1
25
7
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1455/44281/BSturrockHSturrockHv1.1.pdf
73924fc68af140093010e46b7b61691a
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1455/44281/BSturrockHSturrockHv2.1.pdf
e9536f1209012be822a3cb719f15041c
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1455/44281/MSturrockH[Ser -DoB]-151002-02.pdf
6b5703af43d63eca6617ff070ccb46ca
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
Sturrock, Henry
H Sturrock
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
2015-10-02
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
Sturrock, H
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. The collection concerns Henry Sturrock (Royal Air Force) and contains his memoir and photographs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 640 Squadron.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Henry Sturrock and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Recollections of a Flight Engineer
Description
An account of the resource
The recollections of Henry Sturrock of his time as a Flight Engineer flying in the Halifax with No 640 Squadron at Leconfield, he flew his first operation on 12 September 1944 and his last on 2 March 1945, he flew on 35 operations.
He also recounts his experience in the RAF after his flying career while awaiting demobilisation.
There is also a list of the operations that Henry carried out.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Henry Sturrock
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-27
1944-08-19
1944-09-03
1944-09-12
1944-09-13
1944-09-15
1944-09-17
1944-09-25
1944-09-27
1944-10-07
1944-10-09
1944-10-14
1944-10-15
1944-10-23
1944-10-25
1944-10-28
1944-10-30
1944-10-31
1944-11-02
1944-11-04
1944-11-06
1944-11-21
1944-11-23
1944-12-02
1944-12-12
1944-12-24
1944-12-28
1944-12-30
1945-01-05
1945-01-06
1945-01-16
1945-02-02
1945-02-04
1945-02-07
1945-02-09
1945-02-13
1945-02-14
1945-03-02
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Devon
England--Yorkshire
Germany
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Kiel
France
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Duisburg
France--Calais
Germany--Essen
Germany--Cologne
Netherlands
Netherlands--Walcheren
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Germany--Hagen (Arnsberg)
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Hanau
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Wanne-Eickel
Germany--Goch
Germany--Leipzig Region
Germany--Chemnitz
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
22 pages
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BSturrockHSturrockHv1, BSturrockHSturrockHv2, MSturrockH[Ser#-DoB]-151002-02
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.
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
1658 HCU
640 Squadron
aircrew
crewing up
flight engineer
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Operation Dodge (1945)
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Hemswell
RAF Leconfield
RAF North Killingholme
RAF Riccall
RAF Torquay
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1997/37471/BAllamAJAllamAJv1.1.pdf
aa84424c9cd592bce1ba40f764d48c97
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
Allam, A J
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-12-06
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
Allam, AJ
Description
An account of the resource
33 items. The collection concerns Warrant Officer Albert John Allam (657570 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, memoir, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 227 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Stuart Allam and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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
Memoir
Description
An account of the resource
Chapter 8 - Overture and Beginners. Gives account of time on OTU at RAF Lossiemouth. Includes ground instruction, crewing up and description of station and training on Wellington. Writes about a fatal crash he sees and about some of his sorties. Gives details of crash crew. Chapter 9 - learning the trade. Writes of short time at RAF Acaster Malbis and then on to 1669 Heavy Conversion Unit a RAF Langar flying Halifaxes. Describes station, activities and training sorties. Notes at the end give details of aircrew and list of operations flown by aircraft Halifax W7928 (EY-R) during its time on 78 Squadron. Chapter 10 - last days in Europe. Starts with arrival at No 5 Lancaster Finishing School at RAF Syerston. Writes of training on Lancaster and giving their preference for operational posting and arrival on 227 Squadron at RAF Balderton. Gives short history of squadron and design of squadron crest. Describes station and loss of pilot colleague on his second dicky trip. Covers arrival on squadron, personalities and detailed description of first operation as second pilot. Continues with squadron move to RAF Strubby. Comments on 5 Group targets and describes subsequent operations to Lutzkendorf and losses. Mentions Operations Manna and Exodus. Describes land actions in Europe and air force operations and the goes on to cover some activities after the end of the war including an Operation Exodus sortie. Notes at the end with information on aircrew casualties and crashes of aircraft on Exodus sorties. Chapter 11 - the odd job men. Description pf post war activities including dumping dangerous incendiaries into the North Sea, preparation for Tiger Force and move to RAF Graveley, Concludes with move to 582 Squadron including sorties on Operation Dodge.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Scotland--Moray
England--Yorkshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Wesel (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Italy
Italy--Bari
Italy--Naples
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Ninety page printed document
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BAllamAJAllamAJv1
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1945
1669 HCU
227 Squadron
4 Group
5 Group
582 Squadron
78 Squadron
aircrew
bombing
crash
crewing up
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
military living conditions
military service conditions
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Balderton
RAF Graveley
RAF Langar
RAF Little Staughton
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Strubby
RAF Syerston
Tiger force
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1153/34166/BThomasJHThomasJHv1.1.pdf
9a596508c094843367071bcd8c323d5f
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
Thomas, John Henry
J H Thomas
Description
An account of the resource
Seven items. Collection concerns John Henry Thomas (b. 1923, 424515 Royal Australian Air Force). He flew operations as a pilot with 102 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, memoirs of his service and other events and a painting.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by John Thomas and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-01-22
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Thomas, JH
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
SERVICE RECORD
JOHN HENRY (JACK) THOMAS
A424515
DATE OF BIRTH: 14TH September 1923
Enlisting in the R.A.A.F. in December 1941 my call-up was delayed until September 1942, as the Army had conscripted me in early 1942. My concern was that the Army was reluctant to release me and I was prevented from accepting the June, July and August call-ups by the Air Force. In early Septeber an R.A.A.F. recruiting van arrived at Hume Camp, Albury and the following morning I was on my way to Sydney for discharge from the Army.
I became an Aircraftsman 11 on the 12th Septemner 1942 at Bradfield Park, Sydney, completed the twelve week initial training course and was classified for pilot training.
On the 9th December 1942 I was posted to No 8 Elementary Flying Training School, Narrandera N.S.W. for training on Tiger Moth aircraft. After completion of a course lasting eight weeks, my logbook recorded 7 0 flying hours.
The next post was to No 1 Service Flying Training School at Point Cook, Victoria, arriving there on the 7th February 1943. Flying training was on twin engine Airspeed Oxford aircraft operating from satellite airfields at Werribee, Lara and Little River. I received my Pilot's brevet on 16th June 1943 and became a Sergeant Pilot with 200 flying hours in my logbook. The ground subjects were rather onerous, but navigation being a form of Trigonometry and having been in an army artillery survey unit I found it an interesting subject. A Tasmanian trainee and self finished equal first in the course.
After Embarkation leave and a short stay at Bradfield Park I went by train to Brisbane, stayed two days in an army camp in West Brisbane and then boarded a U.S. army transport for the voyage to San Francisco. "NOORDAM" was a Dutch 2nd class passenger/cargo ship of 11,000 tons and the sea trip was an 18 day non stop run. Four days were spent in a U.S. army camp on Angel Island in San Francisco bay. The ferry to Angel Island also called at Alcatraz. Ken Jagger and I stepped onto the wharf and a guard, with Tommy gun and loud hailer, situated in a tower promptly ordered us back on board the ferry; we complied even more promptly.
The next part of the journey was from San Francisco (Oakland) to New York by troop train. In New York boarded the "AQUITANIA" a 46,500 ton sister ship of "TITANIC". The voyage to Greenock in Scotland was a solo trip of 5 1/2 days. On board were 4,000 air force personnel and 7,800 American troops. Meals were twice daily only. In New York harbour the capsized French Ship 'NORMANDIE' was at the adjoining wharf.
The train trip from GREENOCK TO 11 P.R.D.C. Brighton on the English South Coast took place overnight, and in mid September was seconded (with Ken Jagger) to Empire Central Flying School, Hullavington. The purpose of this secondment was for comparison of training standards throughout the Empire Air Training Scheme. There
[page break]
were 96 types of aircraft at this establishment. Shortly after returning to Brighton I was post to No 18 Pilot Advanced Flying Unit at CHURCH LAWFORD (near RUGBY) IN WARWICKSHIRE. Completed course on Airspeed Oxford aircraft and now had 284 flying hours in logbook.
I was then posted to 21 Operational Training Unit Moreton in Marsh Gloucestershire and teamed up with crew. Unfortunately Navigator and Bomb Aimer dropped out and had to wait for next intake to complete crew. Completed course on Wellington Bombers on 27.4.1944 and now had 388 flying hours. It was at 21 O.T.U. sustained spinal injury in landing accident caused by instructor and failure of safety harness. Next posting was to 4.G.B.S. (Ground battle School) at Acaster Malbis in Yorkshire. Trained with the Kings Rifle Corps and the Coldstream Guards in self defence and escape routines plus night vision improvement. At the end of May posted to 1658 Heavy Conversion Unit (Riccall) in East Yorkshire where our crew was increased by the addition of Flight Engineer and totalled seven men. Completed course on Halifax MK2 Aircraft and had now 427 hrs, in logbook. Was posted to 102 (Ceylon) squadron Pocklington in East Yorkshire located 12 miles from York on the Hull/York road. After conversion onto Halifax MK3 Aircraft commenced operational duties on 12th July 1944 and completed tour of operations on 22nd January 1945.
The last five sorties the crew numbers had increased to eight now by the addition of a Mid Under[?] Gunner in a nacelle using a point 5 calibre Machine Gun.
[centred] CREW LIST [/centred]
FLYING OFFICER JACK THOMAS PILOT RAAF
PILOT OFFICER JACK WHITE BOMB AIMER RAAF
SERGEAMT DEREK TURNER NAVIGATOR RAF
FLIGHT SERGEANT ROSS PEARSON WIRELESS /OPERATOR RAAF
SERGEANT JOHN HUGHES FLIGHT ENGINEER RAF
SERGEANT NAT GOLDBERG MID UPPER GUNNER RAF
FLYING OFFICER NEIL DAVIES MID [deleted] UPPER [/deleted] [inserted] UNDER [/inserted] RAF
FLIGHT SERGEANT JOHN WILLIAMSON REAR GUNNER RAAF
Now had 613 flying hours in logbook, thereafter I was posted to 21 O.T.U. Moreton In the Marsh, as a screen (instructor) Pilot where I remained until 22nd June 1945. Logbook total 693 hours. Then posted to Brighton for Repatriation to Australia. Travelled on R.M.S. "STRATHEDEN" arriving in Sydney mid November 1945 and was discharged on 7th December 1945.
[page break]
[centred] SORTIES CARRIED OUT [/centred]
12-7-44 Les Hauts Buisson Night raid returned with bomb load as unserviceability of equipment prevented bombing
17-7-44 Bois De La Haire Daylight raid
18-7-44 Vaires Daylight raid on Paris Rail Depot
20-7-44 Chapelle Notre Dame Daylight raid
03-8-44 Foret De Nieppe Daylight raid
05-8-44 Foret De Nieppe Daylight raid
01-8-44 Novelle En Chausse II Daylight raid
07-8-44 Battle Area 3 Night raid on the Falaise Gap east of Caen & attack destroyed a Panzer division, 70.00[?] ton ammunition dump and allowed British and Canadian armies to attack the defending German forces.
08-8-44 Belle Croix Daylight raid
11-8-44 Somain Daylight raid on Marshalling yards
15-8-44 Eindhoven Holland Daylight raid on Philips Electrical works
16-8-44 Kiel Night raid on Submarine Pens & supporting factories
18-8-44 Sterkrade Night raid on German Synthetic oil refinery
25-8-44 Wemars Capelle Daylight raid
31-8-44 Lumbres Daylight raid
09-9-44 Le Havre Daylight raid cancelled with 7/10 cloud over target, bombs dropped in English Channel narrowly missing H.M.S. Warspite and H.M.S. Black Prince bombarding Le Havre, but well out of their assigned zone, trespassing in R.A.F. bomb disposal area
10-9-44 Le Harve Daylight raid
11-9-44 Gelsenkirchen Daylight raid on German Synthetic Oil refinery intense flak barrage
12-9-44 Munster Daylight raid, 400 fighter escort Mustang & Spitfires
20-9-44 Calais Daylight raid
7-10-44 Cleve Daylight raid with large fighter escort
14-10-44 Duisberg Daylight raid, RAF dropped 4,500 tons mid morning, USAAC bombed early afternoon and RAF bombed before midnight. Total bomb load 10,000 tons
15-10-44 Wilhemshaven Night raid on Naval Base
25-10-44 Essen Daylight raid
30-10-44 Cologne Night raid, Target covered by cloud P.F.F. used sky markers and target was successfully bombed by main force
02-11-44 Dusseldorf Night raid with a Night Fighter firing & missing
[page break]
18-11-44 Munster Daylight raid and Master Bomber in a Lancaster lost rear turret from a bomb dropped from above. He passed in front of me and I could see right up the fuselage to the cockpit.
I became hospitalised with severe tonsillitis at this time for a period of two weeks. Subsequently I had a tonsillectomy in March 1945.
From 25-11-44 to 20-12-44 Britain experienced the coldest winter for 40 years and air operations were at a standstill. Low cloud, snow, and ice were constant. The coldest day was 2 Fahrenheit.
24-12-44 Mulheim Airfield Daylight raid when RAF and USAAC bombed 8 major German airbases under the protection of an enormous fighter cover ... On take-off our airspeed indicator became unserviceable and navigational aids and bombsight were rendered useless. Target was successfully bombed by closely formatting with another Halifax. Landed at Carnaby as home airfield under cloud cover.
28-12-44 Munchen-Gladbach Night raid
29-12-44 Koblenz Daylight raid
02-01-45 Ludwigshaven Night raid
05-01-45 Hanover Night raid, near collision when a FW190 crossed our bow from right to left.
13-01-45 Saarbrucken Night raid
16-01-45 Madgeburg Night raid
22-01-45 Gelsendirchen Night raid
Typical procedures carried out in preparation for night bombing raid over Germany
Daylight 0745
0630 Reveille {broadcast over Tannoy}
0700 to 0830 Breakfast available in Messes
0830 Pilots report to flight office {if not already booked for 1 hour Link trainer session}. Other crew members report to their respective sections.
1000 Notification of operartions[sic] planned for tonight. War list drawn up in each flight office in accordance with number of aircraft by Operational Plan.
1100 Check of aircraft to operate, pilot and flight sergeant in charge of ground crew talk over vital points and airtest aircraft where necessary
1200 to 1300 Lunch available at Messes.
[page break]
1.30pm to 3.30pm Crews take rest
3.30pm Report back to sections, Shortly, call for all operational crews to go to respective messes for operational meal (Bacon, eggs, tomato, toast, tea etc.) thence proceed to briefing Room at 4.15pm
4.15pm Briefing room. All operational crews taking part are assembled. The squadron commander (wing Commander rank) arrives, says "sit down gentlemen" turns to the covered map on the wall, removes cover and announces the target for tonight (Magdeburg). The map has the route to the target indicated by a coloured tape, with changes of direction to avoid defended areas. The return flight is indicated by a coloured tape, again with changes of course to avoid defended areas. The Wing-Co states time of take off, E.T.A. (estimated time of arrival) having an accuracy of plus or minus 15 seconds.
He then says adjust your watches and everyone synchronises their wrist watches. The Wing-Co concludes his briefing and is followed by the intelligence officer, meterology officer, navigation leader, bombing leader, wireless leader, flight engineering leader and finally the gunnery leader. It is now about 5.15pm and the sun has set about 1 1/4 hrs ago.
The crews now travel to the Parachute section where they pick up their chute, don cold weather gear including flying boots and the gunners collect their heated flying suit. It will be cold, -45deg.c. at 24,000 feet.
The crews re-enter the crew buses and are transported to their respective aircraft which are around the airfield in dispersal bays. It is now about 5.35pm and take off has been set for 6pm. The aircraft nearest to the runway in use will start its engines in about 5 minutes and each aircraft thereafter will start engines so that when the first aircraft taxies from its dispersal point, onto the perimeter track, an orderly file of all the other aircraft involved begins.
The noise level created by the twenty, four engined Halifaxes moving round to the take-off position is very loud. As the first aircraft swings onto the runway it travels forward to ensure the tail wheel is straight before being locked in position. With brakes fully on, each engine in succession is run up to full revs and returned to idle. Now all four engines are opened up to 2,000 revs and the brakes released. The aircraft moves and begins to pick up speed as full revs (3,100 per minute) are achieved. Minimum take off speed, 120mph. is reached after a run of 1,200 metres, but usually held aircraft down until 130ph. showing, then lift off, squeeze brakes, lift undercarriage then the 5deg. of flap used for take off. At 160mph. engines throttled back to 2,300 revs. and climb to 2,000ft. level off, circle drome and set course for Germany. Each aircraft followed the above procedures and took off at little more than 20 second intervals.
The first 120 miles is flown at 2,000ft. to stay under enemy radar, then climb begins at 160 mph., 1,200ft. per minute initially but declining as the air gets thinner. The
[page break]
Dutch coast is crossed about one hour after take off at a height of 12,000ft. Climb continues and 24,000ft. is reached; it is now 1 1/2 hrs. since take off. At 160mph. indicated air speed, the aircraft is now travelling at true air speed of 227mph. We are now well and truly in the danger zone as German rader[sic] is tracking us and directing their A/A guns and night fighters. At 24,000ft. it will take 1 1/2 hrs. to reach Magdeburg. It is very cold and the air is clear. I had my side window open on the climb and when I tried to close it, no luck, it was frozen tight. Later I found the heel of my left thumb had been frost bitten through three glove layers from trying to force the window shut.
For 1 1/2 hrs. the aircraft, weaved, skidded and undulated to avoid being a steady target for any night fighters trying to home in. By this time the inside of the windscreen had iced up so there was no forward vision. The bombd aimer became the forward eyes of the aircraft. The target area comes into view and the P.F.F. flares are visible; now the Master bomber could be heard on the R/T directing traffic. This is the most dangerous time of the operation. Steady course, steady speed, aircraft straight and level, bomb doors open, bomb aimer watching the target marker slide along the bombsight until it reaches the cross, Bombs Gone. The sudden release of 9,000lbs. of bombs in just over 1 second causes the aircraft to suddenly rise 200 feet. Bomb doors shut, but fly straight and level for one minute for aiming point photo. Then turning (rate 1 turn) to starboard to go on reciprocal course for home.
Now its nose down 220mph. which is 297mph. true air speed for eight minutes and levelling off at 16,000ft. on course at 160mph. Indicated (205 T.A.S.) This part of the return flight takes 2 1/4 hrs., constantly weaving, skidding, undulating. After this, descent commences at 300/400ft. per minute crossing the coast again at 10/12,000ft. and continuing until 2,000ft. then level off, and the aircraft, because of its lightened weight cruises easily in the range 210/230mph. After some 14 minutes of flight the outer circle lights of Pocklington Airfield are sighted and after receipt of permission to land, taxy to dispersal area, leave aircraft and ride on bus back to parachute section then to debriefing. The aircraft had been airbourne for 6 hours 15 minutes. After debriefing back to mess for meal, as before, then to bed.
P.S. As Britain was subject to sudden cloud and fog cover, three emergency airfields were established, at Manston, Woodbridge and Carnaby, ringed by petrol filled piping, which ignited dispersed cloud or fog for safe landings. They were known as F.I.D.O. (Fog Intensive Disposal Of.).
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
Service record John Henry (Jack) Thomas
Description
An account of the resource
Covers enlistment and early training in the Royal Australian Air Force. Continues with description of journey to England via the United States and training in England. Lists his crew formed during training. Joined 102 Squadron with Halifax Mk 3 on 12 July 1944 and completed tour 22 January 1944. Lists 36 operational sorties. Goes on to give a detailed description of a typical day's preparation for night bombing raid over Germany.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
J H Thomas
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-12
1942-09-12
1942-12-09
1943-02-07
1943-06-16
1944-04-27
1944-07-12
1944-07-17
1944-07-18
1944-07-30
1944-08-03
1944-08-05
1944-08-01
1944-08-07
1944-08-08
1944-08-11
1944-08-15
1944-08-16
1944-08-18
1944-08-25
1944-08-31
1944-09-09
1944-09-10
1944-09-11
1944-09-12
1944-09-20
1944-10-07
1944-10-14
1944-10-15
1944-10-25
1944-10-30
1944-11-02
1944-11-18
1944-12-24
1944-12-28
1944-12-29
1945-01-02
1945-01-05
1945-01-13
1945-01-16
1945-01-22
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Australia
New South Wales--Albury
New South Wales--Sydney
New South Wales--Narrandera
Victoria--Point Cook
United States
California--San Francisco
New York (State)--New York
Great Britain
Scotland--Greenock
England--Wiltshire
England--Sussex
England--Brighton
England--Warwickshire
England--Rugby
England--Gloucestershire
England--Yorkshire
France
France--Paris
France--Nieppe Forest
France--Falaise
France--Somain
Netherlands
Netherlands--Eindhoven
Germany--Kiel
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Lumbres
France--Le Havre
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
France--Calais
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Germany--Essen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Mülheim an der Ruhr
Germany--Mönchengladbach
Germany--Koblenz
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Hannover
California
New York (State)
New South Wales
Victoria
Germany
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
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eng
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Text. Memoir
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Six page printed document
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Pending text-based transcription. Under review
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BThomasJHThomasJHv1
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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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Sue Smith
102 Squadron
1658 HCU
21 OTU
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
crewing up
flight engineer
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Hullavington
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Pocklington
RAF Riccall
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1996/31990/SHoganPJ436464v20009.1.pdf
ddc8344c92266c46bf52a9d1afb896eb
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Hogan, P J
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2017-12-05
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Hogan, PJ
Description
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Ninety-six items and a sub-collection with twenty two items..
The collection concerns Flight Sergeant Pat Hogan (436464 Royal Australian Air Force) and contains letters home to his family, his flying log book, accounts of his aircraft being shot down and him baling out, official documents, certificates and photographs.
He flew operations as a navigator with 466 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Elizabeth Anne Lusby and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[underlined] P/O Alan Shelton [/underlined]
On the 12th October 1980 I spoke with Pat Hogan who had been a member of the Air Crew of P/O Alan Shelton, (Moira’s elder brother.) I asked him in particular to tell me something of the events of the fatal night of 3/4 March 1945, over 35 years ago.
Pat had his official Log Book with him and we discussed the matter briefly. He asked for more time to recollect his thoughts, and, true to his promise, on the 2.11.1980 delivered to me his written remembrances of the events, which I reproduce below, word for word.
"As a prelude I will say that I was fortunate to attend the Annual R A A F Air Crew Europe Dinner on Grand-Final Eve in September 1979. The guest speaker had been flown out from England. Air Vice Marshall D.C.T. Bennett, C.B., C.B.E., D.S.O. was of Queensland origins. He joined the RAAF and qualified as a pilot at Pt. Cooke is the early thirties. He transferred to the R.A.F. because of lack of funds (& therefore opportunities) in Australia. He specialised in D.R. Navigation (Direct Reckoning) and wrote the R.A.F. Navigation Training Manuals. Pre-war he broke numerous world records in distance flying without refuelling and became recognised as the world's greatest authority in Air Navigation. Whilst commanding a Bomber Squadron he recognised the need for more accurate and skilful bombing techniques and so conceived the idea of a Pathfinder Force. It took him a long while to get the idea accepted by authorities but eventually became both the founder and Commander-in-Chief of Pathfinder Force. In so doing he became the youngest A.V.M. ever appointed at 34 years of age.
During his speech he repeated his conviction that [underlined] each [/underlined] and [underlined] every [/underlined] operation by a Bomber Command Crew over Enemy Territory was the equivalent, in terms of the danger of death, of any major military or naval battle.
In July I was posted to an RAAF Operational Training Unit (O.T.U.) at Litchfield in the Midlands. Litchfield was a moderately small town but
[page break]
had a large Anglican Cathedral.
All the trainees were addressed after lunch on the day we arrived. We were told we would be there about 10 days and that we were to mingle with trainees of all other categories and by the end of the ten days, the pilots were to form crews with people who were all individually compatable [sic] . Naturally the pilot was to be Crew Captain.
Within an hour or so a pilot approached me and introduced himself as Alan Shelton. We had a chat about our origins, background, families and interests. We soon got on to Aussie Rules and Alan's interest in South Melbourne. He asked whether I would like to join his crew as his navigator as he was sure we would have no worries in getting along together. I readily accepted and Alan took me to meet Roger Johns [deleted] h [/deleted] on [deleted] e [/deleted], whom he had known at Melbourne University. Rover was to be the Bomb Aimer.
We met several Wireless Operators and we all agreed that the diminutive and likeable Greg Dixon from Chatswood, Sydney was the one for us.
Roger Laing from Adelaide was to be the Mid-upper Gunner. Our first tail gunner was not medically fit and we got a real bonus when he was replaced by the big and friendly Bill Bullen. Bill (like myself) was from Bendigo but had been a sergeant in an Infantry Btn with the 9th Div. in North Africa, the only one of us with experience in warfare.
We found that by tea time on that first evening the four or five personnel who were not already in a crew were rushing about to looking for a vacancy.
I think Alan probably commenced learning to fly a twin engined Wellington (Wimpey) at this stage, doing take offs, circuits and landings - 'Circuits & Bumps' until going solo. The rest of us were attending lectures, escape duties etc.
The Catholic Chaplain at Litchfield was Fr. O’Mahoney, formerly of Xavier College and presently Parish Priest of Glenelg, S.A.
We were then posted, as was each alternate course, to the satellite station some distance away at Church Broughton, Derbyshire. When we arrived there was fierce bargaining with the outgoing course to proc-
[page break]
ure bicycles. We were housed in Nissen Huts but the landing field was about 2 miles away on land belonging to Rolls Royce. On the same land was another airfield heavily fortified and strictly out of bounds.
Our flight commander at Church Broughton was, at that time, the highest decorated Australian flying in the RAAF in England, Sqdn Leader Dave Shannon, DSO & Bar, DFC & Bar. He was a veteran of over one hundred operations and had reached the ripe old age of 22 years. David, from Adelaide, got the direct hit that broke the wall of the Moehne Dam with the 'skip' bombs of the "Dambusters". His right leg was completely encased in plaster. Our imaginations ran wild on what had happened to him & we were somewhat disappointed to learn it was a result of some frivolity in the Officers' Mess on pay night at Litchfield.
We did intensive courses, lectures and simulated training sessions in our own categories. We came together flying as a crew in all sorts of exercises designed to give each of the crew the facility to improve his particular skills. This boosted the morale and confidence of each member of the crew working as a team and drove home the complete interdependence we had on each other under the quiet but firm leadership of Alan Shelton - hence we blended into a very harmonious unit.
Our relaxation periods, outings and social evenings were also a very important factor in the "getting to know you" process. We were not very interested in the local dances when we found they were alternately "White nights" and “Black nights" with the same girls in attendance. Authorities had learned that it was better to keep the American Negroes segregated. At that time our two favourite female singers on the BBC were Vera Lynn and Anne Shelton. Alan boasted that with such a lovely voice Anne must have some family connection in the distant past. Alan was even more sure when we saw a magazine (head and shoulders) photo with a very pretty face and long, well groomed, blonde hair. When we got a couple of days off we went up to London (Alan, Roger, Greg & I). The gunners had individual interests elsewhere. Anne was co-starring in a concert with one of the large bands – Alan aff-
[page break]
irmed that he would go around to the stage door after the concert to introduce himself. She certainly had a nice voice and a pretty face, but claims to relationship ceased when Alan found she was "like the side of a house", or a "Sherman Tank". At interval he declared he had seen enough (no - too much) and suggested we go to a favourite haunt of Australians wanting a feed "Dirty Dicks" off Fleet Street. We always enjoyed the steak at the sleazy one-eyed Greek's place. The fact that it was horse was not mentioned. The following night we went to a stage play. Just before the lights went out all eyes turned to see an elegantly dressed woman in an evening gown - most unusual in London at that time. Her companion was a large chap in a grubby overcoat, whom we recognized as Robert Newton. We had recently seen him in a film playing the Mad Hatter in "Hatter's Castle".
At first interval we went to the crowded bar and had had one drink when the bell went. The barmaid said to us "a gentleman has just paid for another drink for you". Around came Robert Newton and said: “Thats [sic] a bloody awful play, you might as well stay here and enjoy a few quiet drinks while the audience squirm in their seats". With a dead pan face he told us lots of stories about London, his dark eyes rolling and moving the whole time - just as they did when he later played Bill Sykes in Oliver Twist. He would not let us buy a drink but eventually put down a £1 note and said, "I wish I could show you the real London";"unfortunately I've got to go back and try to make peace. Someone might as well enjoy themselves - cut that out", and back he went.
We were in high spirits when we went down to the underground to make our way back to the Red Cross Club we were staying at. We were horrified to see the whole platform covered with people who had been bombed out that night. They were all so cheerful and making cockney cracks - "'Watch it cock, dont [sic] stand on me, stand on the missus, she's got more padding."
On completion of O.T.U Alan received his commission. Because there was a lot of fog and snow, flying was restricted at all levels from Operations over Germany to Training Units. Hence we were sent to a
[page break]
Commando Training Unit at Acaster Malbis a few miles out of York. Shortly before, this had been vacated by some of the famous "Red Devils" of Arnham [sic] fame. This course had the multipurpose of keeping us fit, tired and thus reasonably happy until we were ready to recommence flying at Heavy Conversion Unit at Riccall (York).
On arrival at Riccall in November 1944, we were introduced to the type of aircraft we would eventually fly on operation - the Halifax Mk 111 ("Halibags"). We were also introduced to much more sophisticated radar equipment, aids and skills. Just as importantly we also welcomed the seventh member of the crew - our new Flight Engineer. Wally Welsh was a tall, thin, shy, gangling, fair haired 18 year old youth from Devonshire. A little apprehensive for a start, he soon integrated very well in the crew of Australians.
Alan got on with the inevitable "Circuits & Bumps" in learning to fly the 4 engined Halifax. We all had long sessions day and night, attending lectures and learning new procedures to master new equipment with simulated exercises to tune our skills. As a crew we all had "circuits & bumps", whilst Alan practiced 3 engine, 2 engine and single engine landings. Then on to bombing practice, gunnery practice and cross country flights of long duration, both day and night.
A couple of incidents are worth recording at this stage. On a daylight exercise we caught up to and passed an "old Wimpey". With youthful exuberance, Alan gave the other pilot the V sign as we went past. To the amazement of Alan, the gunners and Roger, the Wellington flew past us with both engines feathered. Bill Bullen commented "Have a look at where the rear turret should be! It looks like a duck's arse with smoke pouring out". Without knowing it they had just seen their first jet engined aircraft, with Wing Commander Rolls in charge. He was from the high security base [deleted] near [/deleted] [inserted] at [/inserted] Church Broughton. Some of these four crew members could not work out how an old Wimpey could "leave us for dead” with neither engine working.
One night exercise was designed to take us virtually around England and Scotland. As we approached Lands End in heavy cloud we were tossed about in a
[page break]
violent electrical storm. Alan had to fight very hard to maintain control. When we got on top he asked me for a course designed to take us up about N/N/E off the Cornish coast to cross into Wales. When a break came in the clouds, Alan saw the coast coming up at the estimated time. Hence we all got quite a shock when anti aircraft flak started to burst around us for the first time. We realised we were over the small pocket of resistance still holding on to Dunkirk - our compass had gone haywire in the electrical storm. We came down to low level and "unflappable Alan" flew over the heavily fortified Southampton with Alan using the distress call "Mayday" and Wally firing. Red Verey Cartridges and we map-read our way back to Riccall.
On time off (e.g. 48 hours leave pass) Wally would head for home, the gunners had undisclosed plans and the other four of us usually headed for Leeds. On the first occasion we stopped at a large hotel built over the main railway terminal. We were told we could not go near the fourth floor as the whole floor was occupied by an Indian Maharajah and his entourage.
We came home about 1 a.m. to find the doorman asleep at his post and the lifts were out of action. We started up the stairs, and when we got to the 4th could not resist a look. There was no one about and we were intrigued by the variety of shoes and kneeboots, some with ornate silver and brass fittings, and outside the doors for cleaning. We all looked at one another and grinned with the one idea in mind. We spread the Indian boots and shoes on all 12 floors, as also all those of the other guests, including our own.
Alan was up early, dressed and in socks and demanding a frustrated "boots" ([deleted] or [/deleted] [inserted] a [/inserted] poor young bloke of about 75) to immediately find his new officer issue shoes- thence down to reception to join the queue of protesting guests.
On another occasion we went to Edinburgh, and stayed at the Victoria League Club in Princes Street. When we got in one evening, the hostess asked could we please stay in until lunch time the next day as the Royal Family were coming the next day and wished to meet all Dominion Airman staying there. With tongue in cheek Alan told her that would not be possible as we had arranged an escorted
[page break]
trip over the "Bass" brewery next morning. As it was only available once a week , we were sorry we would have to decline the kind invitation to meet the Royal Family. The hostess got on the phone to the manager of the brewery next morning and arranged a "private" tour the following day. Whilst we were waiting Alan introduced me to a Flt/Sgt Groves from Mordialloc. Just then we were asked to form a circle around the room and Alan and I were on either side of this chap. We were wearing name tags and the hostess introduced us all to the King, the Queen, Princess Elizabeth (in A.T.S. uniform) and little Meg, and we shook hands with each. Because of the King's impediment the Queen spoke to each third bod. She asked Ken "Where do you come from Sgt ?" = " Melbourne, Your Majesty" - "Which suburb "? - " Dudley Flats, Your Majesty" - "A lovely area isnt it, Sgt." - "Delightful, your Majesty". It was hard to control our mirth until we were out of earshot. See "Dudley Flats" Photo p.15
The 2 1/2 hours of stooging around the brewery, climbing ladders to look into smelly vats, definitely did not justify the supposed reward of a couple of glasses of free beer.
These stories are inserted to show that whilst we had to take serious risks, work long hours, take enormous responsibilities on young shoulders, we were also [inserted] fun [/inserted] loving boys at heart.
Leeds was a favourite spot for us is was easy to get to on leave at short notice. Also by this time we had found an [underlined] 'old' [/underlined] widow (Mrs Ackeroyd) who lived close into the city and would give us accommodation for a very nominal amount in return for a few food coupons. ‘OLD’ is all in the eye of the beholder. I am probably considerably older now than she was then. Apart from shows, Leeds was the "Black Market" Town of the North. Whilst we did not smoke the four of us always took our weekly ration of a carton of American cigarettes at a nominal fee. On one occasion in Leeds we were able to barter (in a pub) 2 cartons of Camels for a tin of Mushrooms, a tin of tomatoes and 2 Australian peaches (wrapped in cotton wool.) For a couple of days we dreamed of a magnificent feast on these delicacies. Off duty back at Riccall we got on the bikes and toured the
[page break]
farms buying eggs. It was highly illegal and we felt the price was exorbitant at three pence each but we eventually got 14 eggs. We obtained a loaf of bread, but how would we ever get butter. ? Alan said “Leave it to me". Next day he was almost hysterical when he turned up with 1/2 lb of butter. He told us he had got up early, gone to the Officers Mess and sat at a table where he knew a number of R.A.F. Instructors usually sat. He read the morning paper, folding part on his lap. He put the butter from the table in the paper on his lap and put the empty butter plate at the far end of the table. When the English Officers arrived he ordered his breakfast, still reading the paper and not involved in conversation. When his breakfast arrived he politely asked one of the R.A.F. Officers would he mind passing the butter please. As there was no butter the Englishman called the stewardess and ticked her off for not putting butter on the table. She said she had put it there. He said she obviously had not. She burst into tears but eventually produced another 1/2 lb. Whilst the English Officers discussed the dreadful proposition of a stewardess trying to pinch butter, Alan ate his breakfast and departed. The lass stopped him in the passage, apologised for crying and said she was grateful that Australian Officers were so kind and understanding, whilst English Officers were so harsh and cruel.
