writes from North Africa of heat and flies which appear to be compensated for by playing table tennis with pretty French girls and bathing in the Mediterranean Sea.
P.O. Waights was seen in Branston recently looking very fit and sunburnt as a result of his stay at Skegness.
[Underlined] Waaf BIRTHDAY: [/Underlined]
The Garden Party held at the Hostel on 28th June, and the dance which followed it will be for ever a pleasant memory for those who were able to be there.
[Page Break]
[Underlined] CONGRATULATION: [/Underlined]
To Johnny Dale on his splendid win in the open Services 75 yds. race at the recent Lincolnshire Swimming Gala.
To “Blondie” Barnes on her elevation to the Cpl’s Mess!
To L.A.C. Bill Inches whose wife presented him with twins, boy and girl, on 25th July.
[Underlined] “Get Some Service In” [/Underlined]
1st Erk :- “Do you know I was a Wop on Boadicea’s chariot.”
2nd Erk :- “Huh - well, I joined up when Pontius was a Pilot!”
[Underlined] Déjeuner á la Carte [/Underlined]
(Naafi Carte)
Menu (A) Ballotine de jambon Valentinoise
(B) Assiette Froide et Salade
Authorised translation by Naafi H.Q. Management :
(a) Hot Spam
(b) Cold Spam
[Underlined] “Wings for Victory” Campaign. [/Underlined]
In connection with our “Wings for Victory” campaign, held during the month of July, the station personnel with some outside assistance raised the magnificent sum of £1, 575. 0. 6.
The fine achievement helped our parent unit to be placed first on the list in 26 Group Savings totals with a grand total of £18,348. 6. 3.
This effort reflects great credit on all ranks and in particular to our own little station. It is learnt on the most unreliable underground authority that our airmen and airwomen will feel the strain for some time to come, while the local post-office has intimated that never in all its history has the volume of business in connection with Savings Stamps been so great. Customers anxious to do business were almost overwhelming to the good lady in charge.
A dance was held at the Village Hall, Branston, on 21st July, 1943, which proved to be successful from a “Wings for Victory” angle - admission being by purchase of National Savings Stamps only. In other words, a free dance.
During the dance the result of two station raffles were announced from the stage. Our raffle was a pound note (previously subscribed for at a sing-song) which realized sixty three pounds, and was nobly won by L.A.C. Lott. Good show, Lott!
[Page break]
The second raffle consisted of an aid-to-beauty outfit, presented by an anonymous donor, which was won by L.A.C.W. Wolff - who does not require it, anyway.
A later raffle, similar but smaller to the above outfit was won by L.A.C.W. Burbury. Be careful with the Talcum powder, Burbury!
To each and to all of the airmen, airwomen and civilian staff of our station thanks and appreciation are due for their wonderful effort during that hectic period, when savings stamps ha the same effect on human beings as a red rag to a bull, but special thanks are due to L.A.C.W. Howson, whose patience and skill produced three cute little dolls for the raffle, realizing the sum of thirty five pounds.
To Sgt. Hands (now returned to Dunstable) whose energy and enthusiasm, together with her willing assistant L.A.C.W. Petch, decidedly turned the Victory tide in our favour, and lastly to our tall, handsome, debonair master of ceremonies, Cpl. Liddell, whose unfailing willingness to step into tight corners when required is still the marvel of the local population.
And now here’s to Victory and the realization of those accumulated Savings certificates.
H.S.N.
[Underlined] QUIZ (Stop Press) [/Underlined]
A certain person would do well to remember that mere lightning reveals even “digbyfied” [sic] Corporals. We sense the erratum here but then, we are not “teducated” [sic]!
[Page Break]
[Underlined] “As We See Each Other” [/Underlined]
With no little difficulty we have persuaded people to complete the following questionnaires which are self-explanatory. The name quoted in each case is, of course, the “majority” answer, and we accept no responsibility for the publishing these results.
“The Waafs” by the “Airmen”
[Questionnaire table results]
“The Airmen” by the “Waafs”
[Questionnaire table results]
The Editor.
[Page Break]
[Crossword]
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
Mere Gen 1st Birthday edition
Description
An account of the resource
A duplicated magazine, produced by the personnel of Branston Mere Y station. It includes 'in' jokes, stories, poems, cartoons and a
a crossword puzzle.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1943-08
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
A 29 page duplicated magazine
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Poetry
Artwork
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MReynoldsWT[Ser#-DoB]-150731-03
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
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-08
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
Bradley Froggatt
Steve Baldwin
arts and crafts
entertainment
gremlin
ground personnel
love and romance
military living conditions
military service conditions
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16321/MReynoldsWT[Ser -DoB]-150731-02.pdf
87b99f3e2eeb105daa86fa9d087b15be
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
Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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
2015-07-31
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
Reynolds, WT
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[Royal air force crest]
[Underlined] Mere Gen [/Underlined]
Christmas 1943
Holly leaf
[page break]
[Underlined] DON’T [/Underlined] LET YOUR PAL GO FOR A BURTON OVER A BASS.
[Page Break]
[Editorial insignia] 70
[Underlined] XMAS GREETINGS [/Underlined]
Now then, registered customers! About this Christmas business. As we’re all hoping this is going to be the last Christmas of the war, it looks as if this is going to be the last Christmas “Mere Gen”! So, in wishing you “All the best”, let me thank you for your support (and your shillings!) during the past year. We do appreciate the interest you have shown in our efforts during 1943 and trust you will be subscribing regularly in 1944. And so, a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you, one and all!
Fred Bolt.
As a newcomer to the Station I would like to thank you all for the way you have helped me settle so quickly and also to wish you a very happy Xmas and prosperous New Year. [Underlined] Here’s to lots more “ops” [/underlined].! [sic]
Frank Potts.
In wishing everybody the proverbial Merry Xmas and Happy New Year may I express my appreciation of your interest in my recent sickness.
G.R. Batley.
May I, on behalf of the WAAF personnel at East Mere House and myself, extent to our fellow comrades and all concerned, our very best wishes for a jolly Xmas and Good New Year.
Morag Morrison.. [sic]
May I wish you all a very Merry Xmas (including the Evening Watch- poor souls!) and that the New Year will bring for you an abundance of Health and Happiness.
Harold Speak.
On behalf of the perpetrators of “Mere Gen” I thank you for your interest and support of the Mag. and hasten to wish you all a Merry Xmas and may the New Year bring “goodwill” and the all-important peace.
Ted Liddell.
[Page break]
S. O. Scott sends seasonal greetings to all for the Xmas “festivities” and good wishes for the New Year.
The Officer i/c wishes to extend greetings to all ranks and wishes all a very Happy Xmas and a prosperous New Year!
It is with great pleasure that I accept F/Lt. Irving’s invitation to me to use the medium of your excellent “Mere Gen” to pass to all Ranks my Best Wishes for a Jolly Christmas and a successful New Year.
Congratulations to you all on your worthy achievements during 1943.
W.G. Swanborough.
Wing Commander.
[Page break]
[Underlined] Reproduced from Twenty-six Group Monthly Newsletter [/Underlined]
(by kind permission of the Author)
[Underlined] THE ROAD TO PROMOTION [/underlined]
Our Signals personnel have always been keen on their job and willing to co-operate on all phases of their work, from long hours of employment at a stretch to being called out in the middle of the night to repair an aerial which has blown down or become damaged in a gale.
They have also been at the front in social matters, whether it be arranging a Dance or putting up a show at Christmas. Many “Old Hands” will remember the famous “boat” dinners with their attendant displays when drafts abroad were preparing for home after a monotonous two year in Iraq, Transjordan or some other isolated place, but which were now beginning to appear on the horizon again.
Their work was carried out efficiently and cheerfully (this was the days of peace) and their training had been long and facilities for such, ample. Those peace-time men had themselves chosen the Service for their career; they expected to be sent abroad and accepted all the discomforts, the inconveniences and the partings as well as the pleasure of service life.
The very great majority of these men, who had to wait years for promotion, are now Officers or Warrant Officers and their places have been filled by others, many of whom would probably have placed a Service career very low down on a list of their inclinations. How are they re-acting to this compulsory service life and training? What kind of a show are they putting up? This opinion is entirely personnel but the answer to the first is, I think, “that whatever our inclination, there is a war on, and we have just got to win it”. Secondly, “they are doing splendidly”. Both these answers apply equally to the woman.
The reason they are doing splendidly is not so much because they are highly efficient, but because they are doing their best after a short period of training which is unsatisfactory but unavoidable.
But what of their faults?
In peace-time if a man lost a tool or damaged an instrument,
[Page break]
he had to pay for it. He was highly trained and if a thing did not work he was capable of and took a pride in repairing it. Every item of equipment was registered and had to be accounted for. The Air Force was allowed a certain sum of money annually and this could not – expect in exceptional circumstance – be exceeded. To-day, however, all that is changed, equipment is now in abundant supply and in many cases no accoint [sic] is kept, but that is no reason why it should be wasted, and perhaps the greatest fault one now finds amongst our tradesmen is the tendency to throw aside a faulty item and get a new one rather than to repair the old one and save the new.
One other fault is, that whilst the majority are keen to obtain advancement, there is a tendency to expect promotion without a great deal of exertion to gain the additional knowledge and ability which warrants it. This is probably due to long hours of work and lack of easy opportunity, but it should be remembered the greater the knowledge absorbed now the greater the benefit to be gained after the war, not only for those remaining in the service, but also for those returning to civil life, when in both spheres there will be no easy road to promotion but intensive competition for the better jobs.
G.H.F.H.