As a crew together we cooked our meal on the pot-bellied coal heater in the middle of our hut, and further cemented our crew relationship.
By mid-January 1945 we had been deemed a crew fully trained and ready for Operations. The only ingredient lacking was experience. We were sent to fill a vacancy on 466 Sqdn RAAF, Driffield. Driffield had been a pre-war ‘drome and "Bulldust Castle”, the living quarters, and all other buildings looked very imposing compared to any other station we had been on. On arrival we had a great feeling of humility, expectation and awe knowing we were the only crew on the Sqdn which had not yet experienced an operation over enemy territory.
Alan did his first operation as second pilot (2nd Dicki) with an experienced crew under the leadership of F/L Bob Molyneaux. (Bob recently retired from C.B.A. Bank and he and his wife Billie have settled in Anglesea).
Alan did another 9 operations as our Crew captain – the last
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being on 3/4 March 1945.
On 1st February, we were at last blooded, doing our first operation as a crew. We were checked into the briefing room by armed guards, the C.O. lifted a blind covering a large Map of Europe. We were to attack a railway junction and marshalling yards at Mainz. The Nav. Leader explained the route and how to gain or lose time if necessary - the bombing Leader described the type and quantity of bombs to be carried, the Met. Officer explained the expected weather and cloud conditions - Bill Harrison, the Intelligence Officer, explained the build up of enemy troops, tanks and equipment in the target area, pointed [deleted] our [/deleted] [inserted] out [/inserted] heavily fortified gun emplacements along the route, to be avoided, and finally eased the tension by giving us the address of Cooks in Mainz so that if we were shot down over target we could go to Cooks and book a trip home. Then a hurried couple of hours on flight planning, a meal, collect parachutes, into a truck and out to our aircraft.
Being a new crew we were allocated the worst aircraft on the Sqdn - K for King. The type of target is briefly described in my log book as Communications. We carried 7000 lbs of High Explosive Bombs. On the route in Alan had great difficulty endeavouring to get the required "revs" out of the engines. Consequently we were slightly behind and remembered all the wall poster warnings about the night fighters picking off the stragglers. Sure enough, Bill Bullen spotted a night fighter stalking us from the Port Quarter Beam. He calmly called out the reducing distances holding off his fire and as it got almost to its firing range and Bill gave the sharp instruction "Down Port - Go." Alan dived sharply to the left. The gunners opened fire as the fighter went over us, not being able to follow us with his extra speed We then rolled to starboard and climbed quickly to our operational height as the force of G hit us all in the tummy. I spent the next 5 minutes crawling around the floor retrieving calculator, protractor, ruler, pencils, etc. Again as a straggler we had trouble avoiding search-lights and anti-aircraft flak having to frequently change our altitude.
Over the target area there was a great amount
[page break]
of excited chatter as the gunners and Roger Johns [deleted]t [/deleted] on and Wally described the colourful bombing, the incendiary fires, the aircraft hit by flak and those colliding. I eventually chimed in with "How the bloody hell do you expect me to plot courses out of the target area if you keep gabbling?". Alan demanded quiet and all future reporting was brief and only when necessary. Roger inspected the Bomb Bay and found one bomb had 'hung up'. This necessitated releasing it in an allocated area in the North Sea. Here I had made a 'blue'. It is obvious that the area to drop these bombs would be on our route home and allied shipping would be kept out of that area. I had made an error in writing down the latitude of the bomb disposal area. Over conscientiously I took them 60 miles north of where we should have got rid of it, as Roger went down to release it. With the slow aircraft and me taking us the extra distance we were about 20 minutes late back to base in the old crate.
Neither or these basic errors occurred again and as we went on further operations we kept learning, always asking advice from experienced crews, improving our techniques avoiding the hazards and working better as a team. It was also necessary to develop a good relationship with the mechanics fitters, riggers etc who serviced our aircraft - the cigarettes are handy here.
Our fifth operation (20/2/45) was our most memorable one. Old K for King had oil pressure problems in warm up before take off. We were quickly transferred from the Worst aircraft on the Sqdn to the best. The standby was L for Love - belonging to the C/O, Wing Commander Alan Wharton.
As it turned cut the boffins (planners) goofed on this one. The idea was that the main stream was to bomb a section of the Dortmund- Emms canal. We were in a small group which flew over the main target about 15 minutes before the main stream to give Jerry the impression the target was further East. We flew on past our own target, a synthetic oil refinery at Reisholz with 8000 lb Bomb Load. After about 60 miles we turned back and approached our target. As we came in on our bombing run, from the comments of those looking we were flying into the moon.
We were in a line of four aircraft, almost wing tip to wing tip – two on our left – one on our right – in bright moonlight. We were attacked by ME109 fighters,
[page break]
being beautifully silhouetted for them. The bomber on our left dived to Starboard and the one on our right dived to Port, both underneath us. To avoid collision Alan had no option but to calmly continue, straight and level, and drop our bombs and cop it sweet from the fighter attacking us. An oil line was severed on the Starboard Outer engine and Alan had to feather it. Shortly after the Starboard Inner also gave up the ghost and Alan had to work frantically adjusting trim etc. Bill Bullen reported that a shell had gone right through his turret, front and back, about 1/2" above his head. The turret could not turn hydraulicly but "not to worry" he could turn it manually.
Greg Dixon and I saw out for the first time on an operation as a shell had grazed down the port side of the aircraft taking a 6" strip off the fuselage. Wally went on an inspection tour and reported the Elsom [sic] (Toilet-Can) had been blown to bits and the interior of the aircraft would scarcely pass examination by a Health Inspector.
Roger Johnson reported there was a 1000 lb bomb stuck in the bomb-bay and Alan found the hydraulics would not open the bomb-bay doors.
Wally Welch got busy transferring fuel from the Starboard Tanks to the Port Tanks. Alan kept coaxing L for Love along as we gradually lost altitude. Over the North Sea the Port Inner seized and [inserted] had [/inserted] to be feathered.
There was a crash drome near FLAMBOROUGH Head but not one of us questioned Alan's decision to return to Driffield or his ability to land on one engine with a 1000 lb bomb. He also found the hydraulics would not operate the [deleted] oboe [/deleted] [inserted] oleo [/inserted] legs (landing wheels). Control asked us to circle whilst more ambulances and fire carts were lined up. Keeping Wally to assist him Alan ordered the rest of the crew into the centre of the aircraft and to brace themselves against struts and bulkheads as firmly as possible to avoid breakage of limbs. He put her down beautifully [inserted] on her belly [/inserted] on the tarmac and seeing the sparks flying I
wondered whether the bomb would blow or the fuel ignite and we all made a hasty exit.
At this stage Alan Shelton was regarded around the squadron as a quiet, friendly, likeable young pilot, improving with experience. After this incident his stocks
[page break]
improved considerably and every one on the base became aware of him as they all went to have a look at the wreck. Air crew and ground staff - fitters, cooks, riggers, drivers, armourers, clerks - came and shook us all by the hand. Certainly Alan took a bit of ribbing for "writing off" the C.O's aircraft but the friendliness and admiration were gratifying.
We then then did 3 daylight operations - a different ball game. The second of these was to a synthetic Oil Refinery at Kamen to the North of the Ruhr Valley. The Germans apparently foxed us with camauflage [sic] and we evidently bombed a mocked up [deleted] facemile [/deleted] [inserted] FACSIMILE [/inserted] .
There was another abortive attack on Kamen in which we had no part. On the night of the 3rd March we set off on a more successful raid on this Oil Refinery.
It started with the usual joint crew briefings, explanations of target, hazards that might be encountered, type and weight of bombs to be carried, met. intelligence, etc. Thence to our individual sections for flight planning, off to the Mess for eggs and bacon and our chocolate ration for the trip. (Eggs and chocolate were on strict ration, available only to aircrew on a trip and expectant mothers.)
A rush to collect our parachutes and the cheerful lasses pointing out the large Wall Sketch with the caption: "It wont [sic] mean a thing, if you don’t [sic] pull the string" Near the parachute section was the Chapel and Fr. Baron our chaplain (from Lancashire) always waited in case we had the time to slip in. On this night Alan, Roger, Wilf Tobin (also shot down that night), several others and myself slipped in for less than a minute, received a General Absolution and Holy Communion.
The trip itself was undoubtedly the most uneventful we had encountered to date. We were fairly relaxed as we crossed the coast and were very surprised when the gunners reported a heavy barrage of Anti Aircraft fire from our own Coastal Batteries. We immediately correctly assumed that there were intruders in our midst and I gave Alan a course to take us directly to Driffield. This took us close to the Leconfield Airfield Circuit which we were supposed to give a wide miss.
We were the second aircraft back to Base. As we were on our landing approach, Joe Moss landed. Unfortunately
[page break]
one of his engines caught fire and he went into standard procedures to quell the fire. As we were about to touch down (Joe had not given the 'Runway Clear' call) Control called "Braemar to Rudkin Charlie - Overshoot ". Alan instinctively obeyed the command, gunned the motors to full revs; [deleted] replying [/deleted] “Runway Clear ", called Joe – alas too late for us.
The crew members who occupied the nose, Roger Johnson, Greg Dixon and I, always had to come back to benches in the centre of the aircraft for landing. It was called the "rest position".
Alan had to fly to an allocated height and rejoin the queue for landing. When we were instructed to land we approached once again. As we got down to about 200 feet the lights went out and with it an urgent message from control "Braemar to all Rudkin Aircraft - Scramble - Intr[deleted] e [/deleted] uders".
As Alan climbed again he urgently requested me to return to my navigation table and give him a course to another drome. In my haste I left my parachute in the 'rest position' - a mistake which undoubtedly saved my life.
As we were flying roughly West we went to dromes in that direction and found all three we went to blacked out. With the extra take offs we had used more fuel than normal and Wally warned we were getting very low. We decided to gain height to a safe 4000’, turn to the East, bale out and let the aircraft crash in the sea.
As we turned on to 90 o we were unfortunate enough to fly into the firing line of a Junkers 88 night fighter. The radial engines of a Halifax present a lighted circle from the front at night. It was relatively easy for the Hun to shoot out the four engines, a target rarely presented to him. Alan gave us the order to Bale Out, wishing us good luck very calmly and said he would try to control the kite. Under my chair was the front hatch which those crew members in the forward position were supposed to use to escape. I had to climb over 2 bulkheads to get to my 'chute. When I got to the mid hatch it was already open as Roger Laing had gone out. Wally Welsh was standing there looking at the flames. I pushed him out and followed immediately pulling my rip -cord as I went.
Wally must have waited to ensure he was clear of the tail-plane. His parachute had opened but did not break his fall, indicating he was under the safety limit of 800’ when he pulled it.
After my first headlong rush downwards, it was a
[page break]
relief in the darkness to feel the jolt as the parachute filled with air and I found myself sitting in the harness. I looked up and saw a bomber attacked and blow up. I was counting the parachutes opening when I hit the deck reasonably gently, as I was in a fallowed paddock.
After a fairly eventful night we [deleted] all [/deleted] [inserted] three [/inserted] arrived back at Driffield the next afternoon. We were grounded for some time and flew on one more operation on Anzac Day 1945, with a crew of four other 'odd bods'.
Bill Bullen was killed in the early fifties, after buying a saw mill at Beaufort. He was felling a tree and it crushed him. I saw Roger Laing in 1946 and 1947 but on my last couple of trips to Adelaide some years ago, I was unable to trace him.
Alan Shelton was a very likeable young man who got along with all and sundry. He had a very keen sense of humour - often concealed by asking a seemingly naive question which produced a hasty reply. He loved to make people 'bite'. He was healthy of body and mind, and clean of body and mind.
He was calm in everything he did even in his last moments. It was a pleasure to work with him and under him, as it was to enjoy his companionship. He was always quietly confident in his own ability and let each of his crew feel he had complete confidence in them. Mercifully Alan would have died on impact and would not have suffered.
This has been written on the days of Nov 1 and 2 It raises the thought that All Saints Day honors [sic] all the people who have made the grade into Heaven without being canonised - millions upon millions through history.
On All Souls Day we pray for the repose of the souls of our relatives and friends.
My final tribute to Alan Shelton is to suggest to his family that, instead of praying for him, they might try praying to him.
Pat Hogan
2/11/1980.
P.S. Alan, Roger and Greg were buried at Harrogate, Yorkshire. Wally was buried at Weymouth, Dorset, where his parents retired.
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Title
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Pat Hogan's recollection of events on 3/4 March 1945 written to a relative of Flying Officer Alan Shelton
Description
An account of the resource
Recounts his attendance at an annual RAAF Air Crew Europe Dinner in September 1979 where the quest speaker was Donald Bennett. He then recounts his activities and training from July 1944 at Lichfield where he was crewed up and subsequently Church Broughton. He writes about visiting parts of United Kingdom on leave and of his other activities including meeting the royal family. Continues with his eventual posting to 466 Squadron at RAF Driffield and accounts of the crews first operations. There follows a long accent of the crew's last operation where on return the were diverted owing to German intruder aircraft in the area. Their aircraft was attacked by a Ju-88 and he had to bail out. He and another two crew survived. He continues with a tribute to crew member Alan Shelton. Ends with b/w photograph of a man sitting in front of a hut from the Melbourne Heralds Sun newspaper - reference meeting the Royal family on page 7.
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P J Hogan
Date
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1980-11-02
Format
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Fifteen page printed document
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eng
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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SHoganPJ436464v20009
Coverage
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Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Staffordshire
England--Lichfield
England--Derbyshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany
Germany--Mainz (Rhineland-Palatinate)
England--Selby
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Kamen
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
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1944-11
1980-10-12
1980-11-02
1944-07
1945-01
1945-02-01
1945-02-20
1945-03-03
1945-03-04
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Peter Bradbury
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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.
466 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bomb aimer
bombing
briefing
crewing up
Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain (1926 - 2022)
entertainment
faith
final resting place
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
home front
Ju 88
killed in action
Me 109
military living conditions
military service conditions
navigator
pilot
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Church Broughton
RAF Driffield
RAF Lichfield
sanitation
shot down
training
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1181/30735/BWagnerHWWagnerHWv1-01.1.pdf
e0571529641f83a364bcf25b44a796ff
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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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Wagner, Henry Wolfe
H W Wagner
Description
An account of the resource
15 items. Two oral history interviews with Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner (1923 - 2020, 1604744 Royal Air Force), his memoirs, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 51 Squadron from RAF Snaith and became a prisoner of war. He was demobbed in 1946 and returned to education where he remained until his retirement.
The collection was catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-05-04
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Wagner, HW
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[front cover]
“…. we need someone with integrity, distinction and honour …
We need someone like H W Wagner”
[/front cover]
[page break]
Extract from “Those Who Fall”, by John Muirhead, a Flying Fortress pilot. Published b Transworld Publishers Ltd., 61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA.
“Everything happened that I have said happened, but it’s memory now, the shadow of things. The truth lives in its own time, recall is not the reality of the past. When friends depart, one remembers them but they are changed; we hold only the fragment of them that touched us and our idea of them, which is now a part of us. Their reality is gone, intact but irretrievable, in another place through which we passed and can never enter again. I cannot go back nor can I bring them to me; so I must pursue the shadows to some middle ground, for I am strangely bound to all that happened then.”
[page break]
2
[centred] Your life is waiting for you, H W Wagner. [/centred]
[centred and underlined] CARPE DIEM. [/centred and underlined]
The title is, of course, from the Latin poet Horace, of if you prefer his full name, Quintus Horatius Flacus [sic], in his book of Odes, and I will translate it for those of you who have not had the benefit of a classical education. It means “Catch hold of the day”, with the implication “and squeeze every drop of value you can out of it.” The quotation continues Quam minimum credula postero (trusting[?] the next day as little as possible) – because it might never come. While on the subject of Horace, another quotation of his seems to me to be suitable, although you may well not agree, except possibly insofar as it applies to your good self – Integer vitae scelerisque purus (a man of upright life and pure from guilt.)
Having been always interested in flying, it seems to me that life is like a take-off, circuit and landing, and I have divided this account accordingly.
[underlined] UPWIND LEG [/underlined]
The upwind leg has two parts – rolling along the runway to reach flying speed, then climbing to circuit height.
[underlined] Take-off. [/underlined]
[photograph of two young children with their mother]
I was born on 24 March 1923. In the photograph, I am the little chap in the middle. My mother on the left, of course, and my elder brother John on the right. There were destined to be two other
[page break]
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brothers after me, Richard and Brian. Richard was only a year younger than me, and due mainly to the similarity in our ages he was the one who was always closest to me, although I never had anything against the others.
[newspaper cutting]
[centred and underlined] Henry Stanhope [centred and underlined]
[centred] Henry the Seventh hits the charts [/centred]
One of the more engaging trends last year was the elevation of “Henry” to the top ten of first names, as disclosed by Mrs Margaret Brown and Mr Thomas Brown in The Times last week. It now occupies seventh place, enjoying – without the benefit of royal patronage – its most significant renaissance since the early Tudors.
To the 47 boys whose parents proclaimed their choice in the columns of this newspaper, I say “Welcome” – before adding a short introduction to the life that lies ahead of them. They should not be deceived for instance by those dictionaries of surnames which one thumbs through in W. H. Smith’s but never actually buys. These will tell you that it means “head of the house” and no doubt to the Plantaganet kings it seemed peculiarly apposite.
“Henry!” to the modern cartoonist, however, is a little man with a toothbrush moustache and half-moon glasses, washing up in a frilly apron while his virago of a wife slumbers next door in their surburban sitting room. The best portrait to be hoped for is that of an elderly Tory in hairy tweeds unloading his Scotch in the gunroom while his equally hairy wife is bullying the vicar at the village fete. The image is rarely swinging.
Nor is it a name which lends itself to some comfortable sobriquet or short-form – which, of course, is one reason why mothers like it. At school they solved it by calling me Stanhope, at college by switching to “H”. During National Service, fellow gunners, nonplussed by having a Henry in their midst toyed with “Harry” but settled for “Stan”, which struck a more agreeably percussive note in the barrack room. My first editor, on being introduced, scratched his head doubtfully and said he had a cocker spaniel called Henry. “What should we actually call you?” he asked.
At school I would gladly have swopped the dynamo on my bike for a name like Bob, or Bill or – as it was in Wales, Glyn, Gwyn, Bryn or even Geraint. Boys see safety in numbers and being called Henry was only one up on being Christopher Robin. Survival had to be fought for.
It is however a name one grows into and, in middle age, can offer some interesting advantages. It is, for instance, not easily forgotten and one which acquires a life of its own. Who would think of referring to Irving, Cooper, Kelly, Jackson, Kissinger or the fictitious Higgins (“Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins”) without their given name (“Christian” now being considered ethnically discriminatory)? An invisible hyphen welds them together like bacon and eggs.
There are also, as yet anyway, not enough of us in the English-speaking world to cause confusion. Having said that, it is arguable that when two Henrys do appear in the same office, battalion or school, the mix-ups are almost embarrassing.
They can also at times be quite flattering. In the elitist circles of East Coast America in the 1970s, to be called Henry was almost a passport to any dinner party in town. “There’s no disputing that Henry has a really first-class mind”, I once heard a Harvard professor say, unaware of the warm glow of pleasure he was causing six feet behind during that brief moment of self-delusion. I have never been confused with Henry Cooper, but that is perhaps because he is really called ‘Enery – though I would never do so to his face.
My “hooray!” for the 1982 Henrys is not therefore unmuted. Our image needs polishing. When someone calls “Henry” I still want to turn round – not just carry on walking like the Toms, Dicks and Harrys (no doubt corruptions of the original) who can always assume that it’s not meant for them. Back to the sink ….
[/newspaper cutting]
My mother and father were both Irish, which of course makes me Irish by birth, although later in life I took out naturalisation papers to become a
[page break]
4
British citizen. Of my father’s family I know nothing, but my mother came from an upper-class county family, the Strongs. I still have a salver with their family crest in the centre. We lived in a big house on the shores of a bay at Strand Hill, in County Sligo. The only person I can remember there is my grandfather, a grand old man with a white spade-shaped beard, who smoked a pipe. There being no such things as pipe-cleaners in those days, Richard and I brought in feathers for him, saying: “A fedder for Pa’s pike.” Regrettably, I knew little of my father; it was obviously not a happy marriage, and my parents separated when I was above five. I do know, however, that he was a man of many parts – he had a degree in theology from Trinity College, Dublin, a qualification in dentistry, and he was a well-known sporting shot, contributing to a magazine called The Shooting Times and British Sportsman. For my mother’s part, she was a keen hockey player, and also an Irish county golfer.
When I was three or so, we moved to England, for reasons unknown to me, and our first home was in a village called Sonning Common, near Reading. We lived in quite a large house called The Laurels, with a large orchard (apples, pears, plums, greengages, damsons and cherries) and a one-acre field at the back. There being no refuse-collection in those days, there was a big hole at the far end of the orchard, known as the ashpit. When it was full, another one had to be dug. In the field, my father had a clay-pigeon trap, and used to gather cronies there from time to time for shooting parties. He had a gun-room in the house, with possibly about thirty guns of various calibres, and several hundred cartridges, and Richard and I used to go in there and play – what madness to let two little boys loose among so much lethal apparatus. An old chap used to come and cut the front lawn with a scythe, and one day we threw cartridges at him out of the window, which pleased him not at all. Another room was the dental surgery, which terrified us when we were called in for treatment, as dental surgery was in its infancy in those days, and equipment was primitive. You could be sure of a painful session there. I remember seeing in one of the magazines a picture of
[page break]
5
a set of false teeth, and I thought to myself: “They don't just take out the teeth, they take out the whole top of your mouth as well.”
Two years after arriving there, my father left, and I never saw him again. My mother was left to bring up four boys on her own, with occasional financial contributions from my father, and a hard time she had of it. Heating was by means of coal fires, cooking was done on an old-fashioned range, lighting was an Aladdin pressure lamp and candles, and there was no hot water. Monday was washing-day, using a coal-fired copper, so Monday dinner was always cold meat, the remnants of the Sunday joint. Other days, it might be stew, hash, or corned beef, with rice or macaroni pudding. Breakfasts were always porridge, and tea was bread and jam, with cake on Sundays. Shopping was done at Plumb’s stores, down the road, where there were no packed foods – everything was weighed up and served separately, and there were chairs for people to sit down and gossip to the shopkeeper while the order was being made up. Biscuits came out of big tins with glass tops, butter was cut off the block. A jug was left out for Mr. Saunders, the milkman, who came round with a horse and trap and carried a small pail of milk up to the door, replenished from a big churn in the trap. An old biddy, Mrs. McCallum used to deliver paraffin from cans hanging on the handlebars of her bicycle. Sweets were a rarity, but now and again we got a halfpenny to spend, with which we usually bought a Chicago Bar, a bar of evil-looking (and tasting) toffee, but which had the merit of being very long-lasting.
One Christmas, Richard and I got a small bicycle each, known as fairy-cycles, with hard tyres, and we could safely be released to ride round the village, there being hardly any traffic on the roads. Once a week, we used to go into Reading by Thames Valley bus, for bigger shopping, and used to finish up with tea and toast in the Lyons Corner Shop.
Such was the way of life in those days, and although my mother had plenty of worries, it was no hardship to us boys. We went to the village school, presided over by “Gaffer” Forder. I did two years
[page break]
6
there, the first year in Miss Cobb’s class, and the second year moved up with the dreaded Mrs. Clayton. While at Sonning Common school, I made the acquaintance of Geoffrey Dolphin, who remained a lifelong friend.
At the age of seven, then, we moved to Henley-on-Thames, to quite a nice house in a quiet road, St. Mark’s Road. This even had the benefit of gas-lighting downstairs, otherwise illumination was still by candle. There was a large walnut – tree in the back garden, which we were always climbing. John was sent off as a boarder to the Bluecoat School in Reading, and Richard and I started attending the National School, a grim fortress-like granite building very different from a village school and peopled by hard urban nuts of a type that we were not accustomed to, so we quite often had a rough time. The Avery’s, Blackall’s and the Fowler’s come to mind. Richard went into Mrs. Plumb’s class, I being a year older went into Mrs. Piper’s class, and she was much addicted to frequent use of the cane. In fact, I got it on my first day there. Lessons in those days tended to be of the repetitive rather than the interesting variety; this particular geography lesson consisted of repeating the names of mountains in Britain, from north to south. Of course, the names meant nothing to me, nor did they, I suppose, to anyone else in the class, but those who could not remember them were lined up in front and received a stroke of the cane. The most feared teacher in the school was Mr. Ackroyd, who was even more liberal than Mrs. Piper in his dispensation of correction; at the end of “playtime”, he blew a whistle, whereupon everyone stood stock-still. At a second blast, everyone moved to a place where their number of class was painted on the playground. Then he would shout “Classed, right and left turn”, and you turned in the direction of your classroom. One day, I turned in the wrong direction, and received a stroke of the cane for “disobedience”. Physical education consisted of what was known as “drill”, and this meant standing in lines on the playground and obeying order such as “touching the toes”, “clapping hands above the head”, and “running on the spot”. What strides have been made since, in the way of gymnastic exercises with proper equipment!
After two years at the National School, when I was nine, the
[page break]
7
educational system was reorganised, and Richard and I went to a junior school, called Trinity School, run under the auspices of Trinity Church, where I was married twenty-seven years later. This was presided over by Mrs. Billingham, known as Governess, and under whose instruction I first started taking a real interest in learning. At the age of eleven, there was an examination to determine who would go to Henley Grammar School and who would return to the dreaded National School, and I was relieved to be one of the successful 23%. By this time, we had moved to a council house in Western Avenue, the family circumstances having become even more [indecipherable word]. It must have been something of a strain for my mother, having to buy uniform, games kit and P.W. kit, but there was a small grant from the Grammar School foundation Trust to help those who found the going difficult. At Trinity School, I became friends with Jim Clark, who is still a good friend, and especially of Jim Davies, who lived just down the road from us. Jim Davies was a Fleet Air Arm fighter pilot, on Corsairs, during the war. Afterwards, he took a degree in law at Oxford, then worked in the Attorney-General’s office. He was killed in a Douglas DC 10 crash after taking off from Paris; a baggage-door had not been properly fastened, and it opened in flight. The ensuing decompression buckled the floor, which jammed the controls, and all aboard were killed.
This concludes the runway section, then. The aircraft is nicely on the move, has flying speed, and the way ahead, barring accidents, is clear, and there is plenty of room for manoeuvre. The next section of the circuit is the climb-out, gaining height, looking round and feeling the air.
[underlined] Climb-out. [/underlined]
The climb-out begins with the commencement of education proper at Henley Grammar School. I arrived there in September 1934, with Jim Clark. Education was undertaken seriously before the war – you had to work hard in order to qualify for a good job. I had no idea what sort of work I would eventually do, there being no careers guidance in those days. But part from
[page break]
8
the underlying seriousness, there was no worry attached to the whole business, and it was an enjoyable time. This is the little lad who started at the Grammar School at the age of eleven.
[photograph]
In the 1930’s, competitiveness was encouraged in both sport and games. Nowadays, it is actively discouraged – no sense of inferiority must be allowed to develop, even among those who know they are inferior. Any attempt to be better than the rest is frowned upon, because it would tend towards divisiveness and the creation of an elite, so everyone must conform to a lower level. But in those times, prizes were awarded for academic achievement and medals and cups given for sporting excellence – there was every encouragement to do better. So everyone worked to the best of their ability, and I do not think anyone suffered for that reason.
About the time that I started at the Grammar School, I took my first tentative steps in the world of golf. Richard was the moving spirit behind this, and we bought ourselves a putter each from
[page break]
9
Woolworths, price six denarii, and we used to take them up to a field about a mile away and just hack about. Jim Davies joined us too, and nearly all our spare time was spent in that pursuit. Balls were obtained by looking for them in hedges adjoining the gold course. Finding more than enough for our needs, we thought about how we might turn them to profit. We used to make the occasional cycle journey into Reading and sell them at a sports shop. A dozen would bring in three shillings or so (about 15 pence in modern money); later, we developed contacts among local golfers, notably Tom Luker and Bert Butler, which saved the trip to Reading. Most of the money was saved with the intention of buying a bag of clubs each, but 3d. a week was spent on the Saturday afternoon visit to the cinema and 1d. on sweets. When enough money was saved, we went into Reading and went round the Junk-shops, obtaining a bag each (and scruffy old things they were), and a motley selection of old rusty wooden-shafted clubs. And so we were in business. There was no way of joining Henley Gold Club, golf being the preserve of the upper crust, but there was a nine-hole course on a public common at Peppard, some four miles distant, where one could play for 10/6d. a year. We cycled there whenever time and weather permitted, clubs over the shoulder, sandwiches in saddle-bags. Jim Davis was with us in this venture, and you couldn’t have found a happier lot, day in, day out, through holidays. Through a good deal of my life, I have had enormous pleasure from golf, and met so many friends. Golf is a great leveller, and when a man is on the course, his wealth and social status matter not a scrap. What is important is his attitude to the game. A young American golfer of great promise, Tony Lema, who was regrettably killed in a light aeroplane crash on his way to a tournament, wrote in his book “Champagne Golf” – “Golf is the one game that really gives a man the opportunity to play the gentleman.” One does occasionally come across the other sort on a golf course, but they are not true golfers, and may
[page break]
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be disregarded.
Another activity which took up some of our time, mainly in summer, was kite-flying. The materials were inexpensive, as we made our own. My mother would cut up old curtains into large octagons, about two feet across, hem them, and stitch a pocket in each corner. All that was needed was 3d ball of string and a fishing - net. Fishing net? Yes. The net itself was discarded, the bamboo split down the middle and used to make four struts. Many an afternoon we spent sitting on the grass gazing up at the kites and giving an occasional twitch on the string. Threepenny gliders, launched by catapult, also provided a lot of entertainment while the kite string was tied to a fence.
Next - door to Jim Davies lived a young lad with the reputation of being something of a crazy inventor. His name was Reggie Cripps. One scheme he thought up was that if old armchair springs were attached to the bottom of an orange-box, it would, if dropped from a few feet with him aboard, bounce ever higher and higher. Where he thought it would all end I don’t know. A preliminary trial resulted in a dull thud. He suggested attaching a multiplicity of springs and dropping him from the roof of his shed, but we declined to participate. Another idea was that he should jump out of his bedroom window, using his mother’s umbrellas as a parachute, but his mother enters a firm nolle prosequi.
Throughout my time at the Grammar School, staff wore academic gowns, which was a novelty for me. In my first year, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Clifford, who taught me my first words of French. Boys sat on one side of the classroom, girls on the other. Next to me sat Anthony Griffiths, son of the local Baptist minister. I met him again in May 1945, in Germany. Part of the camp I was in was being moved by train, and the train was in sidings at Luckenwalde station. Walking along beside the track, I saw an officer who looked familiar, and asked if his name was Griffiths. He had been a Spitfire pilot, and was shot down on a sweep over France. Also in the same class was Dougie Blows. We used to stay behind after school, until quite late, playing Fives, and indulging in practical jokes with bicycles in the sheds. One
[page break]
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trick was to slacken off the nut, turn the saddle round and tighten the nut again. Another was to suspend bicycles up the trees, another to weave thin wire in and out of the links of the chain. A further member of the class was Nelson Swinney, who had the enviable reputation of being the only boy able to spit over the fives-court wall. In this class too I renewed the acquaintance of Geoff Dolphin, and we remained together throughout our Grammar School career.
Early on, I was given the nickname Otto, which remained with me while I was at school.
At the end of the first year, I was presented with the Form Prize, a copy of “Captains Courageous”, which I still have.
Physical education was in the hands of Mr. Clifford, and although in the gymnasium where there was some apparatus, it was not very imaginative. Sport was rugby football, which I considered a rough game and to be avoided if possible, if not possible, keep as far from the ball as you could - if caught in possession of the ball, you were likely to be done over. This attitude persisted for a couple of years, then I did get caught in possession of the ball and realised that the only thing to do was to make a run for it. Having got away with it unscathed once, I did not mind so much having a go a second time, and gradually began to enjoy the rough and tumble of the game. So much so that for my last three years at school I was a regular member of the First XV, and received rugby colours. This entitled one to wear a special cap, dark blue velvet with gold piping and tassel, when going to play in matches. I played rugby for many years thereafter, and derived as much enjoyment from it as I did from golf. I still enjoy seeing a good rugby match on television. Summer sports were cricket and tennis, but I never made much of these. I liked watching cricket, and found my niche when I was appointed first-team scorer.
In the second year, the study of Latin was introduced, taught by the somewhat austere Mr. “Fuzzy” Phillips, and I soon realised that the languages were my strong point, not the sciences. I found science interesting but did not excel at it. Mathematics I found
[page break]
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very difficult, and spent many hours poring over problems on the nights when there was Maths homework. I used to retreat to the front room to do my two hours or so of homework in the evenings, illumination was provided by a guttering candle, as it was in all the bedrooms - there was only gaslight in the dining room, and that was none too brilliant. There was no temptation to skimp homework, as there was no television or any other distraction.
And so the years passed until I entered the Fifth Form, the year of the school certificate. To pass this, to get a certificate at all, one had to pass in a certain range of subjects - English language and maths were obligatory, also a language, then a choice of history or geography, then a practical subject, where I just scraped a pass in art, having minimal ability in that subject. If you did not get a School Certificate, you stayed in the Fifth Form for another year to have another rack at it. If you passed, you moved into the Sixth Form for a two-year course leading to the Higher School Certificate. The work was of a different dimension altogether, far more advanced. To get a certificate, you had to pass in two subjects at Main level and two at Subsidiary level. I took English and French at Main level, and Geography and Latin at Subsidiary level. At least, that was my intention, but the Headmaster, “Sammy” Barnes enquired why I was not also taking mathematics, having passed therein in School Certificate. “I’m no good at maths, sir”, I said. “Wagner, you’re taking maths,” he said. “Yes sir”, I replied, and I was unwillingly plunged into the calculus, co-ordinate geometry, the binomial theorem, and the like. English was in the hands of Miss Smith, a lively young thing; French was taught by the deputy head, Miss “Misery” Hunter, Latin by Mr. Darling, who also took P.E., maths by Mr. Potter, and Geography by Mr. Bryant, who was later killed in the war. I passed in all these subjects, which qualified me for University entrance.
At the beginning of the Lower Sixth year, I was made a prefect, and a year later captain of Periam House. Meanwhile, the
[page break]
13
golf had gone on pace. We played at Peppard until the end of 1937, with the occasional day on Henley golf course when we had 2:6d to spare (12 1/2 pence in modern parlance.) We knocked up the Henley professional, Bill Pedler, at 8 a.m. to pay the green fee (which pleased him not at all), played one round, then another half a round, had the sandwiches which we brought with us, finished that round, played another round, went home for tea, and played another round in the evening - 72 holes in one day - good value for 12 1/2 pence. At the beginning of 1938, we enquired about joining the junior section of the club, but this was beyond our means. However, they would admit us to the Artisan section for £1, which we gratefully accepted. A full 18-hole golf course and no more bike-rides over to Peppard. And we made good use of the course, being on it at every possible opportunity.
September 1939 and the war came. It was not unexpected, but to us boys it did not mean a great deal. We expected it to be over quite quickly, never dreaming that we would become embroiled in it ourselves in the fulness of time. Preparations had been going on for some time in the past - gas-masks had been issued, evacuees came from London (and to our horror stooped so low as to dig in the bunkers on the golf course as if they were on the beach.) This was the beginning of my second year in the Sixth Form, working for the Higher School Certificate. To pass this you had to get six units (two for a subject at Ordinary level, one for a subject at Subsidiary level, get them any way you liked.) I took an extra one, Mathematics, at the instigation of the Headmaster (I see I got this slightly wrong on the previous page, but now have the certificate for your kindly perusal.) Studies were somewhat interrupted by the fact that we had to share our school premises with a school evacuated from London, Archbishop Tennyson’s School. We worked in the mornings, they had the place in the afternoons, leaving me free in the afternoons to sneak off occasionally for a game of golf. Also, Richard and I bought a folding two-seater canoe, on instalments, paid for with money we earned finding golf-balls, and we often
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took it out on the Thames when weather permitted.
To go back to the day war was declared, Sunday 3 September. We listened to the sad announcement by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, on the radio (or wireless, as it was called then), at 11 a.m. Shortly afterwards, the air-raid sirens sounded, and gas-masks were brought to the ready - nobody knew what to expect. It was a false alarm though, and soon afterwards we settled down for our Sunday dinner. Then Richard and I set off over the golf-course. It was completely deserted except for us two. At one tee, adjoining the road, we were taken to task and heartily condemned by a passer-by for indulging in a frivolous pursuit at a time of national catastrophe, but it is difficult to see how we could have helped by staying at home. With the departure into the Services of most of the greenkeepers, labour was short, and Richard and I volunteered to go over on Fridays and mow a few of the greens for week-end play, as did other members of the Artisans. Big shots among the Artisans in those days were Bill Steptoe, Cyril Moss (handicap 1), Alf Smith, Percy Clayton, and George Piggott (“I can’t never ketch ‘old o them shots, I can’t, no, not them shots”, speaking of the lofted chip.) I understand his feelings, because I am not much of a dab at them either.
My elder brother, John, went into the Army, the rest of us were still at school. Rationing began to bite; breakfasts were usually scrambled dried egg, dinners either sausage-meat or fish, and tea was bread and jam. We each had our own pot of jam (1 lb. / month), and we would sit miserably at teatime wondering whether or not to have another slice and keeping an eye on the level in other people’s pots. There was also some very dubious meat or fish paste about.
And so we made our way into 1940 and the end of my school career. I had by this time made up my mind to go to University and subsequently into teaching. There was no careers guidance in those times - you had to make up your own mind what you would like to do. I was accepted for Reading University, travelling in each day by bicycle (7 miles), and home in the evening, in all
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15
weathers. At this time I made the acquaintance of Ken Ablewhite, who had gone to the University the year before, and we used to do the journey together.
[page break]
[university shielf]
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
LOCAL EXAMINATIONS SYNDICATE
HIGHER SCHOOL CERTIFICATE
This is to certify that HENRY W WAGNER of Henley Grammar School
Passed the Higher School Certificate Examination in July 1940 having satisfied the general requirements of the examination and having reached the standards shown (Advanced, Ordinary, or Subsidiary) in the following five subjects:
French Ordinary
Geography Ordinary
English Subsidiary
Latin Subsidiary
Mathematics Subsidiary
Index number 570
Place of examination Henley
Date of birth 24 March 1923
[signature]
Vice-Chancellor
THE BOARD OF EDUCATION accept the examination as reaching the approved standard.
Signed on behalf of the Board of Education
[signature]
Assistant Secretary
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We used to leave home at 8 a.m. in order to arrive for the 9 o’clock lecture, work till 12.30, have lunch in the Buttery, work again in the afternoon (usually in the library, as there were no afternoon lectures), have tea in St. David’s Hall (tea, toast and jam, and a lardy cake), then work in the evening until about 8 o’clock. It called for a good deal of self-discipline – you could waste an awful lot of time if you were so minded. Geoff Dolphin, whom I have mentioned before, also joined us at the University. In the first year, I had to study four subjects, two of which would be subsequently dropped. I took French (Professor Dessignet[sic], Dr. Bowen, Miss Paton, Miss Dale), Latin (Mr. Cormack), Geography (Professor Miller and Miss Campbell) and Logic (Professor Hodges). This first year course was called Intermediate Arts. In the sporting line, I played rugby, and even did a bit of rowing.
In the summer of 1940, before going to the University, I worked on a farm with Ken Ablewhite. Labour was scarce, and farmers were glad of anyone who could help them out. The days were long and tiring, but the work was very satisfying, especially as there were a couple of lively land-girls working there as well – Pat Pepper (as hot as her name suggests), and Mary Kew. We indulged in turnip-hoeing, sheep-dipping, silage-making, and harvesting until it got too dark to work any more. Dick Green, the farmer, used to lend me a 12-bore when the corn was being cut, and I supplemented the meat-ration at home with quite a few rabbits.
At the University, the men all enrolled in the Officers’ Training Corps with a view to joining the Army. This was not at all to my liking, but I did it because everybody else did. Wednesday afternoons were given over to training, wearing Army uniform, and consisted of drill, weapon-training, tactical exercises, etc., under the supervision of Captain Gillett and Sgt. Major Warwick. After a few months, an Air Training Corps was started, and I thankfully transferred to that. Flying had always been a great interest of mine, and the A.T.C. was much more to my liking. The Commanding
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Officer was Professor Miller, with the rank of Squadron Leader, but he knew little about the Air Force. All the administration was done by a regular R.A.F. Officer, Flt. Lt. Jordan. He had been shot down in a Hurricane and was badly burned about the face. He was assisted by Sgt. Linton, a W/Op Air Gunner, who had been shot down in the desert and had walked back to our own lines. He mounted a Vickers Gas-operated machine-gun in the grounds, and always manned it when the sirens went, hoping for a crack at a low-flying German aircraft.
As I said, flying had always interested me, and I had my first flight five years before the war began. It was just a matter of good luck, as paying for a flight was obviously not on. Sir Alan Cobham’s air circus was due to come to Henley in 1934, and by way of publicity coupons were printed in the Henley Standard, the first to be drawn out to be awarded a free flight. I went round all the hours in the neighbourhood asking if I could have their coupons, and sent in a whole batch. One of them brought home the bacon. The flight was in an Armstrong-Whitworth biplane which seated about 12 people, and lasted for some 20 minutes, over and around Henley. The next flights were undertaken when I was in the University Air Squadron; Flt. Lt. Jordan used to put up a list in the week of those wanting to fly on Sunday afternoon. He allocated the flights as equally as possible. We flew in various 2-seater Miles aircraft from Woodley aerodrome.
After working at Dick Green’s farm in the summer of 1940, Ken Ablewhite and I bought a motorcycle each. I got a 150c.c. Royal Enfield two-stroke for £15 and Ken got a 150c.c. Excelsior for £17.10.0d. Neither of us had ever ridden a motorcycle before, so the dealer that we got them from took us into an alley that ran behind his yard and explained the process and let us have a go for a few minutes, then he turned us loose to ride them back to Henley, without any tax, insurance or driving licence. Now and again we used them to go in to the University, but not often, as there was not much petrol allowed on the ration. Before long,
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I changed my Royal Enfield for a 250c.c. O.K. Supreme, a 4-stroke, which was a great improvement.
[photograph of Henry]
Photograph taken for identification purposes on joining Reading University Air Squadron.
[photograph of Geoff Dolphin]
Re the photo of me taken for Air Squadron purposes:- a pupil at the Queen’s Girls’ School, Wisbech, saw it and said: “Cor, I wish I’d ‘a knowed you in them days, Mr Wagner.” I said: “What’s the matter with me now, then?”, and she said “Well, it aint the same, is it.” I signed, and said: “No”.
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[photograph] Family photograph taken in 1940. Me in the blazer, next to my brother John. Brian on the right and Richard on the left. [/photograph]
And so we move on into 1941, in the summer of which I took, and passed, the Intermediate Examination of Arts. I started keeping diaries about this time, and some of them are still to hand, so I have many reminders of details which I would otherwise have forgotten. I note, for instance, that the air-raid siren was a frequent occurrence, even in the daytime, but there was never anything near Henley. The nearest bombs, and they were only small ones, fell at Doble’s farm, Shiplake, about three miles away. In this second year at the University, I took up cross-country running, and was a regular member of the team. Matches took place on Saturday afternoons, usually with two other teams from other universities taking part. The distance was 8-9 miles, and I noted, on one occasion “going was easy at first, but rather hard after halfway, mainly over soaking boggy ploughed fields and wet muddy lanes.” The 1941 diary is remarkable to me now for the amount that I managed to cram into each day. While actually at the University, every possible moment was spent working, often until 9 p.m. or later. And yet I seemed to go to the cinema at least twice a week and play golf at least twice, with swimming canoeing and a multitude of other activities
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thrown in, particularly at week-ends and in the vacations. In the summer, I worked again with Ken Ablewhite on Dick Green’s farm.
In September, having passed the Intermediate Arts examination, I returned to the university for one more academic year, to take First Year Finals in the summer of 1942 – call-up into the Air Force was deferred until after that examination.
On 8 December 1941, the Japanese attacked the American fleet at Pearl Harbour, and thereafter a state of war existed between Japan on the one hand and America and Britain on the other.
After the Christmas term ended, I worked in the Post Office at Henley, sorting letters and parcels. Extra staff were always taken on in the run-up to Christmas, and the pay was very welcome.
In June 1942 I took First Year finals and reached an acceptable standard, studying French with subsidiary Latin. This left one more year to complete the degree course, but there I had to leave it. For me, that completed the upwind leg. The circuit had been planned out reasonably well and everything seemed to be in working order. I knew where I was going, barring accidents, attacks by Gremlins, and that sort of thing, but there was the matter of the war to be dealt with first, and this constituted for me the
[underlined] CROSSWIND LEG. [/underlined]
Towards the end of August 1942 (the month in which I got the only hole-in-one I have ever had, playing a friendly game on Henley Golf Course with one David Mitchell), my call-up papers arrived and I duly reported to the Aircrew Reception Centre (ACRC, known as Arsy-tarsy) at St. Johns Wood in London. After a medical along with other members of the University Air Squadron, we were moved to a big block of what were before the war luxury flats (although there was not much luxurious about them then) called Viceroy Court, at Regents Park, to await events. It was the normal practice for prospective aircrew to be sent to an Initial Training Wing (there was one at Ilfracombe), but since we had done our initial training in the University Air Squadron, we were spared that, and went to a holding unit at Brighton, billeted in the Metropole Hotel, right on the front,
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which had been taken over by the Air Force for the duration. While there, I had this photograph taken. They must have done a brisk trade at Empire Studies because all the Air Force personnel seemed to patronise them.
[photograph]
People say to me sometimes: “Why did you join up? You were of Irish nationality and therefore not under any obligation.” But I felt that this was now my country, and that the obligation did exist. Then they say: “Well, why volunteer for aircrew then?” But the adventure of flying always enticed me; I felt that that was a job I could do as well as the next man, and that therefore there was no excuse for chickening out. Admittedly, there was not much chance of coming safely out at the other end, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
After a fortnight or so, postings came through to various Grading Schools. These were elementary flying training schools where prospective pilots or navigators were given a 12-hour course on Tiger Moths. Most were hoping to be pilots, of course, but instructors decided on suitability. I went to Brough, near Hull, and came under the instruction of Flying Officer Rothbone (later killed when a pupil landed a Tiger Moth on top of the one he
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was taking off in.) I went solo after 9¾ hours, about the average time, and was graded as a pupil pilot.
From Brough, I went on leave, and then back to Brighton again, this time billeted in the Grand Hotel. The time there was spent in drill, P.T., signals, aircraft recognition, navigation, armament, and clay-pigeon shooting. After some three weeks there, we were warned for posting, and one night, left Brighton on a special train which drew out at 2.30 a.m., arriving at Heaton Park, Manchester, at 11 a.m. Heaton Park was where those on overseas posting awaited their draft to a ship, and was a miserable hanging-about restless sort of place. Manchester is a rainy place anyway, and this was in January 1943. It was usually fog-bound and gloomy, and I was in a billet in Salford, some miles from the camp, a damp dingy tenement. Thankfully, I was not there long before my draft came through, and proceeded by train to Blackpool. All those on draft were dispersed round boarding-houses with typical seaside landladies. Tropical kit was issued, so we knew we were off somewhere warm. Three kit-bags had to have numbers and names put on in Indian ink – ordinary, flying, and tropical. That evening, Lee was one of the first away for the evening’s drinking; Bassingthwaite never got away at all. The time at Blackpool was spent just hanging about waiting – attending lectures, drill, route marches, going to the cinema, and that sort of thing. Finally, after about three weeks, towards the end of February, orders came to move. We went by train to Liverpool, marched to the docks, and embarked on a troopship, the S.S. Strathmore, 23,000 tons, and got organised on board, initiated into the process of slinging hammocks. These were slung from bars in the ceiling, and were difficult to get into because they were inclined to throw you out again. Also, the bars were too close together, with the result that you head was looking directly across at your feet. I soon gave up hammock-slinging, and laid mine out on the floor, but I was on the lowest deck of all, below the waterline; one of the propeller shafts ran just under the floor and thumped – thumped away all night, so sleeping was not the rest it should have been. The next day, the ship set sail from the Mersey and headed out round the north of Ireland.
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The sea was green and rough; almost everyone was seasick, and the evening meal was tripe and onions swimming in milk. There were not many takers. Life on board was pretty leisurely – there were a few lectures, frequent action-stations practice, but most of the time was spent reading and talking, and just sitting in the sun as the weather got progressively hotter. The ship was not in convoy, but sailing alone with one destroyer escort. It went far out into the Atlantic, then turned east, and ten days later land was sighted, and we entered harbour at Freetown, where the heat was stifling. There were many other ships in the harbour. The destroyer released depth-charges outside the harbour, having presumably detected a submarine. Three days later, the ship put to sea again, and in another fortnight arrived in Durban, South Africa. We then went by train to the Imperial Forces Transhipment Camp at Clairwood, just outside Durban. South Africa was a new world to all of us, far removed from the austerity of England. There was no black-out, and the shops were full of things unobtainable at home. The first things I bought were a big slab of chocolate and a tin of sweetened condensed milk, both of which I consumed as soon as I got back to camp. I used to go to the cinema every day in Durban with Peter Taylor and Maurice Gregson, and often we went swimming. Only one other thing stands out in my mind about that time, which was an organised visit to the Lever Brothers soap factory. I have always enjoyed visits to factories – Huntley and Palmers biscuit factory in Reading, Fry’s chocolate factory in Bristol, the Tusker Brewery in Nairobi.
After some ten days at Durban, we entrained for a two-day journey up through the Drakensberg mountains to the high veldt, to get another holding unit at Nigel. This was on an aerodrome, on Advanced Flying Training School where pupil pilots trained on Oxfords. A week later, postings came through, and we were dispersed to various Elementary Flying Training Schools to train on Tiger Moths. I came under the instruction of a South Africa officer, Lt. Goddard, not the easiest of men to get on with and somewhat anti-British. Circuits and landings was the first part of the programme, for which
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We flew about 20 miles to Rietgat, [sic] a small auxiliary aerodrome, just a part of the Veldt fenced in by barbed wire. Apart from circuits, the flying was done from the main aerodrome at Kroonstad, Orange Free State. Eventually, I had a solo test with Lt. Hooper, and did two solo circuits, going on later to solo steep turns, spins and loops. Three thousand feet was the statutory minimum for loops, but I always went up to four, being a great believer in plenty of height. They always say that the two most useless things in flying are height above you and runway behind you.
When I had done 10 1/2 hours solo, an incident occurred with Lt. Goddard which put paid to my aspirations to becoming a pilot. We flew to Rietgat [sic] and carried out various exercises, then Lt. Goddard said: “Just do one solo circuit, Wagner, then we'll go back to Kroonstad. Don't take long over it, because I'll have another pupil waiting.” He took out his control-column, secured the straps, and off I went. As I said, it was a very small field, and as I came in over the wire, I could see I was too high, so I opened up and went round again. This time also I could see I was too high, and opened up again. I saw Lt. Goddard standing in one corner of the field waving his control-column in the air and obviously in a rage. The third time, I was on the high side again, but I thought to myself that I had to get down at all costs. The Tiger Moth ran and ran – having no brakes, I could not arrest its progress, and it stopped about two yards from the wire, too close to turn it under power. So I undid my straps, got out, caught it by the tail-skid, pulled it back a few yards, turned it, got back in, and taxied back to where Lt. Goddard was waiting. “Right, Wagner,” he said, “fly me back to Kroonstad and make a good job of it because it is the last time you'll be at the controls.” And regretfully that was the end of my pilot training. I was “washed out”, as the saying went, and was, of course, very disappointed. Within three days, I was on my way to Roberts Heights, Pretoria, where I was re-graded as a Navigator. The three weeks I spent there were just time-wasting, doing odd jobs and often going into Pretoria to the cinema, waiting for a vacancy at a Navigational Training School. Eventually, a posting
[picture of Tiger Moth “I could fly one of these before I could drive a car”.]
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came through to 43 Air School, East London, which was quite a long way off. The train journey was through some spectacular scenery, down through the mountains to the coast. This was an Initial Training School where the rudiments of navigation were taught. I was, in fact starting again from scratch. Here, I met Graham Walker, who had been at the University Air Squadron with me, and who had been graded as a navigator from the start, and we kept together. For the first three weeks, nothing much happened, and Graham and I spent most of our time in town, going to the cinema, or swimming in the Indian Ocean from Orient Beach. We did quite a lot of P.T., had a few rugby games and had a lot of rifle and ordinary drill. While doing rifle-drill one day, the Station Warrant Officer, W/O Barnett came out to watch. He was a big fat man with piggy little eyes, a most unpleasant character. Observing the manoeuvre “Put down-arms”, when the rifle had to be laid on the ground, he remarked: “you bloody lot remind me of a lot of Waafs getting down on a jerry”, and I thought to myself: “What a common man, what a low lad.” Eventually, the course proper started, with lectures on DR navigation, plotting, meteorology, armament, signals, radio-navigation, aircraft recognition, compasses, and astro-navigation. This was all very concentrated stuff, and lasted for ten weeks, ending with an examination.
At the end of the course, postings came through, and I went with two friends, Graham Walker and Dave Wright, on an overnight train journey down the coast to Port Alfred, a small town miles from anywhere. This was where the practical navigation was done, interspersed with lectures. We were billeted in tents. There was a beautiful beach, almost deserted, where huge rollers came in from the Indian Ocean, picked you up and tumbled you along through the surf. There were sharks outside the line of breakers, so you had to be wary about going any further out.
the Flying Training was done in Ansons, with South African Air Force pilots. Their Ansons did not have hydraulics on the undercarriage, and it had to be wound up by hand, which was an awful chore. All right letting it down though. On alternate flights,
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one was either first or second navigator; the first navigator was responsible for plotting, wind-finding, working out courses, ground-speed and time of arrival, while the second navigator did photography and obtained fixes and bearings using the Astro Compass (which was not a magnetic compass but more of a bearing-plate) – all very well in the clear daylight skies of South Africa, but not likely to be much use in Europe where the ground was mostly obscured by cloud and everything was blacked-out at night. Also the second navigator took sights on stars, using a sextant, but astro fixes were far from reliable. Sights had to be taken on two stars and the readings converted into position-lines, using the Air Almanac. It took about 20 minutes to get a fix plotted, by which time you were about 40 miles further on.
And so the course went on until the middle of December. There were written examinations in all subjects. The last flight was a long navigational exercise, from the eastern side of the country to the western, and was by way of being a celebration. Base – Uitenhage – out to sea – George – Oudtshoorn, - Youngsfield (just outside Capetown). We stayed two days at a hotel in Capetown, and were disappointed not to be able to go up Table Mountain, as the weather closed in. We flew back to Port Alfred, and that was the end of the course.
[Picture of The Lagoon, Port Alfred]
On 23 December 1943, the passing-out parade took place, and brevets were pinned on with all due formality.
[Navigators Brevet]
Sergeant’s stripes were sewn on later onto best blue, battle-dress and greatcoat. That evening, there was a flight dinner at the Bathurst Hotel in Port Alfred. The traditional services Christmas dinner took place on the 25th, all serving being done by the officers.
[Air School logo on menu]
43 AIR SCHOOL
PORT ALFRED, South Africa
Christmas, 1943
DINNER
Fried Stock Fish and Butter Sauce
Roast Turkey and Boiled Ham
Roast Potatoes
Boiled Potatoes
Green peas
Cauliflower and White Sauce
Christmas Pudding and Brandy Sauce
Fruit, Nuts, Sweets, Mince pies,
Beer
Toast: Absent Friends
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We left Port Alfred on Boxing Day, for the 2½ - day journey back to Clairwood Camp, Durban. There was the usual splitting-up of friends on posting, but by this time I was in company with Leslie Shawcross. This Shawcross had crashed on a low-level map-reading exercise, when the pilot flew too low and the aircraft skated across the countryside, so he had had a narrow escape, very nearly being yet another of the many thousands killed in training.
[photograph] ‘No. 5 Air Navigators Course’ [/photograph]
And so we move on into 1944. At Clairwood, we were members of the Sergeants’ Mess, and this was quite a luxurious place, with very good food and a bar. There was plenty of free time and no harassment, as we were just waiting for a ship back to England. We were not waiting long – on 6 January we embarked in Durban Harbour on the S.S. Arundel Castle, 19,000 tons. We were on an upper deck this time, sleeping in bunks instead of hammocks. Unfortunately for me, mine was the top of a stack of four, right under an emergency light which had to be left on all night and shone directly onto my face. Furthermore, a card-school gathered below and played all night, with frequent calls of “Twist”, “Bust”, “I’ll see you,” so sleep was intermittent. Life aboard was generally very leisurely, with the
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occasional gun-crew, look-out or messing duties, and most of the time was spent reading, talking or seeing cinema shows.
On 7 January, we were tugged out of Durban Harbour, and steamed around waiting for the convoy to assemble. On 12 January, we entered Mombasa Harbour; little did I know I would be there again 23 years later. We left that same day, headed out to sea and then turned north. On 17 January we entered harbour at Aden, left the next day and steamed into the Red Sea, and thence to the Gulf of Suez, where we anchored. Aircrew destined for the Middle East disembarked here, mostly South Africans.
A pilot, Flt. Sgt. Fillmore, lent me a book of Tennyson’s poems, which I enjoyed reading over and over again. My favourite was The Song of the Lotos-Eaters, and the most poignant is Crossing the Bar, which you will find at the end of this book. I have always liked reading poetry (proper poetry, that is, not what passes for poetry these days), and am quite happy reading again through old friends in An Anthology of Modern Verse. Think of all the philosophy of life wrapped up in this one:-
[centred and underlined] IF [/centred and underlined]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors[sic] just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
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Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Back to Port Suez – no, that wasn’t its name, it was Tewfik. Although the ship was anchored some two miles off-shore, an all pervading smell of burning tar and sulphur wafted out over us, its purpose being, so we were told, to counteract an outbreak of bubonic plague on shore. The ship steadily filled up with naval and R.A.F. personnel heading for home, and there was little room to move about. On 2 February, we entered the Suez Canal. About half-way along the Canal, it passes through the wide expanse of the Bitter Lakes, and it was the practice for north and south-bound convoys to pass each other at this point. There was a lot to be seen there – ex-Italian warships, submarines, flak-ships, army camps, gun-positions. All those aboard the troopship were able to indulge in the luxury of
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shouting abuse and obscenities at Military Police on guard at the gate of an army camp, about twenty yards away. The Canal is very narrow, and there was only about ten yards to spare on either side of the ship. At Port Said, after passage through the Canal, we took on oil and water from tankers, joined a convoy of four other troopships and three destroyers, and moved out into the Mediterranean. Torches and emergency rations were issued, as the northern coasts of the Med. were still in German hands and there was still enemy activity, although by this time the North African coast was in our hands. This coast was plainly visible to port, between Tobruk and Benghazi. Four days later, the coast of Sicily was sighted. The rest of the convoy went off to Italy, and the Arundel Castle was Stirling Castle entered harbour at Port Augusta. We left next day, joined a new convoy, and headed west, the next stop being at Algiers for one day. This was the last stop on the way home. We passed the lights of Tangier to port, went through the Straits of Gibraltar, round the north of Ireland and into the Mersey. Disembarked immediately, and proceeded by train to Harrogate. There was not much to be done there – kit inspection, medical, documentation – and at the end of February I went home to Henley on leave, for three weeks, returning to Harrogate thereafter.
After a few days at Harrogate, a posting came through to Whitley Bay, Northumberland. This was yet another holding unit. Aircrew were churned out from the training schools, then gradually moved up the line as vacancies occurred, heading inevitably for the squadrons – there was always an ample pool of trained men to draw upon. In Whitley Bay, we were billeted in ex seaside boarding houses, run by typical seaside landladies, and very sparsely furnished, food to match. There was much hanging about, parades, kit inspections, route marches, drill and lectures. On one occasion, even, I was detailed to dig the front garden of the boarding-house. I was not sorry to leave Whitley Bay.
The next posting was to an Advanced Flying Unit at West
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Freugh, near Stranraer, in Scotland. There was, of course, more waiting about while things got organised – lectures on the Browning gun, firing it on the range, dinghy drill, hydraulic systems of aircraft, flying control, night-vision, beacons and occults, radio procedures, astro, parachute drill, and “airmanship” (which covered just about everything). Here, I made the acquaintance of “Biff” Brewer, so-called because he was a keen golfer. Fortunately, the Sports Officer was also a keen golfer, and he often gathered together a few officionados and took us to Portpatrick Golf Club, where the professional had sets of clubs which he loaned out. It was a good course, along the cliff-tops, from where you could see Ireland across the water. There was a flying-boat base at Stranraer, and Sunderlands could be seen taking-off and alighting in the lough.
At West Freugh, these photographs were taken. They were intended to be handed to resistance groups in the event of being shot down, to aid in the preparation of false papers. These were known as [indecipherable word] photos.
[three facial photographs]
Flying training was done on Ansons on this course, an extension of the work done in South Africa, but under more difficult conditions. The weather was much worse, and on night-flying there were no lights to be seen, only the beacons and occults, and more use had to be made of radio bearings. The routes were generally N.W., over the Irish Sea, where there would be less traffic, a typical one being Base – Ayr - Rathlin Island (N. Ireland), - Dungannon – Peel (Isle of Man) – Base.
This course lasted six weeks or so, then the next posting was to an Operational Training Unit at Abingdon. There were talks
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on new aspects of navigation, such as navigating on the climb and descent, and on Gee, a radar device which enabled the navigator to get an instant and very accurate fix – no more need for getting position-lines and transferring them as necessary. There was much practice in plotting in the navigational trainer. There were also talks on the German Air Force, and other Intelligence matters, and on Escaping and Evasion.
At Abingdon, crewing-up took place. Twenty pilots, twenty navigators, twenty bomb-aimers, twenty wireless-operators and forty gunners were assembled in a hall and left to their own devices. It was up to each one to slot himself in, and in the end twenty crews emerged. My own crew consisted of :-
Warrant-officer Wilfred Bates – pilot (Newcastle)
Myself as navigator. (Henley-on -Thames)
Sgt. Leslie Roberts – bomb-aimer (Liverpool)
Sgt. Jack Jones – wireless-operator. (Lampeter, Wales)
Sgt. Thomas Worthington – mid-upper gunner. (Liverpool)
Sgt. Robert Thomas – rear-gunner. (Whitehaven)
There was no need for a Flight-engineer at this stage, as training was carried out on Armstrong – Whitworth Whitleys, which only had two engines. Later, on Heavy Conversion Unit, we were joined by Sgt. Eric Berry (Sale, Cheshire).
The Whitley was a heavy bomber in service at the beginning of the war, but since superseded. It was not a pleasant aircraft to fly in, being very cramped, cold, lumbering, and having no radar navigational equipment. Also it was very difficult to get out of in an emergency. The wing chord was very thick, the two wings being joined by a narrow tunnel across the fuselage, through which one had to crawl to reach the escape-hatch, encumbered by heavy flying-gear and a parachute-pack. It was engined by two Rolls-Royce Merlins. The Whitleys we trained on were tired and worn-out, and would not get above 12,000 feet.
As runways were being laid at Abingdon, we moved to Stanton Harcourt, a satellite for Abingdon, and flew from there.
[picture of Armstrong – Whitworth Whitley.]
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[photograph] Warrant-officer W.A. Bates. Pilot.
[photograph] Sgt. L.G. Roberts. Bomb-aimer.
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[photograph] Sgt. T.W. Worthington. Mid-upper gunner.
[photograph] Sgt. E. Berry. Flight-engineer.
The flights in the Whitley were, of course, longer than those in the Anson, a typical one being Stanton Harcourt, Newquay, Milford Haven, Stanton Harcourt, about 4 1/2 hours, including an hour or so on the bombing-range. One trip I have noted shows some of the difficulties that could be encountered : “Took off in fine weather 10.30, but ran into cloud half-way to Newquay. Started to descend, but the
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cloud got lower and thicker. Climbed to 12,000 feet, but icing started, so went down to 7,000 feet, still in cloud. Spotted a hole in the clouds, and went down through it to have a look. Identified position as Falmouth. Headed north, homed along the St. Eval beam, landed, and had dinner. Took off again 1500, and flew low along the coast, looking upwards at the cliffs of Hartland Point as we passed. Cut inland at Burnham and flew eastwards via Swindon through low cloud and bad weather, back to Stanton Harcourt.”
Apart from the long trips, there were many shorter ones, such as practice on the bombing-range and fighter affiliation, and quite a few navigational trips in Ansons while pilots were on familiarisation on the Whitleys.
The OTU course finished early in August; we returned to Abingdon, and a couple of days later went on leave. After leave, the next posting was to 4 Group Aircrew Training School, Acaster Malbis, near York. Being now in 4 Group meant that we would be operating on Halifaxes. Training School it might have been, but it was in fact yet another holding unit. Nevertheless, there were lectures on many diverse topics, such as broadcast wind velocities for bombing, pathfinder techniques, pyrotechnics, oscilloscopes, dinghy radios, hydraulic systems, German targets, flak, H2S, air-position indicator, homing on Gee, airborne lifeboat, - all good stuff.
The next move was to 1652 Heavy Conversion Unit, Marston Moor, near York. Here, we were introduced to the Handley Page Halifax, Mark III, on which we would be operating. Pilots had to learn the technique of flying a large four-engined aircraft, and the rest of the crew had to familiarise themselves with their positions in the aircraft and new equipment, as well as the general layout of the aircraft, such as flare-chutes, escape-hatches, oxygen equipment etc. The Halifax was engined with 4 Bristol Hercules sleeve-valve engines, and its all-up weight was some 30 tons. It did not quite match up to the Lancaster in performance and weight-lifting, but it was a good airman’s aircraft, solid, robust, and very dependable – it could take more knocking about than a Lancaster. It cruised at about 230 knots indicated airspeed when light, 210 when loaded. Fuel consumption was .9 air
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miles per gallon, and could carry about 5 tons of bombs, depending on the distance of the target. The bomb-load was usually mixed - perhaps one 2000 pounder, two thousand-pounders, four 500 pounders, and the rest made up of incendiaries, either 30-pounders or canisters of 4-pounders. The aim being to knock the target about and then set fire to it.
Here, we were joined by Sgt. Eri Berry, flight - engineer, and were now a complete crew of seven.
[photograph]
The first few Halifax flights were for W/O Bates to learn how to handle the Halifax and get used to doing so, including 3-engined flying, and for the bomb-aimer to drop practice-bombs on the range, so there was not much for me to do - just keep tabs on where we were. Even if lost, it was easy enough to get a Gee Fix and give a course for base. Air - to - air firing, for the benefit of the gunners, took place out to sea, beyond Flamborough Head. Flying was often cancelled through bad weather, or because of unserviceability of aircraft, since these were rather tired ex-operational aircraft, or ones
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which had been damaged by accidents. After about a fortnight of this sort of thing, the time came to venture further afield. The first attempt was a failure - Base S/C climbing to 16,00 feet - March - then the port inner engine packed up, so the propellor was feathered and we returned to base. It was another fortnight before we did a navigational trip again, the only flying in the meantime being night circuits. Much of the time in between was spent going into York to the pictures with one or more of the crew, or drinking in the Boot and Shoe or Spotted Ox at Tockwith, the nearest village.
A typical cross-country was Base - Darlington - Goole - Bury St. Edmunds - Market Harborough - Coventry - Nottingham - Base, but equipment of some sort often went wrong - one of the engines, Gee, H2S, DR compass - involving an early return. Sometimes we did not even get off the ground , as equipment proved unserviceable on being tested, or flying was cancelled at the last moment. If anything went wrong with the flying of the aircraft, there was a very efficient service known as Darkie (you couldn’t get away with that name nowadays.) The procedure was to call Darkie, and on enquiring the nature of the emergency , type of aircraft, whether heavy or light (i.e. bombs on or not), they would give a course to fly to the nearest aerodrome which could accept the aircraft, and monitor your progress to it. One such occasion reads “after 20 minutes, port inner packed up. Called Darkie, and landed 2125 at Bottesford, near Nottingham, a Lancaster Conversion Unit. Reported in at Flying Control, drew blankets, had supper, and turned in. Left 1340 the next day and flew back to base.”
At the end of the Heavy Conversion Unit course, the sausage-machine churned out the next, and final, posting, which was to 51 Squadron at Snaith, not far from Doncaster. We were now a fully trained crew, ready to be let loose on the Germans. All the crew were billeted together in a Nissen hut, which was shared with one other crew. Most of the daytime was spent in the Navigation Section or in the Bombing Section with Robbie, doing nothing in particular, playing draughts perhaps, or Chinese Checkers. The radio was always playing, a popular tune at that time being “Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar…..” I became heartily sick of that tune, and still dislike it even now. Another
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popular tune was “I hate to see that evening sun go down” (true enough), and, prophetically, “Don’t fence me in.”
The first few flights were familiarisation of various sorts - practice bombing, air-to-air firing, fighter affiliation. On the first flight, we did 3 circuits, then a tyre burst, so that was the end of that. On the first cross-country, which was up to Scotland, down to the Isle of Man and back to base, bad weather prevented us landing there, and we were diverted to Melbourne, returning to Snaith the next day. The next cross-country was Base - York - Belfast - Liverpool - Sheffield - Base, and was for practice in using the navigational aid H2S. If you will look back to the picture of the Halifax, you will see a bulge under the fuselage back towards the tail. This contained a rotating scanner. When radio waves were transmitted from it and hit something vertical, they were reflected back and showed as white patches on the appropriate receiver at the navigator’s position. Thus towns showed up extremely well and could be identified from a special map. Open ground showed up quite well; from water, there was no return. Controls on the set enabled the navigator to get his bearing and distance once the pinpoint was identified. Here is a photo of the H2S screen taken on a cross-country, while heading out over the Irish Sea. It says on the reverse “29.10.44 // 14,000 feet. 282˚ T. ISLE OF MAN. Range marker 10 miles. Sgt. Wagner.”
[photograph]
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The white patch towards the bottom is the northern tip of the Isle of Man. The white line going towards the left is the aircraft’s heading 282˚ True. The black line in the centre was over the northern tip of the Isle of Man when I took the bearing, which was shown on a rotating ring round the outside of the screen. The large circle was the range-marker, which I had set at 10 miles - 10 nautical miles, that is - we never worked in m.p.h. and statute miles, but knots and nautical miles.
Here is an example of a navigator’s log, and it gives some idea of how unremitting a navigator’s job was. An X means that the fix was obtained from H2S. The first fix is shown as X 173 YORK 13, which means that the aircraft was on a bearing of 173˚ from York, and 13 miles from the centre.