[Underlined] ACKNOWLEDGEMENT [/Underlined]
We are extremely grateful to L.A.C. Field and Mrs. Chas. Stear who respectively raffled on behalf of the Mag. two fountain pens and a superb doll. The pens were won by L.A.C. s Gaffney and Jones (Davey) and the doll by Cpl. Jean Grantham, and some £4. 9. 6 went into the Mag funds, to make possible this extra large Xmas number.
The Editor.
[Underlined] “MERE GEN” XMAS FREE GIFT SCHEME [/Underlined}
Please note the serial number of your Mag. It may mean you are one of the lucky people to profit by our free Gift Scheme. After the Mags. have been sold we are drawing 15 lucky numbers and the holder of these Mag. numbers are entitled to a prize on application to the Editorial Board. The list of numbers will be published on the official notice board.
The Editor.
[Page Break]
[Picture]
[Page Break]
“BARGAIN “BASE”MENT
[6 Pictures]
[Page Break]
[underlined] Items received too late for classification [/underlined]
Cpl. Burbury’s hut colleagues insist that she is in dire need of new pair pf pyjamas – preferably complete with cord – “trousers for the keeping up of! (See Xmas Gift Cartoon)
For what it is worth we reproduce a recent “Steve Hendry-ism”
“When I was in civvy street, I never went out with more than one boy at a time- now I don’t care.” Safety in numbers?
[Underlined] Situations Vacant. [/Underlined]
Editor required for this Mag.
The position calls for someone prepared to accept the colossal salary now offered, a flair for persistently pestering people, an acceptance of a social unpopularity, a reluctance to hurt people’s feelings, an ability to spell and a willingness to dedicate “days off” etc. to the pursuit of contributions, “copy”, printers, raffles, cartoonists, complaints, etc. etc.
[Page break]
[Underlined] OF MICE AND MEN [/Underlined]
A light still burned in the dispensary, and on the bench a bunsen was still burning, its spluttering flame seeming to fill the atmosphere with a subdued roar. Over its blue ghostly flame the analyser, white overalled and rubber gloved, was holding a pasty-looking solid, balanced on the end of a metal spatula.
This mysterious substance crackled and spat, sending out a pungent vapour which made its torturer hold his face away with obvious distaste and horror.
Beside the bunsen burner stood a strange piece of apparatus. There was a gleaming copper coil mounted on an oblong piece of light-coloured wood, somewhat like a miniature platform; attached to each end of the coil and forming an oblong grid was more copper. There were also at each end of the platform more metal fittings, at one end a metal claw loosely secured by a staple.
After a while the queer-looking mass on the spatula changed colour, but still sent out its horrible odour. The analyser then laid it gently on the bench and, after a moment or two, he transferred the substance very carefully to the metal claws of the machine.
Starting to manipulate the copper grid he had some difficulty in getting it in the position he desired; he also appeared to be apprehensive and in great fear, for after a short time he sighed and stood back and started wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.
He now lifted the entire apparatus and walked very cautiously from the dispensary towards the door which opened on to the corridor where he placed it very gingerly in the cabinet that had been left open.
Returning to the dispensary, he turned off the bunsen and very carefully wiped away all traces of his recent operations.
He then switched out all the lights, and a few moments later was gone, quickly and silently.
Lighting a cigarette with hands that slightly trembled he disappeared into the darkness muttering “I wonder if I shall catch that damn mouse to-night”.
A.P.
[Page break]
“THEY” say
A woman is as old as she looks.
And a man is old when he stops looking!
[Underlined] STATION QUIZ COMPETITION [/underlined]
Here is a competition – without prizes – about yourselves and the Station. See if you can answer the following questions correctly and remember the Editor’s decision is binding!
1. Which is the “dim watch”?
2. Which is the “glam’rous [sic] watch”?
3. Which is the “binding watch”?
4. (a) Who are the T.W.s, and (b) how did this sobriquet arise?
5. Who are the “Darlings”?
6. Whose christian names are John Archibald Gerald Fitzroy?
7. Who is “Plug”? (Steady, boys, Steady! Ed.)
8. Who is a very able member of the S.L.G.A?
9. Who frequently says with feeling, “Why, my little son could have done better”?
10. How man A.M. Constables’ names do you know? (Their real names please, not your own epithets – Ed.)
11. Is F/Sgt. Pitman older than L.A.C. Greenhalgh?
12. Who are the “Geordies” on the Station?
13. Who is the only university graduate on the Station?
The following is a pungent, yet poetic postscript to our platitude on platonic friendship, in October’s Mere Gen.
It really is very ironic
To believe that a friendship platonic,
No matter the basis,
“The just going places”
Can live without “Love” as a “tonic”
L.A.C. J. W. Moore (Fitting Party)
[Page break]
[Underlined] XMAS MERE GEN HONOURS LIST [/underlined]
We have decided that certain personalities on the Station deserve honourable mention on account of public or official activities or other attributes as set out below.
If you have been omitted we claim your indulgence, as doubtless “Mere Gen Records” are holding up the publication!
Sgt. Barnes for her very tolerant acceptance of some rather deadly “Mere Gen Quiz Flak”!
L.A.C. Porter for his constant consideration for L.A.C. Porter.
Messrs. William Reynolds and George Creasey for devotion to duty which has seldom been surpassed!
The Orderly Room for their efficient handling of the weekly rations.
L.A.C.W. Fitzpatrick inasmuch [sic] as she brought the romantic freshness of youth into the life of at least one L.A.C.
Cpl. Rolls for her prodigious gastronomic feats; on the occasion which has won for this special mention she disposed of three dinners, four bars of chocolate, 3 apples (the property of Cpl. Morrison), four sulphur tablets and a bottle of Sal Volatile! Nice going Betty – in fact “Hips Hips” Hooray!
Pat Buckingham for her invariable charm, docile nature, her reluctance to exercise sarcasm and her aversion for the opposite sex!
Jack Tones for his gallant plunge into matrimony!
Jack Gaffney who is now reputed to have a liquid capacity of 15 pints per session!
Cpl. Liddell on his patriotism in joining the Home Guard!
Dot Barton for a slimness which is really baffling!
Steve Hendry for a frankness which is at times staggering!
Cpl. Johnson for his efforts as a chemical warfare worker! [Inserted] Fire [/Inserted] Fighter – remember those ghastly Tuesdays?
Cpl. Skipworth for her efforts as the protagonist of Cheadle! Awarded the distinguished insignia of the order of Gorgeous Garrulous Guffers!
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L.A.C.W. Bassford for her unfavourable comparison of “Mere Gen” with some provincial rag – the Dunstable Gazette! We sincerely and honestly appreciated your criticism. (But it hasn’t done us a scrap of good. Ed!)
Phyl Carr for her capture of Sgt. Norman and the materialisation of our first station wedding!
F/Lt. Irving for his venture into the business of rearing pigs!
Baffling Berry as the enigma of the year.
“Hutch” for the proudest parent of the year.
“Pud Rice” for outstanding cheerfulness and sheer “joie de vivre”
Dot Wallace for sheer “oomphemininity” [sic]!
Cpl. Royle for his incomparable “spit and polish boots”!
Sheila Edwards – one of the few nice girls left.
Sher Cooper as the ideal husband of the year!
Kasher Langley as the ideal wife!
Kath Fenn for her invariable politeness.
Helen Kerr as one who has proved the reality of platonic friendship.! [sic]
Many years ago, Christmas 19 – something-or-other – the many Christmas grottoes had been open in the large stores, shop windows were dressed in true Christmassy [sic] fashion. The spirit of Christmas was in the air, and since Christmas is not complete without ghosts, ghosts there had to be. Our rival gang – the “Red Hand Gang”, who could only sport the top of an Allsop beer bottle as badge of membership to be worn on jersey or jacket, were first in the field with a ghost. A poor ghost, made from a swede turnip from which the centre had been removed, eyes, nose and mouth out, to show through the light of a candle placed inside before the top had been replaced. The ghost head was placed in a hedge
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and packed underneath with newspaper to very good effect.
Though, as I say, a poor ghost, it caused much annoyance to our Gang, the “White Horse Gang” – a much superior organisation who adorned themselves with silver-plated white horses taken from the centre of a King’s regiment badge – steps had therefore to be taken to counter this affront to our dignity. A real live ghost was the solution, so a real live ghost it had to be.
It was about this time that a notice appeared in the window of a very large residence stating “House to Let”. Fate was being kind, for before one could have a haunted house, even though one had a ghost, it was essential to have the house. Here was the house, and at the next meeting of the “W.H.G.” a scheme was drawn up to use our ghost and the empty house.
The Gang, hereinafter called “the ghosts”, reported at the appointed time and place complete with bedsheet and chain, the latter having been removed, without detection, from an outside lavatory, the former smuggled from the beds of “the ghosts”, under jersey or jacket.
Just after dark entrance was gained by removing a grating and forcing the scullery window. Candles were lit and “the ghosts” proceeded to their haunts, the first storey bedroom. Sheets were thrown over the heads and with chains trailing on the floor, “the ghosts” moved across the window.
Down in the street old ladies screamed, men quickened their step, younger people actually ran, the ghosts were real – dozens of people had seen them – the neighbourhood buzzed with various tales which lost none of their vigour by being re-told.
On later escapades “the ghosts” emitted blood-curdling howls when disinterested passers-by failed to look up at the windows when they came within range.
After a week or so the boldest of the local residents,
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backed up by the corpulent, flat-footed representative of the law set out to lay “the ghosts”. Unfortunately their entrance was the same as ours, and we were caught.... white sheeted. Only the appeals of many mothers saved “the ghosts” from a visit to the Juvenile Court.
Strange – that part of a ghost’s anatomy commonly known as the posterior is very material, and particularly sensitive to a leather strap!