[missing photograph]
For the benefit of those of you who know nothing of the navigator’s craft, I will give a very brief description of the bare essentials. If you pointed a car at a destination on a limitless extent of tarmac, and proceeded at a set speed, you would arrive at that destination,
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and you would know how long the journey would take. Not so in an aircraft. The aircraft is suspended in a moving body of air, and where that air is going, the aircraft also goes, in the same direction and at the same speed, as when you have a goldfish in a bowl of water, so due allowance has to be made for wind speed and direction. “Well, once you know the wind speed and direction - - - - .” All very well, but first you have to find out what it is; then, it keeps changing, so you have to go on finding out what it is. Why does it keep changing? Imagine flying from A to B across an area of low pressure (see digram.) The wind-pattern in areas of low pressure is as shown by the arrows.
[diagram]
A comparison between where the aircraft actually is and where it would be if there was no wind gives the wind speed and direction, but it constantly needs updating.
Furthermore, the speed of the aircraft varied considerably through the air (and so over the ground), depending on height. Air becomes less dense the higher you, so there is less resistance to the aircraft flying through it. And density, of course, varies with the temperature - the warmer it is, the less dense, so temperature had to be taken into account as well. To complicate matters even further, aircraft on operations did not maintain a steady height for long; if they did, it would make matters easier for the Germans - they could inform their night-fighters of the height of the stream, and also fuse all their anti-aircraft shells for that height. So almost all navigating had
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to be done on the climb or descent. This meant that not only was the wind changing because of the particular weather pattern but was also different at different heights, as was the airspeed. So the navigator had to calculate and estimate what was likely to happen, without much hard information to go on.
Of course, on an operational sortie, the bomber-stream approached the target by a roundabout route, never heading towards it till the last few minutes, to keep the Germans guessing. Even then, it might divide say ten minutes before H-hour, and attack two different targets simultaneously, to divide the night-fighter force. There might be five or six different ‘legs’ to fly before reaching the target. Supposing the distance “out” was 600 miles, if you did not arrive within three minutes (early or late) of your allotted time, the Station Navigation Officer would want to know all about it. He would likewise be none too happy if at any time, “out” or “home”, you had strayed more than three miles off track. It was, of course, in your own interest to stay exactly on track – safety in numbers – night-fighters would prefer to catch solitary stragglers out of the main stream.
Pilots had a small route-map with the turning-points lettered, and I often got the query: “Pilot to navigator. Where are we, Wag?” and I would answer, for instance: “Leg[?] C to D, about 1/3 of the way along, on track, half a minute late.” It must have been monotonous for him sitting up there looking out into the darkness, turning as directed, but not having the faintest idea of how it was going or where we were. Although the bomber-stream contained several hundred aircraft, you never saw another one until in the vicinity of the target. You know all about navigation now, do you? Well done. As you appreciate, navigation was not on exact science, but more of an approximation. The art of the craft, if I may so put it, was to reduce the uncertainty and keep it within tolerable limits. Overleaf, you will find a letter taken from Picture Post, a popular magazine of the time, written by a member of a bomber crew, appreciating the navigator’s work.
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[newspaper cutting] The Key Man of a Bomber Crew
I am an American serving with the Royal Air Force, and have been serving since the outbreak of the war. Being a member of a bomber crew, and really knowing what goes on, I’m amazed at the way the British Press, including yourselves (“The Last Hour in a Lancaster,” May 15), refer to certain members of the crew as the “key man.” There is a “key man” in a bomber, but it isn’t the flight engineer, pilot, rear gunner, or wireless operator – it is the man whom Bomber Command refer to as the “key man”, namely, the navigator.
When we are flying over enemy territory, I often look at the other members of the crew (who, by comparison, are having an easy time), and then look at the navigator, who is working from take-off to landing. I realise then that it is from that map-strewn table that my destiny is controlled. The control column may be the nerve centre, but it is the navigation table that is the brain of an aircraft.
An Ally, R.A.F. Station, Somewhere in England. [/newspaper cutting]
To return to Smith, 16 November 1944. Woken 0740 by an airman and navigators were told to report to the Navigation Department for preliminary briefing for operations. This was so that navigators would know the target in advance (being warned to keep their mouths shut about it), and be able to get part of their work done beforehand. This consisted of marking turning-points, drawing in tracks on the charts, measuring the compass bearing of each and the distance, and seeing that everyone was in agreement. Then we had breakfast, at 0920, and went to the Briefing Room at 1000, with complete crews, for the main briefing, attended by the Commanding Officer (Wing-Commander Holford), Navigation Officer, Bombing Leader, Met. Officer, Intelligence Officer and Armament Officer. Afterwards everyone repaired[?] to the locker-room and put on flying gear. This consisted of inner quilted flying-suit, outer gaberdine suit, flying boots lined with lambswool, and parachute-harness. Contents of pockets were handed in, helmet, goggles and oxygen-mask picked up, as well as three pairs of gloves (woollen, silk, and leather gauntlets), microphone and intercomm[sic] lead. I carried the gloves only for use in emergency, in case of fire, and goggles for the same reason. If so desired, one could draw a revolver and six rounds, which I always did. You never knew when it might be needed; one of the great fears was coming down in the target area, where the natives would be vicious, and five rounds could be used on the Germans, the last one being kept for personal use. * So, with all this gear and parachute-pack and navigation bag containing all the necessary equipment (pencils, rubber, ruler, charts, Douglas protractor, dividers, Dalton computer), I repaired to the aircraft (C6A) together with the rest of the crew. We took off at 1250 and did a Radius
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Extract from “The Bomber Battle for Berlin”, by Air Commodore John Searby DSO DFC, published by Airlife Publishing Ltd, 101 Longden Road, Shrewsbury. [inserted in red] COPYRIGHT? [/inserted in red] [inserted] Applied for and granted. [/inserted]
Confidence in the skill of the navigator came only second to that placed in the captain: This aspect of the work of the crew has not always received the prominence it deserves, though somewhat earlier in this narrative I have made the statement that Bomber Command stood or fell by the quality of its navigators; and this is true. To be ‘lost’ over enemy territory was a frequent occurrence in the early days of the bomber offensive, as we have seen, but the consequences were nothing like so frightening as later on when the night sky was stiff with opposition. With a multiplicity of aids available after 1942 and in the context of a streamlined technique with Pathfinders to light the way there and back such incidents were few. However, on some occasions, when windspeed at altitude was unusually high, it could happen and could be damaging in the sense that security of the crew was impaired – seemingly – and those not in the know, such as the gunners, were entitled to feel anxious. We all took the navigator for granted – both captains and the remainder of the crew alike – he had the answers and was expected to produce them at the drop of a hat. A competent and confident navigator was a powerful factor for morale from first to last – courage, determination and the will to press on in the face of flak and fighters was one thing; but only the skill of the navigator could ensure that the effort was taken to the [indecipherable word] spot. The demands on his services were frequent, and we all heard with relief the familiar voice over the intercom on the way home: “Dead on track, Skipper – you should see the coastline in a few minutes – you can start letting down any time now.” A shaky navigator could be an uncomfortable thought in the minds of the rest of the crew – so much depended on him, and whatever the situation he must remain cool and capable of using his head quickly to calculate the new course to get us out of trouble. With punctured tanks, and the fuel running low, a single mistake on his
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part could result in a ‘ditching’ on a winter’s night with a rough sea below: likewise, he could run us over heavily massed defences such as the Ruhr perimeter by miscalculation. When the unexpected arose he was the first to be asked if we were still on the correct track and if not, then why not? Like the policeman – his lot was not a happy one.
And another reference later on:-
Navigators bore a heavy responsibility in getting aircraft to the target. Theirs was an unenviable task, subjected to a constant barrage of noise, working in the worst possible conditions, interrupted occasionally by enemy action and ‘nagged’ not infrequently by requests for information; they were expected to remain oblivious to all external alarms.[?]
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of action. This was necessary so that the whole squadron could set course over base at the same time. In order not to have a lot of aircraft milling about in the circuit at the same time, each navigator was given a track outward from base, towards the NW, each a few degrees different from one another so that aircraft coming back did not collide with any still outward bound. It was up to each navigator to determine his course to fly to maintain that track, and how long to fly it before turning to arrive over base at the appointed time of departure. In this case it was 1340, and the target was Julich, a small town not far from Aachen, only just inside Germany, being used as a supply and transit centre for the front-line forces, so we were not long over hostile territory. Bombing height was low, 10,000 feet. There was a little flak and no fighters. At the same time, a force of Lancasters was attacking Duren, a similar town a few miles to the south. It was an uneventful trip, but very effective, as this clipping from next day’s Daily Telegraph shows:-
[newspaper cutting] Two Rhine Towns Written Off
Photographs of Duren and Julich taken two days after they were attacked by very forces of R.A.F. bombers on November 16 show a close concentration of bomb craters almost without parallel in any previous attack by the R.A.F.
The centres of both these recently fortified towns, which were among the main defences of the Rhine, have been completely destroyed. [/newspaper cutting]
The following day, bombing photographs were on the board in the Intelligence Room. A camera was always operated a certain number of seconds after the bomb-release was pressed and took a photo of the point of impact. Our photo was in the centre, and enlarged, and showed the best strikes of the squadron, 200 yards from the centre of the town.
The second operation took place on 18 November, and was another daylight trip. The target was Munster. Navigators’ briefing was before breakfast, main briefing after. Took off 1245, radius of action, and set course 1325. Flak was light, no fighters were seen. Munster was covered by cloud. Concentration appeared poor on this attack. A word here about target-marking. There were two methods, Newhaven and Wanganui. Newhaven was used when the target was clear of cloud.
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Pathfinder “illuminators” would go in first and drop white flares, by whose light the second lot of pathfinders could identify the aiming-point. As near to this as possible they dropped the appropriate marker-flares. There were several different sorts – red shooting yellow stars, green shooting red stars etc. - and bomb-aimers knew which to look for. This did not give the Germans time to confuse the issue with their own flares some distance away. Most large German targets had decoy sites a few miles away where fires were often lit to simulate and attack, and these did a [sic] times attract a number of bombs. Wanganui marking was used when the target was obscured. Pathfinders dropped parachute flares upwind of the aiming-point, or rather upwind of the centre of the town. These burned for two minutes or so, and bomb-aimers aimed at them. This method was obviously not so precise as Newhaven, but it ensured a good spread of bombs, hopefully in the target area. Flares had to be continuously renewed throughout the attack. Always, some pathfinders were Wanganui-equipped, just in case the target could not be seen. So, after, at briefing, the instruction was: “Newhaven, with emergency Wanganui,” If all else failed, and nothing could be seen, bombs could be dropped by making use of the navigational device Gee. This was accurate to within 1/4 mile or so, and was therefore acceptable for this purpose. The bombsight was not used, and bombs were released on instructions from the navigator. Gee, however, could not be used on distant targets; it depended on signals sent out from England, and was susceptible to jamming. As one proceeded further away from the transmitting stations, the signals became weaker, and more difficult to identify, and on the cathode-ray tube gradually disappeared among all the clutter provided by the Germans. On some raids, a Master Bomber would orbit higher up, watching progress and giving instructions. There was a natural tendency for bomb-aimers to release the load a few seconds early, and this progression led to a “creep-back”, so that the Master Bomber had to advise a change of aiming-point. I heard once an instruction from
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him: “Apple Pie to main force. Bomb upwind edge of smoke.” And then later, when we were on our way home:” Well done, chaps. Now get off home and have your breakfast.”
On return from the Munster attack, Warrant Officer Bruce crashed in collision while waiting to land. After putting all the gear away, crews were de-briefed by specialist officers who took notes on how things had gone, and anything unusual that might have happened, and while this was going on, mugs of thick cocoa were provided, and tots of rum. I always took the rum neat, but there were some who tipped it into their cocoa, and almost unbelievably some who refused it altogether. After this second operation, we went on leave for ten days, during which Bob Thomas, our rear-gunner, got married.
Two days after return, operations were notified, the target being Essen, in the Ruhr. Navigators' briefing took place at 8 p.m., main briefing at 11. Took off 0226, radius of action, set course 0311. Usual route, base - Reading, - Beachy Head – over to France. Arrived over target 2 minutes late, bombed Wanganui flares 0539, arrived base 0823. De-briefing, breakfast, went to bed and slept till 5 o'clock. Heavy flak, some fighters in the target area, and this would be a suitable juncture to digress for a few words on flak. Intelligence knew where the heaviest concentrations of flak were, and aircraft were routed to avoid them, but there was no dodging it on the approach to, and over, the target. Bombing heights usually varied from 21,000 to 18,000 feet, different waves being allocated different heights. The Germans, knowing this, could only spread their shells about, barrage fashion, filling the sky with as much explosive as possible, in the hope of catching someone at random. The greatest concentrations were naturally north, west and south of the target, and it was not possible to avoid them. You could not go over the top because the aircraft, loaded, would not go high enough; you could not go round the outside because fighters lurked there, and anyway everybody would be coming in at different angles, causing collisions galore; you could not go underneath because of the risk of “friendly” bombs falling on you. So the only thing you could do was get your head down and run the gauntlet hell for leather through the middle, hoping that nothing
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had got your name on it. I only looked out twice over the target; it was like a fairground on Saturday night – target indicators, fires burning, photo flashes going off, anti-aircraft shells bursting, searchlights. After that, I just didn't want to know, preferring the scholarly calm of the “office.”
Here, I attach an account of the briefing for the Essen raid; you will see how much intricate organisation went into planning an attack. [account missing]
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Following the briefing and report on the operation, there are notes on some of the many devices used to outwit the Germans. References to “Window” may need some explanation. These were strips of metallised paper, cut to the wavelength on which German radar operated; each strip gave off briefly an echo on their cathode-ray tubes, the same as an aircraft did, with the result that their screens were hopelessly confused and it was impossible to pick out individual aircraft. It was first used in the fire-storm attacks on Hamburg, and vastly reduced flak casualties. There were two sorts, the broad and the narrow, the second working on night-fighter frequencies. Here is a strip of the narrow. [inserted]
The following night, there was an operation on Duisburg (docks and transport.) It was an uneventful trip. Took off 1640, radius of action, set course 1714. Base – Reading – Beachy Head – France – Duisburg. Surprisingly, flak negligible, no fighters. Bombed 2006 on Wanganui flares, arrived back at base 2340, supper, and into bed 0100.
The next operation was two nights later, on Hagen, in the Ruhr. Set course 1814. Over Reading, the port inner engine failed, so we went NE and jettisoned the bombs in the North Sea beyond Flamborough Head, and returned to base.
On Monday 4 December, there was a short local trip, down to Derby, followed by a blind bombing run on York, using H2S. A further word about H2S here. It was quite accurate on a fairly large target (provided it had been positively identified first – not much use though in a large conurbation such as the Ruhr.) The bombs were released on instructions from the navigator. I did not like using H2S for any purpose, and steered clear of it except in case of necessity. German fighters were known to home onto its transmissions, so I left it switched off as far as possible.
At this juncture, it would be appropriate to digress for a while (with your kind permission, of course), and describe briefly the modus operandi
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of the German night-fighter force. The ever-increasing activities of Bomber Command forced the Germans to withdraw large numbers of fighters from other fronts, so there were plenty of them about, mostly in Holland, northern France and western Germany. The single-engined types were Me 109’s and FW 190’s; the twin-engined were Me 110’s, Me 210’s, a small number of the later Me 410’s and most effective of all, Ju. 88’s which started out early in the war as bombers but were later converted largely to night-fighting. The single-engined aircraft operated on a system which the Germans called “Wild Boar”; they were vectored onto the bomber-stream and left to their own devices, to find and attack as best they could. The twin-engined operated on the “Tame Boar” system and came under close control from the ground; they were also equipped with radar, so that once they latched onto a target they were hard to shake off. The two standard methods of evasion were a violent “corkscrew” or a violent diving turn to port or starboard. Knowing that its presence had been detected, a fighter would often go and try its luck elsewhere, trying for a more unwary victim.
Now, if you had taken the trouble to read that list of various devices in the plastic envelope a couple of pages back, you would have noticed the one called Mandrel. Aircraft of 100 Group (Counter Measures), usually Stirlings (which were not fit for bomber operations because they could not get up very high), flew a “race-course” pattern out in the Channel, jamming the German Wurzburgs, which were long-range radar detectors. The Germans therefore knew that a raid was pending, but did not know where the main force would emerge from behind the screen. So they had two radio beacons a long way from each other, called Otto and Ida, and fighters orbited these beacons waiting for the main force to manifest itself, and when It did, half of them anyway were in the vicinity. It became the practice for the R.A.F. to insert a Mosquito among those orbiting these beacons, and he might be lucky enough to get a couple before they rumbled what was going on, and dispersed. At any rate, it made them nervous and threw them out of gear. This operation was known as a Mahmoud. There were many other operations designed to
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deceive and disrupt - a Mosquito would lurk near every fighter aerodrome, and catch fighters taking off or returning to refuel. “Spoof” raids would be taking place by smaller forces on widely-separated targets, or just several aircraft dropping target-indicators and then nothing else happened.
In the second half of 1944, the Germans hit upon the most effective way of dealing with a bomber once it was found and identified, so simple that it is amazing it was never thought of before, and it was a long time before anyone twigged what was happening. Early in the war, more aircraft, notably Wellingtons, had a turret underneath, but the fitting of these was discontinued, so there was no protection from below. Two tail-warning and downward-looking radars, Monica and Fishpond, were fitted, but these were removed when it was found that the Germans were homing onto them. Realising that they had a clear field from underneath, the German Fighter, invisible against the dark background below, would gradually increase its height until it was some 150 to 200 feet below the bomber, with the bomber silhouetted against the lighter sky above and its exhaust flames clearly visible. On the same course and at the same speed, the bomber was a sitting duck. German twin-engined fighters had a cannon sticking out through the roof, and the gunner could let rip with a no-deflection shot. They always aimed for the starboard wing-tanks, not the fuselage where there would be a risk of detonating explosives on board. Having thus set the aircraft on fire, they departed in reach of other prey. They carried no tracer among their ammunition, so that there was no give-away, and a bomber seemed to others round about just to catch fire for no apparent reason.
To return to Snaith. On Tuesday 5 December, the warning was given at 1130 for operations that night, the target being Soest, on the eastern edge of the Ruhr, which meant flying all the way round the industrial and heavily-defended complex. Main briefing 1415, out to aircraft, back for alterations to the flight plan, out to aircraft again, took off 1700 and set course 1800. Arrived over target 2 minutes late. Bombed on Gee, as the bombsight was unserviceable. Flak heavy over Hamm on the way in, light over the target. Arrived back at base 0200, a nine hour trip. Four
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aircraft went missing on this attack.
The following night, operations were laid on against Osnabruck. Took off 1600, set course 1625. Down to Reading at 2,000 feet, and saw Henley on the port side on the way. Passed over Reading bridge when workers were on their way home and the lights of vehicles were clearly visible. The sky was full of aircraft heading S.E. Climbed through icing cloud, proceeded on time over France and so to the target, one of the first aircraft in. Bombed on Gee. Out north over Holland, arriving back at base 2210, a six-hour trip. Flak very heavy over target. Eight aircraft missing from this attack.
The next day we did dinghy-drill in a reservoir, very cold, wet and muddy. On the 9th we did a practice flight, three simulated bombing runs of York, followed by practice-bombs on the range. On the 10th, roused at 0245 for operations, but cancellation came through after main briefing, the target being Bielefeld (presumably the viaduct.) This was laid on again next day, but cancelled again when everybody had got their flying-kit on. On the 12th, an operation was laid on against Essen. Flight-planning 1200, main briefing 1330. Took off 1600, set course 1620, bombed on Wanganui flares 1939, and arrived back at base 2200. Heavy flak in target area, as was to be expected over the Ruhr. Six aircraft failed to return. On the 15th, an operation was laid on against Dortmund, but later cancelled.
On the evening of the 17th December, briefing took place for an attack on Duisburg at 2230, then we had supper. Took off 0300 on the usual route via Reading and Beachy Head, and out over France. The weather deteriorated rapidly, wind velocity rose to over 100 knots, and the meteorological forecast was very wrong, so that the main force became widely scattered. Tried to make up a bit of time by cutting corners, but nevertheless arrived over the target seven minutes late. No marker flares were seen - with that wind velocity they would not have been much use, so we bombed using Gee. Soon after turning for home, we were set upon by a twin-engined fighter, which was driven off three times by our gunners. There followed a short interval when he seemed
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to have gone elsewhere, but such was not the case.
Here, I will digress once more (“what, again? Oh, all right then, if you must.”), and consider the possibility of surviving a tour of operations, I have already indicated that they were not very great. A tour consisted of 30 trips; average losses about 4%, therefore after 25 trips, a man was statistically dead, and therefore again the average man could expect to last 12 or 13. Some of course went on their first and some on their thirtieth, and obviously you needed a lot of luck on your side - it was not so much a matter of skill as of luck - a flak shell could catch any crew, no matter how skilful. As to the attitude of aircrews in general, there was a certain amount of fatalism involved, induced by the perithanatic situation in which they found themselves. I hope you will bear with me while I explain perithanatic for the benefit of lesser mortals than yourself. It comes, of course, from the Greek “peri” meaning ‘around’ (perimeter, peripatetic, periscope), and ‘thanatos’ meaning ‘death’ (euthanasia), and psychologists say that when in this situation there is an acceptance of what is going to happen and it ceases to worry. Personally, I never saw in others any evidence of fear - apprehension, yes, but not fear. When I say that the average man could expect to last 12 or 13 trips (i.e. rather less than half a tour,) this is borne out by the overall statistics of Bomber Command for the whole of the war - some 100,000 men flew with Bomber Command, and 57,000 were killed (i.e. rather more than half.) Today being Remembrance Sunday, I am reminded of a remark by Richard Dimbleby, commenting on the service at the Cenotaph: “Those that took the wings of the morning, or set their course by the stars into unimaginable dangers - - -.” The hazards were well enough known, though, “and their name was legion, for they were many.” - flak, fighters, mechanical malfunction, icing, cumulo - nimbus clouds and lightening, base fogged in on return, shortage of petrol, collision, fire, to name a few. In church the preacher, Canon [deleted] one indecipherable word [/deleted] [inserted] Hartley, [/inserted] an ex-prisoner of the Japanese, said: “I wonder how long Remembrance Day will go on. Until, I suppose, there is nobody left who remembers.”
To return to the situation in which we found ourselves. After
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three or four minutes there was a series of rapid thumps from the starboard wing, and almost immediately the Flight Engineer said: “Wilf, we’re on fire.” I looked back from my position down in the nose, and could see that there was a roaring mass of flame where the wing-root joined the fuselage and that the situation was obviously beyond control - burning petrol swilling in from the tanks, round the oxygen bottles, which would explode in due course. There was only one thing to do, which was to get out, and that right speedily, because one of two things was going to happen in a very short time - either the tanks would explode or the main-spar would melt and the wing would fall off. So even before the order came to abandon the aircraft, I was already buckling my parachute pack onto the harness. My seat, on springs, folded itself against the starboard wall when I stood up; I kicked away the legs of the navigation table, which folded itself down onto the port wall, leaving an open space on the floor with the escape-hatch in the middle. This was the way out for the three of us in the nose - myself, bomb-aimer and radio-operator. The mid-upper gunner would use the entrance - door half-way back down the fuselage, but the turret was difficult to get out of, and it took time. The rear-gunner would swivel his turret and drop out over the end, but again the turret was not easy to get out of, and furthermore his parachute pack was stored in the fuselage outside the turret. The pilot and flight-engineer would use whichever exit they could get at most quickly. I opened the hatch, raised it above the vertical, lifted it off its hinges, and dropped it through the hole. I then sat on the forward edge of the hatch and dropped through. A few words of explanation about how the parachute harness was designed. The pack was clipped onto two buckles on separate straps which came down from the shoulders and were attached to the main harness-straps by two pieces of string. The intention was that when the parachute opened, the string would snap, the pack would swing upwards, and you were left suspended from the shoulders. As I dropped through the hole, though, the pack
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caught on the rear edge, snapping the string, so that by the time I was in free fall, the pack was way up above my head, and to make matters worse the release-ring was facing backwards, so that I had to scrabble about to find the release-ring behind the back of my head. It was a relief, therefore, when there was a violent jerk as the parachute opened, and I was safely on the way down. The aircraft had been at a height of 14,000 feet, and the descent would take about 1/4 hour. After a few seconds, there was a whoomph as the tanks blew up, and I did not know whether anybody else had got clear. There were flashes of light and a rumbling in the distance, which I took to be thunder, but realised later were anti-aircraft fire, also, it was raining hard. As a factual observation, and with no intent to blow my own trumpet, there was no feeling of fear or panic in me - fear only comes when one has an alternative, and in this case there was not one, there was only one thing to do - rather a feeling of annoyance that when I got down I was going to be caught and stuck inside for the rest of the war. One of the advantages of being the navigator was that I had a pretty good idea of where we were; I knew we were over the British side of the lines, but knew also that there was a strong westerly wind which would probably carry me back inside Germany. If you take an average wind-speed on the way down of 80 m.p.h., I was going to drift some 20 miles. It was about 6.30 a.m., and still dark - perhaps just a hint of daylight - “dawn’s left hand was in the sky” (Omar Khayyam) - so I could not see where I was going to land, and in fact plunged down through branches of a tree and hit the ground. The advice was that when you landed, you were supposed to roll your parachute up and hide it. I realised that this was not on, as it was draped over the tree; furthermore, it was an apple - tree in the back garden of a house, and the curtains in one of the bedroom windows parted and a face peered out. So I took off my life - jacket, dumped it, and went down the side path and out of the front gate. Turning left, I heard the sound of marching feet approaching, so I turned right, and in a few minutes was out of the village and in open country. It was now getting light, and the thing to do was to find concealment wherein to [deleted] ly [/deleted] lie up for the day. Soon I found a wood of fir trees, and took
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refuge. First, judging by the sound of gunfire from the west, I knew I was in fact inside Germany. Then I examined the contents of my evasion-pack. This was a flattish plastic box, slightly curved to fit inside the thigh-pocket of a flying suit. It contained a map on silk, razor, rubber water-bottle with a packet of Halazone water-purifying tablets, energy tablets, Horlicks tablets, barley-sugar and chewing-gum, also a small compass of about 1” diameter. And there was a small slab of nut toffee.
My clothes were by this time wet through, and it was cold as well, so I did not have a comfortable day. Set off walking south, as soon as it was dark, keeping clear of the roads and going across country, over ditches full of water, through fences. The intention was to walk into France where I might make contact with the Resistance, and knowing the language would be a help. At daybreak, heavy rain came on again. Hid in a small fir plantation, after taking off wet flying-suit and boots, but could not sleep due to cold and general discomfort. Children with their mother and a couple of dogs passed within a few yards of me, but apparently did not see me. I ate three Horlicks tablets, one piece of toffee and a piece of barley-sugar, which I planned to be my ration for two weeks. It was a bad time of the year for evasion, there being nothing in the fields in the way of berries, fruit or vegetables. I drank from streams or troughs, using the water-bottle and purifying tablets. Set off again at dusk and walked till about 4 a.m., then came across a barn and stepped inside. As soon as it was properly light, I saw that there was a loft full of hay, with a ladder leading up to it, so I went up there, took off wet flying-suit and boots, stuffed them with hay, burrowed well down, and went to sleep. Not that stuffing them with hay did any good – they were still wet and cold when I put them on again. Pushed on again when it was dark, over the waterlogged fields. At daybreak I saw what appeared to be a dilapidated farmhouse, and I approached it with the intention of sleeping therein. It was occupied though; a middle-aged woman came out, and must have recognised me for
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what I was. Obviously, though, she was not in any position to cause trouble; I followed her inside and made sure there was nobody else in residence. She indicated I was to sit at the table, and gave me a few small apples, two slices of bread and two cups of coffee. It was by now broad daylight, so after leaving, there was not time to look for a good place of concealment[?]; the best I could do was a copse with wet brambles in it, so I hid up there for the day, although it was only half a mile or so from the farmhouse and one could expect the German woman to alert the authorities. There was not much sleep that day because I kept waking up with severe cramp, induced no doubt by wearing wet clothes for so long. I decided it was no use going on south, the distance being too great, so I turned back north towards Holland. The reasoning was this :-
[diagram]
There was no way of getting through the lines by going due west – anyway, the River Rhine was in the way, and that would be well-guarded. However, the British advance northwards into Holland had been very rapid, and looked like continuing, so I thought I would head NW round the corner in the lines and either hide up or maybe fall in with the Dutch resistance until the fighting moved on further north. An outside chance, but any chance is better than none.
That night, 21 December, it rained hard again. Towards dawn, I wandered about looking for somewhere dry to sleep. Stayed for a while in a shed beside the road, then it stopped raining so I carried on for another three miles. Found a stack of loose straw, so I dug some out and made a cubby-hole in the side, climbed in and went to
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sleep for the day. Got out at dark, put on flying suit and set out again. That night, it froze, and my flying-suit, being wet, froze stiff and the zips would not work so I could not get at my ration-pack. Suffered pains from cramp again. Walked all night, breaking ice on puddles to drink from. By this time, for various reasons all added together, I was getting light in the head and not thinking very clearly. I came to a railway embankment and climbed up. When I got onto the track, I thought: “This is stupid, all I have to do is walk along till I come to a station and get a train home.” So I turned left and walked along the track for about 20 minutes; seeing the lights of a station ahead, and hearing voices, brough me to my senses, so I got down off the track and pushed on. At daylight, bedded down in a partly-cut wood of fir trees. American bombers passed overhead. Pressed on again at night, and without thinking what I was doing, went through a village instead of skirting round it, as usual. At the far end, there was the click of a rifle-bolt, and a voice: “Halt, wer da?”, so I knew that was the end of my run. “Englische flieger,” I said, and the reply came: “Hande loch[?]”. I had run into a sentry-post. The soldier approached and indicated with his rifle that I should go into the post, which was a dug-out about ten feet square, entered by going down some steps. In it, there was a table, a chair, a bench, and it was heated by a wood-burning stove and lit by a pressure-lamp. The sentry was an oldish chap, well-meaning and obviously not one to make life difficult – he didn’t want any trouble, and I was in no state to give him any anyway. I patted the chest of my flying-suit and said: [five foreign words] and he indicated I should put it on the table, meanwhile keeping me closely covered with his rifle. He indicated also that anything else in my pockets should be put on the table. After that, the atmosphere became less strained, and he provided me with a bowl of soup. Then, seeing my clothes were wet, he told me to take them off and he hung them in front of the stove to dry, giving me his
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blanket to wrap round myself, and indicating that I should lie down on the bench and go to sleep. In the morning he permitted me to shave, using the razor from my evasion-pack, and then gave me a slice of bread and some of his meat-paste. As I said, not a bad old chap at all. By this time, his relief had arrived, and being apprised of the state of affairs, went to fetch another man. With this new man and the old original guard, I walked 8 km. to a fighter aerodrome at Alpen. This was on Christmas Eve. I was taken into the Officers Mess and subjected to all sorts of questions (but not of an operational nature) by those gathered therein. None, as it happened, could speak English, but one spoke French, and he translated for the rest. He asked how many times I had been over Germany, and when I said “eight”, he said that was nothing, he had been over London 66 times. They were interested in my flying gear, and also in the contents of my evasion pack. They gave me some of their dinner, which was a sort of spaghetti bolognese, but I was shunted aside into an alcove to eat it on my own. I was then handed over to their Service Police and made to sit on a stool in the middle of the room, watched over by a surly individual with a rifle. After several hours of this, my back ached, so I moved the stool against the wall, but an outburst and rifle-waving indicated I should stay where I was put. That night, I slept down in a warm cellar, locked in.
The next morning, that is on Christmas Day, I left Alpen with one guard; we walked five kilometres, then got a lift in a car to the nearest station and went by electric train to Dusseldorf. This was one of the R.A.F.’s main targets, and was much knocked about. On the platform I noticed a rat-faced little man going from person to person, talking to them and indicating me with a nod of the head. A few started drifting in my direction, and I didn’t like the look of things at all, but the guard saw what was happening as well and unshouldered his rifle, which caused them to lose interest. Bomber-crews were known throughout Germany as terrorflieger – (terror-flyers), which
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I used to think was unfair, as we were only going about our lawful business, and I don’t suppose German Airmen considered themselves as terrorflieger when they were bombing English towns. On the other hand, one can understand the attitude of civilians. The carpet-bombing of German towns was aimed at breaking the will of the nation as a whole to continue the war, by means of terror and destruction – any factories, military installations or transport facilities were a bonus unless they had been specially pinpointed for attack.
We waited for an hour in the waiting-room, then got a train to Frankfurt-am-Main, via Hagen and Giesen; Giesen had at one time been subject to attack, as the sidings were littered with smashed goods-wagons. It had started to snow by this time, and it was bitterly cold in the train. Civilians sitting opposite were much interested in the nature and qualify of my flying-gear, especially the boots. On detraining at Frankfurt, we walked a few km. to the Aircrew Interrogation Centre at Oberursel and I was handed in to official custody. My flying-gear was all taken away, except for the boots, and I was shoved into a cell in solitary confinement. The cell measured about eight feet by four; there was a bench along one wall with a blanket, a small barred window high up, and a light which never went out. There was a radiator below the window which came on at times during the day, but was off at night, so that it was hard to sleep because of the cold, and to make matters worse, footwear was taken away at night. There was a spyhole in the door, and beside the door, a handle. To go to the toilet, one pulled this handle, which caused a signal-arm to clang down in the corridor outside; this brough along a guard who escorted one back and forth. Outside each cell was a box containing sheets of toilet-paper; the first time, I took two sheets, but it was made very plain to me that the standard ration was just one. Hard luck on anyone who happened to be suffering from a common prisoner-of-war complaint known as the squitters or
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screamers. The daily allowance of food was four slices of bread, one plate of soup and two cups of warm weak coffee without sugar or milk. I presume the object of this solitary confinement, without seeing any one else and with absolutely nothing to do was a sort of weakening-up process, to make one more willing to talk when the time came for interrogation. It didn't bother me a lot, though, as I have always been somewhat solitary by nature.
After two days, I was taken out in the evening and up to a comfortably-furnished softly-lit room, smelling richly of cigar smoke, where an officer started off with general small-talk, then came to Air Force matters. The Geneva Convention states that all a prisoner is obliged to do is give his number, rank and name, which I did. He asked how long it was since I was shot down, and I saw no harm in answering that correctly, but when he said “That would be the night of an attack on Duisburg”, I thought I had said quite enough, and when he asked about squadron number and type of aircraft, I said: “You know I can't give details such as that, sir.” He persisted for a while with other questions, then gave up, and I was taken back to the cell for another couple of days, returning to the same interrogation room and interrogating-officer as before. This time, the approach was somewhat different. He began by remarking on the fact that I wore no identification discs. There were two of these, one round red one and one oblong green one with the corners clipped off. The were made of some sort of fibre, and the red one was fireproof. They were normally worn round the neck, but the string on mine had broken the day before the last flight, and I was intending to renew it when I got back. The dialogue went something like this:-
“There are two things that worry me about you, Sergeant Wagner. Here we have one single man in R.A.F. uniform who cannot, or will not identify himself, and who moreover claims a German name. How do I know you are who you say you are? Some details of your last flight might help to clear things up.”
(I could see what he was getting at – a veiled threat – but I
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explained the matter of the identity-discs, and said I could say no more.) He continued: -
“The second thing is that here we have an airman who has been wandering about in Germany for six days, claiming to have been shot down, but we have no others of the crew, and to crown it all, no wreckage of an aircraft that he came from. How do you explain this?”
“I jumped out over Holland and drifted back into Germany on the way down. Presumably the aircraft disintegrated over British-held territory.”
“Well, as it happens, Sgt. Wagner, I know more about you than you think. You come from 51 Squadron, Snaith, flying Halifaxes. The Commanding Officer is Wing-Commander Holford, and.....”(He went on to name the Navigation Leader, Bombing Leader and Signals Officer.) “You see, I have had other crews from 51 Squadron, and they have said more than you are saying. Now, what I would like to know are what operations you have been on, and what was your route and height to Duisburg. And what was the bomb-load.”