Gulp.
[Underlined] TERSE VERSE [/Underlined]
Why, I say old boy, that girl’s got bunions!
Quite so, old man, - but she knows her onions!
Twinkle, twinkle little Hollywood star,
Went for a ride in her boy friend’s car.
What she committed is not freely admitted,
But now that she’s knittin’ [sic]-
It’s not “Bundles for Britain”!
(For W.A.A.F. who are partial to Army Lts.)
We freely extend these tips-
After sweetly surrendering the lips
Be sure to spit out the pips!
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The most remarkable occurrence in a year of remarkable occurrences was the publication in the bi-century issue of the “Mere, Branston and Potterhanworth Recorder and Blankney Chronicle” of the following letter.
The University,
Branston.
Sugar-Beet Friday.
Sir,
In your last issue dated 25th July, 1814, you make much of the invention of a contraption which you refer to as a steam engine, by some upstart named Stephenson. Seeing that you devoted so much space to such a crude, noisy and dirty creation, I am hoping that you will have the good taste to bring the attention of your readers to a far more important invention. I refer, of course, to the “Seeoveroscope” which has been devised by Prof. Ivan Isobarovitch, the distinguished Balonian scientist who is at present a refugee in this country. By means of the “Seeoveroscope” it is possible to see into the future day by day; to see what your neighbours will be doing to-morrow, or to predict the time of the rent-man’s visit. Indeed there is no limit to its usefulness and in view of the great benefits which it will confer on mankind, the University has decided to confer on the inventor the Hon. Degree of D.Sc. (Br) as a mark of appreciation of this great work.
Yours etc.
Nathaniel Gumboil.
Chancellor.
The letter, which was printed in TATISH [sic], the original language of the district, caused such a sensation that a number of A.M. constables completely forgot their strenuous duties for a whole week, and congregated daily in the “Waggon” to discuss the phenomenon. Foreign spies descended on Branston in shoals disguised either as compatriots of Prof. Isobarovitch, complete with outsize face fungus, or, joy of joys, in the role of the glamourous blonde from the “Careless Talk” poster. To add to this confusion, unscrupulous business interests sent their agents to try and gain possession of the “Seeoveroscope”. The locals were not inactive. The local “Gestapo H.Q.” at the
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village grocer’s store strove might and main for possession, in order to maintain their supremacy as “gen” merchants which for half a century has attracted more custom than the quality of all their wares combined. In fact, fantastic as it may seem, it has been reported that for eighteen hours twelve and a half minutes, no mention was made in this establishment of the ”goings on” of the airmen and W.A.A.F., so engrossed were the populace in this invention.
Prof. Isobarovitch dare not move a handstir [sic] without escort, and a well known special constable was called on night and day to protect with the result that the “Special” had to neglect his allotment and the price of cabbage rose steeply as the market was cornered by an unscrupulous Air Raid Warden.
The Editor of the “M.B & P. Gazette and Blankley Chronicle” one Gabriel Van Twinkle , surveyed the situation with unholy joy, then withdrew to Potterhanworth Woods, changed into a hedgehog and hibernated until such time as some world-shaking event merits another edition of his august periodical.
Alas, the editors of “Mere Gen” were denied such a means of escape and as the only responsible (ahem!) newspaper in the district we decided to uphold the magnificent tradition of the Press and obtain possession of all the good things we could get hold of – purely in the national interest of course. After prolonged negotiations we have at last obtained possession of the “Seeoveroscope” in exchange for the C.O’s sugar ration and two tame Gremlins, and in this and future issues we hope to make use of this truly astonishing device for the edification and amusement of our admiring public.
Foot – unfortunately Gabriel Van Twinkle was the only living person who understood “TATISH” [sic] the language in which the “Chronical” was written and the other articles are therefore lost to the world to the unquestioned impoverishment of Art and Science for generations to come. H.S.
With the aid of our newly acquired Seeoveroscope we took a look into the pages of “Who’s Who” for 1973. Here is one
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page in which we were especially interested: -
[Underlined] “Who will be Who in 1973.” [/Underlined]
[Underlined] IRVING. [/Underlined] Born at the age of 0 this celebrated personage laid an early claim to fame by being champion lollypop eater of Birkenhead at the age of five. Between that date and his retirement last year he has held many important official appointments, some of which are tabulated below.
1910. Champion runner of Black Street School.
1911. Head Boy, Blank Street School.
1911 1/2 Ex-head boy, Blank Street School.
1915. Principal chief office boy – Ex P.C. Office boy.
1916. Labourer, “CollosoConstruction [sic] Co. Ltd.”
1916 2/3 Managing Director, “Colloso Construction Co.Ltd.”
[Underlined] 1927. [/Underlined] A.C.2. Royal Air Force.
1929. AC.1 Royal Air Force.
1943. O.C., R.A.F. Station.
1945. Viceroy of India.
1946. Station Master at Potterhanworth.
1947. H.M Ambassador to Branston.
1949. Sanitary Inspector, Upper Tooting.
1954. Governor-General of Canada.
1961. Insurance Agent.
1962. Governor of Bank of England.
1964. Coffee Stall Keeper.
1967. Manager “Splendiferous” Hotel.
1969. Guest, H.M. Prison, Dartmoor.
1970. Governor, H.M. Prison, Dartmoor.
1971. i/c Shove-halfpenny, Lincoln Fair.
1972. Member of the Stock Exchange.
1972 1/2. Retired.
Another glance into the future with the aid of the Seeoveroscope.
“The Daily Wail”. 22nd December 19--.
At Blankton Borough Police Court yesterday Mr. Murray Alcorn was prosecuted for exceeding the speed limit in a mechanically driven bath chair. Defendant, who is 101 not
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out, appeared in court in the vehicle in question, to which was fitted a morse key and loud speaker, and insisted that the entire proceedings should be conducted in morse code. The Inspector of Police made objection to this, but withdrew the objection after being chased round the court room ten times by the infuriated defendant complete with bath chair.
The presiding magistrate Mr. George Fensom J.P., was heard to remark to his fellow beaks that no matter what language they spoke he would salt defendant as he had waited sixty years for a chance such as this. After a heated exchange of morse signals the court pronounced sentence that Alcorn should have the spring taken from his morse key and be fined the sum of £891. 10. 11 3/4. He left the court gibbering incoherently in morse. The other magistrates were Mrs Doreen Hett, J. P., and Miss Bunty Standford, J.P.
H.S
[Underlined] NEWS FROM THE M.E [/Underlined]
From out of the blue comes news of a former prominent Waddite – Cpl. Jack Pyne – who together with his colleagues “over there” have been eagerly reading Mere Gen. They send us Xmas Greetings and our thought are most surely with those fellows we knew and served with, this Christmastide! May we soon be all together again! In the meantime, Jack has sent us what he describes as “one or two pieces of doggerel or mongrel which he has knocked out while chewing sand” Thanks a lot, 651572 Cpl. J. H. Pyne.
1. They take off – land – take off again,
They cross, recross in the skies,
What’s on? Well, we never get that “gen”
Not M.E’s, Spits- just Flies.
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What am I?
I dance the sky,
I’m rather shy
A little sly,
And often lie
But never try
My eggs to fry
Tho’ bye and bye,
I heave a sigh,
Cause soon I die,
You’re right first time old boy – a fly!
3. [Underlined] The Officers, the N.C.Os, the Men. [/Underlined]
Now there, the Officers, the N.C.O.s, the Men,
We all belong to this or that of them,
Our own rank it may be low
But we’re all needed for this Show
We have the Officers, the N.C.O.s, the Men.
Now the Officer he’s a decent fellow when
He goes to tap the Sergeant for some ‘gen’
And the Sergeant he will smirk,
As he goes to ask the Erk,
We have the Officers, the N.C.O. s, the Men.
Now the Sergeant he’s a decent fellow, but
He’s rather apt at times to lose his nut.
For when the C.O’s on the ‘phone,
He stands up – though he’s alone,
We have the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the Men.
Now the Erk’s a decent fellow though,
At times he’s apt to be a little slow,
For when he’s put upon fatigues,
He always say he’s “on his knees”
We have the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the Men.
Now the Officer drinks his whisky in the Mess,
And the sergeant likes the same, or more, or less,
But the Erk if he is able,
Likes his beer upon the table,
We have the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the Men.
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In his cups the Officer tells his tales of woe,
And the Sergeant tells of service life pre-war,
But when the Erk his beer has gone,
He’ll take anybody on,
We have the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the Men.
Now the Officer likes his songs a trifle witty,
And the Sergeant likes a sentimental ditty,
But the Erk right from his throat,
Shouts “Roll on the blinking Boat”
We have the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the men.
But they all work together pretty well,
And when this war is over, who can tell?
When we’re back in civvy street,
How the different ones we’ll meet
Who’ve been the Officers, the N.C.O’s, the Men.
4. After being bitten by, and then reading Havelock Ellis’s “Essay on the Mosquito”
Should you start twitching and turning
Your neck – and you utter a curse:
As you feel such as small pinpricks burning,
When uncovered portions they pierce:
Remember! You’re swearing at Nature,
Quintessence of all that should be,
I’m sure that she can’t mean to hurt you,
For the “Mossie’s” a lady you see.
Cpl. J.H.P. 651572.
276 Wing. R.A.F. M.E.F.
??? [Sic} {underlined] QUIZ [/Underlined] ??? [sic]
A newly promoted Waaf (Guff) Corporal (no longer with us) taking an unnatural interest in a visiting Flight Lt., who seemed equally disposed to “cater” for her tastes!