“The bomb-load was no concern of mine – I don’t know what it was. The height varied continually, and I can’t remember the exact routeing. Even if I could, the Geneva Convention only permits me to give Number, Rank and Name.”
At this stage, he desisted, and I was returned to my cell. I was roused at 2 a.m. and given a piece of bread and a cup of coffee. Departed 4 a.m., and walked with about fifty others, mostly Americans, to the station. Waited about for two hours in the cold, then went by train to Wetzlar, not a long journey, about two hours. Marched 4 km. to a camp, searched, given a P.O.W capture-parcel, and allocated a billet in a room of 3-tier bunks containing some 20 men. The Capture-parcel was a small fibre suitcase containing pyjamas, towel, socks, shaving-kit, soap, darning-holdall, toothbrush and toothpaste, comb, chocolate,
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and pipe and tobacco or cigarettes, and came by courtesy of the Red Cross. I dumped this on my bunk, stood up, and recognised the man in the bunk above. This was John Trumble, whom I had done some of my training with in South Africa, and we remained together through the hard times that lay ahead. His face lit up, and he said: ”Waggie!” and I said: “Hello John. A right old turn-up this isn’t it?” He had no other members of his crew with him either, so we teamed up. We spent six days altogether at Wetzlar, which was what would be called, I suppose, an Aircrew Disposal Centre, always cold and hungry, and that took us over into January 1945.
I stayed together with John through many difficulties for the rest of the time in Germany and returned to England with him. I stayed with him for a few days in the summer of 1945, then unfortunately we lost touch with each other, as so often happened in those days. It should not have happened, but it did. I often wondered what had become of him, and after writing the above, resolved to make a determined effort to find him. I knew his address was, in those times, Pottene Park Farm Devizes, but he had no connection with the farm, just lived in a rented cottage there. I thought of writing to the present occupier of the farm, asking him to send my letter on if John was still local, or perhaps he could look in the local telephone directory and see if he was listed. Then it dawned on me – “Phone directory, that’s it”, the library in Wisbech having directories for the whole country, about sixty of them. So I waded through some forty directories, and found several A. Trumble’s, but by a bit of good luck John always used the whole three Christian-name initials, A.H.J., and I located him in a village near Truro. If his name had been Smith or Jones, this method would not have been practical, of course.
There follow now some extracts from a diary I kept at the time, with some notes where further explanation is necessary.
5 Jan. 1945. Posting-lists up in the mess-hall. I am going tomorrow with John to Stalag Luft 7, Bankau, Silesia.
6 Jan. Marched down to station in the afternoon, after being searched and given
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a packet of chewing-gum each. Entrained in 2 cattle-trucks, 25 to a truck. One Red Cross parcel between 2 issued for journey. Half the truck occupied by guards.
7,8,9 January, on the train.
10 Jan. Detrained 0800 and walked up to the camp through deep snow. No greatcoats. Searched. Got a billet with John, & we got organised in a combine with 2 others for food-parcels and meals. Filled a paillasse with wood-shavings.
11 Jan. 1 Red cross parcel per man per fortnight promised, and reasonable German rations. First parade 0915 & the other at 1615. Quite a good library. Snow on the ground all the time, and very cold. Got greatcoat. Walked round perimeter track occasionally.
14 Jan. Went to church service in the evening. (The camp padre was an Army officer, Captain Collins. Air Force padres were, in the nature of things, unlikely to be captured. Captain Collins was a remarkable man, but more of him later. A very large proportion of prisoners attended church services, not I think because there was nothing else to do but because a belief gave a man something to hold onto in difficult times.)
One evening, there was a Russian Air-raid in the vicinity of the camp. I had just put margarine and honey on a slice of bread when the sirens went and the lights were put out, so I put it down on a stool and went to look out of the window. When the lights came on again, no bread. Accusations of theft, but everybody denied responsibility. Then I saw a mangled piece of bread stuck to the rear of another man’s trousers. I scraped it off and ate it.
18 Jan. Warned to be ready to evacuate the camp as the Russians were getting close. Packed case, packed as much food as we could, and wolfed the rest. I was ready to carry case, food parcel, and blanket wrapped round neck. Had to wear flying-boots as no ordinary ones were available. (These were lambswool lined, loose-fitting, and not designed for walking.) Very close Russian bombing. Sleepless night, as we had to be ready to move off any minute.
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(By this time, I had been issued with this identity-tag, and was officially “on the books.” In the event of death, the lower half was broken off and kept for records, the other half was buried with the body.)
[inserted]
19 Jan. Departed 0500 in bitter weather, after hanging about in the cold for a long time. Marched all day, 27 km. to Winterfeld. Had to eat snow as no water was available. spent the night wedged in a very small barn – hardly slept at all.
20 Jan. Wakened 5 a.m. and set off again. Marched all the morning, 12 km. to an abandoned brick-factory at Karlsruhe. Warm and dry. Had something to eat, a brew of coffee, then went to sleep. Feet very bad with blisters, so tied boots on with wire. Started dragging case inside the lid of another abandoned one, towing it along with a bootlace. Much kit jettisoned by the side of the road. Left 2000, as the Russians were getting close again. Marched without stopping all night.
21 Jan. Crossed the Oder 0500 – bridge mined, ready to blow up. Stopped in a village, but no accommodation was available, so pressed on another 5 km., making 41 km. in all (i.e. 25 miles). Many chaps dropped out during the night because of bad feet and exhaustion. Arrived Barrkwitz 1100. Got bed-space in a barn and had something to eat. A bull charged in scattering everybody. When it was ejected, went to sleep.
22 Jan. Roused 0300, as Russians were still pressing on Issued with a few carraway biscuits. The Germans had a bit of a job getting the chaps moving again, and there was some shooting. Pushed on 16 km. to Jenkwitz, arriving at noon. Moved some cattle out of a barn and got a bed-space organised. Warm, but very damp and smelling strongly of cattle. Ration 1 cup of coffee, 1/2 a biscuit and marge.
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(Coffee issued by the Germans was made of acorns roaster and ground up, and with milk and sugar from Red Cross parcels was not too bad at all.)
23 Jan. Left 0900. Marched 25 km. to Wassen[?]. Small bread issue and 1 cup of soup.
24 Jan. Spent the day at Wassen[?] trying to get some rest.
25 Jan. Left 0600 and marched 27 km. (17 miles) to Heidersdorf.
26 Jan. Stayed the day at Heidersdorf. Ration 2/5 of a loaf, and marge.
27 Jan. Left 1100 and marched 24 km. to Pfaffendorf, arriving at 1700. Small barn, wretched cramped bed-space, underneath a ladder – grain falling down from above all the time. Made up a double bed with John.
28 Jan. Left 0400; did 22 km. to Stansdort, in bitter weather, a fierce cold wind and driving snow. (You could rake your finger-nails down your face and not feel a thing, a real blizzard.) Arrived noon, dead-beat. Ration 4 biscuits and ½ cup of soup. (The German soup was watery in the extreme. There were two varieties – a) made from shredded dried turnip, and b) a less popular variety made from a very dark green cabbage of some sort, like spinach, known to the consumers as Whispering Grass, after a well-known song at the time.) Cold uncomfortable bed-space. Left 1830, still dragging case – nothing jettisoned. Collected 2 packets of hard biscuits (8 in all) outside a town after 3 km. Walked all night through a fierce blizzard – heavy snow, roads sometimes blocked, so had to clamber through drifts. Much transport abandoned. Many more chaps dropped out during this night.
29 Jan. Very heavy going. Slow halting freezing march. Arrived Peterwitz 0200 in an exhausted condition. Got a good warm ample bed-space; made a double bed with John and turned in, too tired even to wait for soup from the field-kitchen.
30 and 31 Jan. Spent at Peterwitz, resting.
1 Feb. Left 1000 and did 17 km. to Prausnitz.[?] Snow thawed half way, so had to start carrying case, and found it very heavy. Small dirty farmyard, absolutely crowded. However, got a good dry bed-space upstairs
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in a barn, by a water-cistern. Much brewing of coffee and porridge on fires in the farmyard. Soup twice a day from the field-kitchens.
[underlined] 2, 3, 4 Feb. [/underlined] At Prausnitz. On the evening of the 4th, issued with marching rations – 1/3 loaf, 1/3 tin of liver-paste, & some margarine. Although you could not style our progress as “marching” – we shambled along in a dejected shabby column, with German guards along the sides accompanied by Alsations.
[underlined] 5 Feb. [/underlined] Roused 0400; left 0700 and did 7 km. to Goldberg. Slight rain. Stole some sugar-beet along the way and gnawed at it. Packed into cattle trucks at the station, 55 men to a truck, and locked in. (These trucks, common on the continent, bore the legend 40 hommes, 8 chevaux, so we were well over the limit. There was not even enough room for everyone to sit down. There was a small barred window in each corner, also one large tin for toilet purposes. The vicinity of this tin was not rated very highly.) Travel slow, with many long halts of 7 to 8 hours.
[underlined] 6, 7, 8 Feb. [/underlined] On the train. Very hungry. Ate some spoonfuls of flour, barley and sugar mixed, from a cocoa tin. No water. Bought a crust of bread from Eddie, which he found beside the track, for tobacco.
9 Feb. Arrived at Luckenwalde, 23 miles S.W. of Berlin, 0800, feeling very weak. Marched 5 km. up to the camp, Stalag IIIA. Much hanging about. Brewed coffee. Queued up all the afternoon and had a hot shower. Got a billet with John – not too bad a position, on the floor on wood-straw, underneath a window. Warm and light anyhow, and room to stretch out. Porridge and potatoes from the Germans and a cup of soup from our own field kitchen.
10 Feb. Changed into pyjamas and washed dirty clothes. Had a shave.
11 Feb. German rations 1/6 loaf, 5 potatoes, 1/3 litre of soup, and German tea in the morning and evening. (This tea was a herbal mixture, and with milk and sugar made a reasonable drink. A count was held in the mornings early, to find who wanted their tea brewed and who wanted the mixture dry, to smoke – it was just like herbal tobacco. The potatoes were grown in a field near the camp, the crop being fertilised with the contents of the latrine (or “abort” in German), and were boiled in their skins.)
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[Newspaper cutting from “The Prisoner of War” dated May 1945, detailing the journey of prisoners to Stalag Luft VII and the conditions in Stalag IIIA, Luckenwalde]
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68.
12 Feb. Wrote home. (This letter, however, did not arrive.) Bad attack of dysentery, which made me even weaker – nearly everybody had it. (This was brought on by eating raw or undercooked food, insufficient bulk, the freezing conditions of the march, and by general weakness and lack of resistance. For the first few days at Luckenwalde, everyone just lay on the floor, listless and apathetic, except for occasional dashes to the abort – not everyone made it in time!)
14 Feb. Usual day, weak with hunger and dysentery.
16 Feb. and thereafter, a succession of wretched days, very little food. Listened to BBC news brought round and read out daily in each barrack block, received on an illicit radio. This was known to the Germans, but they failed to unearth the set. Anyway, even if they did, there were others in reserve. Shaved and washed once a week. Two roll-call parades in the freezing cold every day, between 30 minutes and an hour each.
[photograph of the bunks]
Three-tier bunks of the type encountered at [indecipherable word] prison camps such as Bankau. At Luckenwalde we just lay on the floor.
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[photograph of ‘feeding quarters’]
Feeding-quarters for a “combine” of six.
[photograph] Luckenwalde. Bringing up one barrock-block’s daily ration of soup. The tub was known as a “keevil”. Blankets airing on the barbed-wire. [/photograph]
This was not the outer perimeter of the camp – there was the no-man’s land of some 50 yards, then the proper fence interspersed with towers (known as “goon boxes”) occupied by machine gunners. The term “goon” was used slightingly of all Germans, named after a comic-strip of the time – The Goons were a stupid shapeless lot of sub-humans. All
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Germans were treated with contempt by R.A.F. Prisoners.
[photograph of prisoners exercising}
Prisoners from the “cooler” at exercise. The usually got there for insulting the guards.
[photograph of soldiers in compound]
American compound. The Americans were late arrivals; all the huts were occupied, so they were accommodated in tents.
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[photograph of soldiers cooking]
Americans operating their cooking-stove, known as “blowers” or “Smokey Joes”, worked by means of a forced-draught propelled along a tunnel by a fan. All made from good-tins and pieces of wood. John's and my Smokey Joe stood on a base detached from over the doorway to the abort. The abort, by the way, was in a long hut, wooden box-like structures, perforated at suitable intervals, over a deep trench, and accommodating about 30 people. It was a social meeting-place and the centre for gathering and passing on rumours.
27 Feb. On fatigue. Slept last night fully dressed because it was so cold. Up 0600, in the dark, collected keevil and went down for tea. Parade. Breakfast. Another parade for blanket inspection. Had a wash and shave in cold water in a dirty wash-place. Afternoon roll-call 1700, then a Red Cross parcel issue, one between four, which greatly improved morale. Shared it out and had some real food. Then the sirens went and the lights went out, so turned in.
Parcel issue was not usually as convenient as this – it was often one between seven or one between nine, which made sharing difficult. Some people made nearly all the contents of their parcels into a sort of solid cake, known as “glop”, but we preferred to use one item at a time.
In 1982, I went to a Stalag Luft 7 reunion at Nottingham,
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and this is the menu and address to those present. Note the amounts stated in the menu, maintaining the tradition of difficult share-outs. How do you share six prunes between ten?
[menu missing]
Klim was dried powdered milk from American Red Cross parcels. The Limburg fish-cheese is worthy of note. It came in wooden
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boxes which, when opened, revealed about twenty oval flattish cakes covered with some sort of skin, and gave off an appalling stench. The only way of eating this delicacy was to strip off the skin, liberally douse the content with pepper and salt, hold your nose, and consume the cheese with the utmost despatch. There were not many takers, so there was plenty for those with stomachs strong enough to take it, but over-consumption could precipitate an attack of the squitters.
A few other items from this programme:-
Amongst the “sporting activities”, we find Louse Hunting. Lice thrived in the crowded insanitary conditions. If you have not had the privilege of encountering any, they were flat dirt-grey insects, hard-shelled – if you squeezed one between your fingers, it had no effect. The lurked in the seams of clothing, so had to be winkled out and crushed between thumb-nails, and there was a little spot of blood if they had recently fed. They carried, of course, the germs of typhus, and the Germans were always much perturbed to hear of increased infestation – any plague would have swept like wildfire through the camp, and while I don’t suppose the effect on prisoners would have worried them a great deal, it would eventually have affected the Germans themselves.
Dog-walking to Kreuzberg. Kreuzberg was the nearest town, and any prisoner requiring dental or medical treatment had to walk there, accompanied by a guard and the inevitable Alsatian.
Goon-baiting, which accounted for the majority of the inmates of the “cooler”, and was a popular sport aimed at making the Germans feel uncomfortable. I don’t think it took place much in Army camps, as soldiers were used to taking orders and doing as they were told, but aircrew were more rebellious independent spirits inclined to follow their own dictates. In a bomber-crew, for instance, the pilot was the captain, and any decision must ultimately be his, but he rarely had to give orders; in case of necessity, he took advice from the appropriate crew-member, a specialist who knew more than he did, weighed up the advice and then made his decision, but it was more a matter of consensus than orders. Goon-baiting usually consisted of telling the Germans that their country was finished, in ruins, that
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they had been misled, and that things were going to be tough for them. Ferreting came into the same category of making the Germans feel uncomfortable and inferior. A ferret was a member of the camp staff who prowled around looking for illegal activity, and was dealt with by the “duty pilot” system. The airman on duty, accompanied by a runner and a tail, would take up position at the entrance to the compound. When a ferret appeared, his name and time of arrival would be written down, making sure that he knew what was happening. The runner was sent off to go into each hut and call out : “Goon in the block”. The “tail” followed closely behind the ferret, making his presence felt. If the ferret turned round and remonstrated with him, he melted away into the crowd and a replacement took over. The object of all this was to inform the Germans that the compound was our preserve and that they only came in under sufferance.
And now a tribute to Captain John Collins, the Stalag Luft 7 padre. Read again the paragraph that describes him; every word is true, but words alone cannot do him justice. Where most of us were trudging along, heads down, concerned only for ourselves, he would appear at different parts of the column, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, so that everybody had a share of inspiration from his company. I can picture him now, face reddened by the blizzard, always cheerful, always optimistic, his arm round the shoulder of a man beginning to despair, carrying his gear for a little way as well as his own, then a pat on the back and off to find someone else. And the man he had just left thought: “If he can bloody well do it, so can I.” Truly a “man among men”, and I am sure his inspiration did save lives.
I kept some record of day-to-day events while at Luckenwalde, on odd scraps of paper: here is one such, written on the end-paper of a library-book, and making the best use of available space: -
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[pencilled notes indecipherable]
and on another scrap, a drawing of a Halifax; John, being a Lancaster man, asked me to do it so that we could see the differences between the two types:-
[pencil drawing]
MH were the identification letters of 51 Squadron.
16 March. Germans cut rations to potatoes every other day, 1/6 of a loaf a day, and half margarine and sugar rations.
21 March. Cold. High wind blowing dust all over the place. Difficult day for Smokey Joe – cut up a Klim[?] tin and made a windshield for him. Issue of 1 American Red Cross No. 10 per man – prunes, chocolate
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peanut butter, tuna, plum jam, Camel cigarettes. 3 wrapped chocolate for raisins. News good today – Worms, Ludwigshafen, Neustadt and Homburg taken. Germans in chaos all along the line.
24 March. Twenty-two today. They’ll probably be thinking of me at home and wondering what sort of birthday I’m having. (There had been no news for them from 19 Dec. to 6 March, so they had only heard less than three weeks before.) Shifted dirty straw from bedspace and burned it, in response to an anti-typhus purge by the Germans, so we lay on the bare boards thereafter.
27 March. Issue of the dreaded Limburg fish cheese. Got a bundle of wood from a Russian for 2 cigarettes. Diphtheria broke out in our barrack – block – enforced gargling the opening of windows.
30 March. Good Friday. Washed, shaved, & put on hair-grease. (This was an issue of an evil-looking black grease, much resembling axle-grease, which it may well have been. Goodness knows why they issued it.) Cleaned shoes. Parade by main gate 0920 for church – The Seven Words from the Cross, by Captain Collins.
2 April. Day dragged interminably. Made some prune jam, but it was cold and windy, a bad day for Smokey Joes.
5 April. Issue of 1 American Red Cross No. 10 per man. One more and they will all be finished – time to tighten belts again. Destruction of German rail-system and rolling-stock by the R.A.F. prevents supply of more parcels.
11 April. This evening, it was announced that a partial evacuation from Luckenwolde would begin tomorrow. All officers going, & N.C.O.’s from Barrack 3 and 33 from Barrack 7. John and I volunteered to be among the 33 because we thought the others might not get transport and would have to march. Packed kit and shared our food for carrying; we had a whole case full of tins of food stored up, a little from every parcel.
12 April. Called out to move off after soup 1100. Much checking and roll-calls. Search, just before which we had to get cracking in a hurry and puncture all our tins. Nothing taken, except they took one of John’s blankets. Marched down to Luckenwolde station. We had our
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blower[?] with us – John insisted on bringing it, and just outside the station we set it down and had a hot brew, which was very welcome although it was a hot day. Issue of 40 cigarettes per man. Entrained in cattle trucks, 40 per truck. Stole porage[sic] oats from a nearby train. (Looking up through the floorboards of a truck, we saw sacks inside. On being slit open with a knife, a steady stream of oats came through a wide crack, which was much appreciated by those in the vicinity.) Sleeping-space cramped, but I have been in worse. Very hot and stuffy – no ventilation.
13 April. Up 0600 & brewed up. Had bread, then stewed prunes. Talk by Wing Commander in charge of the party. Bombing of the line down at Treuenbrietzen means we can’t leave here for some time. BBC news read out during evening, also it was announced we go back to camp tomorrow.
14 April. Up 0600. Porridge, thin bread. Results of trading with German civvies – ½ loaf, 2 onions, 6 eggs, 30 saccharine tablets, and 4 lbs of potatoes for 65 cigarettes and 2 bars of soap. Marched back to camp and got organised in our same barrack. While we were away, 2 R.A.F. chaps shot trying to climb the wire – “stir-crazy”, I suppose.
17 April. Issue of 1 parcel between 2. That is the last now. Water turned off nearly all day.
18 April. News good today. Our advance appears to have slowed down, but the Russians have started a big push on the Berlin front, and are doing well. Organisation going ahead for running the camp ourselves when the Germans leave.
20 April. Bombing of Potsdam and Wriezenburg[sic] by U.S. heavies. Lovely fine day. Clouds of smoke over target. Made out a list of food in stock and rationed it to last 5 weeks. This evening there was a feeling in the air that something was going to happen, but there was no definite news. Russian artillery plainly heard, red glows in the sky.
21 April. Heard German staff moving out with lorries, tractors and cars during the night. Not called out on parade this morning. A few German guards still left, but not many. Russian tank crews brought in – short imprisonment for them. Looting of German staff quarters, but not much to be had. Prisoners record-cards from the camp offices were distributed – here
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is mine:-
[blank page]
Dull rainy day. Wing Commander Beamont[?] (who later became chief pilot for English Electric, and was in charge of test-flying Camberras and Lightnings), announced that the Germans had left, the camp was surrounded, and the Russians were fighting in Luckenwalde and Juterbog last night.
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22 April. Slept fully dressed last night in case we had to make a dash for the trenches. French and British flags flying at the gate, and a big red Russian one over the cookhouse. White flags at intervals round the perimeter barbed wire. At 1030 Russian tanks and lorries arrived in force. All the Russian prisoners were given rifles and moved out straight away, anxious to kill Germans. (Russia was not a signatory to the Geneva Convention for treatment of prisoners of war, and they had a terrible time of it in the camp, almost starved or worked to death. The same treatment was accorded to German prisoners held by the Russians.)
Artillery duel just outside the camp in the evening, between Germans hiding in a wood and a party of Russians.
[pencilled notes indecipherable]
The next few pages are photo-copies of the part of Wing Commander Beamont’s[?] book The War in the Air, which deals with the liberation of Luckenwalde.
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THE WAR IN THE AIR
then came the end in Europe. For some it was sudden: the nights suddenly quiet because no engines had to be tested for the dawn; the days suddenly long because they knew there would be a tomorrow. But for others, in the prisoner-of-war camps, it was a more drawn-out affair.
THE LONG LIBERATION
10th April. After weeks of better and better news, and of resigning ourselves to waiting for a few more weeks until final liberation, strated [sic] by our fighters, it will be an amazing stroke of fortune (and I know well enough what 20-mm can do to trains). However should this move come off, my policy will be to try and stay behind with the sick. This is the allied target area – not Munich.
Two days ago we saw a Mosquito release a cloud of leaflets overhead at about 20,000 feet. Intelligence reports that the contents are telling Russian prisoners-of-war that they will be liberated within ten to fifteen days.
The Russians have been literally starved by the goons and are dying in dozens of TB. The hospital is crammed with them. We had collections of food which we can hardly spare for them. Meanwhile great preparation of emergency food. Am fairly well off this time. One lives and learns. Over and above the Red Cross parcel I have acquired six chocolate bars, a tin of fish and three pounds of chocolate pemmican by judicious trading during the past weeks. So even without food from the Germans I should have nearly two weeks food at a bare living rate. In addition I have just traded a blue sweater and a pair of Jack Sharkies for two boxes of prunes, value 2s. 6d. But two days' food.
Midday. Germans announce officially that we move tomorrow. Have sent name in as unfit to travel – this is only partially true. But one risk is as good as another and I prefer this one as a fat better chance of liberation.
11th April. We have informed the Germans that this move is being carried out entirely without our co-operation. The only possible reason must be that we are intended to be held as hostages in the last stronghold in the mountainous area of Munich.
3 pm, Thursday, 12th April. After another night of tension, the camp was marched out to entrain for the incredible journey through the battle area to Munich this morning. As a notable change from the normal practice the move took place to the endless accompaniment of 'bitte,' absolutely no 'Raus! Raus!” at all.
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Even more amazing, my scheme has come off. I have been left behind with the sick bods against all the advice of the well-meaning older kriegies who were, I think, suffering from a surfeit of sour grapes. This was the best chance, and now, not three hours after the main party had gone, comes the news that the allies have cut the Magdeburg – Berlin autobahn. They could be here tomorrow.
The suspense is something of which I have never experienced the like. Waiting for a big low-attack show is a tea party in comparison! Atmosphere is electric.
The German officer on appel said, when I asked permission to remove a partition in a block for a new camp office: ‘One does not start a new building at five to twelve.’ At least they know the form.
The main party was still reported at the station, having spent the night in the trucks waiting for an engine which the Reichbahn [sic] people think is unlikely to materialise.
At 9.30 pm we received word that the boys were coming back as transport is impossible. Tank spearheads are reported at Brandenburg, Wittenberg – thirty miles from here – north of Halle and Leipzig. We are directly in front of the three-pronged thrust, and nothing short of fantastic ill-fortune can prevent our freedom in the next few days.
Saturday, 14th April. We worked late into last night trying to repair the damage in the blocks, caused by the departed kriegies themselves. In seven barracks there was hardly a serviceable bed. After appeals we received about fifteen per cent assistance in the big job of making sure that the returning boys would have at least a place to sleep. It is galling, the number of men who are not in the least concerned about the welfare of their friends and think only about themselves.
Still, somehow we arranged things and this morning the first party came in at 10 am, to the accompaniment of clapping and cheering from the Poles, and a loud chorus of ‘Hey, hey, the gang’s all here!’ from the Americans, accompanied by a trumpet, a violin and a mouth organ.
During yesterday’s appel we held a two minutes’ silence at attention in memory of Roosevelt who died yesterday. Particularly effective as the Americans were not on appel at the time, and remarkable
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because the company of German guards, who had paraded and were about to march off, remained at attention with us.
Reminder that the Germans are still in control came last night when two RAF NCOs attempted to climb the wire at the eleventh hour. One attacked a sentry with a bottle and was shot and killed. The other wounded. Bloody fools.
15th April. Terrific raid on Berlin suburb about twelve miles north of here last night. Made London show seem quite insignificant. Incredible din and display. Patton has a security blackout on the drive across the Elbe at Magdeburg. It is fifty miles away and is heading for us. Groups of kriegies stand in the compound all day staring south-west.
The atmosphere has more than expectancy, however, as the abort, always unsavoury, has sprung a leak.
Today’s big tragedy – I sat on my pipe and broke it.
Monday, 16th April. Tantalising news that the camp at Magdeburg to which the remainder of Luft 3 were sent from Sagen, has been liberated intact! When will our turn come?
Tuesday, 17th April. Another great Fortress raid passed over this morning. Mustangs and Thunderboirs [sic] are constantly in sight. Every thud and explosion, every flash of light in the sky is taken to be an indication of the advancing Americans.
Stalag II A consisting of some 4,000 Allied soldiers was evacuated into this area last week and, having arrived, had nowhere to go. They are living in the open, with no food supplies and no medical attention, and are in a tragic condition. The SBO sent our last reserve of Red Cross parcels to them yesterday together with two doctors and drugs.
Four hundred Russian sick were suddenly taken from our camp yesterday for destination unknown.
Wednesday, 18th April. Day after day, rumours add to the tension. The Russians are advancing fifty miles to the east, the Allies form miles to the west and south, but we are still here! The new optimisty [sic] has not borne fruit and now there is a new situation: no more Red Cross food.
Thursday, 19th April, night. The strain of boredom of the last few days was relieved at midnight when the Wing Commanders were routed out for a meeting with the SBO. His office was crammed with
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a circle of figures crouched round the table upon which lay a map of the area and two guttering lamps. He told us that the Russians had broken through south-east of us, were less than thirty miles away, and that the Germans proposed to march the whole camp unit of 4,000 prisoners-of-war in hostile country with no destination and no supplies of food or drugs, and most probably no shelter. The whole district is a battle area and such an action on the part of the goons cannot but have tragic results.
Friday, 20th April, morning. Still no further action by the Germans. We have our remaining food stocks packed and ready. Whether we go or stay, there will be no more food in a week’s time. With the possibility of freedom nearer than it has ever been, the chance of getting the chop is rather great. But to hell with the war! The only course is to relapse into one’s normal state of mental rigidity and sunbathe.
Saturday, 21st April. The most amazing day of my life. All night fires raged, guns thundered, and cannon shattered and at dawn a violent tank battle took place at Luckenwalde. Juterbog, twelve miles to the south, is in flames. FW 190s are ground-strafing within sight at all times. In short we are in the front line.
(By now most of the German guards had deserted, leaving the prisoners in charge of their own camp).
We are in the most critical of all stages now. Nearly free but without news of relieving forces, and in this country of brutality and horror anything might happen yet.
We know that the Russians are all round us. Perhaps they will be here tomorrow. I win £30 if they are. It is grand to have a job again. Quite a strange thing using a telephone!
Hell! An FW 190 has just strafed the whole length of the camp. I must go and see if there have been casualties.
Midnight, and no casualties. The organisation is almost complete. Amazingly enough the telephone network is operating and I have a set in my temporary office-cum-bedroom now. Very tired, have checked and arranged pickets on the of the NCOs’ compound.
Sunday, 22nd April, midday. Russians are here in force. Fighting all round. Local tank commander’s attitude is very brusque and dogmatic. I don’t think they like us very much. Tanks charging up and down have torn up our communications and in places the wire.
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The French are hysterical, the British a little less so, and the Norwegians are calm. The Americans are reported only a few miles away. I hope they get here before this comedy becomes a tragedy.
At long last the Red Air Force’s close support Aira-Cobras, Yaks, and Stormoviks fly above us. So do the Luftwaffe, putting up a brave show to the last. It was fascinating to watch a silver dart of a Messerschmitt delta jet dive straight down on to a formation of forty Fortresses, then Bang! bang! and a Fortress fell away while the Me 163 shot straight up into cloud.
In another scrap two Me 109’s shot down three out of twelve Aira-Cobras without loss. The Aira-Cobras were flying in formation under cloud. I caught a glimpse of the 109s as they dived straight astern, shot down two of the Cobras, and whipped up into cloud leaving the rest of the formation running round in circles wondering what had happened. Farther on the Me 109s came down again through another hole in the cloud and destroyed the third Aira-Cobra. They suffered no loss themselves.
1 pm. The Russians depart leaving us in temporary control. They have brought up a quantity of flak already, so it seems as if the area is nearly stabilised. However there are still plenty of bangs, and plenty of great unneighbourliness in this area.
The news announces tanks penetrating deep into Berlin.
Evening. Violent fighting in the woods to the north. Shells whistling and screaming overhead, and 109s dive-bombing the autobahn. The Russians have added heavy flak to their set-up here. The din is fantastic. More fierce fighting on the boundaries and cannon-strafing by Junkers 88s. Two Serbs and a number of Russians killed in the fighting round the camp. Violent action between a Russian tank and Germans as it left the main gate. The Russians seemed to win. They have taken General Ruge with them to fly him to Moscow. This leaves the SBO as the senior Allied CO.
(Undated.) Told officers and pickets to dissuade the men from going through the wire if possible, but if told to ‘b------- off’, to ‘b-------- off’ promptly and avoid incident. Then talked to the chaps in the blocks and reported to the SBO. Suggested that all compounds should be open, giving free circulation throughout the whole camp but within the wire. Bed at 2.30 am. Strafed by a Ju 88 at 4 am. Cannon shells all over the shop but fortunately no casualties.
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[typewritten script from The War in the Air]
1945
8 am. Another direct threat to officers. Three sections of the wire cut away and Army NCOs loose. The RAF hanging-fire though pretending to follow Army lead. Walked into each barrack and addressed the men. Think I put the position over and am more certain than ever the trouble is due to just one or two bad characters. At one point nearly used the SBO’s authority to throw the worst types into the cooler, but steered clear. Am sure freedom of circulation within the whole camp would ease the situation.
This is the worst couple of days in my experience without exception. The feeling of the possibility that we might lose control of a mass of desperate men, under condition of front-line war and artillery shells, machine-guns, rifles, aircraft cannon and bombs going off all round, is inclined to be unpleasant. I think we can hold our own, but it is not a comfortable position.
Russians killed off four German wounded hiding in the woods. Nice people!
Stormoviks and Yaks in great numbers today. They seem to operate well on their side of the front! Dog-fights between four Aira-Cobras and one Me 109 overhead this afternoon. The Russians seem to weave violently at all times. The Yak is a good little fighter in the Spitfire class.
Our pet Junkers 88 low-strafed us with front guns again in the moonlight. Plenty return 20-mm fire from the town. Very interesting to be at the other end for a change. I admire these Luftwaffe boys for carrying on to the grim end.
A Russian patrol found four French POWs in a house outside the camp with some women. Russians shot and killed the Frenchmen for refusing to obey an order. They probably wanted the women for themselves.
Our own trouble has died down for the moment. We have averted a riot I suppose, but in actual practise discipline as such is gone.
Wednesday. Still no Americans. This waiting is tricky. Plenty of food now when at odd moments I can find time to eat. Yesterday I had my first hot drink and a meal of bread and rhubarb at 3.30 pm. The Russians are giving us all they can. Very friendly now and much back slapping, but no respect.
Thursday. Situation tense again in my compound. NCOs are not the
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slightest bit prepared to meet the officers half-way, and are quite certain that we are there to make life unpleasant.
In all this turmoil the thought that we are no longer in fact prisoners-of-war and should be home soon is difficult to grasp and is not in the least exciting.
Saturday. So ends this demoralising week of passing on and handing out orders that one knows perfectly well will not be carried out. Held a roll parade to check ration strength this morning. The men took a lot of persuasion and diplomacy to turn out for that. Last night the news of a link-up between the Americans and Russians at Torgau cheered everyone immensely. The later report that a jeep bearing three American war correspondents had been seen on the way to Berlin should do much to settle the present unrest.
Watched a Mig shoot down a 190 in four short bursts. Very pretty.
Wednesday. Ten days since the Germans left. One of the biggest battles we have seen is now raging on the north-east and northern borders of the camp. Rifle and tommy-gun fire is incessant and mortar duel is in progress with us in no-man’s land. The radio has announced the release of all camps taken by the Americans and British, but has said nothing of us. Our people must be worried. So are we.
Thursday, 1800 hours. The first Yanks in the camp. Two war correspondents in a jeep from the lines at Magdeburg. They are taking taking Beatty, our press correspondent, back with them tomorrow and he will fly to Eisenhower’s headquarters with our records. Maybe things will start moving. All the boys want to push off west and are doing so in increasing numbers. I would be right with them if I hadn’t this damned responsibility. Wrote a brief note home and put it in the jeep. It might get through.
Friday. Sunshine. Many more people walking west. Two hundred of the men from this compound alone walked out yesterday. The position is intolerable. We can and should march the camp west to the Elbe with of course the Russian’s approval. The Americans are at Wittenberg. Only thirty miles away – one day or so on a bicycle.
1600 hours. American colonel from Davescourt headquarters here, said our evacuation starts at once! Trucks arriving tonight and we shall be flown home. Can it be true! Shall we, shall I be out of this country of death and home in England? It is almost too much to expect.
Wing Commander ROLAND BEAMONT’S dairy,[sic] quoted by EDWARD LANCHBERY
It was too much to expect. The Americans sent the trucks, the Russians sent them back. It was another two weeks before they got home.
[/typewritten script from The War in the Air]
[page break]
Enclosed below is an account of the last days at Luckenwalde from my own point of view, and the journey home.
[pencilled notes indecipherable]
On one of our private forging parties, John and I fell in with some Polish prisoners who had been employed at the factory making V1 flying bombs. None of us could speak the other side’s language, so everything was done by signs. We went back to their billet with them, and they produced enamel mugs and bottles of spirit, looking like lemon-barley water, which we gathered was fuel for the flying-bombs, and must have been almost pure alcohol. Some was poured on a table, a match applied, and it went “whoomph.” We imbibed a fair quantity of this, and were soon blotto. We staggered back to camp and sagged down to sleep it off; woke up with a raging thirst and had a drink of water. This had the effect of re-activating the spirit, setting the whole
[page break]
[pencilled notes indecipherable]
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88
business in motion again, so we were back in square one.
I see “Stinger” is referred to here and there. This was Staff Sergeant Nettell of the Glider Pilot Regiment, the senior N.C.O. in our hut, and something of a comedian. Rumours were rife towards the end, our prisoners were somewhat apprehensive about what the Germans might have in store for them. One day, Stinger came into the hut, called for silence, and announced: “Everyone in this hut – is to parade outside in five minutes time – to march down to the stores – to draw picks and shovels – to dig their own graves.” I thought: “So it’s come to that, has it?” There was a stunned silence for a moment, then laughter broke out – Stinger and his jokes again!
The Russians were very reluctant to let us go, and our impatience mounted. American army lorries arrived on 6 May to take us away, but the Russians sent them away empty. The next day, prisoners started off trickling away on their own, walking westwards, and John and I set off in a part of about a dozen. After walking about 7 miles, we met another convoy of American lorries heading for the camp. One of them picked us up, turned around, and set off towards the west, finishing up at a P.O.W. reception centre at Schonebeck, in what was a Junkers aircraft factory. So on 7 May we were once again in safe hands. The war officially ended the next day with unconditioned German surrender.
11 May.
Embarked in lorries and proceeded via Magdeburg and Brunswick to an ex-German fighter aerodrome at Hildesheim. Had a hot shower and a de-lousing. In the latter operation, an orderly put the nozzle of a large syringe down the front of one’s trousers and sent a blast of DDT round the interior. Assigned to an aircraft party. Got a Red Cross parcel containing soap (toilet, tooth and shaving), shaving-brush razor and blades, 2 handkerchiefs, tooth-brush, face-cloth, toilet-bag, 50 cigarettes and ½ lb of chocolate. Soup, bread, coffee and a K-ration for tea.
12 May. Called out to the aerodrome after breakfast. A steady stream
[page break]
of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. at Louvain, about 12 miles out. Deloused once again.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. Deloused yet again – they must have thought those lice were pretty hardy characters, to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, for tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, give ration cards and leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another ½ hour for one to Henley. When I arrived home the rest of the family were still in bed and I had to knock them up.
The following letters are in order, as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read: “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
* Letters on page numbered 90 onwards.
[page break]
[newspaper cuttings relating the heroism of the aircrews of Bomber Command]
[page break]
[Three newspaper cuttings on Bomber Command – the third worded as follows:]
The campaign fought by Bomber Command was the longest and the most sustained in British military history. It lasted from September 1939 to May 1945. It cost the lives of 57,000 of its aircrew – Britons, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans – a total which represents well over half of all those who flew on operations. Nowhere else was the casualty rate so high, perhaps because nowhere else was battle joined with the enemy on such a continuous and relentless scale.
They were all young men, all highly-trained. They came to England from all over the Empire, to volunteer for and to create the last Imperial force there would ever be. In the darkest days they were a symbol that ultimately their world would triumph, whatever the cost. They were a special breed, on a special crusade, and possessed it seemed of a special courage. They did not ask to live, but only to win.
[page break]
[page break]
51
in charge, rumours were rife, and prisoners were somewhat apprehensive about what the Germans might have in store for them. One day, Stinger came into the hut, called for silence
[page break]
89
of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, marvelling at the damned good job we had made of it, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon [sic]. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. At Louvain, about 12 miles out. De-loused once again, tea, and turned in.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. De-loused yet again – they must have considered the lice pretty hardy characters to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, and tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, given ration cards, leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another 1/2 hr. for one to Henley. When I arrived home, the rest of the family were still in bed, and I had to knock them up.
There followed several days of seeing old friends and places again, writing to parents of the rest of my crew, playing golf, servicing motorcycle and generally relaxing and feeling glad to be home again and to be able to wander as I pleased. The following letters are in order as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read; “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
[page break]
90
No. 51 Squadron,
R.A.F. Station,
Snaith,
Nr. Goole,
Yorkshire.
Reference:- 51S/801/251/P.1.
18th December, 1944.
Dear Mrs. Wagner
It is with the deepest regret that I have to confirm the news already conveyed to you by telegram to-day, that your Son, 1604744 Sergeant H.W. Wagner, failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning.
Your Son was acting in his capacity of Navigator in an aircraft which took-off during the early hours of this morning to deliver an attack on a target at Duisburg, and I regret that nothing was heard of the aircraft or its crew after the time of take-off.
The loss of this crew is a sad blow to all of us here, particularly so in the case of your Son, who was looked upon as one of our outstanding Navigators, and who commanded the respect of all. We cherish the hope that he and his companions may yet prove to be safe and well, though prisoners of war.
Your Son's personal belongings have been gathered together by the Station Effects Officer and forwarded to the R.A.F. Central Depository, who will send them on to you in due course.
I would like to add that the request in the telegram notifying you of the casualty to your Son was included with the object of avoiding his chance of escape being prejudiced in case he was still at large. This is not to say that any information is available, but it is a precaution which is adopted in the case of all missing personnel.
Please accept the deepest sympathy of myself and all the Officers and Men of the Squadron.
Yours Sincerely
H.A.R. Holford
Wing commander, Commanding,
[underlined] No. 51 Squadron, R.A.F. [/underlined]
…./Over.
[page break]
91
AIR MINISTRY,
(casualty Branch),
73-77 OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.1
22 December, 1944.
Madam,
I am commanded by the Air Council to express to you their great regret on learning that your son, Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner, Royal Air Force, is missing as the result of air operations on 18th December, 1944, when a Halifax aircraft in which he was flying as navigator set out for action over Duisberg [sic] and failed to return.
This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded, and if he is a prisoner of war he should be able to communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross committee, and as soon as any definite news is received you will be at once informed.
/If
Mrs. J. E. Wagner,
14, Western Avenue,
Henley-on-Thames,
Oxon.
[page break]
If any information regarding your son is received by you from any source you are requested to be kind enough to communicate it immediately to the Air Ministry.
The air Council desire me to convey to you their sympathy in your present anxiety.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient Servant,
Charles Evans
98
[photograph]
A photograph of the cemetery in Holland, sent to me a few months after the war by Mrs Worthington, mother of our mid-upper gunner.
[photograph]
A close-up of the crew's graves before proper head-stones were fitted.
[page break]
89
of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, marvelling at the damned good job we had made of it, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon [sic]. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. At Louvain, about 12 miles out. De-loused once again, tea, and turned in.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. De-loused yet again – they must have considered the lice pretty hardy characters to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, and tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, given ration cards, leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another 1/2 hr. for one to Henley. When I arrived home, the rest of the family were still in bed, and I had to knock them up.
There followed several days of seeing old friends and places again, writing to parents of the rest of my crew, playing golf, servicing motorcycle and generally relaxing and feeling glad to be home again and to be able to wander as I pleased. The following letters are in order as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read; “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
[page break]
90
No. 51 Squadron,
R.A.F. Station,
Snaith,
Nr. Goole,
Yorkshire.
Reference:- 51S/801/251/P.1.
18th December, 1944.
Dear Mrs. Wagner
It is with the deepest regret that I have to confirm the news already conveyed to you by telegram to-day, that your Son, 1604744 Sergeant H.W. Wagner, failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning.
Your Son was acting in his capacity of Navigator in an aircraft which took-off during the early hours of this morning to deliver an attack on a target at Duisburg, and I regret that nothing was heard of the aircraft or its crew after the time of take-off.
The loss of this crew is a sad blow to all of us here, particularly so in the case of your Son, who was looked upon as one of our outstanding Navigators, and who commanded the respect of all. We cherish the hope that he and his companions may yet prove to be safe and well, though prisoners of war.
Your Son's personal belongings have been gathered together by the Station Effects Officer and forwarded to the R.A.F. Central Depository, who will send them on to you in due course.
I would like to add that the request in the telegram notifying you of the casualty to your Son was included with the object of avoiding his chance of escape being prejudiced in case he was still at large. This is not to say that any information is available, but it is a precaution which is adopted in the case of all missing personnel.
Please accept the deepest sympathy of myself and all the Officers and Men of the Squadron.
Yours Sincerely
H.A.R. Holford
Wing commander, Commanding,
[underlined] No. 51 Squadron, R.A.F. [/underlined]
…./Over.
[page break]
91
AIR MINISTRY,
(casualty Branch),
73-77 OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.1
22 December, 1944.
Madam,
I am commanded by the Air Council to express to you their great regret on learning that your son, Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner, Royal Air Force, is missing as the result of air operations on 18th December, 1944, when a Halifax aircraft in which he was flying as navigator set out for action over Duisberg [sic] and failed to return.
This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded, and if he is a prisoner of war he should be able to communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross committee, and as soon as any definite news is received you will be at once informed.
/If
Mrs. J. E. Wagner,
14, Western Avenue,
Henley-on-Thames,
Oxon.
[page break]
If any information regarding your son is received by you from any source you are requested to be kind enough to communicate it immediately to the Air Ministry.
The air Council desire me to convey to you their sympathy in your present anxiety.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient Servant,
Charles Evans
98
[photograph]
A photograph of the cemetery in Holland, sent to me a few months after the war by Mrs Worthington, mother of our mid-upper gunner.
[photograph]
A close-up of the crew's graves before proper head-stones were fitted.
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99
[photograph] Some of the graves. This photo was taken about 1982 by Mrs. Worthington's daughter, Joan.
In 1989, I saw a notice in “Airmail” inserted by a man who had visited Venray and seen the graves of 12 R.A.F. Men. He named them, and offered to send photos to relatives. I told him the names of my crew and the circumstances that led to their being there, and he sent me the following photographs.
[photograph] Warrant Officer W.A. Bates, pilot.
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100
[photograph] Flight Sergeant L.G. Roberts, Bomb-aimer.
[photograph] Sgt. E. Berry, Flight engineer
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101
[Photograph] Sgt. T.W. Worthington, Mid-upper gunner.
[photograph] Sgt. R. Thomas, Rear-gunner.
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102
Shortly after the war, I applied to join the Caterpillar Club, membership of which is limited to those who have saved their lives by means of a parachute. The club was founded by Leslie Irvin, who invented the modern parachute.
[inserted] Membership card to the Caterpillar Club. [/inserted]
In the middle of June, I went to stay for a couple of days [inserted] with John [/inserted] and his long-time girl-friend (now his wife) Vilna. They lived in a cottage at Potterne Park Farm, Devizes, Wiltshire. A very pleasant visit it was, the last time but one that I saw them for 44 years. But more of that later. We lost touch; it shouldn't have happened, but this sort of thing often did.
My leave expired on 11 July 1945, and I returned to Cosford. This was only for a few days, for the purposes of medical examination, documentation and getting fitted out in full kit. It was a time of unease, restlessness and doubt. I knew only one other person there, Frankie Sedgewick, who had been with John and me at Barkau and Luckenwalde. He was a great virtuoso on the piano and the accordion; although he could not read music, he knew all the tunes, and had a wonderful sense of rhythm. Before we left Barkau for the march, he had become the possessor of a beautiful accordion, thanks to the Red Cross. On the point of departure from Barkau, he slashed it with a knife, tears streaming down his face, and said: “I can't carry it, and those bastards aren't having it.”
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and said: “I can’t carry it, and those bastards aren’t having it.” He had been a member of a Stirling crew, shot down dropping supplies at Arnhem. The aircraft belly-landed on a road, skated along it and ground to a halt. The crew evacuated – Frankie into a ditch on one side, the other six into a ditch on the opposite side, all under fire. The six were on the British side and got away; Frankie was on the German side and got pulled in.
By the 15th of July, I was back on leave again, until the end of August. I spent those six weeks working on harvesting at Dick Green’s farm, playing golf, going swimming, and generally having a relaxed and leisurely time among friends. The war with Japan ended after the dropping of the two atom-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6th and 8th, as it was all over. On 29 August I reported to R.A.F. Wittering and remained there for nine days, but there was nothing much to do and no real reason for being there – the only purpose it served was to demonstrate to us that we were in fact still in the Air Force. Then there was a 48-hour pass, for which I went home, then back to Wittering again, then off on leave again.
In October, I went up to Liverpool to stay with Mr. Roberts, father of our bomb-aimer. While there, we went to visit the Worthingtons before returning home a few days later, but it was not long before I was back there again, for a fortnight this times, and the affair made good progress. It looked as if this might be it.
I applied for early release from the R.A.F. so as to continue my degree course at Reading University; this was granted, and I was demobilised shortly before Christmas, ready to start at the university again in January 1946.
This would seem to take us to the end of the crosswind leg, and it is now time to turn onto the downwind leg. This one is the longest of all the legs of a circuit, and the most peaceful. Everything should be organised and running smoothly; there is nothing of any urgency requiring to be done, and one may proceed with dignity and decorum towards
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the next turning-point, meanwhile watching the world go by.
[underlined] DOWNWIND LEG. [/underlined]
In January 1946 I returned to Reading University. When I left, I had one year to do for my degree, but now I had two extra terms, which were quite welcome as they gave me an opportunity to settle down again. I was only doing two subjects (as usual for an honours degree) – French and Latin. The French consisted not only of the language itself but also translation into French and from French, classical literature, modern literature, old French, the development of the language from Latin, essays and a considerable amount of reading. In term-time, and even during holidays, I worked very hard, often on into the night. During leisure times, I played a lot of golf, usually with my brother Richard, at Henley Golf Club. He was always a better player than me; where I would be hoping that my second shot finished somewhere on the green, he would be seen picking the spot on the green where he proposed to land his ball. During the summer, I worked on Dick Green’s farm, mainly on harvesting, and often borrowed a gun from him to go rabbiting. Tight rationing was still in force, so a rabbit was always welcome as an alternative to the dreary diet of sausage-meat or fish. Being a hot summer, I frequently went after work for a swim at Shiplake Swimming Baths, on the River Thames.
Joan came down from Liverpool for a week, and I went up to Liverpool and stayed with her family, and also spent a fortnight with them on holiday in North Wales, near Prestatyn. We became engaged during that summer, but early next year it was all over. Looking back, the affair was doomed to failure, because we could see so little of each other, living such a long way apart. There was neither the money nor the time for frequent visits, and the flame flickered and died.
1947 was the year of my final examinations, and I continued to work as hard as ever, reluctant even to give up time to play golf. I did join the University cross-country club, and used to run in
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team matches against other universities and athletics clubs on Saturday afternoons.
In June, I sat the final examinations for my degree, and when the results came out I found I had passed the B.A. with Honours in French, Class II Division 1. I did not expect a Class 1 degree, as these were rarely given. It must have been a close thing, though; some weeks afterwards, I met the Professor of French, Professor Pesseignet, and her said: “I would have liked to give you a First, but there were other considerations.” (He did not specify what they were.) However, Class II Division 1 was classified as a “good Honours degree”, so I was quite satisfied. Class II Division II was a run-of-the-mill degree, and Class III was for those who only just scraped through.
I acquired another motorcycle that summer. I disposed of the old 250 c.c. O.K. Supreme and took over a 500 c.c. high-camshaft MSS Velocette, a far superior machine in every respect. One evening, I went over to Maidenhead to help my friend Geoff Dolphin do some work on his 350 c.c. Royal Enfield. When the job was done, we repaired to the local for some refreshment and got talking at the bar to a Mr. Jupp. He ran a holiday-camp for London youth-clubs in the Isle of Wight, and asked if I would like a job helping in the cookhouse for a few weeks. Having nothing lined up in the way of holidays, I accepted, and went down there several days later. One evening, I was sitting at a table outside, reading, when a girl came and sat down and started reading too. After half an hour, I said: “That’s another book finished,” and stood up to leave. She said: “Would you like to read the paper?”, so I said: “Yes, please”, and she went and got her Daily Mirror. (Years afterwards, she said to me: “I didn’t know how near I was to losing you, offering you the Daily Mirror.”) When it got duck, I said: “It’s too dark to read any more. Shall we take a ride up to Culver Point?” and that is how it all started. Before leaving her that evening, I said: “Are you committed to anything tomorrow?” When she said no, I said: “I have to go up to Brading in the morning to get the cakes for the canteen. Then we could go along to the other end of the island, to the Needles and Alum Bay, and have
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something to eat on the way back. Would you come with me?” By the time that day was over, the friendship was pretty firmly established. Many years later, I said to her: “Why me?”, and she said: “I liked the look of you.” Honest to the nth degree.
She also said: “I threw myself at you, didn’t I?”. I said: “No, you didn’t throw yourself. All you did was open the door. What you were saying, in effect, was: “If you like what you see, do something about it.” The ball was always in my court, it was always up to me to make the next move, if I wanted to.”
The following day, as she was leaving for London again, I said: “Write to me”, and she said: “No, you write to me,” and I realised that of course it was not up to the girl to do the pushing, that was my job. This is the photograph she gave me as she left, with her address on the back. [photograph not included]
[page break]
[certificate]
UNIVERSITY OF READING.
It is hereby certified that HENRY W. WAGNER has been duly admitted to the Degree of Bachelor of Arts of this University. (Honours School of French Class II Division 1)
[signed] E. Smith [/signed] Registrar.
July 5, 1947. [/certificate]
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[photograph] [inserted] All my love, Darling, Joan xxxx [/inserted]
and this is one I acquired later, taken when she was a little girl.
[photograph]
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108
And so the affair progressed; we were very happy in each other’s company, and I quickly got to know her as a gentle, understanding, kind-hearted, undemanding and completely straightforward and honest, completely unselfish, and those characteristics remained with her, unchanged, for as long as she lived. There were never any words of anger, recrimination, accusation or petty temper between us. It did not take me long to realise I had got a good one.
Sometimes, I went up to London, to her home, for the week-end, sometimes she came to Henley, and we saw each other very frequently.
In the autumn of 1947, I went back to the University for one more year, to take a Diploma in Education, a necessary qualification for teaching in grammar schools. After finishing the course, I toyed with the idea of going into the R.A.F. Education Branch, but by the time the paper-work was all completed, I found out that the main requirements were for teachers of English, mathematics and physics. By that time, it was too late to apply for jobs in state-schools, but I got a job at Bodington College, Leatherhead, Surrey, a private boarding-school for boys 11 - 18, and started there in September 1948.
[photograph]
I taught mainly French and Latin, with some English, mathematics
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[missing photograph or document]
and geography. The classes were small, the fees high. The boys all came from upper-class families, and were easy to get on with. Masters were in contact with them a great deal in leisure-times. I used to run a model aircraft club, and we flew diesel-engined control-line models on the playing-filed when weather permitted, and built or repaired them on
[page break]
[University of Reading Diploma]
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110
dark evenings or in wet and windy weather. I was in charge of Rugby Football, and this led to many discussions on team selection and tactics. There were lessons in the evening instead of the afternoon, leaving afternoons free for games - I either played or refereed. There was always a match against another school or a club on Saturdays and sometimes on Wednesdays as well. In the summer I umpired cricket.
The headmaster, the Reverend J. G. Wilkie, was a man of liberal views on education, only hard on those who transgressed the boundaries of good conduct and gentlemanly behaviour. Prefects were allowed to smoke in their studies, and to brew coffee, and often when I was on duty and had seen all the boys into their dormitories and put the lights out, some of the prefects would say: “Come in and have a smoke and a cup of coffee, Mr. Wagner, and we’ll talk about Saturday’s team.”
On alternate week-ends, provided I was not on duty at the school, I used to go up to London and stay at Joan’s; the other week-ends, I went by motorcycle to Henley, and Joan came to Henley by bus, and the love-affair progressed well. One day she said to me: “Henry, are you going to marry me?” I had taken this for granted, it had never crossed my mind that it might be otherwise. I realised that a girl needs to have it put in so many words, and it was remiss of me not to have made the situation clear before. So it was settled, and the wedding was fixed for August 1949. The greatest worry was where we were going to live, as only four years after the war housing was desperately short, and we had no money to start buying a house. Talking the matter over with the Headmaster, he said that there was accommodation available in one of the blocks round the old stable-yard, which we could have at a low rent. So I spent all my available spare time redecorating this, and eventually it looked quite nice. Furniture and carpets were acquired on hire-purchase - you had to have “dockets” to get these, - and Joan
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made curtains and gradually accumulated the bare necessities. I had a radio of my own, but televisions and washing-machines were almost unheard-of, and we did not hanker after them. Nor did we have a refrigerator.
[photograph] Badingham College, from the playing-fields. [/photograph]
[photograph] My Velocette, in the stable-yard. [/photograph]
[photograph] Joan on the motorcycle, taken at Henley. [/photograph]
[photograph] Joan on holiday (right) with her friend Joan Rampton. [/photograph]
Joan made her own wedding-dress and the bridesmaids’ dresses. Joan Rampton was the chief bridesmaid, and her (Joan Rampton’s) little sister the second bridesmaid. For our honeymoon, we
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would be going to Bantry, in the far south-west corner of Ireland. These are the photos we had taken for our passports. [two photographs]
The wedding took place at 11 a.m. at Holy Trinity Church, Henley-on-Thames. Richard was my best man.
[photograph of the bride and groom]
[page break]
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[photograph of the wedding party]
[photograph] Leaving the reception. [/photograph]
This was held at a hotel just
[page break]
114
across the street from Henley station, so we did not have far to go to the train. Train to Fishguard, overnight ferry to Cork, bus to Bantry.
On our return a fortnight later, we settled in to The Cottage, Badingham College, Leatherhead, Surrey. One of my first jobs was to go down to the bank to get out some money. I came out of the bank, and was handing over some of the money to Joan when the cashier came out. He said: “Did you know your account was overdrawn, Mr Wagner?” I must have miscalculated somehow, and I said: “No. I suppose you had better have this back, hadn’t you?”, and he said: “Yes, I suppose I had,” and took it. Joan said: “Right, I’ll see about a job then,” and immediately went and got herself a job in a grocery shop. What with her money, an advance on my salary, and a loan of £60 from my brother John, we were able to carry on until we got ourselves sorted out. But money was always scarce, as I suppose it is for nearly every newly-married couple, and there were no luxuries. We used to go to the cinema twice a week – no golf, no drinking, and holidays were in caravans or boarding-houses, travelling by motorbike. The furniture was being paid off at just over £9 a month. Food was still severely rationed. We did not ask for much – we had each other, and that was enough.
I enjoyed my work, Joan enjoyed working and being with other people. She always liked to have other people round her, and even later in life when money was not so important, preferred to be working than staying at home. We still went to London and to Henley on alternate week-ends.
The even tenor of life continued at Badingham for another three years. In the summer of 1952, on our return from holiday in Colwyn Bay, the headmaster said that, owing to expansion, he needed part of our house. That meant we would have to go. There was no chance of accomodation[sic] in the “Stockbroker Belt” of Leatherhead, so I gave in my notice for December 1952.
[page break]
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and set about applying for jobs in the vicinity of Henley, as my mother was willing to put us up until we got sorted out. I got one at Earley, on the outskirts of Reading, at Woodley Hill Grammar School, a boys’ school. This meant a journey of seven miles by motorbike, but that was no hardship except on bitter winter days or in heavy rain. Richard did some auctioneering for a firm in Henley, and they had space to store our furniture above the auction-rooms, so that cost us nothing.
So in January 1953 I started work at Woodley Hill, and Joan got herself a job in a shop in Henley. Richard, being a partner in a firm of estate-agents, would keep an eye open for possible living accomodation[sic] for us, but this was still in extremely short supply. After a few months, nothing seemed to be coming up, so I began to apply for a job in South Africa, where the conditions of life would be better and we would find somewhere of our own to live. Joan was in agreement – she was always willing to try anything, and never raised any objections in major decisions of this sort. But no sooner had I started to apply than Richard came up with something that suited us absolutely. A golfing friend of his, Gerald Mundey, lived with his mother and his sister Joy on a big estate up in the woods at Harpsden, about 1½ miles out of Henley; the gardener’s cottage had become vacant, and we could have it at the modest rent of £10/month. So we moved our furniture up there and settled in. It was fairly isolated, but we got on well with the Mundeys and Joan was still out all day working. I started playing golf again and joined Marlow rugby club. Looking back, it was selfish of me to be out at rugby on Saturday afternoons and often well into the evening, and then go golfing on Sunday mornings, but Joan never complained, although she would have been perfectly right to do so. Once, playing rugby against Kodak, up in London, I broke my right ankle, and had to spend ten days in Henley hospital while it was mending. I had a few more days at home, then went back to work, riding the motorcycle with one leg encased in plaster, the leg which operated the gear-change lever.
[page break]
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[photograph] Marlow Rugby Club First XV. [/photograph]
I played right-hand prop, and sometimes hooker when the need arose. The regular hooker was Budworth, on the right in the front row. He used to fly Beaufighters against terrorists in Malaya before he came to us. His wife usually accompanied us on coach-trips, and was one of the few women I ever knew who drank pints of bitter. Colin Gill, left in the front row, had a glass eye; in the course of one game, it dropped out into the mud and the game had to stop while we looked for it. The bath accomodation[sic] adjoining the changing-room was a deep recess about ten feet square sunk in the concrete, and we would settle down in the hot water after a game with pints of beer standing on the concrete behind us. After a particularly muddy game, the contents of the bath would be not so much hot water as thin liquid mud. Songs were sung. An invitation came once through the post
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for me to attend a stag-party. At the bottom of the card it said “Singing by our own choir.” Joan said: “That doesn’t sound very exciting, singing by our own choir,” and I said: “Oh, but you don’t know what our own choir will be singing.”
Many such memories of Marlow Rugby Club come back to me, such as the stag-party that got out of hand; the piano was adjudged not to be functioning correctly. Beer was poured into it without producing any improvement, so the instrument itself was dismantled, without finding the cause, and by that time nobody in a state to re-assemble it. After that, the committee put a stop to further stag-parties. Then there was the occasion when a large stag-party, complete with strippers, was held in one of the pavilions at Twickenham, attended by several clubs, and those in the know will recall that I made a libation to the gods of rugby-football on the centre spot of the pitch. The amount of pleasure I have had throughout my life from golf and rugby is really incalculable. Before I stopped playing rugby, I was made an honorary life-member, for services to the club. The club ran seven teams.
[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card front]
[page break]
[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card page 1]
[page break]
[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card pages 2 and 3]
[page break]
117
for me to attend a stag-party. At the bottom of the card it said “Singing by our own choir.” John said: “That doesn't sound very exciting, singing by our own choir,” and I said: “Ah, but you don't know what our own choir will be singing.”
Many such memories of Marlow Rugby Club come back to me, such as the stag-party that got out of hand; the piano was adjudged not to be functioning correctly. Beer was poured into it without producing any improvement, so the instrument itself was dismantled, without finding the cause, and by that time nobody was in a state to re-assemble it. After that, the committee put a stop to further stag-parties. Then there was the occasion when a large stag-party, complete with strippers, was held in one of the pavilions at Twickenham, attended by several clubs, and those in the know will recall that I made a libation to the gods of rugby-football on the centre spot of the pitch. The amount of pleasure I have had throughout my life from golf and rugby is really incalculable. Before I stopped playing rugby, I was made an honorary life-member, for services to the club. The club ran seven teams.
Fixtures Sept. 1964 – April 1965
1st XV Captain: R.J. WELSFORD
“A” XV Captain: G.L. SPINKS
EX “A” XV Captain: P. TRUNKFIELD
“B” XV Captain: D.L.G. THOMAS
CYGNETS XV Captain: R.H. RAGG
[page break]
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[Rugby fixtures Sept 1964 – April 1965]
[Rules of the ruby club]
[page break]
118
Eventually and inevitably there was an addition to the family. Helen was born at the maternity unit in Henley, and Joan was so proud of her, and she was certainly a lovely little girl. These photographs were taken while we were still living at Red Hatch Cottage, some in the garden, some on holiday.
[six photographs]
[page break]
119
[seven photographs]
[page break]
120
[six photographs]
[page break]
121
[two photographs]
We had been at Red Hatch Cottage about four years. Happy days though they were, money was still tight. I had the motorcycle fitted with a sidecar on Helen's arrival, so we could still get about. But we wanted a home of our own, and there did not seem to be much hope of getting one. I used to go to the bank on Saturday mornings to get out enough money for the week; the bank balance was often down to below £5, and I dreaded a month that had five Saturdays in it.
One day, I saw on the staff-room notice-board a circular from the National Union of Teachers asking anyone who had any salary queries to get in touch with them. For most of my time at Badingham the school was not recognised by the Ministry of Education and did not therefore count as reckonable services under the regulations. However, before I left, it was inspected and recognised. I put the point to the N.U.T. - was there any possibility of having this service all recognised for the purposes of stepping up the salary scale? They replied that it was up to the Local Education Authority. So I put the matter to the Berkshire Education Authority. I was called to the telephone one day at school – yes, they would recognise all that service, put me four steps up the ladder and give back-pay also for those four years. This amounted to some £270. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. When I got home, I said to Joan; “They rang me up from Shire Hall today. They won't recognise that service.” Terribly disappointed though she must have
[page break]
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been, she put her arm round me and said; “Oh well, you tried.” All the time we were married, she never made me feel inadequate, not good enough for her, although I sometimes felt that was indeed the case – she deserved better than me. She never was sarcastic, never criticised me or made me feel small. All she had to know was that it was my best that I was doing; it may not have been a very good best sometimes, but as long as it was the best, that was sufficient. But even if things turned out well and I had not done my absolute best, I would be gently reminded. Her whole philosophy of life was based on love; she believed in being in love, she loved her husband, family and home. And in return, she always knew she was well loved. I was glad to be able to give her the happiness and security that she needed. Indeed, our marriage was secure in every respect - “Secure:- without care or anxiety, free from fear or danger, safe, confident, in safe keeping, of such strength as to ensure safety” (Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary.) I found this cutting many years later, tucked into Joan's writing -case; it obviously appealed to her, embodying as it does her whole philosophy.
[newspaper cutting – from the New Testament]
But I digress; I shall return to this theme later. Hiding her disappointment, and knowing I must have been disappointed too, she didn't complain but tried to console me with: “Oh well, you tried.” I let it ride for a few minutes, then told her the good news, and she was absolutely delighted. We would have enough money for the necessary 10% deposit on a house and to pay for the removal. There would be nothing to spare for the extras that would be needed, but these things would come in the fulness [sic] of time. So it was not long before we were looking around at new houses being built, and eventually settled for one on Ravensbourne Drive,
[page break]
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Woodley, about three miles out of Reading and not far from the school where I worked. We used to go over on Sunday afternoons and see the progress being made, and as soon as it was ready we moved in. There was a great deal to be done getting the interior comfortable to live in, but Joan was a great home-maker. The garden was a wilderness containing a lot of builder's rubble, but I set to work to make it look nice and pleasant.
[two photographs]
Ravensbourne Drive, taken from outside our house, looking down the road (left) and up the road (right)
[two photographs]
The back garden. The back of the house.
[page break]
124
It was a big job getting the garden in order, but I was much indebted to John for a great amount of help – he used to come over and give a hand whenever he had the time. We mixed and laid concrete along the back of the house and at the side, and made the path running up the garden. I bought a concrete sectioned garage which we put up. I laid lawns, made a sand-pit for Helen, made the trellis and put climbing-roses on it to divide off the vegetable-garden, and planted the willow-tree. Made a coal-bunker too – there was no central-heating in those days. A whole range of kitchen cabinets as well – it was a matter of making things then rather than buying them. And always words of praise from Joan for what had been achieved.
Joan used to take Helen out to a nearby park in the afternoons, where there were swings, and it was there that she met Jean Hindley, who had her little girl with her. Joan was never backward in making friends (Think again how she got to know me), and Jean and Derek have been friends ever since. I always call into see them when I go down to Woodley, and there is always a warm welcome. We also made friends with Babs and Dave Read who lived a couple of doors along, and held lively parties
[eleven lines obscured by photograph]
had pints of mild and bitter, so it was quite obvious he had at least one redeeming feature. He used to be a Petty Officer in the Navy, on the engineering side. As I got to know him better, I
[page break]
125
was happy to consider him a good friend – straightforward, even-tempered, he took life very much as it came. Gradually, other inhabitants of Woodley joined us, and quite a large contingent from Woodley used to go over golfing at Henley – Jim Trevaskis, Bill Spelman, George Wall, Frank Way, Jeff Morgan and Alan Thorngate. I held the post of captain of the Henley Artisans Golfing Society at the time, and for a number of years thereafter. We played matches against the artisan sections of other clubs, and Joan and Anne used to make the sandwiches and come over and organise the teas for us. Good days they were, golfing at Henley in good company. Sunday mornings were the usual time, and after the game we would repair to the Bottle and Glass at Binfield Heath to take pre-prandial refreshment and play darts with the locals. On Friday evenings also we used to go out to one pub or another for beer and darts. And Joan put up with all this without a murmur of protest!
The school moved to new buildings at Winnersh, near Wokingham. In those days, and in such a school, teaching was a pleasant enough occupation and the boys were in general easy enough to get on with. There were exceptions, of course, but in the main they were a decent lot. On a journey from the front of the class to the back it might be necessary to give the odd boy a cuff, but the usual reaction seemed to be: “Fair enough, he caught me out,” and that was the end of it. Not so in these days, though. An action of that sort now would result in reports to the Head, parents up to the school, letters to the Education Department, and so forth. I remember writing on one boy’s report once: “Oafish stupidity is his outstanding characteristic.” At a parents’ evening his father said: “I take exception to this remark, Mr. Wagner. Can you justify it?” “Yes”, I said. “This very morning, when I had got the class settled down to work, he came in late, hurled the door open, which wrenched the door-stop out of the floor, slammed the door, and went to his place without a word of apology.” “Yes”, he said, “I see what you mean. I shall take the matter up with him.” On the other hand, on the last day of the summer term, one of my Sixth Form
[page break]
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French students said: “Would you care to some out for a farewell drink, Mr. Wagner?”, so off we went. This would cause some raised eyebrows these days. I remember saying to him: “Two years ago, you were an inky little lad in the Fifth Form, now you’re a gentleman,” and that was the way with many of them.
While at The Forest Grammar School, my head of department was Keith Fletcher, an extremely able man and easy to get on with. He expected his staff to do their job competently and conscientiously, he consulted and advised, he did not lay down the law but what he said went, and he did not suffer fools gladly. He was a friend in those times, and has remained a friend every since. We see each other from time to time.
In the fulness of time, there was an addition to the family, and Philip made his appearance. In those days, it was the practice for only the first child to be born in hospital, so Philip was born at home. [Three photographs of Henry with his children]
[page break]
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[Six photographs of the family]
[page break]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Henry Wagner's life story. Part one
Description
An account of the resource
Hand written by Henry, Part 1 covers his early life and time at university. It goes on to cover in some detail his time in the RAF, his time training in South Africa conversion to the Halifax and operations on 51 Squadron. It also covers his time as a prisoner of war and his post war career as a teacher in both England and Kenya. This part also covers his marriage, two children and their first house.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Henry Wagner
Format
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153 hand written pages with photographs
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Memoir
Text
Identifier
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BWagnerHWWagnerHWv1-01
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
South Africa
Germany
Kenya
Germany--Winterfeld
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Requires
A related resource that is required by the described resource to support its function, delivery, or coherence.
Henry was born Irish but later became a naturalised British Citizen. He talks of his early life in Ireland, going to school at Henley-on-Thames and went to Reading University. (Higher School Certificate p15). He joined the University Air Squadron. After passing his final year examinations he was called up and joined the RAF. (Photograph p 21).