Blondie Barnes admits that her first love is in the Navy and that her attachment to a Canadian Corporal is not to be interpreted as unfaithfulness, as it is merely to prevent her from “becoming morbid”
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[underlined] QUIZ [/Underliend] (continued)
Who are the Waafs with more than a passing interest in a certain prominent Cinema Organist?
Cpl. Akenhead – very self conscious with a ravishing pair of fur-lined gloves and a brand new 2nd. Lt. – both looking rather bewildered in the “Local”!
We note with no little interest that Daisy Wiles and Steve Hendry who in their day had one very common “interest” have since “his” departure found ample consolation with the Artillery!
Bernard Wynn is nursing a not-so-secret passion for Cowgirl Standford!
Cpl. Burbury is to be congratulated on bringing the Waaf “would be gold diggers” into the social lives of the neighbouring Yankee “oil diggers”! In this connection is it true that Vera Lee is studying basic Americanese in order to further her conquest of A.J.?
Joan Carruthers baling out of her civilian “affaire [sic]”?
While we offer our congratulations to “Bunny” Ryan on her engagement to a “Sky Pilot”, we must deplore her very sudden change of attitude to matrimony!
On the very vexed question of marriage,
Our Bunny gave a negative barrage!
[inserted] Not for her to be wed, but a career instead [/inserted]
To go thro’ life as a wife was – well – ‘ill-bred”!
Our doubts she dismissed – conceit of mere Men,
So now let us give you the Gen,
She had heard spinster tales of being left in the lurch,
And that, fellowmen, is why she’s embracing the Church!
We send greetings to L.A.C. Black who has had a protracted sick leave. May we assure this laddie from Glasgie [sic], that his financial future is assured, as the C.O. has authorised payment of 8d. in respect of a bus fare he claimed!
The official splitting of the inevitable, inseparable, Gledhill-Beard combine is understood to have had far-reaching effects on the Social “Ops” of aircrew as far distant as Syston! For days the current catchword was “What’s a B without a G? [sic]
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Sergt. Barnes hastily relinquishing her American “interests” to welcome a “Rafite” from India.
Sudbrooke’s “Signal” Social Set are doing much to brighten the lives of Mesdames Brentley, Buckingham, Morris, Akenhead! Let’s hope they won’t feel the [underlined] ‘draft’ [/underlined]!”
The inimitable Pere Shemilt doing a social round since his evacuation to Branston.
Why did Sgt. Ripley spend the initial part of her leave in a neighbouring Waaf Sgt’s Mess?
Has Jeannie with the “two stripes air” experience a change of heart? Hence her trips to Martin and references to John?
May we anticipate the cementing of a romantic friendship between the inimitable “Morag” and that self-effacing L.A.C. Fred Palin?
A victim of “Commissionism” – diminutive Pixie Bentley! And isn’t “Royston” a duckie name for a Lieutenant?
Can it be that Phyl Goddard has done little to “ward” off the attentions of a certain L.A.C?
Did Brian Tighe enjoy his 2 a.m. patrol to Wragby Road in such charming company?
Jack Bellerby denies the rumour that he has been offered a directorship of the Astoria Ltd., but admits that he is i/c blackouts – at the Astoria!
At least one dashing R.A. 2nd. Lt. has captured the attentions, presumably temporarily, of a Waaf hitherto partial to a civilian!
“Lucky Laycock” doing more “Billing” then “Cooing “with a sweet natured honeyed L.A.C.W.?
L.A.C. Fensom gathering up the threads of a previous “heavy romance”?
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It was Christmas 1954 – the world war of ’39 was but dimly effacing itself from our minds and the over-vaunted post-war planning had done much to destroy the spirit of Xmas we had known in those pre-war days. However, Charles Dickens and his immortal Christmas Carol went on, serenely capturing the fancy of schoolboys from year to year and conjuring up in their youthful minds the rather frightening but irresistible topic of Ghosts!
My boy Clive, a precocious youth some 10 years old and invariably termed by his mother as a block off the old chip, came home for the Xmas hols. Full of this Ghost doctrine! I had been assured that a public school education fosters an independence of thought and by gad they had made a good job of Clive! In some strange distorted fashion he had decided that a neighbour of ours, a Mr. Spouge, was the living incarnation of the Dickensian Mr. Scrooge. Admittedly, Mr. Spouge looked the part – a wizened face that shrunk into the depths of a weird bowler hat and a lanky ungainly figure, coupled with an unpleasant manner and a disinclination to spend readily (if at all) had first attracted my prodigy. Then when Clive struck up an acquaintance with some black faced butcher’s by named Twitchit, who proved to be the son of some wretchedly paid clerk employed by Spouge- here was a ready-made Cratchit family!
I was compelled to listen to the whole story frequently and gradually I realised in my parental folly, that a plot was being hatched, to which I was to be invited (in a manner Clive had inherited from his mother!) to be an accessory before and after the fact! I gathered that even Clive had some doubts about a real ghost materialising on Xmas Eve and “gulling” old Spouge into seeing the error of his ways, and inducing him to subsidise the Twitchits! However, to allow for such an unpardonable lapse of memory by Ghosts Associated Ltd., [underlined] I [/underlined] was to play the role and out-dracula the efforts of the Ghosts of Xmas past, present and future! Well, we discussed the plot man to man fashion and I eventually admitted I was yellow! He was visibly disappointed – what was he going to tell the fellows in the 3rd form next term, etc. etc. However it was left at that and Xmas Eve found me celebrating at the club in no uncertain fashion. As the evening proceeded, I begun to think more and more of Spouge and
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the idea of my being a ghost seemed less absurd with each toast we drank. In a sudden fit of muddled decisiveness I snatched up a large white table cloth and staggering out of the Club I headed for the Spouge mansion. I went round to the tradesman’s entrance, clumsily opened a small window and eventually made a rather noisy entry. I struggled to my feet, draped myself in the table cloth and turned to find my intended victim glaring at me, not as a terrified Scrooge, but as an outraged householder. He thumped me on the head with some object and then oblivion for the Ghost of Xmas present.
Oh yes, there was a sequel. I spent Xmas day in the local jail until my solicitor could square the matter up – but what is more important – I held pride of place with Clive’s 3rd form contemporaries for months to come.
[Underlined] STATIONALITIES [sic] [/underlined]
[underlined] Arrivals, [/underlined] – we welcome to our station the following newcomers.
S/O Scott. Cpl. Jewell.
Cpls. Gordon, Pickersgill, Howlett and Cpl William Walker Pickles, A.C Simmons and Spouse, L.A.C.W. Pickup, L.A.C.W. Jump and A.C.W. Crawley
[Underlined] Departures [/underlined] – Our good wishes go with those who left us since our last issue:-
S/O. Mitchell, Sgt. Freeman, L.A.C.W.s Pyle, Petch, Wisdom, Paul, Stafford and Wilson.
L.A.C.s Bill Inches and G.Hickman (who have since been made Corporals)
It is a pleasing feature of our Xmas number that we have much congratulating to do – here it is
W.A.A.F. Sgts. Ripley and Davies.
Cpls. Morrison, Wallace, Burbury, Rollo, Skipworth, Taylorson and Cole.
R.A.F. Cpls. Dale, Batley, Speak, Hutchinson, Linke, Freeman, Adams M.R.J., Taylor, Buchanan and Connor.
[Underlined] Awarded G.C’s. [/Underlined]
L.A.C.W. Rice, L.A.C’s Fensom, Gaffney, Woodfine, Maher, Rylance, Greenhalgh, Field.
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[Underlined] Marriages. [/Underlined] – We extend hearty congratulations to Cpl. Jack Tones and to A.C.W. Carmen S. Barche on the occasion of their marriage which took place at St. Cuthberts, Heaton, Bradford, on 8th November, 1943.
[Underlined] Engagements. [/Underlined] – L.A.C.W. Brenda (Bunny) O’Ryan to Captain John Galbraith (Sky-Pilot)
L.A.C.W. Vera Lee to Cpl. David Davidson, RECCE.
[Underlined] 21st Birthdays [Underlined] – L.A.C.W. Rene Newport on 17th November, 1943.
Cpl. “Blondie” Barnes on 27th November, 1943.
[Underlined] Sick. [/Underlined] We are pleased to have Cpl. Batley with us again after his recent illness.
L.A.C. Black is progressing favourably and we hope that he will soon be back at Branston.
L.A.C.W. Beasley is now well again.
[Underlined] PROMOTION TALK [/Underlined]
Some priceless examples of what is being said by those lucky enough to be promoted and what is being left unsaid by those not so lucky.
1. Two newly promoted Corporals scanning D.R.O’s for announcement of their Corporal’s stripes – One says to the other “I say, shall we put in to see the “old man” for our third?”
2. (a) I don’t want the tapes – it’s the money that interests me.
(b) I’m not bothered about the money, but I should like my tapes.
3. My “bruvver Sid” has been in the Army three months and he is a Sergeant.
4. Corporals! I’ve shot ‘em!
5. A brand new WAAF Corporal, rather bewildered, makes a statement to the press on her elevation – Quote – It seems rather silly because we can’t do much after all, can we? (This is not Guff. Ed.)
6. Now inpeace [sic] time it took an L.A.C. 35 years to become a Cpl!
7. It’s so difficult to explain to the folks at home why I don’t get on!
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8. Fancy him/her getting his/her tapes. I taught them the job, and look at me!
9. From a WAAF Cpl. “I shall try to do my best for the girls” (I know a R.A.F. Cpl. who echoes these sentiments- Ed.)
10. (a) I [Underlined] think [/underlined] I’ll remuster!
(b) I [Underlined] think [/underlined] I’ll apply for posting!
(c) I [Underlined] think [/underlined] I’ll see the C.O.!