He passed through the Aircrew Reception Centre in London, Brighton, and Liverpool, Henry found himself sailing to Durban, South Africa. He tried to become a pilot but failed a test in a Tiger Moth so was placed in the Navigational Training School. He met Graham Walker while there. On 23 December 1943 Henry became a Sergeant with a Navigator’s brevet. (Navigator brevet p27).
After moving through RAF West Freugh, Scotland, Henry was then posted to the OTU RAF Abingdon to learn more complex skills in addition to lectures about the Luftwaffe, Intelligence information and ‘Escape and Evasion’. Henry crewed up at Abingdon. (Photographs of crew p 34-5). The next move was to 4 Group Training School, and this confirmed for the crew that they would be flying Halifax Mark 3 aircraft. Here lectures were ‘all good stuff’.
The penultimate move was to 1952 HCU RAF Marston Moor to learn about the Halifax Mark 3 and meet Sergeant Eric Berry, flight engineer. (Photograph p37). Henry describes the duties of the navigator, the use of the ‘Master Bomber’, some of the anti-aircraft techniques that were used in the technological war. (Photograph using of the H2S p39, pieces of the ‘Window’ radar defence p50).
Finally, they moved to RAF Snaith. There Henry took part in raids on Julich near Essen x 2, Hagen (an aborted mission), Soest, in the Ruhr Valley, Duisburg x 2, Aachen, Munster, and Osnabruck. There was a degree of acceptance that they were statistically going to die during their duties.
Henry was returning from a raid when he appraised the pilot that there was a fire onboard. The pilot to decide to abandon the aeroplane, and Henry parachuted from his plane. He landed in the garden of a domestic house and explains the contents of his evasion-pack. He was captured, moved to the Aircrew Interrogation Centre was in Oberursel and then onto Stalag Luft 7 Bankau, Silesia. Here he rejoined John Trumble with whom Henry had undergone part of his training. There was an army padre at the camp and the influence Captain John Collins had on the POWs both at Stalag Luft 7 and when the men were marching to other camps is described. They arrived at Stalag 3A, Luckenwaldwe. Henry describes Red Cross parcel, daily life there, attacks of dysentery, and ‘Goon-baiting’.
When the ‘gen’ revealed the Russians were only 12 miles from the camp, the Germans abandoned them, and RAF Wing Commander Beamont assumed command of the camp. On 22 April 1945, the Russians arrived. They refused to release the POWs, so Henry and John walked 7 miles westwards where they were met by the Americans and taken to the Reception Centre, Schonebeck.
With VE declared and de-lousing completed they were returned to RAF Wing, Aylebury. He shows the graves of his crew (photographs p 99-101).
On demobbing Henry resumed his university studies and became a teacher. He married and had children. Henry went to a Stalag Luft 7 reunion in 1982.
Claire Campbell
1652 HCU
51 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aerial photograph
air gunner
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
briefing
C-47
Caterpillar Club
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Dulag Luft
evading
final resting place
flight engineer
Flying Training School
Gee
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
killed in action
Master Bomber
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
missing in action
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
perception of bombing war
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Heaton Park
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Snaith
RAF West Freugh
recruitment
Red Cross
shot down
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 7
target indicator
target photograph
the long march
Tiger Moth
training
Whitley
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1400/27091/BWagnerHWWagnerHWv10001.1.jpg
85822213415fbbf7896f5339f05b9994
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
Jones, Hugh Brenton
H B Jones
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-01-11
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Jones, HB
Description
An account of the resource
17 items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant Hugh Brenton Jones (1925 - 1944, 1866363 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 51 Squadron and was killed 18 December 1944. <br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Rea Camus and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Hugh Brenton Jones is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/214965/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
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
Pilot to Navigator - Where are we?
The Personal Account of a Wartime Navigator
Description
An account of the resource
Henry, volunteered for the RAF and learned to fly Tiger Moths at Brough. He then was transferred to South Africa on a troopship. His flying training came to an end after a poor solo flight. He was retrained as a navigator. On completion of his training he returned to the UK. After an inactive posting to Whitley Bay he was sent to West Freugh for further training. Next was an operational training unit at Abingdon, where he crewed up.
Training continued on Whitleys before a transfer to Acaster Malbis for yet more training, followed by the heavy conversion unit at Marston Moor, on Halifaxes.
His first operational posting was 51 Squadron at Snaith. He covers each operation in detail. Interspersed with the details are explanations of electronic systems and tactics used.
During one operation he was shot down and parachuted behind the German lines. Eventually he was taken prisoner, interrogated then transferred to Stalag Luft 7. As the Russians got nearer they were forced to walk west. Later they were transferred by train to Stalag IIIA.
The account then jumps to reunions in the 1980s, then returns to the last few days at the camp as the war ends.
He reached home on 15th May.
This item is available only at the International Bomber Command Centre / University of Lincoln.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Henry Wagner
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
73 page book
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Royal Navy
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Henley-on-Thames
England--Reading
England--London
England--Brighton
England--Hull
England--Manchester
England--Blackpool
England--Liverpool
South Africa--Durban
South Africa--East London
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
Egypt--Suez Canal
Egypt--Port Said
Libya--Tobruk
Italy--Sicily
Algeria--Algiers
England--Harrogate
England--Whitley Bay
England--Newquay
England--Falmouth
England--York
Northern Ireland--Belfast
Great Britain Miscellaneous Island Dependencies--Isle of Man
Germany--Jülich
Germany--Essen
England--Beachy Head
Germany--Neuss
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Hamburg
England--Derby
Germany--Soest
England--Nottingham
Germany--Hildesheim
Belgium--Brussels
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
Alps
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Hagen (Arnsberg)
Germany--Düren (Cologne)
Germany--Osnabrück
Germany--Giessen (Hesse)
Libya--Banghāzī
Yemen (Republic)
Italy
Algeria
Libya
Egypt
North Africa
Germany
Belgium
South Africa
Great Britain
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Berkshire
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Derbyshire
England--Northumberland
England--Oxfordshire
England--Sussex
England--Lancashire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Schönebeck (Schönebeck)
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BWagnerHWWagnerHWv1
100 Group
4 Group
425 Squadron
51 Squadron
77 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aerial photograph
air gunner
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
bale out
bomb aimer
C-47
Caterpillar Club
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
entertainment
evading
flight engineer
Flying Training School
Gee
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Hurricane
Ju 88
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
military service conditions
missing in action
Mosquito
navigator
Nissen hut
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Bottesford
RAF Cosford
RAF Full Sutton
RAF Manston
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Melbourne
RAF Snaith
RAF St Eval
RAF Stanton Harcourt
RAF Tholthorpe
RAF West Freugh
RAF Wing
Red Cross
Resistance
shot down
sport
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 7
Stirling
Sunderland
target indicator
the long march
Tiger Moth
training
V-1
V-weapon
Wellington
Whitley
Window
wireless operator / air gunner
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/201/10044/BBaileyJDBaileyJDv1.1.pdf
3a146f510c94f18f8643a8ac43ad6772
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
Bailey, John Derek
John Derek Bailey
Bill Bailey
John D Bailey
John Bailey
J D Bailey
J Bailey
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An account of the resource
17 items. Two oral history interviews with John Derek "Bill" Bailey (b. 1924, 1583184 and 198592 Royal Air Force) service material, nine photographs, a memoir and his log book. He flew a tour of operations as a bomb aimer with 103 and 166 Squadrons from RAF Elsham Wolds and RAF Kirmington.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by John Bailey and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2016-12-07
2017-01-13
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
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Bailey, JD
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[centred] “WAS IT ALL A DREAM” [/centred]
[centred] The Memories of a Wartime Bomb Aimer Bill Bailey with No. 1 Group Bomber Command February 1942 to April 1947
These things really happened. I now have difficulty in remembering what I did yesterday but happenings of Fifty-odd years ago seem crystal clear, or
Was it all a dream? [/centred]
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Chapter 1. Enlistment – Royal Air Force Training Command.
The story begins on 2 February, 1942, my 18th. Birthday, when I rushed off to the recruiting office in Leicester and enlisted in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve as potential aircrew. Being a founder member cadet (No. 6) of 1461 Squadron Air Training Corps was a help. I passed the various medicals, etc[sic] and was sent to the aircrew attestation centre in Birmingham for the various tests for acceptance as aircrew. Like most others I wanted to be a pilot but on the day I attended I think they had that day’s quota of pilots. It was said my eyesight was not up to pilot standard but I could be a navigator. I was said to have a ‘convergency’ problem and would probably try to land an aircraft about ten feet off the deck.. I was duly accepted for Navigator training. The procedure was then to be sent home, attend ATC parades regularly and await further instructions. This was known as ‘deferred service’ and with it came a letter of welcome to the Royal Air Force, from the Secretary of State for Air, at that time Sir Archibald Sinclair, and the privilege of wearing a white flash in my ATC cadet’s forage cap which denoted the wearer was u/t (under training) aircrew.
So it was that on the 27 July 1942 I was commanded to report for service at the Aircrew Reception Centre at Lords Cricket Ground, St. Johns Wood, London. I was now 1583184 AC2 Bailey, J.D., rate of pay two shillings and sixpence per day. We were billeted in blocks of flats adjacent to Regents Park and fed in a vary[sic] large underground car park at one of the blocks or in the restaurant at London Zoo. Talk about feeding time at the Zoo!! A hectic three weeks followed, issue of uniforms and equipment, dental treatment, numerous jabs, endless square bashing - the ATC training helped. Lectures on this, that and everything including the dreaded effects of
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VD, the latter shown in glorious Technicolor at the Odeon Cinema, Swiss Cottage. Not that this was of much consequence at that time because we were reliably informed that plenty of bromide was put in the tea.
One day on first parade I and one other lad from my Flight were called out by the Flight Corporal, a sadistic sod, who informed us we had volunteered to give a pint of blood. Apparently we had an unusual blood group and some was required for what purpose I have never really understood.
Having completed the aforementioned necessities it was a question of what to do with us next.
The next stage of training was to be ITW (Initial Training Wing). but there was congestion in the supply line from ACRC to the ITW’s so a “holding unit” (this term will crop up from time to time) had been established at Ludlow and it was to there that we went.
Ludlow consisted of three Wings in tented accommodation and was progressively developed into a more permanent establishment by the cadets passing through, using their civilian life skills. We were allowed (officially) one night in three off camp so as not to flood the pubs, of which there were many, with RAF bods, and cause mayhem in the town.
Four weeks were spent at Ludlow. It was said to be a toughening up course and it was certainly that.
Next stop from Ludlow was to an ITW. Most ITW’s were located in seaside towns with the sea front hotels having been requisitioned by the Air Ministry. In my case I was posted to No.4 ITW at Paignton, Devon where I was to spend the next twelve weeks living in the Hydro Hotel, right on the seafront near the harbour.
Twelve weeks of intensive ground training. At the end of this period I was at the peak
[handwritten in margin] followed (needs a verb[?]) [/handwritten in margin]
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of fitness and having passed my exams was promoted LAC – pay rise to seven shillings a day.
One of the subjects covered at ITW was the Browning .303 machine gun and I well remember the first lecture on this weapon when a Corporal Armourer giving the lecture delivered his party piece which went as follows: “This is the Browning .303 machine gun which works by recoil action. When the gun is fired the bullet nips smartly up the barrel, hotley [sic] pursued by the gases …”. Applause please!
Another subject learned was the Morse Code and here again the training in the ATC stood me in good stead.
The next phase would be flying training, but when and where?
On New Years[sic] Day 1943 we were posted from Paignton to yet another ‘holding unit’ at Brighton. The move from the English Riviera to Brighton was like going to the North Pole. At Brighton we were billeted in the Metropole Hotel. More lectures, square bashing and boredom, until, after about three weeks, on morning parade it was announced that a new aircrew category of Airbomber had been created and any u/t Navigators who volunteered would be guaranteed a quick posting and off to Canada for training.
Needless to say, yours truly stepped forward and within a week had been posted to Heaton Park, Manchester which was an enormous transit camp for u/t aircrew leaving the UK for Canada, Rhodesia or America for training.
They used to say it always rains in Manchester and it certainly did continuously whilst I was there. Anyone who has seen the film “Journey Together” will have seen a departure parade at Heaton Park in pouring rain. I am told that on the day that film was shot it was fine and the fire service had to make the rain. Sods Law I suppose!
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Chapter II. Canada – The Empire Air Training Scheme.
Next, after a farewell meal of egg and chips (In 1943 a delicacy), and a few words from the C in C Training Command, it was off to Glasgow to board the “Andes” for our trip to Canada.
The ‘Andes’ was said to be jinx ship in port. She didn’t let us down. In the Clyde she dropped anchor to swing the compass and when she tried to up anchor a submarine cable was wrapped around it. After a couple of days we finally left the Clyde and I endured six days of seasickness before arriving in Halifax, Nova Scotia and then to yet another enormous transit camp at Moncton, New Brunswick where we enjoyed food that we had not seen in the UK since the start of food rationing. It was in a restaurant in Moncton that I had my very first ‘T’ Bone steak.
The first task at Moncton was issue of cold weather kit to cope with the Canadian winter and Khaki Drill to cope with the very hot Canadian summer. We were at this time in the middle of the winter and colder than I had ever experienced before.. The next stop should have been to a Bombing & Gunnery School but before that there had to be the inevitable ‘holding unit’. So it was off to Carberry, Manitoba, five or six days on a troop train, days spent seeing nothing but trees, frozen lakes, the occasional trace of habitation and the odd trappers cabin. At intervals on the journey across Canada, people were taken off the train suffering from Scarlet Fever. It was believed that this disease came from the troopships.
As we passed through Winnipeg on our journey, for the first time we were allowed off the train and as we went from the platform to the station concourse we were greeted with bands playing a huge welcome from the good people of Winnipeg. They had in Winnipeg the “Airmens Club” and an invitation to visit if there on leave. They
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had a wonderful system of people who would welcome RAF chaps into their homes for a few days or a weekend when on leave. This was to stand me in good stead as you will hear later.
Shortly after arrival at Carberry I fell victim to Scarlet Fever and spent five weeks in isolation hospital at Brandon after which I and a fellow sufferer by the name of Peter Caldwell had two weeks sick leave in Winnipeg and the Airmens Club arranged for us to stay with an English family. Wonderful hospitality. The Canadians were wonderful hosts to the Royal Air Force.
Carberry and Brandon were, of course, on the Canadian Prairies and whilst in hospital at Brandon, one night and day there was a terrible dust storm and despite the usual Canadian double glazing, everywhere inside the hospital was covered in black dust. This is probably of little interest but to me at the time was an amazing phenomenom.
Now it was back to reality and a posting to 31 Bombing & Gunnery School at Picton, Ontario. A two day journey by train around the North Shore of Lake Superior to Toronto and Belleville and then twenty plus miles down a dirt road to Picton. The airfield still exists, on high ground, overlooking the town on the shores of Lake Ontario. The bombing targets were moored out in the lake and air gunnery practice took place out over the lake.
The weather during this spell was very hot and flying was limited to a period from very early morning until midday. Canadian built Ansons were used for bombing practice and Bolingbrokes, which were Canadian built Blenheims, were used for air to air gunnery practice. The target drogues were towed by Lysanders.
Nothing outstanding took place at Picton except perhaps for our passing out party which we held in Belleville. In my case, being full of Canadian rye whisky of the
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bootleg variety I literally passed out and for many years afterwards could not even stand the smell of strong spirits.
Having recovered from the passing out the next stop was No. 33 Air Navigation School, RAF Mount Hope, Hamilton. Ontario. Mount Hope is now Hamilton Airport. Navigation training in Ansons was fairly uneventful and ended with us receiving our Sergeants stripes and the coveted “O” brevet. (Known to all as the flying arsehole) The “O” brevet was soon to be replaced with brevets more appropriate to the trade of the wearer, ie “B” for Airbombers, “N” for Navigators, etc. Next it was back to Moncton for the return to the UK.
The return voyage was on the ‘Mauritania’ where there were only 50 sergeant aircrew who were to act as guards on the ship which was transporting a large number of American troops. O/c. Troops on the ship was a Royal Air Force Squadron Leader. To our amazement when the Americans boarded the ship they had no idea where they were going. Most seemed to think they were going to Iceland and when we told them Liverpool was our destination they could not believe it. We were asked where we picked up the convoy and when we told them we did not go in convoy this caused a great deal of consternation. All the troopships going back and forth between the UK and North America were too fast to be in convoys and fast zig zag runs were made across the Atlantic. It was very long odds against the likelihood of encountering a U Boat..
Having safely arrived in Liverpool our next temporary home was yet another ‘holding unit’.
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Chapter III. Flying Training Command.
This time it was the Grand Hotel in Harrogate overlooking the famous Valley Gardens.
The RAF had taken over both the Grand and Majestic Hotels. Sadly the Grand has now gone. I rcall our CO at the Grand was Squadron Leader L E G Ames the England cricketer. Time at Harrogate awaiting posting was filled by swimming, drill, the usual time filling lectures, etc. We did, of course, get what was known as disembarkation leave. I went home and whilst there my granddad, with whom I had always had a very close relationship, took ill and died at the age of 85 and I was very grateful that I had been able to talk to him and to attend the funeral.
Christmas was spent at Harrogate, there being a ban on service travel during the Christmas period. On, I believe, Boxing Day, Maxie Booth and myself were in Harrogate, fed up and far from home, when we were approached by a chap who asked if we were doing anything that night, to which we replied “No”. He then said he was having a small party at home that night and had two Air Ministry girls billeted wit6h his family and would we like to join them. We readily accepted and when we arrived at the party we found that one of the girls was Maxie’s cousin. Small world! Still at Harrogate on my birthday 2 February, now at the ripe old age of 20. My room mates contrived to get me very drunk. I will spare you the details.
After a short time we were posted to Kirkham, Lancs to yet another holding unit, for a couple of weeks and then onward to Penrhos, North Wales, 9(O) Advanced Flying Unit for bombing practice. We were using Ansons and 10lb practice bombs. In Canada the Ansons had hydraulic undercarriages but at Penrhos they were Mk1 Ansons and it was the Bombaimers job to wind up the undercarriage by hand. A hell
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of a lot of turns on the handle – not much fun.
Next move was to Llandwrog, Nr. Caernarvon for the Navigation part of the Course. Same aircraft flying on exercises mainly over the Irish Sea, N. Ireland, Isle of Man, etc. Llandwrog is now Caernarvon airport with an interesting small museum. [handwritten in margin] museum since closed [handwritten in margin]. Llandwrog was unusual in that the airfield and our living site were below sea level, a dyke between us and the Irish Sea. Because of this there was no piped water or drainage on our site and it was necessary to carry a ‘small pack’ and do our ablutions at the main domestic site which was above sea level. I, and a pal or two went into Caernarvon for a weekend in the Prince of Wales Hotel to get a bit of a civilised existence for a change. However our stay at Llandwrog was quite brief.
The 1st. March 1944 was very significant in that it marked the move from Flying Training Command to Bomber Command. 83 Operational Training Unit at Peplow in Shropshire. Never heard of Peplow? Neither had I, it is a few miles North of Wellington. [handwritten in margin] Peplow was formerly Childs Ercall – renamed to avoid conflict with High Ercall airfield, nearby, I understood. [handwritten in margin] We arrived by train at Peplow, in the dark, station ‘lit’ by semi blacked out gas lamps. Arriving at Peplow were Pilots, Navigators, Bombaimers, Wireless Operators and Gunners from different training establishments.
Somehow, the next day, we sorted ourselves out into crews of six, Pilot, Nav, Bombaimer, W/Op and two gunners and were ready to start the business of Operational flying as a bomber crew.. We had never met each other before but were to spend the next few months living together, flying together and relying on each other, and developing a unique comradeship..
Peplow was notable for several things. From our living site, the nearest Pub was five miles in any direction. Having twice walked in different directions to prove the
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mileage we quickly acquired pushbikes. At that time there were no sign posts. One night doing ‘circuits and bumps’ in a Wellington we were in the ’funnel’ on the approach to the runway, skipper put the flaps down and the aircraft started to make a turn to port which he could not control. He ordered me to pull up the flaps and he then regained control. We then climbed to a respectable height and skip asked me to lower the flaps. The same thing happened again, an uncontrollable turn to port and quickly losing height. Flaps pulled up and normal service resumed. Skip then got permission from Air Traffic to make a flapless landing which he managed without running out of runway. We taxied back to dispersal and on inspection found that when the flaps were lowered only the port side flaps came down. Apparently a tie rod between port and starboard must have come apart. Could have been nasty!
On a lighter note, when cycling back to camp from Wellington one night I had a problem with the lights on my bike and was stopped by P.C Plod and booked for riding a bike without lights. Fined 10 shillings.
Another incident clearly imprinted on my mind was one day in class we were being given a lecture on the dinghy radio. I had heard all about the dinghy radio so many times I could almost recite it. I was sitting on the back row in class and I put my head back against the wall and must have dropped off. Suddenly a piece of chalk hit the wall at the side of my head. I awoke with a start and the guy giving the lecture (A Flying Officer) said, “I suppose Sergeant, you know all about dinghy radio”. To which I foolishly replied “Yes Sir”. He then said “In that case you can come out and continue the lecture”. Even more foolishly I did.
When finished I was asked to stay behind to receive an almighty bollocking for being a smartarse.
Finally whilst at Peplow a young lady I met in Wellington gave me a red scarf for
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luck and after that my crew would never let me fly without it.
We were now getting down to the serious business of preparing for actual operations and on the 24.5.44 we were despatched on an actual operation which was known as a ‘nickel’ raid, leaflet dropping over France, a place called ‘Criel’. 4 hours 35 minutes airborne in a Wellington bomber.
[Where is chapter IV?]
Chapter V. No. 1 Group Bomber Command.
On the 26th. June we were on the move again, ever nearer to being on an operational Squadron in Bomber Command. This was to 1667 Conversion Unit at Sandtoft where we were to convert to four engine aircraft ‘Halifaxes’. These were Halifax II & V which were underpowered and notoriously unreliable and had been withdrawn from front line service. In fact Sandtoft was affectionately known as ‘Prangtoft’ because of the large number of flying accidents. One of my pals from Harrogate days, Harry Fryer, got the chop in a Halifax that crashed near Crowle.
So that I do not give any wrong ideas, let me say, the Halifax III with radial engines was a superb aircraft and equipped No. 4 Goup.
It was here at Sandtoft that we acquired the seventh member of our crew, a Flight Engineer, straight from RAF St. Athan and never having been airborne.
We obviously survived ‘Prangtoft’ and then moved on the 22 July to LFS (Lancaster Finishing School) at Hemswell, which supplied crews to No. 1 Group, Bomber Command, which was the largest main force group flying Lancasters. We were only two weeks at Hemswell, the sole object being to familiaise[sic] with the
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Queen of the skies, the LANCASTER. A beautiful aeroplane, very reliable, able to fly easily with two dead engines on one side, and to withstand considerable battle damage and still remain airborne.
Chapter VI. The Tour of Operations. 103 Squadron.
Now for the real thing. On the 10th August we joined 103 Squadron at Elsham Wolds, in North Lincolnshire.
At this point I should like to introduce our crew:
P/O George Knott. Pilot & Skipper.
F/Sgt. Ron Archer. Navigator.
F/Sgt. Bill Bailey. Bombaimer.
F/Sgt. Gus Leigh. Wireless Opeator.
F/Sgt. Wally Williams. Flight Engineer.
F/Sgt. Jock Greig. Midupper Gunner.
F/Sgt. Paddy Anderson. Rear Gunner.
After a bit more training we eventually embarked on our first operation on the 29th,. August. I now propose to go through our complete tour of Operations as recorded in my flying log book and other documents.
Before doing that perhaps I should give an insight into Squadron procedure. We were accommodated in nissen huts on dispersed sites in the vicinity of the airfield, two Crews to a hut. The huts were sleeping quarters only and were heated by a solid fuel stove in the centre. Bloody cold in the bleak Lincolnshire winter. The messes were on the main domestic site. Every morning (provided there was no call out in the night)
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it was to the mess for breakfast, check if there was an Order of Battle and if you were on it. If not, we made our way to the flight offices and section leaders. I would go to the Bombing Leader’s office where we would review the previous operation and look at target photographs. Releasing the bombs over the target also activated a camera which took line overlap pictures from the release point to impact on the ground.. We would then return to the mess to await the next orders or perhaps take an aircraft on air test, although after ‘D’ day this practice was discontinued because the aircraft were kept bombed up in a state readiness. Temporarily at least Bomber Command was being used in a close support role to assist the Armies in France.
When a Battle Order was issued, the nominated crews assembled in the briefing room at the appointed time and when everyone was present the doors were closed and guarded. On a large wall map of Europe in front of us was a red tape snaking across the map from Base to the designated target. The length of the tape dictated the reaction of the assembled company.
Pilots, Navigators and Bombaimers did their pre-flight planning prepared maps and charts ready to go. Each crew member received a small white bag into which he emptied his pockets of everything. The seven bags were then put into one larger bag and handed to the intelligence office until our return. We, in turn, were given our ‘escape kits’ and flying rations. The escape kit was for use in the event of being shot down and trying to evade capture and return to England. We also carried passport size photographs which might enable resistance workers in occupied countries to get us fake identity documents. Phrase cards, compass, maps and currency notes were also included. The flying rations issued were mainly chocolate bars (very valuable at that time) also ‘wakey wakey pills’, caffeine tablets to be taken on the skipper’s orders. All ready to go. Collect parachutes, get into the crew buses and be ferried out to the
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Dispersals A visual check round the aircraft and then climb aboard. Start engines when ordered, close bomb doors, complete preflight checks and taxi to the end of the runway. The airfield controller’s cabin was located at the side of the runway and on a green lamp from him, open the throttles and roll. We were on our way. The Lancaster had an all up weight for take-off of 66000 lbs and needed the full runway, into wind, for a safe take-off. The maximum bomb load on a standard Lancaster was 7 tons but operating at maximum range the bomb load would be reduced to about 5 tons to accommodate a maximum fuel load.
On return from operations, after landing and returning to dispersal, shut down engines, climb down and await transport back to the briefing room for interrogation by intelligence officers. Hot drinks and tot of rum available and back to the mess for the customary egg, bacon and chips..
At this time were confined to camp because of the possibility of being of being[sic] called for short notice operations.
THE TOUR OF OPERATIONS.
No. 1 29.8.44 Target – STETTIN.
Checked Battle Order to find our crew allocated to PM-N.
Briefing for night attack on the Baltic Port of Stettin. Bomb load mainly incendieries.[sic] The route took us across the North Sea, over Northern Denmark, S.W. Sweden and then due South into the target, bomb and turn West to cross Denmark and the North Sea back to base. The force consisted of 402 Lancasters and 1 Mosquito of 1,3,6,& 8 Groups. It was a very successful attack and 23 Lancasters were lost. We suffered no damage from anti-aircraft fire and saw no fighters. Whilst crossing Sweden there was
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a certain amount of what was called friendly flak, shells bursting at about 10,000 ft whilst we were flying at 18000 ft
This was my first sight of a target and something I shall never forget, smoke, flames, bombbursts, searchlights, anti-aircraft fire. It was also very tiring having been airborne for 9 hours 25 minutes and flown some 2000 miles.
Used full quota of ‘wakey wakey’ pills.
No. 2. 31.8.44. Target .Flying Bomb launch site. AGENVILLE France.
Daylight attack, Master Bomber controlled This was one of several targets to be attacked in Northern France. Seemed like a piece of cake after the long trip to Stettin. Not so! We were briefed to bomb from 10,000 ft on the Master Bomber’s instructions. On approaching the target area there was 10/10 cloud and the call from the Master Bomber went like this: “Main Force – descent to 8,000ft and bomb on red TI’s (Target indicators). – no opposition” We descended to 8,000ft and immediately we broke cloud there were shells bursting around us, Fortunately dead ahead was the target and I called for bomb doors open and started the bombing run.. At the appropriate point I pressed the bomb release and nothing happened. A quick look revealed no lights on the bombing panel. Whilst I was checking the main fuse the rear gunner was calling “We are on fire Skip – there is smoke streaming past me” The ‘smoke’ proved to be hydraulic fluid which was vaporising. We climbed back into cloud and assessed the situation. Whilst in cloud we experienced severe icing and with the pitot head frozen we lost instruments which meant skip had no way of knowing the attitude[?] of the aircraft and for the one and only time in my flying career, we were ordered to prepare to abandon aircraft and I put on my parachute pack. However we emerged from cloud and normal service was resumed. We had no
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electrics, no hydraulics, bomb doors open and a full load of bombs still on board Skip decided to head for base via a North Sea designated dropping zone where I could jettison the bombs safely. This was accompanied by going back along the fuselage and using a highly technical piece of kit, a piece of wire with a hook on the end, pushing it down through a hole about each bomb carrier and tripping the release mechanism.
Having got rid of the bombs it was back to base, crossing the coast at a spot where we should not have been and risking being shot at by friendly Ack Ack gunners. We arrived back at base some one and a half hours late. Now for the tricky bit. The undercarriage, in the absence of hydraulic fluid, had to be blown down by compressed air. This was an emergency procedure and could only be tried once, a now or never situation. Now we have to make a flapless landing and hope that the landing gear is locked down and does not collapse when we land. Not being able to use flaps means the landing speed is greater than normal and then we have no brakes. Skip made a super landing but once on the runway could only throttle back and wait for the aircraft to roll to a stop. This it did right at the end of the runway.
On inspection after return to dispersal it appeared that a shell or shells had burst very near to the bomb bay and shrapnel had severed hydraulic pipes and electric cables in the bomb bay. I should think we were very close to having been blown to bits. This trip was a little bit sobering to say the least. The aircraft resembled a pepper pot but luckily no one was injured.
No. 3 3.9.44 Target Eindhoven Airfield, Holland. Daylight Operation.
Allocated to PM-X (N having been severely damaged on our last sortie)
A straight forward attack on the airfield, one of six airfields in Southern Holland
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attacked by.675 aircraft a mixture of 348 Lancasters and 315 Halifaxes and 12 Mosquitoes, all very successful raids and only one Halifax lost.
This was my first experience of the ‘Oboe’ target marking system now used by Pathfinders flying Mosquitoes.. A very accurate system – the markers were right in the middle of the runway intersections. Very impressive.
No.4 5.9.44. Target – Defensive positions around LE HAVRE.
Aircraft allocated PM-W. Bomb load 15,000 lbs High Explosives. Daylight operation.
This attack was in support of Canadian troops who were demanding the surrender of the German garrison. The first phase of Lancasters orbited the target awaiting the outcome. This was negative and the attack took place. In clear visibility our riming point was 2000 yards in front of the Canadian troops and the area around the aiming point was completely destroyed.
No.5 10.9.44 Target – LE HAVRE again. Daylight operation.
Aircraft allocated PM-E Bomb load 15000 lbs High Explosive. Daylight operation. 992 aircraft attacked 8 difference German strongpoints only yards in front of Canadian troops. All were bombed accurately. No aircraft were lost.
No.6 12.9.44. Target FRANKFURT. Night operation.
Aircraft allocated PM-G. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus incendiaries.
This was an unusual operation in that we were one of several crews who were briefed to bomb 5 minutes ahead of main force, identifying the aiming point ourselves. The
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object was to occupy the defences whilst the pathfinders went in low to mark the aiming point for main force. Our route to target took us South into France, near Strasbourg and then a turn North East towards Frankfurt. Our navigator Ron at some point realised we were well off track because he was getting wrong positions due to distortion of the ‘Gee chain’, wither by jamming or almost out of range.
As well as being bombaimer I was also the H2S radar operator and so I switched this on to try to verify our position I managed to identify Mannheim on the screen and was then able, with Ron, to fix a course to the target. As we approached the target there were hundreds of searchlights but instead of combing the sky they were laid along the ground in the direction of our track. It took a few minutes to realise that what they were doing was putting a carpet of light on the ground so that any fighters above us would have us silhouetted against the light. Gunners be extra vigilant! I dropped the bombs and we headed for base without incident. Intelligence reports said it was a very successful attack.
No. 7 17.9.44 Target Ammunition Dump at THE HAGUE, Holland Daylight.
Aircraft allocated PM-B, Bomb load 15000lbs Gen. Purpose bombs.
This attack by 27 Lancasters of 103 Squadron only and was carried out without loss.
No. 8 24.9.44. Target CALAIS. Close support for the Army. Daylight.
Allocated aircraft PM-B Bomb load 15000 lbs GP Bombs.
103 & 576 Squadrons were chosen to attack this target, gun emplacements, at low level (2000 ft) in the interests of accuracy. The weather was atrocious, almost as soon as we got off the runway we were in cloud. However we set course for Calais flying
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at around 1000 ft so as to keep the ground in view. As we approached the Channel the cloud lifted a bit and we were able to climb to 2000 ft but as we approached the target the cloud base lowered again and we had to descend again to 1000 ft for the bombing run. A we approached the aiming point, I was lying in the nose and could see everything on the ground. And being in the best position to see what was going on. could see where I thought the worst of the anti-aircraft fire, and indeed small arms fire was coming from.. I therefore ‘suggested’ to skip that when I say “bombs gone” you put her over hard to port and get down on the deck. Bugger the target photograph, we’ll have a picture of the sky! George did this and where we would have been if we had gone straight on whilst the camera operated, were shell bursts. We got out of that unscathed. Of the 27 aircraft that started that attack, one was lost, 8 landed away with various degrees of battle damage and of the remainder only 3 aircraft returned to base undamaged. “B” was one of them. As Ron recorded in his notes “Oppositions – everything”.
No. 9 26.9.44. Target Gunsites at Cap Gris Nez Daylight.
Allocated aircraft PM-B Bomb load 15000 lbs GP Bombs.
This was a highly concentrated and successful attack with very little opposition. Obtained a very good aiming point photograph.
No. 10 27,9,44.
We were briefed to bomb in the Calais area again on 27th. Sept but this operation was aborted due to the bombsight being unserviceable.
This ended our operational career at 103 Squadron. Only two of our operations had been at night.
Ourselves and one other crew from ‘A’ flight were transferred to 166 Squadron at
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Kirmington, one of the three stations forming 13 Base, to form a new ‘A’ flight at 166.Squadron.
As a matter of interest, Kirmington is now South Humberside Airport. Before moving on to the next phase I should explain that operational aircrew were given six days leave every six weeks which will explain some of the gaps in the story.
Chapter VII. The Tour of Operations. 166 Squadron.
166 Squadron, Kirmington, Lincs.
When we arrived at Kirmington we were allocated a hut on a dispersed site in Brocklesby Wood, about as far as could be from the airfield. Primitive living arrangements, but not too far from the Sergeants Mess.
By now we were no longer confined to camp and “liberty buses” were run from camp to Grimsby and Scunthorpe. Most of us used to go to ‘Sunny Scunny’ where there was a cinema two well known pubs, The Bluebell and The Oswald, the latter became known as 1 Group Headquarters. This establishment had a large function room with a
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minutes after other aircraft had set course. We took part on second aiming point and catching up 20 minutes on round trip landed No.3 back at base.
No. 14 28.10.44 Target COLOGNE
Allocated aircraft AS-D Bomb Load 1 x 4000 lb Cookie plus incendiaries.
Daylight operation. 733 aircraft despatched to devastate residential areas in NW of the City There was heavy flak opposition and our aircraft suffered some minor damage A piece of shrapnel came through the Perspex dome in front of me whilst I was crouched over the bombsight It hit me on the shoulder on my parachute harness but did me no harm.
This was a very good operation as ordered.
No. 15 29.10.44. Target Gunsites at DOMBURG. Walcheren Island, Holland. Allocated aircraft AS-M Bomb Load 15000 lbs HE. Daylight attack. 6 aircraft from 166 squadron together with 19 others attacked 4 aiming points. All were accurately bombed. There was no opposition.