(d) I [Underlined] think [/underlined] mine must be through on records!
(e) I [Underlined] think [/underlined] the war will soon be over – so what do tapes matter!
11. Is it true that those who haven’t got their tapes are getting Xmas/New Year leave?
And so it goes on!
[Underlined] LEST WE FORGET [/underlined]
Cpls. Royle and Laycock ask us to point out that the first three years are the worst in the life of any Corporal.
[Underlined] XMAS PRESENTS [/underlined]
Xmas has once again brought with it the very vexed problem of shopping, and we fear that few of us will either receive or be able to give presents we would desire. However, Mere Gen with its usual magnanimity – although unable to hold out any hope of any materialisation of these gifts – has set out below what is considered to be a list of ideal gifts for certain of our contemporaries.
We can well imagine the glee with which Madelin Gledhill would unwrap an affluent P.O. from his celluloid wrapping, or W.O. Noble’s grin of satisfaction as he tugged a new “Scooter” out of his Service sock. For Bill Reynolds we recommend (not without ulterior motive) a new pair of hair clippers and for K.A.B.E. Jones (alias AVO) we have in mind a learned treatise on “psychology of the unconscious mind”. Bunty Standford pleads for a performing cow, Jack Bellerby gets a season ticket at the Astoria, Playboy Howard a Bill Reynold’s haircut, and Flight Sgt. Thomson an embossed voucher book and a carton of “C” stores.
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Mesdames Beard, Barton, Wallace, would appreciate Clive Jive’s book on how to “Jitter without Bugging” and perhaps we might offer to Sgt. Norman and Cpl. Tones that best seller “Wise Wedlock”! To Harold Speak goes a comprehensive policy insuring against discharge under para 65 something, Tom Vasey merits his dozen platform tickets and Tubby Unsworth deserves one more goose! We will content ourselves by giving Austerity Allman mere advice – an offer which Cpl. Robertson spurned – saying he preferred a dove-tailed joint (to quote Potterhanworth woodwork academy) and pass on to F/Sgt. Pitman a forage cap. Jack Tweedie has a priority for a repatriated haggis and to all lonely Waaf we offer a series of heavy dates with our neighbouring Yankees from “Boom-Town”! We hope to secure the option on a neighbouring farm horse for Joan Carruthers’ riding exploits, while to L.A.C.W. Billington goes a riding crop and George Fensom will surely welcome two Van Heusen new service pattern collars fitted with an anti S.P. device! Mickie Beard gets a giant package of chewing gum and I think we really ought to provide “Luscious Laura” with a suitable husband, while a priority order for an alarm clock for Cpl. Jewel would relieve the anxiety of N.C.O’s i/c midnight to 0800 watch. Well there you are – that’s all – Oh yes, – we nearly forgot F/Lt. Irving. We think W.O. Noble’s “Second front” Scooter should fall to his lot and solve his transport problem!
T.L.
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“SQUANDERBUG ALLEY!”
[4 Pictures]
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[Underlined] HAYSTACK HUMOUR [/underlined]
[4 Pictures]
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[Underlined] “IT’S MOIDER [sic]”! She says. [/Underlined]
I had been married for three years and had no children to my adorable husband whom I cherished with undying devotion. On our third anniversary he arrived home from the House of Commons earlier than usual. He kissed me and straightway said “Don’t remind me, Dear, I’ve got it here in my pocket”, and saying this he deposited his hand into his pocket and withdrew a flat box which he at once handed to me. It was my anniversary present. As he extracted the small object from his pocket a photograph also fluttered out and came to rest on the carpet at my feet, face downwards. My husband tried hard not to look concerned but as I stooped to pick it up he also followed suit and the result was that we both got a nasty crack on the head. My husband, being a terribly stout man, could not retrieve his balance in time and rolled on to his back, giving me full access to the photograph. I picked it up, trying to show as little haste as possible, and when I turned it over I recognised the features portrayed there as belonging to one of my pals when I was in the Air Force. In a secluded corner was written the words “To my one and only darling Andrew. With all my love” and on the back was written “Remember June 3rd?”
My husband had managed to scramble to his feet by this time holding his head. Needless to say his head was as bald as a billiard ball and therefore offered not the least protection for the abuse it had just received. He held out his hand for the picture which I handed him without any hesitation. I proceeded to unwrap my present, but without the slightest interest as to what was inside. The actual present itself was diamond bracelet for which I thanked him and showed my appreciation by planting a kiss upon his dear bald pate.
The silence was broken by the luncheon gong. I took his arm and as we walked to the dining hall my numbed brain kept repeating “the 3rd of June”. “The 3rd of June”. But I could not connect anything with that date.
Not a word was exchanged throughout the mean [sic] and then I remember. On the 3rd of June Andrew had gone away for a weekend on business. Could he possibly have been making an excuse? Had he really attended an important meeting in Newcastle or had he really been to see Pat? If my presumption about the visit to
[Page break]
Pat was correct, whatever could she, a charming girl, see in Andrew. I often wondered what I saw in him myself. Surely she wasn’t attracted to his position as an M.P., or could she? Pat always was one for men who could provide minks etc. No! That was my jealous subconscious mind providing excuses.
Not another word was passed that night with relation to the photograph. My husband I presume was under the impression that I had not seen it. I could not bear to sleep in his room that night so I excused myself by saying I had a headache and so slept in o [sic] one of the guest rooms.
The next day, when he had gone to business, I searched his room and found, not only letters from Pat but also romantic letters referring to similar weekends spent with Eva, another of my friends in the WAAF.
That was too much for me. I sent the garedner [sic] home early and borrowed some of his weed killer and prepared tea in the usual way, but remembering to add a terrific amount of this strong poison. I brewed myself a special cup free from weed killer. Andrew had not returned home at half past nine that evening but I had wisely kept the tea in the oven. (I had dispensed with the maid’s services for a week). Suddenly a loud tattoo was beat upon the front door. I opened it to find four, no six, men in deep black. They had brought Andrew’s body home after he had been knocked down by a buss
I pretended to be distressed, but how could I be genuinely sorry after what had happened. They took his body upstairs and I asked them if they would care for some tea, to which they replied “yes.”. [sic]
Forgetting about the “special tea” I had prepared for my husband, I poured them each a cup of tea, and before half an hour had elapsed, there was not one corpse in the house, but seven.
Having such a terrible memory, I could not understand them doing such a ridiculous thing as sliding silently to the ground without a word so I begun [sic]to kick them and hit them with anything I could lay my hands on. But still they wouldn’t move
Well! I didn’t want them in my house in such a speechless state so I rang up a policeman to hand [sic] them thrown out. That did it!
(Contd. On page 36)
[Page break]
Present for you
[Picture]
[Page Break}
I am writing this from the State Penitentiary. I should be hanged to-morrow at twelve for wilful murder. But, instead, I’m being transferred to the asylum.
I’m Mad!!! [sic]
D. Cole.
[Underlined] DIVINE NIGHT. [/Underlined]
No moon, no stars – only the flower-scented dark:
A night bird calling and my heart at peace,
My yesterdays are all forgot and my tomorrows are a thousand moons away,
Lo, I can see more clear than day the perfect damask rose, dew wet and sweet,
The night-stock opening wide its heart to fling its scent upon the glamoured [sic] air,
My giant trees that wait in holiness, in prayer and dreams,
Lo, can I hear the voice of dying flowers, faded and fallen to the dust,
Giving their praise for their brief hour of joy;
Can I hear the drowsy twitter of the nested birds,
Night! I would sing to thee, so tender are thy gifts,
Pale sleep that bears us on its wistful barque unto our land of heart’s desire,
Thy boon of darkness end of quiet, so that our souls can catch the message of God,
Did we but lean to Him through thy slow hours,
Then would the world forget its follies and its woes,
Ah! shower thy tenderness tonight upon a world wounded by bloodshed and by war,
Cool Night! Thou hast he ear of God; He walks with thee
Entreat Him to be kind!
T.N./M.Morrison.
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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Mere Gen Christmas 1943
Description
An account of the resource
A duplicated magazine produced by the personnel at Branston Mere Y station. It contains 'in' jokes, stories, a quiz, poems and cartoons.
Date
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1943-12
Format
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34 page duplicated magazine
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Poetry
Artwork
Identifier
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MReynoldsWT[Ser#-DoB]-150731-02
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
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1943-12
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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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Bradley Froggatt
Steve Baldwin
arts and crafts
entertainment
ground personnel
love and romance
military living conditions
military service conditions
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16320/MReynoldsWT[Ser -DoB]-150731-01.pdf
13f8e971970b8a4db295b8beb9da82ad
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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Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-07-31
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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Reynolds, WT
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Christmas Number
MERE GEN
1942
[underlined] Good Wishes [/underlined]
[page break]
[underlined] MERE GEN [/underlined]
[underlined] EDITORIAL [/underlined]
“By virtue of having assisted the somewhat troubled passage of Mere Gen over the vagaries of 1942 I am now allotted some 60 odd words in which to extend, in the approved Xmassy Editorial fashion, the usual Seasonal Greetings to each and every one of you. As I am normally accused of being unnecessarily verbose, I will condense my good wishes and say that such a grand crowd of people as yourselves deserves the Happy Christmas I personally intend to have, and may 1943 look after its self, and ourselves.” Ted Liddell.
“I also would like to take this opportunity of wishing all readers of our Mere Gen a very Happy and Convivial Christmas, and a Prosperous and Peaceful New Year. Chances of conviviality on our watered beer, and peace for the New Year would seem rather remote, but never mind – just get your feet up and enjoy this super edition. It’ll shake you.” Gordon Batley.
“Gone for a while are the piping days of Roast Turkey Mince Pies and Johnny Walker. Luckily Christmas isn’t dependent on these things, but on something that Lord Woolton can’t ration – Goodwill, Mind you, a ‘wee drappie’ oils the wheels of fellowship quite nicely. This year Best Mild is the fashion, so here’s your health: Good Luck, a Happy Christmas, and a jolly New Year. Cheerio Folks.” Harold Speak.
“The trouble of asking my Editorial Board to wish you the Season’s greetings is that it leaves me with very little to say for myself; but those of you who know me will rightly whisper ‘impossible’ – so I’ll take that as licence to repeat their good wishes. I give you a toast: ‘Confusion To All Our Enemies.’ And if that doesn’t bring you a Happy Christmas and a Peaceful New Year, nothing will.” Stanley Lott.
[page break]
[underlined] RADICAL RESOLUTIONS FOR 1943 [/underlined]
While I am old fashioned enough to respect the thoughts that gave birth to the usual crop of New Year Resolutions, I am Service minded enough to realise that they are but figments of overtaxed imaginations! However here are several of our better known contemporaries revealed in a rare resolute mood for 1943:
Sgt. Tweedie has promised to learn to speak English and never again to employ that belligerent word “Quiet”. F/Sgt. Alcorn intends to dispense with all notice boards; and Sgt. Parsons will never again resort to profanity following a windy cycle ride from Lincoln! L.A.C. Speak refuses to discuss insurance; and W.O. Noble promises to memorise all Christian names with the praiseworthy object of fostering Service goodwill! Kasher Langley and Cpl. Waights are going on a rigorous diet; Harry Maher talks of cleaning his buttons and Stan Lott is giving up his drums! (What more can we ask of 1943?)
Cpl. Jack Tones is shaving off his moustache for the duration; A.C.W. Cole is ceasing to write scurrilous verse; and Sheila Edwards will control her temperament! Cpl. Johnson promises to wear his respirator occasionally; Audrey Weston is learning to Tango; and Eric Brame is giving up binding as a hobby. Cliff Norton is sending that curly chibouque (so similar to a pipe) for salvage; Playboy Howard is taking up “sugar beeting” and Johnny Gorman is renouncing his views on propagation!
Phyl Carr is no longer to use “Stablonde” – Jack Bellerby is changing his dancing partner (incidentally so is Phyllis Goddard) and Geoff Price is learning to play Table Tennis. Austerity Allman is taking up Waafing! Sgt. Unsworth is out to regain that figure he had in pre-Skegness days. Mesdames Bass, Burton, Beard and Gledhill are never again to apply for a late pass. Bill Adams is giving up his pipe smoking (with a view to growing up.). Cpl. Ripley is taking up permanent residence at the Oxford Hotel! And so the wishful thinkers resolve…what’s that? “How about myself?”. Well I could refrain from writing ‘bilge’ like this. But that is not a promise.
T.L.
[page break]
[sketch cartoon of car with caption]
HD
[page break]
[sketch cartoon of female in bed]
The Optimist
GRB
[page break]
[underlined] WITHERNOAK [/underlined]
When my American aunt died and left me all her property I at last saw my way clear to the realization of my ambition. Because of the unlikelihood of my ever seeing her in the flesh I used to tell her pretty freely of my ambitions. In her will she said “This is your chance, John.” I took it.
There was an old Georgian house tucked away at Borridge handy to Birmingham by car, but remote enough from its dirt, smoke and bustle. I lost no time in buying it, and within two months of my aunt’s sudden demise, Mary, I, and the five children were installed.
Aunt Polly’s chunk of the City of Albany brought me £100,000 when I sold it to an American housing syndicate. So I didn’t have to count the number of Woodbines I smoked, nor did Mary and the Gang (as we called the youngsters) need to deny themselves. Prosperity was here for us, and we meant to enjoy it. Also I intended to become the world famous writer I secretly believed myself to be.
By paying decent wages, we soon enticed a staff of servants from their situations in the locality. The house had been remarkably cheap to buy - £5000 - and with most of the £100,000 carefully invested we found we could afford a cook, two maids, a butler and a boot-boy, as well as a full time gardener.
Mary, my wife, said that the house had a chilly atmosphere, but that, of course, was because it had been empty so long. Its previous tenants were a maiden lady and her brother. They were both eccentric, their chief peculiarity being their fondness for disappearing during the night and staying at Torquay or the South of France for months on end. Finally they had gone to Nice, and from there the brother had written instructing the solicitor to sell the place, as he and his sister intended spending the remainder of their lives in the more equable clime of the Riviera. That was twenty years ago. The house, owing to its size, had stood empty ever since.
[page break]
We moved in during the summer, and the months went by like a dream. Julia, our six year old little girl, told me once that “the pretty lady with the bad throat” had been in her room during the night. This puzzled me until I remembered that Agnes, the maid, used to wear a lace neck-band to show Jane, the other maid, just who was the senior servant. So I forgot the incident, and went back to work. Being relieved of the more pressing cares of family life, I was doing well as a writer. My articles and stories were being accepted, mainly perhaps, because I used to suggest to the Editors of the more hard-up publications that payment was superfluous.
One night I was working in my study when I saw a faint light in the garden. It appeared to come from somewhere by the enormous dying oak that gave the house its name of “Withernoak”. I was just about to go out to investigate, when the thought that that was the Butler’s job, caused me to ring for him. Percival entered with the impassive air that had so awed me before we had discovered a mutual fondness for Ansell’s beer. “Perce.” I said, “Just slip out and see who is in the garden by the oak. Probably some lout pinching our flowers. If so, warm the seat of his dignity and threaten to hand him over to the Bobby”. Percival departed. He was soon back. “Hafter a most hexhausting search sir, I find that there hisn’t nobody in the garding. Will that be all now sir?” I intimated that he had earned “half a snifter” and when he had poured out, we drank to each other’s health and blessed Mr. Ansell. He retired and I went on with my work.
November with its dead sodden leaves, its mists, rains and frosts came and went. December gave every prospect of being Christmassy. Snow fell and blanketed the countryside to a depth of several inches. We lit fires in every room, and the local coalman sent us a calendar.
Mary intended giving the Christmas party we had always dreamed about. An enormous Christmas tree had arrived, cases of wine, boxes of cigars and cigarettes, barrels of good old beer, and food and sweets of all kinds. A Father Christmas outfit came for me to wear. Father Christmas was going to arrive on Christmas morn, after we had all been to Mass, and
[page break]
Mary and I were as thrilled as the Gang were at the approach of the Festival.
Orders were given to keep the children out of the drawing room, and Mary and I spent hours in fixing the presents and ornaments on the tree. My study was above this room, and I was in there working on a ghost story that would ‘shake’ them, one night about a week before Christmas, when I was astounded to hear crashes and thumps from the room below. I dashed downstairs to the drawing room, and flung open the door. The tree was lying on its side, the presents and broken ornaments were scattered over the floor. The room was empty. I dashed to the window. It was fastened. I pulled the bell rope, and the portly butler appeared as if by magic.
“Who’s been in here Perce?” I demanded. “Hi was just coming to hinvestigate, sir”. “Is the Gang in bed?” “Of course sir.” “That’s darned funny, Percival, how that tree came to fall like that.”
A most peculiar thing happened then, a picture fell with a resounding crash.
“Strike me pink!” ejaculated the butler. I thought rapidly. “Listen Perce. Keep your mouth shut in the servants’ hall about this. If Agnes and Jane get scared, they will leave, and we shall be in the soup over Christmas. I’ll find the cause of this little lot.”
I told Mary an accident had occurred to the Christmas tree, letting her think it was some clumsiness on my part. Then I went back to my study. There I had another shock. My books and papers were scattered all over the floor.
The window was fastened on the inside. The wind could not have caused the damage, because the weather, as often after snow, was still and frosty. I would not admit the suggestion clamouring to enter my mind. Then I dashed to see the Gang’s rooms. If anything had happened to them! Thank Goodness! All five were sound asleep. I rang for Agnes, and when she arrived I told her she must make her bed in Julia’s room until further notice. She was curious but I ignored her questioning looks. I decided to tell Mary and trust her natural courage.
[page break]
She was in the sitting room, her pet “Blue Room”. She looked lovely since she had had the bulk of her domestic worries eased by our inherited money. I told her all about the night’s happenings. “The children often tell me about the poor pretty lady with the bad throat who stands by their bed at night” she said. I was staggered.
“Isn’t it Agnes seeing that they are alright?”
“No, love, and you and I know it isn’t.”
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, knowing her answer.
“The same person you think it is” she smiled.
I kissed her and told her not to worry as we should solve the problem somehow. She smiled and said that so long as the ghost refrained from annoying our Christmas guests, she could stick it out. “It will look bad if your guests are hit by bottles thrown by spirits” she added.
Well, I thought it over for a couple of days, meanwhile all sorts of things happened. Pictures fell off the wall, bells were rung, ornaments were smashed, soot fell down the chimneys, and screams were heard in the drawing room, followed by a loud thump. That decided me. I have read too many true stories of these happenings to disbelieve in ghosts.
I went to see Father Murphy at his presbytery, and told him what was happening. He told me that local gossip always alleged that the sister had been murdered by her brother. He also told me that the eccentric couple were Catholics. I asked him what he thought of the business at Withernoak. He replied that while we must be very cautious over accepting the truth of ‘Ghost Stories’ there were undeniable and fully authenticated cases of haunted houses and similar phenomena. The majority were clearly cases of evil spirits at work, but cases had been known of human souls which had met untimely ends, haunting the place of their deaths until Absolution and Christian Burial had been given to their remains. I hazarded that this at Withernoak was a similar case. He said he would come along the following day and see what he could do. I thanked him and went home.