No. 16 30.10.44. Target COLOGNE, Night operation.
Allocated aircraft AS-K Bomb Load 1x4000lb Cookie plus 9000 lbs HE.
No. 1 Group was assigned to attack aiming point which was not successfully attacked on 28th. October. Over the target there was clear visibility, moderate flak opposition. This was considered to have been a very good attack.
It was on this operation, whilst we were on the bombing run an aircraft exploded ahead of us. At least I believe it was an aircraft although the Germans used a device which we called a “scarecrow”. This was a pyrotechnic device which exploded to
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simulate an exploding aircraft. Presumable meant to put the frighteners on us!
On the 31,.10.44 we were again briefed to attack Cologne but having climbed to operating height a crew check by the Skipper revealed that Paddy our rear gunner was unconscious in his turret. Gus, wireless op went back and pulled him from the turret and onto the rest bed in the centre of the aircraft. He fitted him up with a portable oxygen bottle and skip made the decision to abort and return to base where an ambulance was waiting to whisk paddy[sic] off to sick bay. Apparently the problem had been a trapped oxygen pipe in the turret. We had been airborne for 2hrs 15 mins.
To depart for the moment from the tour of operations, it was about this time when I developed at[sic] rash on my face which turned to a weeping eczema which meant that I could not shave and I had to report sick. The Doc took a look and said, “OK You’re grounded”. I replied “You can’t do that Doc, my crew will have to take a spare bombaimer and I shall have to complete my tour with other crews”. After pleading my case Doc agreed to allow me to continue flying provided each time before flying I reported to Sick Quarters and had a dressing put on my face so that I could wear my oxygen mask. The Doc was treating me with various creams which had little or no effect until one day the WAAF medical orderly who applied the treatment said to the Doc “Why don’t we try a starch poultice”. The Doc suggested that was an old wives remedy. However as nothing else had worked he agreed to let the Waaf[sic] give it a try. I know not where this young lady learned her skills because I gathered she was a hairdresser in civvie street, in Leicester, my home town. She applied the said poultice and the next day I reported back to sick quarters where she removed the poultice and whatever was clinging to it. I went back to our hut and very carefully shaved. The starch poultice had done the trick. I thought frostbite had probably caused the
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problem in the first place but I was to learn some months later the real cause which I shall reveal later in the story.
No. 17. 2.11.44. Target DUSSELDORF. Night operation.
Aircraft allocated AS-C. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie and 9000 lbs HE.
“C” Charlie was now to become our regular aircraft, for which we developed a great affection and a very special relationship with the ground crew.
992 aircraft attacked Dusseldorf of which 11 Halifaxes and 8 Lancasters were lost. It was a very heavy and concentrated attack with extensive damage and loss of life. This was the last major Bomber Command raid of the war on Dusseldorf.
At about his [this] time friendships were struck up. In my case I was returning from leave and whilst waiting for my train at Lincoln Station to Barnetby (where I had left my bike) I met a Waaf, also returning from leave and who was, surprise, surprise stationed at Kirmington. I asked how she was getting from Barnetby to Kirmington and she said she was walking. No prizes for guessing that she got back to Kirmington on the crossbar of my bike. (No it was not a ladies bike). We became good friends and she along with others, would be standing alongside the airfield controllers cabin at the end of the runway to wave us off on operations.
Also at about his [this] time George and Gus acquired friends from the Waaf personnel, one of whom was a telephonist and the other a R/T operator in the control tower. When returning from operations George would call up base as soon as he was able, to get instructions to join the circuit. First to call would get the 1000’ slot and first to land. The procedure then was to make a circuit of the airfield around the ‘drem’ system of lights, report on the downwind leg and again when turning into the funnels on the
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approach to the runway. We would then be given the OK to land or if there was a runway obstruction, go round again. I understand that word was passed to those who wished to know that “Knott’s crew were in the circuit.”
No. 18. 4.11.44. Target BOCHUM. Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load. 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus 9000lbs HE.
749 aircraft attacked this target. Unusually Halifaxes of 4 Group slightly out numbered Lancasters. 23 Halifaxes and 5 Lancasters were lost. No. 346 (Free French) Squadron, based at Elvington, lost 5 out of its 16 Halifaxes on the raid. Severe damage was caused to the centre of Bochum, particularly the important steelworks.
This was the last major raid by Bomber Command on this target
It was about at this on return from an operation, I felt the need of a stimulant and so, instead of giving my tot of rum to Jock, I put it into my ovaltine, which curdled and I ended up with something resembling soup and a chastising from Jock for wasting ‘valuable rum’.
No. 19. 11.11.44. Target DORTMUND Oil Plant. Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load, 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus 9000lb HE.
.209 Lancasters, all 1 Group, plus 19 Mosquitoes from 8 Group (Pathfinders) attacked this target. The aiming point was a synthetic oil plant. A local report confirmed that the plant was severely damaged. No aircraft were lost.
No. 20 21.11.44. Minelaying Operations in OSLO FJORD Norway.
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Aircraft AS-E. Bomb load 6 x 1800 lb Accoustic[sic] and Magnetic Mines.
Six Lancasters from 166 Squadron and 6 from 103 Squadron detailed to plant ‘vegetables’ in Oslo Fjord. AS-E to mine a channel half a mile wide, between an island and the mainland. This was to catch U Boats based in the harbour at MANNS. The attack was carried out at low level and required a very accurate bombing run.. It was a major sin to drop mines on land as they were classified Secret This was a highly successful operation with no opposition and no aircraft lost. Time airborne 6hrs 45mins
No. 21. 27.11.44. Target “FREIBURG” S.W. Germany. Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus incendiaries.
Freiburg was not an industrial town and had not been bombed by the RAF before. However. No. 1 Group 341 Lancasters, which was maximum effort for the Group, plus 10 Mosquitoes from 8 Group, were called upon to support the French Army in the Strasbourg sector. It is believed the Freiburg was full of German troops. The target was accurately marked using the ‘OBOE’ technique from caravans based in France. 1900 tons of bombs were dropped on the target from 12000 ft in the space of 25 minutes. Casualties on the ground were extremely high. There was little opposition and only one aircraft was lost…
On this operation we carried a second pilot as a prelude to his first operation. He Was Charles Martin, a New Zealander and he and his crew were to claim “C” Charlie as their own when Knott’s crew had finished their tour. Martin’s wireless operator was Jim Wright, who now runs 166 Squadron Association and is the author of “On Wings of War”, the history of 166 Squadron.
This crew completed their tour on “C” Charlie and the aircraft survived the war.
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No. 22. 29.11.44. Target DORTMUND. Daylight operation,
“C” Charlie. 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus 9000 lbs HE.
This was no ordinary operation, 294 Lancasters from 1 Group plus the usual quota of Mosquitoes from 8 Group. At briefing we were told that as Bomber Command had been venturing into Germany and particularly Happy Valley in daylight, and, unlike the Americans, had not been attacked by large numbers of fighters, there was concern that because of our techniques in Bomber Command, each aircraft making its own way to the target in the Bomber stream, we might be very vulnerable to fighter attack. We could not possibly adopt the American system of flying in mass formations and do some boffin somewhere had come up with the ‘brilliant’ idea that we should indulge in gaggle flying. No practice, mind, just – this what you do chaps – get on with it.. The idea was that 3 Lancasters would have their tail fins painted bright yellow and would be the leading ‘Vic’ formation. All other aircraft would take off, find another squadron aircraft and formate on it. Each pair would then pack in together behind the leading ‘vic’ and the lead Navigator would do the navigating with the rest of the force following. The route on the flight plan took us across Belgium crossed the Rhine between Duisburg and Dusseldorf then passing Wuppertal and North East into the target area. All went well until we were approaching the Rhine when the lead navigator realised we were two minutes early. It was important not to be early or we would arrive on target before the pathfinders had done their job. The technique for losing two minutes was to do a two minute ‘dog-leg’. When ordered by the lead nav, this involved doing a 45 degrees starboard turn, two minutes flying, 90 degree port turn, 2 minutes flying, 45 degree starboard turn and we were then back on track.
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Unfortunately the apex of the dog-leg took us directly over Dusseldorf, a town which was very heavily defended. All the flak in the world came up, especially among the three lead aircraft and suddenly there were Lancs going in all directions. I actually saw a collision between two aircraft which both spiralled earthwards. Once clear of this shambles we found we were now in the lead and so we continued to the target and there being no markers down, apparently due to bad weather, I followed standard instructions and bombed what I could see. We had suffered slight flak damage but nothing to affect “C” Charlies[sic] flying capabilities and we arrived back at base 5 hours 35 mins after take-off. Six Lancasters were lost.
This was our one and only experience of ‘gaggle flying’.
No. 23. 4.12.44. Target KARLSRUHE. Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus incendiaries.
The railway marshalling yards were attacked by 535 aircraft. Marking and bombing were accurate and severe damage was caused. A machine tool factory was also destroyed. 1 Lancaster and 1 Mosquito were lost.
No. 24. 6.12.44. Target Synthetic Oil Plants “MERSEBERG LEUNA” Nr. Leipzig.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000 lb Cookie 6000 lbs mixed HE.
475 Lancasters and 12 Mosquitoes were called upon to destroy Germany’s largest synthetic oil plant following numerous ineffective raids by the U.S. Air Force. This was the first major attack on an oil target in Eastern Germany and was some 500 miles from the bomber bases in England. “C” Charlie and crew were detailed to support pathfinder force (We were now considered to be an experienced crew). This meant we were to attack six minutes before main force. Weather conditions were
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very poor and marking was scarce and it was thought the attack was not very effective. However, post raid photographs showed that considerable damage had been caused to the synthetic oil plant and it was later revealed that the plant manager reported that the attack put the plant out of action and the second attack on 14.1.45 was not really necessary. 5 Lancasters were lost.
No.25. 12.12.44. Target ESSEN. Night attack.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie 10000 lbs HE bombs.
This was the last heavy night raid on Essen by 540 aircraft of Bomber Command. Even the Germans paid tribute to the accuracy of the bomb pattern on this raid which was thanks to “OBOE” marking by pathfinder Mosquitoes.
6 Lancasters lost.
No. 26. 13.12.44. Target Seamining [?] KATTEGAT. Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load. 6 x 1800 lbs mines.
6 aircraft from 166 Squadron and 6 from 103 Squadron were detailed to lay mines in the Kattegat. This force took off in poor visibility but over the dropping zone the weather was good. On this occasion the mines were to be dropped using the blind bombing technique. I was to use the H2S radar which was a ground mapping radar. The dropping point was a bearing and distance from an identifiable point on the coast which gave a good return on the radar. On reaching the dropping point the pilot had to steer a pre-determined course and I had to release the mines at say, one minute intervals. The H2S screen was photographed so that the intelligence bods back at base could check that the mi8nes had been put down in the right place. In this case – spot on!! We then received a signal from base informing that the weather had
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clamped and we were diverted to Lossiemouth. We landed at Lossie having been airborne for 5 hrs 45 mins. At Lossie we were given beds and of course food, with the intention of returning to Kirmington the following morning.
The next morning we were given the Ok to return to Kirmington and went out to the aircraft. One engine failed to start and a faulty starter motor was diagnosed. A replacement was to be flown up from Kirmington. There we were dressed in flying kit with no money or toilet requisites and not knowing when the aircraft would be serviceable It certainly would not be today. We managed to secure a bit of cash from accounts and towels, etc from stores. That night Jock and I decided to go out on the town breaking all the rules about being out in public improperly dressed. However we got away with it. On the 17yth. “C” Charlie was serviceable and we were permitted to return to Kirmington. When we joined the circuit we could see Flying Fortresses on our dispersals having been diverted in the day before. The weather was certainly bad in the winter of 44/45.. The Americans crews allowed us to look over their Fortresses and we in turn invited them to look at our Lancaster. Their main interest centred on the Lancaster’s enormous bomb bay compared with their own.
21/12/44/ Seamining BALTIC Night operation.
Aircraft AS-H. Bomb load. 5 x 1800 lb mines.
This operation was aborted shortly after take-off due to the unserviceability of the H2S which was essential for the accurate laying of the mines. The visibility at base was very poor and we were given permission for one attempt at landing and if unsuccessful we were to divert to Carnaby in Yorkshire which was one of three diversion airfields with very long runways and overshoot facilities. We therefore
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jettisoned fuel to reduce the landing weight and made the approach. The airfield controller was firing white Very lights into the air over the end of the runway to guide us. We crept in over trees in Brocklesby Wood, trees which had claimed other Lancasters coming in too low, and made a perfect wheeled landing. It does not bear thinking about what would have happened if the undercarriage had collapsed, we were sitting on top of 9000 lbs of High Explosive. Good work skipper! Did not count as an operation.
The Squadron had a stand down at Christmas and on Christmas Day there was much merriment and a fair amount of booze put away and we went to bed a bit the worse for wear. It was therefore a bit upsetting to be got out of bed at 3am on Boxing Day morning, sent for an Ops meal and told to report for briefing at some unearthly hour. So to operation No. 27.
No. 27.. 26.12.44. Target “ST-VITH” Daylight operation.
Aircraft ‘B’. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie and 10000lbs HE.
“The Battle of the Bulge”, the German offensive in the Ardennes was in progress. A large force from Bomber Command was called upon to support the American 1st. Army trying to stem the German advances in the Ardennes. The attack was concentrated on the town of St. Vith where the Germans were unloading panzers to join the battle.
The whole of Lincolnshire was blanketed in fog with ground visibility of only a few yards. After briefing we went out to the aircraft, climbed aboard and waited for the time to start engines. Just before time there were white Very Cartridges fired from the
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control tower which indicated the operation was scrubbed. We returned to the mess and were given a new time to go out to the aircraft. Another flying meal.
We went out to the aircraft again and had a repeat performance. Third time lucky, we sat in the aircraft and although there was still dense fog, time came to start engines. This time no scrub. A marshall appeared in front of the aircraft with tow torches signalling us to start taxying and we were guided to the end of the runway. A glimmer of a green from the airfield controller and we turned onto the runway, lined up, set the gyro compass and we roared off down the runway at 1.15pm. Airborne and climbing we came out of the fog at about 200 ft and it was just like flying above cloud. We set course according to our flight plan and visibility across France and Belgium was first class. No cloud and snow on the ground. We did not really need navigation aids, I was able to map read all the way to the target. Approaching the target area there were a few anti aircraft shell bursts and it was apparent the Germans had advanced quite a long way. We bombed from 10000ft and the bombing was very concentrated and accurate. In fact it was reported that 80% of the attacking aircraft obtained aiming point photographs.
It was now time to concern ourselves with the return to Kirmington. The fog was still there and the only 1 Group airfield open was Binbrook, high up on the Lincolnshire Wolds, which stuck out of the fog like an island. The whole of 1 Group landed at Binbrook. There were Lancasters parked everywhere. Whilst we were in the circuit awaiting our turn to land, I was looking out of the window and noticed a hole in the wing between the two starboard engines. When we had landed and shut down the engines, we went to look at the hole. On top of the wing it was very neat but on the underside there was jagged aluminium hanging down around the hole. Obviously a shell had gone up and passed through the wing on its way down, without exploding.
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An airframe fitter looked at the damage and said the aircraft was grounded. This meant that after interrogation we were allowed to return to Kirmington by bus and proceed on leave.
Our next operation was not until 5.1.45 but some of us returned early from leave to attend a New Year party in the WAAF mess which was actually situated in Kirmington Village.
No.28. 5.1.45. Target HANOVER Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load. 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus incendiaries.
325 Aircraft of Nos. 1 and 5 Groups were briefed for the second of a two pronged attack on Hanover.
Nos. 4 and 6 Groups had bombed the target two hours earlier with bomb loads of mainly incendiaries. When we crossed the Dutch coast, the fires could be seem[sic] from at least 100 miles away. Our track took us towards Bremen and was meant to mislead the enemy into believing that was our target. However we did a starboard turn short of Bremen and ran into Hanover from the North. The target was well bombed and rail yards put out of action. I don’t know what we did right but “C” Charlie arrived back at base 4 minutes before anyone else.
No. 29. 6.1.45. Seamining. STETTIN Bay. Night operation.
Aircraft AS-D. Bomb Load 6 x 1500lb Mines.
Knott and crew started their third and final gardening trip (As seamining was known) 48 aircraft of Bomber Command were detailed to plant ‘vegetables’ in the entrance to Stettin Harbour and other local areas. The enemy was able to pick up the force 100 miles North East of Cromer because bad weather condition forced us to fly at 15000
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ft to the target instead of the usual 2000ft,. As a result of this early warning enemy fighters were waiting and the target area was well illuminated by fighter flares. It was believed that the enemy thought this was a major attack on Berlin developing. Knott and crew dropped their vegetables in the allotted area, securing a good H2S photograph and again returned to base first.
No. 30. 14.1.45. Target MERSEBERG LEUNA (Again) Night operation.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000 lb Cookie plus 5500 lbs HE.
200 Aircraft attacked this target to finish off the job started on 6th December. A very successful attack.
No. 31. 16.1.45. Target Oil refinery ZEITZ Nr. Leipzig.
“C” Charlie. Bomb load 1 x 4000lb Cookie plus 6000 lbs GP Bombs.
This was the one we had been waiting for, our last operation. We went into briefing and were told by the intelligence officer that although we were being briefed the operation might be cancelled because a large force of Amercan[sic] Fortresses and Liberators had been to the target earlier in the day and a photo recce Mosquito had gone out to photograph the target and assess the results. Before the end of briefing it was confirmed that that[sic] the Americans had missed and our operation was on. At 1720 on the 16th January we took off on this operation. Over the target there were hundreds of searchlights, the markers were in the right place and we completed our bombing run. The target was well ablaze and there were massive explosions. At one point Paddy called out “We’re coned skip” meaning we were caught by searchlights.
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It was briefly very light in the cabin but the light was caused, not by searchlights but by the explosions from the target.
Of the 328 Lancasters that attacked the target, 10 were lost.
When we returned to base all of our ground crew, including one guy who had returned early from leave, were there to welcome us and join in a little celebration.
George Knott was awarded an immediate Distinguished Flying Cross, said to be a crew award for completing a tour of operations.
All seven of us were posted from Kirmington, on indefinite leave to await our next assignments.
Apart from activities in the Officers and Sergeants Messes, and trips into Scunthorpe where the “Oswald” was the central drinking point, the main point of activity was the pub in Kirmington village. The “Marrow Bone & Cleaver” or the “Chopper” as it was known, was the meeting place for all ranks. The pub is now a shrine to the Squadron, there is a memorial in the village, lovingly cared for by the villagers’ and memorial plaques in the terminal building at Humberside Airport.
There is also a stained glass window in Kirmington Church.
I have mentioned our off base activities but, of course, a lot of time was spent in the Mess and the radio was our main contact with the outside world. I think the most popular program was the AFN (American Forces Network). They had a program which I believe was called the “dufflebag program”. Glen Miller and all the big [inserted in margin] this sentence needs a verb! [/inserted in margin] bands of the day. The song “I’ll walk alone” was very popular and was recorded by several singers. The British one was Anne Shelton, an American whose name escapes me and another American called Lily Ann Carroll (Not sure about the spelling of that name). This girl had a peculiar voice but it had something about it.
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Since the war I have not been able to find anyone who ever heard of her but I did hear the record placed on one of the archives programs on BBC, two or three years ago. If anyone knows of Lily Ann Carroll I would love to know.
I can’t remember where it was but on one occasion when we were out together as a crew, someone asked what the “B” meant on my brevet. Quick as a flash Paddy jumped in “It means Big Bill Bailey the bastard Bombaimer”.
The completion of our tour of operations was of special relief to Gus Leigh, our wireless operator who incidentally had a few weeks earlier had[sic] been commissioned as Pilot Officer. Gus was married and his wife Enid was pregnant and lived in Kent. George our skipper had relatives who lived near Thorne which was quite near to Sandtoft and not really too far from Elsham and Kirmington so it was arranged that Enid would come to stay with George’s relatives and Gus would be able to see her fairly regularly. As we approached the end of our tour you can appreciate the tension. I was to hear later that after we had left Kirmington, Enid had a son and then suffered a massive haemorrhage and died. What irony, a baby that so easily could have been fatherless was now motherless.
Before leaving the scene of operations, so to speak, I would like to clear up one or two points.
I have often been asked the question, were you frightened? I can only speak for myself and maybe my crew. I don’t think ‘frightened’ was the right word, apprehensive, maybe but except for a very few, I believe all aircrew believed in their own immortality. It was always going to be the other guy who got the chop, never yourself. Had this not been the case then we would never have got into a Lancaster.
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Ron Archer used to tell me he thought we were the luckiest crew in Bomber Command.
There were, of course, a very few aircrew who lost their nerve and refused to fly. All aircrew were volunteers and could not be compelled to fly but if that became the case then they would be sent LMF (Lack of moral fibre) and would lose their flying badge and be reduced to the ranks.
Much has been said and written in recent years about the activities of Bomber Command and in particular our Commander in Chief, “Bomber” Harris. I believed then, and still believe that what was done was right. I did not bomb Dresden, but had I been ordered to do so, I would not have given it a second thought.
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Chapter VIII. Lossiemouth.
I was at home in Wigston, Leicestershire and my 21st birthday, the 2nd February was fast approaching. Parents and friends were trying to organise a party, meagre rations, permitting. They need not have worried because I received instructions to proceed immediately to 20 OUT Lossiemouth, At 9.30 pm the eve of my birthday I caught a train from South Wigston station to Rugby and then onto a train bound for Scotland. I arrived at Lossiemouth at 11pm and following day. What a way to spend a 21st birthday!
The next day having completed arrival procedures I duly reported to the Bombing Leader for duty. At the same time I discovered that George Knott had also been posted to Lossiemouth as a screened pilot. I flew with him ocassionally[sic] when he needed some ballast in the rear turret when doing an air test.
The role of 20 OUT was to train Free French Aircrew, again flying Wellingtons and my job was to fly with them on bombing exercises to check that they were using correct procedures. I used to say, “Patter in English please”, which was alright until they got a bit excited and lapsed into French. Bombing took place on Kingston Bombing Range, on the coast East of Lossiemouth. One of my other jobs was to plot the bombs on a chart using co-ordinates given by observers at quadrant points on the
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range. These were phoned through to the bomb plotting office. The student bombaimer then came to the office to see the results of his aiming efforts. 10 lb smoke bo9mbs were used for daylight bombing and 10 lb flash bombs for night bombing. In the summer at Lossie, night flying was almost impossible due to the short night in those Northern parts. It was quite common to take off after sunset and then see the sun set again.
After a few weeks I was attached from 20 OUT to 91 Group Airbomber instructors school at Moreton in Marsh for 3 weeks before becoming an official instructor. I returned to 20 OUT and shortly afterwards was again sent off on a course, this time to the Bomber Command Analysis School at Worksop. Here I became an alleged expert on the Mark XIV Bomsight.[sic] This was a gyro stabilised bombsight [sic] which was a tactical bombsight [sic] rather than a precision bombsight.[sic] It consisted of a computor[sic] box and a sighting head and obtained information of airspeed, height, temperature and course from aircraft instruments plus one or two manual settings and converted this information into a sighting angle. The only piece of vital information to be added was the wind speed and direction which had to be calculated by the Navigator. The bombaimer was then able to do a bombing run without the necessity of flying straight and level.. It took account of climbing, a shallow dive and banking. The sequence of events when bombing was, when the bomb release (hereafter called the ‘tit’ [)]was pressed several things happened, the bombs started to be released in the order set on the automatic bomb distributor, so that they were dropped in a ‘stick’. The photoflash was released, the camera started to operate and as the bombs reached the point of impact almost immediately beneath the aircraft, the photographs were taken. Having used this equipment for the whole of my tour of operations I can vouch for its performance. The Americans had their much vaunted Norden and Sperry Bombsights [sic]
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which were claimed to be very accurate but required the aircraft to maintain a straight and level flight path for an unacceptable time against heavily defended targets. The Mk XIV was so good that the Americans adopted it for their own aircraft and called it the T1 Bombsight. Many T1’s were used by the RAF in lieu of the MkXIV. A matter of production I guess.
On my return from Worksop, with glowing reports from my two courses, the Bombing Leader said “OK Flight Sergeant you had better apply for a commission.” This I did and after going through all the procedures was commissioned in the rank of Pilot Officer (198592) on the 5th June, 1945.
Of course ‘VE’ Day took place on the 5th May after which it was only a matter of time before the OTU’s were run down and in the case of Lossiemouth this was to be sooner rather than later. The Wellingtons were all flown down to Hawarden in Cheshire for eventual disposal, I must record one tragic incident which happened whilst I was at Lossiemouth. One Sunday morning a Wellington took off on air test and lost an engine on take-off and the pilot was obviously trying to make a crash landing on the beach to the East of Seatown. He didn’t make it and crashed on top of a small block of maisonettes killing most of the inhabitants who were still in bed. A tragic accident!
The question now arose as to where next we would all go. We were given the option of being made redundant aircrew, going to another OTU or going back to an operational Squadron. My problem was solved for me, ‘Johnnie’ Johnson, ‘A’ Flight Commander, came into the plotting office and said “I’m going back on ops, I want a bombaimer”. Thus I joined his crew and other instructors made up a full crew with the exception of a flight engineer, all having done a first tour. Johnnie had to revert
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from his Squadron Leader rank to Flight Lieutenant. All the other members of the crew were officers.
Chapter IX Tiger Force.
On the 6th. July we went to 1654 Conversion Unit at Wigsley, were not wanted there and were sent to 1660 Conversion Unit at Swinderby. It was necessary to do a conversion course becaused[sic] Johnnie had done his first tour on Halifaxes and needed to convert to Lancasters. We also picked up a Flight Engineer who was actually a newly trained pilot, who had also done a flight engineers course, there now being a surplus of pilots. He happened to be a lad I knew from my ATC days.
We were now part of “Tiger Force” which was 5 Group renamed and we were to fly the Lancasters out to Okinawa to join in the attack on Japan. The Lancasters would shortly be replaced by the new Lincoln bombers which were bigger, more powerful and had a longer range.
We commenced our training, for my part I had to familiarise myself with ‘Loran’ which was a long range Gee for use in the Pacific. I did say earlier in the story that I would tell you about my ‘rash’. At Swinderby I had a recurrence and immediately reported sick. The Doc took a look at me and said “Oh! We know what that is, it is oxygen mask dermatitis, when you sweat your skin is allergic to rubber. We will make you a fabric mask. Problem solved. The new mask was not needed, however,
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because the war ended and with it my flying career.
VJ Day was a wild affair, In the “Halfway House” pub at Swinderby my brand new officer’s cap was filled with beer when I left it on a stool.
In a final salute to the mighty Lancaster, Swinderby had an open day to celebrate the end of the war and the Chief Flying Instructor, the second on three, the third on two and finally the fourth on one engine. What an aeroplane! What a pilot!
Chapter X The last chapter.
There followed a strange period. First to Acaster Malbis, nr York where all redundant Aircrew handed in their flying kit. Then to Blyton, Nr. Gainsborough where we were given a choice of alternative traded. Seldom did anyone get their first choice and I was chosen to become an Equipment Officer and after a brief spell at Wickenby was posted to the Equipment Officers School at RAF Bicester. A four week course and I was meant to be a fully qualified equipment officer. I was posted to Scampton but not needed there and so was posted on to RAF Cosford where I was put in charge of the technical stores. The Chief Equipment Officer was fairly elderly Wing Commander who took me under his wing and kept a fatherly eye on me. The Royal Air Force was beginning to return to peacetime status and Wingco[sic] warned me that it was probably not a good idea to fraternize with my ex Aircrew NCO’s in the “Shrewsbury Arms”. If you must, get on your bikes and go further afield, was his advice.
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One Monday morning I was called up to the WingCo’s office to be asked “Where is F/Sgt. Brown (Not his real name) this morning”. “I don’t know sir” I replied. “Well I will tell you” he said. “He is under arrest at Shifnal Police Station”
This particular ex Aircrew NCO lived in a village quite near to Cosford and had permission to ‘live out’. It transpired that almost everyone in his village had new curtains made from RAF bunting and quite a few people were wearing RAF or Waaf shoes. I was ordered to do a stock check on my section and for his part he was charged by the Civil Police and at Shifnal Magistrates Court received little more than a slap on the wrist. No doubt his war service stood him in good stead. Because he had been dealt with by the Civil Courts he could not be charged and Court Martialled by the RAF and all that happened was that he was posted away from Cosford and released early into civvie street.
At the time, lots of POW’s were passing through Cosford on their way from POW Camps in Europe to their homes.
Monthly “Dining In” nights were also resumed in the Officers Mess. Due to officers leaving the station or being demobbed, at every “Dining In” we were “Dining Out” those departing., always ending in a wild party. I remember one night which was extremely boisterous ending with Bar Rugby, footprints on the ceiling, the lot. I had better leave to the imagination how the footprints on the ceiling were achieved. That night I went to bed at about 3 am and when I went in to breakfast the following morning the mess was immaculate. The staff had obviously been up all night cleaning up.
On the 4th. November 1946 I received my final posting from Cosford to Headquarters Technical Training Command, at Brampton Nr. Huntingdon to be Unit Equipment
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Officer. The Headquarters Unit consisted of a Squadron Leader C.O., a Flight Lieutenant Accountant Officer, a Flight Lt. Equipment Officer and their staffs. I had a hairy old Sergeant Equipment Assistant who I believe was a regular airman and probably looked upon me as not a real Equipment Officer. However, his knowledge and experience were invaluable.
I enquired as to the whereabouts of my predecessor to be told that he had already gone having been posted abroad. There was, therefore, no handover of inventories. The next surprise was even greater, I was told that I also had RAF Kimbolton to finish closing down. I took myself to Kimbolton to find a ‘care and maintenance party’ of three airmen and one Waaf. Two were out on the airfield shooting rabbits and the other two were dealing with some paperwork. The entire camp had been almost cleared, barrack equipment to a storage/disposal site, fuel to other sites and/or the homes of the local population. Legend had it that a grand piano from the Sergeants Mess had gone astray. One day a Provost Squadron Leader came into my office and said: “Bailey, I want you to come with me to St. Neots Police Station to identify some rolls of linoleum which they have recovered from a farmer”. We went to St. Neots and a police sergeant showed us several rolls of obvious Air Ministry linoleum standing in a cell. I examined the rolls and could find no AM marks so I told the Provost that I could say the rolls ere exactly similar to AM Lino but I could not positively identify them as AM property. The provost told the police sergeant to give the lino back to the farmer. Heaven only knows how many houses had their floors covered in Air Ministry lino in the Kimbolton area. No doubt this sort of thing was happening all over the country. The politicians were so anxious to get servicemen back into civvies street that establishments were seriously undermanned.
When I, a mere Flying Officer, did the final paperwork for RAF Kimbolton I raised a
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write off document well in excess of £1 million at 1947 prices and this only involved equipment known to be missing.
With regard to Brampton itself, the winter of 46/47 was extremely severe with heavy snowfalls. Even the rail line between Huntingdon and Kettering was blocked. When the snow thawed there was severe flooding. One weekend I went home and returned to Camp on Sunday afternoon to find that the previous night there had been a severe storm with gale force winds and Brampton was a scene of devastation. Trees had been blown down crushing nissen huts. The camp was flooded and the sewage system was completely useless. The following morning I located a stock of portable loos (Thunder boxes so called). A four wheel drive vehicle was despatched through the flood waters surrounding Huntingdon, to RAF Upwood to collect these things. Things gradually returned to something like normal but it was a terrible time. The Officers Mess at Brampton was in the large house in Brampton Park and the Headquarters Staff from the C in C Technical Training Command down, were housed in Offices adjacent to Brampton Grange. There were far more senior officers at Brampton than junior officers because of the very nature of the place.
The PMC of the mess was a Group Captain and one day he came to me and said “Bailey, we are going to have a Dining In and I thought it would be nice if we could have some proper RAF crested crockery and cutlery”. I informed the PMC that these items were not on issue whereupon he suggested that I use my initiative.
It just so happened that whilst I was a[sic] Cosford I learned that in the Barrack Stores the very things I was being asked to get were in store, having been there throughout the War. I spoke with the Wing Commander, my former boss, who
agreed to release a quantity of crockery, etc. I informed the PMC of my success and he arranged for a De Havilland Rapide aircraft from our communications flight at nearby Wyton to take
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me to Cosford to collect the two heavy chests of crocks. I am sure the Rapide was overloaded on the flight back to Wyton but the mission was accomplished and the PMC was able to show off his ‘posh’ tableware at the next Dining In.
I was shortly to have to make a major decision, the date was fast approaching for my release back into civilian life, I had agreed to serve six months beyond my release date and had made an application for an extended service commission which would have kept me in the Royal Air Force for at least another six years. However my civilian employers became aware that I had done the extra six months and were not amused. I, despite having access to ‘P’ staff at Brampton could not get a decision from Air Ministry and I made the decision to leave the service.
On 1st. April, how significant a date, I headed off to Kirkham in Lancashire to collect my demob suit. A very sad day.
This is the end of the ‘dream’ but not quite the end of my love affair with the Royal Air Force. But that, as they say, is another story ……
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Two photographs in RAF uniform; one in 1942 aged 18 and the other in 1945 aged 21.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Was it all a Dream
The memoirs of Wartime Bomb Aimer Bill Bailey
Description
An account of the resource
Bill Bailey's wartime memoirs, from enlistment, training in UK and Canada and detail of each of 31 operation in Bomber Command. After completion of his tour he was transferred to Lossiemouth to train Free French aircrew. After successful progress he was offered a commission. Later he trained for Tiger Force ops at RAF Wigsley and Swinderby. When the Force was cancelled he became an Equipment Officer at Bicester then Cosford, Brampton and Kimbolton.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bill Bailey
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
45 typewritten sheets and two b/w photographs
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BBaileyJDBaileyJDv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Free French Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
Germany
Great Britain
Norway
Poland
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Atlantic Ocean--Kattegat (Baltic Sea)
England--Birmingham
England--Devon
England--Leicestershire
England--Lincolnshire
England--London
England--Yorkshire
France--Domléger-Longvillers
France--Ardennes
France--Calais
France--Cap Gris Nez
France--Le Havre
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Freiburg im Breisgau
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Leipzig
Manitoba--Carberry
Netherlands--Domburg
Netherlands--Eindhoven
New Brunswick--Moncton
Norway--Oslo
Nova Scotia--Halifax
Ontario--Hamilton
Ontario--Picton
Poland--Szczecin
Netherlands--Hague
France
Ontario
New Brunswick
Nova Scotia
Netherlands
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Warwickshire
Manitoba
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
David Bloomfield
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.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1 Group
103 Squadron
166 Squadron
1660 HCU
1667 HCU
4 Group
5 Group
576 Squadron
8 Group
83 OTU
Advanced Flying Unit
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
B-17
Bolingbroke
bomb aimer
bombing
Bombing and Gunnery School
briefing
Distinguished Flying Cross
flight engineer
Gee
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Halifax Mk 5
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lincoln
Lysander
Master Bomber
medical officer
memorial
mid-air collision
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Mosquito
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
perception of bombing war
prisoner of war
promotion
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Bicester
RAF Binbrook
RAF Blyton
RAF Brampton
RAF Cosford
RAF Elsham Wolds
RAF Hawarden
RAF Hemswell
RAF Kimbolton
RAF Kirmington
RAF Llandwrog
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Paignton
RAF Penrhos
RAF Peplow
RAF Sandtoft
RAF Scampton
RAF St Athan
RAF Swinderby
RAF Worksop
RAF Wyton
Scarecrow
searchlight
superstition
Tiger force
training
Wellington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force