Jane and Agnes were in the hall, trunks packed.
“Too early for summar [sic] holidays isn’t it?” I grinned.
“We’re leaving sir.” said Agnes uncomfortably.
“Over the happenings?”
“If you can stand old ladies with their throats cut, wandering
[page break]
Mere Recruiting
[sketch cartoon]
[page break]
“From This And Other Operations, One Of Our Hoppers Failed To Return.”
[sketch cartoon]
GRB
[page break]
about, we can’t”, said Jane, in a manner that indicated her belief that I was to blame. I managed to persuade them to stay until after the visit of Father Murphy on the morrow, on the understanding that if he couldn’t cure the trouble, they could go.
That night was a repetition of the others. Chairs flew across rooms, ornaments smashed, soot fell down chimneys, doors slammed, the bells rang, windows rattled, pictures crashed to the floor. Then the familiar but none-the-less dreadful screams, followed by the inevitable thump in the drawing room. I also noticed the faint light by the withered oak, and then the solution dawned on me. What we were hearing was a re-enactment of the sister’s death struggle, the cutting of her throat, and her burial at the foot of the tree.
The priest arrived next day, but we had been up early through being too scared to sleep. Percival, the boot-boy and I, had been digging at the foot of the oak. We had found fragments of clothing and a decomposed female body. The butler had gone off to notify the local police. I greeted Father Murphy, and told him that it was Absolution and the Burial Service that he would have to say. After the ceremony was over the policeman arrived, and made arrangements to remove the body.
Well, we had a grand Christmas party, Mary says I was drunk, but I wasn’t - merely excited. Percival however allowed his fondness for Ansells to overcome his devotion to duty. We found him sound asleep in the beer cellar. Agnes and Jane stayed on and helped to make the party a success. The Gang had a perfectly marvellous time, and the guests were loud in their appreciations. One of them sent me a lovely silver cigarette case. Glancing idly through some of the newspaper he had used to pack it I saw the following:
“English Resident of Nice Dies Suddenly”
The death took place on the same day and at the same time as the Burial Service at Withernoak. Of course it was the brother of the murdered woman.
J.G.
[page break]
[underlined] MEMORIES OF AN AIRMAN IN SEARCH OF A BILLET [/underlined]
“I’m sorry but my husband is on nights and people might talk.”
“I’m afraid not. You see my wife’s expecting a happy event soon.”
“Well if you can make your own bed, wash up, chop sticks, queue for rations, and dig the garden, we might consider it.”
“We thoroughly disapprove of the war, and can’t be associated with an airman.”
“Are you a wee slee’un?” (Usual spelling Wesleyan)
“We are reserved for officers!”
“I should say not, we’ve got a daughter 19.”
“My husband has a much better scheme, he keeps writing to the papers about it.”
“Certainly not, my home is nicely furnished!”
“I’ll take you, but it must be clearly understood, my dogs come first.”
“The doctor says my nerves won’t stand it!”
“Why don’t you try Mrs. So-and-so?”
“Why doesn’t your officer put you in a tent or something?”
“Certainly, I know how my boy in the Army feels about being away from home.”
T.L.
[underlined] SAYING OF THE WEEK [/underlined]
“Sometimes people commit bigamy to please the landlady.”
Said by Sir Gerald Dodson. (Recorder of London)
At a recent dance the local Home Guard band played Strauss. Need we add that Strauss lost?
[page break]
“Into Battle”
[sketch cartoon]
GRB
or “COME WITH THE WIND”
[page break]
[sketch cartoon]
GREETINGS TO OUR N.C.O.S
GRB
[page break]
[sketch cartoon of arm-in-arm couple]
GRB.
[page break]
[sketch cartoon of three Father Christmases]
FOILED!
GRB
[page break]
[underlined] GEN [/underlined]
Any casual reader glancing at the cover of this magazine would form the impression that ‘gen’ was being referred to in the same disparaging manner as Captain Fotheringale Smythe used when he beat the Major at 101 up: “A mere bagatelle my dear fellah!”
This would be an entirely erroneous conclusion to take, and I have it with good authority that the Editorial Board will prosecute through their lawyers (Messrs. Speak, Speak, Speak and Silence.) any persons communicating or alleging any misconception of this magazine’s title. Gen, and the peculiarly exciting interest that surrounds it, are too deeply rooted in the everyday life of the Service to be dismissed at a single stroke of the pen; and Mere gen is our local variety.
There are three forms of Gen which the personnel of this station are likely to come into contact with, they are, in order of importance, pukka gen, duff gen, and landlady gen. The last named is, I believe, peculiar to this area. The amount of traffic passed in the above categories is in direct contrast to their importance. I will deal with them in increasing order.
First, pukka gen, or reliable information. This is so scarce, that, on second thoughts, it may be dismissed as negligible. Indeed some old sweats are firm in their belief that it is of an entirely mythical origin, or ceased to exist about the time F/Sgt. Thompson joined up.
Second, duff gen, or unreliable information. Even the greenest sprog cannot fail to recognise it when he, or she, comes into contact with it, because of its recurring characteristics, viz:-
(a) It is information that is alleged to have come from the orderly room.
(b) It is information that has supposedly been picked up by an eavesdropper listening to the W/O or the F/Sgt.
(c) The information is never first hand, but has been passed on from somebody ‘in the know’.
[page break]
(d) It is always profuse and sweeping in its statements.
Apart from the Service, the spreading of duff gen has captured the imagination of the outside world. A learned doctor in Germany has brought this occupation to a fine art. And I cannot see him being surpassed, unless he is challenged by the bloke who keeps on telling me that credits are due to be paid next week.
Lastly, Landlady Gen. This is by far the most prolific, but its field of activity is usually confined to the social life of we immoral airmen. This type of information does not appear to have any material use, but appears to give the purveyor unlimited pleasure. If possible, this gen should be avoided, but I am afraid that it is, like Shakespeare said of greatness, “thrust upon us”. The centre of this illicit traffic is, I understand, the local out post of the C.W.S. In conclusion I might say that Landlady Gen is generally irritant, and always persistent.
N.L.
There was a young lady of Malacca,
Who smoked all the Sergeants tabacca,
As she took his last fag,
He longed for a gag,
Or a slipper with which he could smacca.
Is it true that a certain W.A.A.F. at Mere House is so dumb that the others noticed it?
FROM THE LINCOLN ECHO…….
‘The Waafs he says, are mostly “small rounded unaffected and friendly, and clump busily around in flat shoes, hideous grey cotton stockings and broad smiles” ‘
He was lucky – even on nights ours do wear overalls.
[page break]
[sketch cartoon of three Waafs smoking]
The Shape of Things to Come
GRB.
[inserted] NOW SHOWING [/inserted]
[page break]
“Hopalong Wilkie”-
[sketch cartoon]
GRB
- Loses His Man!
[page break]
[underlined] “LOVE COMES IN THE NEW YEAR” [/underlined]
Alf was bartender and Alf knows me, so I didn’t have to ask, he had it waiting for me. Three more, and the garish room seemed to mellow. The bright green of the murals swelled and swam, twining in the darks and lights into patterns that left the balloons and streamers aloof and detached. Tobacco smoke wreathed the shining lights, and the blackout curtains were sombre panels in the shifting colours on the walls. I peered through the throng, there were too many people I thought, too many ruddy people, how was I going to find ‘Beth with all these people in the way? I’d come to see the wife I hadn’t seen in nine months, and I would. I shifted a Jockey’s Cap and a Harlequin and peered again. A girl dressed in some sort of Toga pushed up against me. The Toga was loose, she smelt nice. “Take me to the baths” she giggled, she was cockeyed, she left me cold. I caught the top of her Toga and pulled, she spun away leaving the thin silk in my hand. There was a scream from a couple of other girls who’d’ve liked to have thought up the idea themselves, and she revolved away in pinkness to the arms of some protecting male. Perhaps he protected her in the baths. I don’t know, for there was ‘Beth, gently serene, standing by my side, damn her, she must have seen. I took a deep breath and stood up.
“Don’t bother old man” she has a voice that smooths your hair down. “sit where you are, and tell me why” “Why?”,. I was a little tired maybe, or it wasn’t under-proof as I thought. “….oh you mean the Toga woman?”
“No dear, she deserved that; why have you been drinking?”
“I always drink”.
“No New Year’s Resolution?”
“No.”
There was a pause, perhaps she sighed, I don’t know.
“Arthur wants me to marry him.”
“Arthur can go to hell.”
“With you?”
“Yeah yeah, with me …I’ll take him there.”
I did stand up, I was going to look dignified, I was dignified.
“Arthur” I was addressing a meeting, “Arthur is the cause of all this, and he shall be the end of it.”
I left her.
[page break]
There was something more than smoke and colour in the ballroom to tie me down, after a while I got what it was; noise. A band was tearing its guts out, though I guess it stopped every so often to pour them back again. I needed something to help me with mine. I called a waiter.
“Something” I said, “to make me forget I’m drinking to be independent. Something” I said, “to drown a rat.”
He brought it.
The noise was louder now, fiercer, I went nearer. A clarinet stood up in front of the pounding rhythm, quiet sobbing notes that hung there and were shattered like flying glass before the exultant surge of the trumpet, a trumpet that lifted you up with it and flung you, higher and faster, higher and faster, until it left you to the merciless whiplash of a drumbreak.
‘Beth and Arthur were dancing. Arthur was smug, greasy. He’d have laughed at you if you had called him what he was; home truths don’t kill, and he’d got what he wanted, so why should he worry. Money gets most things, and Arthur had money. I felt in my pocket for mine; a bunch of keys, a pocket knife, it was Jimmy’s – he dropped things – two half crowns, a shilling two sixpences and four pennies. I was rich. Maybe I could write another article when I sobered up; that’s what ‘Beth didn’t like about me, why she left me; I’d earn what I had to enjoy the rest. The drinks were free, I chalked up another and looked around. It was nearly midnight, they were getting excited, forming a ring, tight packed humanity, too many ruddy people. I watched Arthur, he was pulled apart from ‘Beth in the sway, he was caught in the ring, ‘way down on the left. “Should auld Acquaintance be Forgot…..” The lights swung round, I swayed a little, and held a table hard against my side to support me. The corner was jabbing into my thigh, hurting me, no, it was the knife in my pocket, I put my hand in to move it. They were swinging round now, opening the circle I was pushed back to the wall. ‘Beth was out of it, I couldn’t see her, but Arthur was being dragged towards me, I could have touched him with my hand, Twopence for a rat’s tail.
“…..For The Sake Of Auld Lang Syne”. I was sick of it. I got out into the other room. I was looking for people I knew. Jimmy wouldn’t be there, he’d gone an hour ago, he worked on a paper. Alf was still sitting behind the bar. Alf is a friend of mine. I sat down. It was 1943.
[page break]
“I think I’ll let the New Year in here, Alf.
“Yes, sir, A Happy New Year sir.”
“Not yet Alf, not yet.” I was grinning. “you’re too early yet.”
The noise in the end room was terrific, they were enjoying themselves. All of a sudden there was a hush, then a scream, then pandemonium. I drank up. The walls were steady now, though the air was still thick. Alf and I were alone in a dissipated wilderness, I told him so, I felt good I could say it.
They were rushing in from the ballroom. ‘Beth was there she saw me.
“Oh Gem, it’s Arthur. He’s….he’s dead….stabbed.” I pushed a drink across as she collapsed into a seat. She looked ill.
“They carried him round in the crush….thought he was tight….but he was dead….Gem don’t sit there….”
A new fear crept into her voice.
“Where were you Gem?” She whispered.
“Here having my last drink….I made my Resolution….after just one to let the New Year in….Alf’ll tell you.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was too soon for her to understand.
“Oh thank God….Take me away Gem.”
I got up and took her by the arm.
“Fetch me a taxi Alf. My wife and I are going home.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, and Alf….”
“Sir?”
“A Happy New Year to you.”
S.M.L.
The Editorial Board wishes to thank A.C. Freddie Veal for printing the covers of this magazine: A.C.’s Bolt and Buckhill for their work on the cartoons: and Messrs. Walkers of Lincoln for the duplication. The Editorial Board will then turn round and congratulate itself on the work entailed in bringing you this special number. We sincerely hope you like it.
[page break]
[underlined] WE LIKE THE WAY THEY SAY [/underlined] ….
“Regret day off cannot be changed – same to be taken as per watch list.”
“Any snags you blokes?”
“How is it chums, O.K.?”
“Yeezavhadit!”
“Now when I was at Cheadle….”
“But good heavens man, this isn’t at all the sort of stuff we want!”
“Gosh, I’m hungry! Anybody got any pig food?”
“Now there’s a thing if you like!”
“….and I don’t mean maybe’.”
“I made the blinkin’ path so I ought to know.”
“When I get my course…”
[underlined] BUT MOST OF ALL WE LIKE THE WAY THEY SAY [/underlined]….
“Shall I brew up now, Sergeant?”
F.B.
If I could learn to love this place
And learn to love Dad Alcorn’s face
To love the way he stalks and walks
And even love the way he talks,
If I could learn to love his pranks
And get a weekend with his thanks,
My seven days get in advance
And learn to love his backward glance
And also love his jet black hair
Admiring ripples which aren’t there
If I could learn to love his grin
And learn to love the man within,
If I could learn to love his eyes
And also love the way he sighs,
If I could learn to love his soul
My name would be ----- instead of Cole!
D.C.
[page break]
[sketch cartoon]
GRB
AN AIRMAN’S DREAM OF CHRISTMAS
[page break]
GREETINGS
From
“The Men Who Give You The Gen”
[sketch cartoon]
or “The Rags Who Give You The Mags”
GRB
[page break]
[underlined] BEWARE THE TIDES OF TALK. [/underlined]
In days before Marconi achieved undying fame,
Ere Alexander Graham Bell had learned to write his name,
Before the Congo Cannibals, by beating on the drum,
Relayed to far off cookhouse that soon dinner would come;
In days before old Reuter and Associated Press
Sent news of which new territory old Hitler would aggress;
Before some redskin newshawk, in fear of ‘Catchem Poke’
Scooped the redskin newsworld, and sent the news on smoke,
Before all ways, both old and new, of slick communication,
The fastest service of them all existed in this nation.
In Branston down in Lincolnshire, there dwells an ancient folk,
Which spurns the use of wireless waves and sneers at redskin smoke
The womenfolk of Branston who use an ancient ritual,
Have such an instinct for new gen that it becomes habitual,
When on the trail of copy they use the third degree
Of soft and cunning questions, when airmen have their tea;
And some who’ve been in Service, and are of course go-getters,
Have mystic ways of finding out the news in airmen’s letters.
The ancient mathematics rule that two and two make four,
When handled by such expert minds they often make a score.
And news from airmen, slyly got by intellectual pillage,
Travels faster e’en than light itself, and soon is round the village.
The devious methods of their art go down from Ma to Daughter,
No difficulties them deter, they’ll go through fire and water.
Long ere the Waafs were posted here, before the airmen knew,
‘Twas common gen in Branston to more than just a few;
Their ancient sense for news that’s fresh, now scented strongly, scandal.
They thought the airmen gunpowder, the Waafs would light the candle.
So airmen taking Waafs a walk, or to the Hall for dances,
Gave Branston dames the chance to hint at illicit romances.
And now of course it is well known – excuse the lack of refinement
The Branston ladies long to hear the news of a Waaf confinement.!
J.G.
[underlined] HOME [/underlined]
I always dream of home sweet home,
The dearest place I’ve ever known;
A small square house with doors of green,
The grandest place I’ve ever seen.
The windows gleaming, oh so bright,
The sills that are so very white;
The casement curtains look so neat,
And in the Hall – an old oak seat.
The brasses on the parlour wall
Smile serenely over all;
For they know that Love is here,
And Happiness is everywhere.
A welcome, and a shining face,
Is what you meet within this place;
And though a stranger you may be,
There’s welcome there for you from me.
Mollie Ford.
[underlined] CONVERSATION PIECE [/underlined]
(Scene – Any Branston Pub.)
“The Country’s decadent” he said,
“We’ve left the Reds to bear the brunt”
“We’ve no real leaders at the head.”
“We ought to have a Second Front.”
“What’s that? Was I in it before?”
“Now really do be sensible!”
“How could I fight in any war?”
“You know I’m indispensable!”
T.L.
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
Mere Gen 1942
Description
An account of the resource
A duplicated magazine, produced by the personnel at Branston Mere. It includes 'in' jokes, poems, cartoons, and a ghost story.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-12
1943-01
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
29 duplicated pages
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Poetry
Artwork
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MReynoldsWT[Ser#-DoB]-150731-01
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
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-12
1943-01
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Roger Dunsford
Steve Baldwin
arts and crafts
entertainment
ground personnel
military living conditions
military service conditions
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16319/PReynoldsWT1504.1.jpg
75c7f1bfdeb20d3363326deb0f5475ab
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
Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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
2015-07-31
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
Reynolds, WT
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
Operators at Branston Mere Y station
Description
An account of the resource
Six RAF personnel, four of them corporals, head and shoulders or upper torso, in two rows all with wireless flash.
Additional information about this item has been kindly provided by the donor.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One b/w photograph
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PReynoldsWT1504
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
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
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.
ground personnel
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16318/PReynoldsWT1503.1.jpg
1a945ecebfb38af00d0046299d565de5
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
Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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
2015-07-31
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
Reynolds, WT
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
Aerial farm at Branston Mere Y station
Description
An account of the resource
Four tall aerials, two wooden huts, one protected by blast walls, in a open field.
Additional information about this item has been kindly provided by the donor.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One b/w photograph
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PReynoldsWT1503
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
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
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.
military service conditions
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16317/PReynoldsWT1501.2.jpg
64218264e5d3eb39457861dd219fd5ca
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1235/16317/PReynoldsWT1502.2.jpg
0518e0e9bfced7866f1b8a34647e9197
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
Reynolds, William
W T Reynolds
Bill Reynolds
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. The collection concerns William Reynolds who was stationed at Branston Mere Y Station, a wireless intercept and direction finding station. the collection consists of three photographs and four copies of 'Mere Gen', the stations unofficial newsletter.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Smith and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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
2015-07-31
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
Reynolds, WT
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[photograph]
[page break]
[signature] Midge Saunders.
W E Parsons. A. Murray
5W4
M B Thompswon.
Doris Keane.
Peggii Harrison.
G.B. Messias
G W Anderson.
[deleted] B [/deleted] William Reynolds (Bill)
Top row (2 Left next to man with a hat photo goes with Mere Gen
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
Branston Mere Y Station staff
Description
An account of the resource
The 40 plus staff, a mixture of airmen, airwomen, police and civilian staff, in five rows, posed in the middle of a field, wooden shed in background. On the reverse some signatures and 'William Reynolds (Bill) Top row 2 left next to man with hat. Goes with Mere Gen'.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One b/w photograph
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PReynoldsWT1501, PReynoldsWT1502
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
ground personnel
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force